***
Ifelt a twinge of shame for my bluntness towards the girl. Tracey, I remindedmyself as I walked toward the hotel’s lobby in search of the elevator. She hadbeen young—tooyoung—and I normally would have treated her withsomething resembling kid gloves, but I couldn’t shake the idea that I wouldhave wanted someone to treat my own daughter with the same harsh crack ofreality. Had I been so lucky to have a daughter. Or a son, for that matter.
Anotherme, another life.
“ThankGod I got her home before someone else could get to her,” I muttered to myselfas I passed through the lobby’s entryway. The thought of some asshole withfewer morals and a lack of self-control getting their hands on her brought meto shudder.
“Wouldyou like me to accompany you to your room, Mr. Davis?” An older gentleman withsalt-and-pepper hair and a security uniform suddenly appeared by my side.
Thelines on his face had initially been deceptive as I took a brief look at hisbuild, assuring me that, yes, he could undoubtedly kick someone’s ass if needbe, and I shook my head with a polite smile.
“No,I’ll be fine. Hotels at night aren’t usually a threat. Well, unless this wasthe Overlook. In which case, I might be pretty screwed, right?” I waited for alaugh, or a smile at best, but he rewarded my lame excuse for a joke without somuch as a twinkle in his eye. “Oh, come on, you know. Stephen King?TheShining?”
Thesecurity guard barely twitched an eyebrow. “No, sir, I’m not familiar.”
Icocked my head slightly, blinking back my disbelief. “Wow, really?”
“Yes,sir.”
Theman would have made an excellent guard for Buckingham Palace, I decided, as Inoticed that his face seldom changed expression and his voice remained in thesame deep monotone. I was sure that he could not only kick someone’s ass, butif I had needed him to, he could have murdered a man successfully with apaperclip.
“Well,huh, I wouldn’t recommend you read it, or watch it for that matter.” Idramatically grimaced before pressing the Up arrow for the elevator. “Butanyway, thank you again for the offer, but I’ll be fine.”
Hebowed his head. “Yes, sir. If you do require assistance, don’t hesitate to givethe front desk a call.” His shoes tapped away to continue his rounds, his handsclasped behind his back and chest puffed out.
Myeyes fluttered towards the doors of the elevator. “I wouldnotfuck withthat guy,” I mumbled under my breath.
Theelevator dinged its arrival, and I was about to step on when a group of guys intheir early-twenties shouted for me to hold the door. They ran across theblack-and-white checkered marble floor of the lobby right toward me, sneakerssmacking and squeaking against the stone. My arm grew weary holding theelevator doors open waiting for them to slide their way into the enclosedspace, but before I knew it, we were packed in like sardines with me manningthe button panel. I caught a glimpse of the old security guard, eyeing thegroup of guys, almost assuredly considering the possibility that the hotel’sone celebrity and current claim to fame could very well wind up dead at thehands of a gaggle of sorority brothers. I shot him an enthusiastic thumbs-upbefore the doors slid closed, locking me inside with my unlikely killers.
“Whatfloor, guys?” I asked them, breaking the rousing conversation about plans foran upcoming road trip to Comic Con.
“Oh,uh, fourteen, I think,” one kid said and reached into a pocket and thenanother, searching for his card key. “Here, uh … It’s twelve. Thanks, man.”
“Noproblem,” I said with every ounce of pleasantry I could pull together while Isilently cursed slow elevators and not being on a lower floor.
Thewhispers began shortly after the elevator began its climb, as though my elbowwasn’t wedged between the ribs of the shortest member of the group.
“Ishe …youknow?”
“Idon’t know, dude. Looks like him to me.”
“Askhim.”
“No,youask him.”
“Comeon, don’t be a pussy. You do it.”
Thehushed exchange between two of the four friends passed until I finally took theliberty myself of turning my head and said, “Guys, I’m practically standinginsideyou.” I watched their expressions drop with horrified embarrassment, and Ismiled. “Allow me to introduce myself.” I extended my hand to one gawking kid,and he reluctantly accepted. “B. Davis, but people who are usually thisintimate with me call me Brandon, so please—call me Brandon.”
Thefour friends all turned towards each other, their faces taking on a shockedexpression at the acknowledgement of sharing their journey in the elevator witha celebrity. As I waited for one of them to gather the courage to saysomething, I raised my tired eyes to the blinking numbers lining the top of theelevator doors and sighed. Floor three, eight to go.
“Thisis fucking awesome, Mr. B.Dav—I mean, Brandon. Thetwo of us,” he gestured towards his short friend, “we love your books. I keeptellingtheseguys to give your shit a chance, but they’rekindailliterate.”
Oneof the other two gawked at him as he punched his buddy in the arm. “I am not,youasshole. I just have better shit to do than read.” Andsuddenly embarrassed, he glanced in my direction, avoiding any eye contact. “Nooffense, man. I’m sure your books are great.”
“Nonetaken,” I said with a genuine smile. Honesty was better than false flattery anyday. I tried turning my body more towards the two young men who were actualfans. “Were you guys at the signing today?”
“Nah,man. We wanted to, but our flight was delayed. We didn’t get to the bookstorein time to reserve our place on line,” the talkative one said, disappointmentprominent in his voice, momentarily forgetting the unique position he had foundhimself in. And then that reality hit again as a grin spread across his face.“Butdude, this issomuch better. This is … it’s an honor,actually.”
