BANGERZ 3: ON THE RUN (2017)

5. The Note

The Royston rises toward the sky like a fortress, its rooftop grazing the wispy clouds. I try not to think of how high it must go, and how far a fall would be, as I race into the lobby, practically barreling into a bellhop and narrowly missing the pesky wheels of his cart.

"Excuse me, can I have a key to room 2338?" My question comes out in a breathless rush when I reach the front desk, and I clasp the edge of it to steady myself. I'm still a little buzzed, and I shouldn't have gotten behind the wheel, but Jason needs me. I could've been bleeding to death and I still would've driven here.

The receptionist peers at me over the rims of her glasses. Her disinterest, compared to my frantic state, is almost comical. "Do you have a reservation for that room? May I have your name?"

"No, I don't, but my boyfriend is in there and it's urgent. The room is in his name. Jason McCann."

She scrolls through the hotel records on her computer idly. "Yes, I see that here. He checked into a single-bed master suite last night. He didn't give us instructions to grant access to any visitors. I'm afraid that's all I can tell you. I can't disclose personal information about our guests. You're welcome to wait here in the lobby."

I blink at her. Either she can't read body language, or she takes her job way too seriously. "You don't understand - he's in trouble. I need to speak to him immediately."

"I can buzz his room and let him know he has a visitor."

Frustration seizes me. "No! I need to see him right now! It's an emergency! I'm his girlfriend - I can verify my identity if you need me to. Or - can't you just get someone to take me up there and open the door? I'm trying to tell you, he's in trouble - !" 

The clerk widens her eyes like I just offended her with an obscenity. "Ma'am, I need you to calm down. We are not authorized to intrude on guests in the privacy and comfort of their rooms unless there is a problem. At the moment, you are causing the disturbance, not Mr. McCann." 

I suppress my scream - and my urge to throttle her - and spin away from the desk. Maybe I should just go up to Jason's room. But how am I going to get in?

My eyes dart around the lavishly appointed lobby, its diamond chandelier and sumptuous carpeting. Why is no one panicking? I can barely hear myself think over the roar of my heartbeat in my ears. A man in a dark-blue suit stalks past me, not paying me any mind as if I'm part of the decor -

"Mr. Royston!" I call out as soon as I recognize him. When he doesn't turn around I follow him, jogging to keep up. "Mr. Royston!" I wheel around to block him.

"Just a second, Larry, hold that thought." The owner of the hotel pulls the phone away from his ear and looks down at me sternly.

"Yes, can I help you?" he snaps.

I blink and swallow back the drunken burp that rises in my throat - Jesus, how much did I have to drink at Stacey's party? I need to focus and say what I need to say to work through this situation. But it's hard with my head swimming like it is, and fear eating its way through my chest, and Mr. Royston staring down at me like I'm a stain on the carpet of his immaculate hotel.

The impatience in his expression grows instantaneously, as if he can read my mind. "Young lady, I have an urgent matter to attend to, so if there's something I can help you with, please tell me now."