Once they reached the top floor, she walked out in the Grand Hall and fixated immediately on the fountain. It seemed so beautiful, with cherubs frolicking in the pool as water poured freely from their vases. In the distance, she caught a view of the valley floor and saw her town in the distance.

Until that moment, she had never considered how small and insignificant her birthplace was. This was a humbling experience and yet it reinforced her desires to leave this valley at the earliest opportunity.

She wandered about for a moment, watching as people moved through the hotel. From the corner of her eye, the flapper saw the front desk. This was her opportunity to inquire about getting a ride to town. Unfortunately, the concierge and his staff were acting like a couple of old hens. How dreadfully unprofessional of them!

"A local," Lewis asked.

The man had a hint of concern in his voice. The flapper then observed the young man with his manicured moustache eyes darting about the room.

"What am I, chopped liver," she asked, but got no response.

"What... local... here," she managed to catch the concierge saying, even though she was trying not to eavesdrop.

"Excuse me," she said.

Despite raising her voice, they went on with their conversation. Eventually, some mistress grundy approached, and she observed how they immediately hushed up while wearing fake smiles.

As quick as a flash the valet disappeared, dismissed with nothing more than a, "Deal with it."

The others scattered about, leaving the concierge alone at his desk. Lewis gave the lady a large and flirtatious smile which would not sway this face stretcher.

"Ah madam, how can the Grand assist you today," he asked as though genuinely interested.

"Excuse me," the flapper said. "I was here first," she exclaimed.

Her voice trailed off, there was no way to get a word in edgewise. Staff knew better than to deal with the likes of her when esteemed guests were present.

Frustrated by their behaviour the flapper felt her anger boil over. She never noticed that the concierge's jaw dropped when the fog rolled into the Grand Hall. Somehow the temperature in the room had dropped below the dew point.

* * * *

To calm down, she wandered about the hotel until she found a nice bistro-style restaurant. She was not hungry but figured she may as well sit down and enjoy the amenities.

Since the flapper knew the room number, she could bill against that account. If anything, this was an opportunity to let off a bit of steam at someone else's expense. Why not have a bit of fun while she was at it?

She picked a table near the bar, sat down then proceeded to wait. While the room was quiet, save for a half-dozen patrons, the waiters seemed oblivious to her. Even blatant attempts at flagging one down proved fruitless.

When a waiter eventually passed by, another table got his attention first. How rude?

"Garçon," a dapper said as his two daughters looked at the waiter flirtatiously. "Is there a problem with the heat," the man asked with a hoity-toity accent.

"The heat sir—" the waiter asked.

It took a moment, but the chill soon rode up the waiter's spine and answered his question. Confused, the waiter looked about for a source but found no vents, fans, or windows to account for the sudden drop.

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