The rapid-fire thudding in my heart was easy to ignore. The sweat pooling beneath my borrowed housekeeper's uniform wasn't.
"Are you sure you wanna do this?"
I fumbled with the keycard before waving it in front of the monitor.
Green.
The door opened, and I crossed the threshold that would take me closer to a future I had no clue would hold.
Outside of breaking into a hotel, I was preparing to meet the man of my dreams. The man of many girls' dreams.
"No. Is this an interrogation, or are you gonna be my lookout?"
My best friend and co-conspirator offered a knowing smirk, "Who else is gonna save your ass when you get arrested?"
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Cash," I spoke in hushed sarcasm.
"I'm kidding. Besides, Sheriff Hamilton couldn't outrun you if there was a box of a dozen donuts involved."
"Yeah, and he's sweet on my mama. I'd bet you ten bucks he'd let me go if I promised him a date."
A young man clad in hotel garb looked at us puzzlingly. He'd been a senior during our freshman year of high school. I'd barely recognized him outside of his old football jersey. An injury had ripped away his scholarship to NC State.
"What are y'all two doing here?"
I couldn't afford to skip a beat, "I'm covering for Sarah Jo. She thinks she's got influenza or something."
"I'm just the driver," Cash added.
He grunted, seemingly in thought but shrugged past us as he beat a pack of Newports against his palm.
It was a likely story, except Sarah Jo wasn't sick.
With a begrudging arm-cross and a furrowed brow, she'd agreed to my sordid plan, and I snatched it up before she had time to change her mind.
With nothing substantial to offer, I'd told Sarah Jo the truth; I hoped it was enough. More than that, I hoped she wouldn't breathe a word of it to a single soul.
Like professional marksmen, Cash and I walked purposefully down the first floor's corridor, our steps muted against the antiquated carpet.
I reached the staircase that dissected the east and west wings of the building, looking back at Cash with what I hoped was a brave expression although I could feel my lip quivering.
He winked at me, smirking like he knew the end.
I took the carpeted steps two at a time, taking in a shuddering breath before I opened the heavy unlocked door on the third floor.
Just like we'd planned, I used the keycard to access a housekeeper's closet where a butler's trolley was stowed for my use.
I set the paper bag I'd been holding on a neighboring cart, focused and sweating from the armpits.
My mind played out all possible scenarios while I arranged the meal my mom had offered me on a serving tray. As the leading lady at the only decent diner in town, my mom had packed a good old-fashioned burger and fries. What she hadn't known was who she had prepared it for.
I bristled, blinking away the thought of my mother's wrath - or worse - her disappointment.
I folded a napkin, neatly tucking in a set of plasticware, untrusting of the hotel's dulled cutlery.
Before I could change my mind, I maneuvered the trolley out of the cramped space.
I feigned purposefulness as another housekeeper was ambling down the hallway. She didn't pay me any attention, as she rifled through her cart.
They don't pay these people enough.
A trickle of sweat tickled my sternum as I braced for having to chat with the security detail posted on either side of the presidential suite.
316...322...330...
The numbers appeared menacing, their silent announcement adjacent to the door at the very end of the hall: 336.
The stern expressions disarmed me.
"Delivery for our guests in the presidential suite."
"We don't have a delivery scheduled," the man on the left replied without hesitation, his hands clasped in front of him.
I looked down at the receipt book I'd stolen from the diner pretending to study it.
"It says here that a..." I squinted, bringing the pad up to my eyes, "Mark Schaeffer ordered room service? I was instructed by Heather to deliver it with great care," I smiled.
I hoped to appear equal parts innocent and ignorant.
It had only taken half an hour to find his assistant's name. I held my breath while they weighed my lie.
The man who'd spoken looked to his patrol partner who nodded in return.
A quick rapt of knuckles colliding with the door, and an ex-military-looking man was shooting me a scrutinizing glance.
How many security guards does one man need?
The silent partner finally spoke, "Room service for Mr. Schaeffer,"
My back straightened, suddenly aware of how close to victory I was.
The imposing man assessed me once more before shutting the door.
"Mr. Schaeffer must be the VIP of VIPs," my nervous laughter morphed into throat clearing when the men kept looking on, unfazed by my attempt at humor.
A burly hand lifted the silver globe to examine the meal.
With soft urgency, the door opened again, revealing the same man from before.
"We didn't order anything. Wrong room."
Shit.
I spoke up before he slammed the metal rectangle in my face again, "Heather informed our General Manager that we were to deliver the meal just after 4 o'clock. Before the, uh, wrap party? She also mentioned that she was an avid Yelp reviewer..."
I gulped, actually nervous that my window was closing.
I'd made it all up, but it sounded convincing enough to me.
The man nodded from inside the door.
Before I could move a muscle, an arm jutted in front of me the way a mom protects her child as she rapidly approaches a red light.
"Arms up, please." Despite the added pleasantry, it wasn't polite.
I released my iron grip on the bar and lifted my arms. The man patted me down, and I prayed Sarah Jo's uniform wasn't damp with my perspiration.
It'll cost me $25 to have this stupid thing dry-cleaned.
The man's baritone was crisp, "Clear."
I nodded at them both as the man inside guided me into the suite's foyer.
For a presidential suite in this anachronistic town, the lodging was tasteful. It wasn't the luxe vacation rental of movies, but it was decent.
The living area was uninhabited.
"One moment," the stealthy man escaped through what I suspected was the suite's bedroom where I could hear the familiar voice chatting away.
"Yeah. Just a moment - I pay her a lot of money to boss me around but she's not going to force me to eat rabbit food. It's my last night. Tip her for me, will ya? Thanks, Lou."
The man named Lou reemerged from the slightly ajar door, "You can leave the cart here. Thank you."
My heart seemed to sputter, stuck in the quicksand of fear.
My dignity was the only thing keeping me from upchucking right on the beige hospitality carpet.
"O-okay," my voice was a croaky version of itself as I blanched.
My cottony mouth was agape as my mind whirled with memories and movie scenes.
Come on, Salem. This might be your only shot.
Nearly yelling, I was blurting the first sentence my lips had inadvertently formed, "E-everybody loves Catastrophe but... I - I think your best performance was in Long and Winding Road."
He had played a superstar catapulted into music infamy but whose stardom had cost him treasured relationships and sacred moments.
It was a more obscure indie he'd tackled at the beginning of his career. He had been young and eager in the period piece. He was, naturally, a better actor now, but I'd always watched his performance in that film with great intrigue. Despite the pomp and lack of CGI, it hadn't felt theatrical; it had felt very real.
Security man Lou, placed a firm hand on my shoulder ushering me toward the door as he handed me a fifty-dollar bill, "That'll be all."
My vision was blurry as I steadied myself. I was grasping at my waning shred of a chance as my body had become rigid with obstinance.
"Is there any way I could, um, just say hello?"
His hand was gripping my shoulder now, "Mr. Schaeffer is preoccupied at the moment."
Lou kept up the charade we both knew was fake. His name wasn't Mark Schaeffer.
Not having perceived me as a risk, I swiveled out of Lou's grip, trying to lift the tray.
Lou took the tray from me, returning it to its position atop the trolley, "Miss. Please make your exit. I won't ask again."
I could hear him chatting on the phone, "I'm sorry, Chantal. Can I call you back?"
"Good Lord. I'm 5'3. What do you think I'm gonna do? Tackle him?"
The man seemed to smirk now as he began moving my person. With a little dramatic flare, I sank to the floor, looking for something to anchor myself to.
Lou had me by the waist before I could crawl toward the nearest couch.
Attempting to buy time, I tried wriggling out of the man's iron-clad grasp, "You sure know how to court a girl, don't ya? Skip all the foreplay and get right to the down and dirty."
He'd managed to open the door when my expulsion was interrupted.
The other security guards had come bumbling in, looking like two goons.
"It's okay, gentlemen. Lou, it's okay. Set her down."
Instead of exasperated, his voice sounded curious.
"You sure, boss?" The friendlier-looking guard from outside was apprehensive.
A nod, and then the door was closing once more.
Lou set me on my feet more gently than I'd anticipated.
Finally, my eyes rested on his form. He looked boyish in lounge pants and a white t-shirt. The beard he was sporting was a part of his costume for his nearly-wrapped project, but it made him look more approachable. He was taller than I'd imagined too.
"Why are you giving my guys a hard time?"
"I was on strict assignment to present you - with this," I gestured flamboyantly to the meal, "and Lou here won't let a girl do her job. I've got a boss too, ya know" I adjusted the uniform, sticking a finger in between the collar and my neck. My mouth was a boll of cotton again.
He watched me with what I assumed was guarded amusement.
Eyebrows raised, he nodded once as if he were waiting for the epic presentation.
"From the great state of North Carolina, I present to you, our practically Michelin star-worthy diner's best," with great flourish, I revealed the greasy and fragrant meal concealed by the chrome globe.
His mouth twisted with mirth, and I wondered if it was a habitual expression.
"I can guarantee you've never experienced anything...like this here burger. It's Chef's best-kept secret."
Unhurriedly, he crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing, "Two things."
My heart thudded, but I couldn't take my eyes off him, "Hmm?"
"One. Heather would be appalled at the sight of that... there burger," he was mocking me. And it was kind of funny.
"Two. Since you went through all the trouble of breaking in, you have to - at least -split it with me."
His eyes still narrowed, but his twist of the lips had morphed into a wry grin.
My eyebrow quirked, "You reckon I poisoned it?"
"I reckon you deserve some kind of reward for the shenanigans you just pulled. I've never seen Lou sweat like that. Right, Lou?"
Lou offered a sort of tsk. Lou was not impressed.
The man whose alias was Mark Schaeffer was unfolding his arms now, moving towards me and the trolley.
My breath hitched.
"I'm not gonna bite you," he studied me, a slight chuckle humming between his lips.
He used both hands to pick up the tray, his biceps slightly flexing with the movement.
He settled onto the couch I'd attempted to take refuge in when Lou had given me the boot.
"Are you gonna stand there gawking, or are you gonna help me eat this... Michelin star-worthy meal?"
He was making quick, albeit messy work of cutting the rare burger with the plastic knife.
Furtively, I glanced at Lou who offered me a curt, congratulatory nod.
I rounded the couch, planting myself in the chair opposite him. The idea of being in his kinesphere quickened my heart rate.
He raised a cluster of fries to his mouth, chewing appreciatively, "These are good."
I nodded, marginally proud that he'd found enjoyment in the food.
He didn't wait for me. He chomped down on the burger before I could take another breath.
"Mmm...," his eyes closed as if experiencing some sort of delight.
Why's acting like he ain't ever had a decent burger before?
"This burger reminds me of -," he paused to examine his diminishing half, "what's in this?"
"If I told you, it wouldn't be a secret anymore, would it?"
He chewed, half smiling, half lost in thought.
"Touché," he chewed his last bite, "I know I promised you the other half, but do you mind?"
"Please," I scant offered permission before he reached for the burger.
"Are they starving you on set or what?"
"I wouldn't say starving, but I've maintained a very specific diet for this project."
He patted his belly, "My body is my instrument."
We are from two very different worlds.
I swallowed the dryness in my throat, "Sounds... musical."
Suddenly, he'd placed the burger down, scrunching a wad of napkins in his fist.
He stepped into the bedroom, returning with a sharpie and a t-shirt.
After a quick scribble, he handed me the shirt, "It's not much, but I hope it's worth your scheming."
He was smirking again.
"Oh, thanks. That's thoughtful," I wiped my sweating hands on my pants.
He nodded, popping a few more fries in his mouth.
"As enjoyable as this has been, I have rules against being in solitary spaces with women. I like to avoid lawsuits altogether."
"You're doing a piss poor job then. You were just at a hotel in New York with the woman who's the face of the Dior fragrance campaign."
His eyes cut to me, "Obviously, not all women."
"Obviously."
"Right. Well, I'm very impressed with your efforts and grateful for the decadent meal. You all deserve that Michelin star," he was standing up now.
"Wait - I need to say something," I wrung my hands together for the umpteenth time.
"If it's a profession of love, I'm flattered, but I won't be returning the sentiment. First, you're young enough to be my daughter, and second, absolutely not."
"Well, see. That's the thing..." my chest heaved, and tears were beginning to sting my eyes.
He sat back down wearing a sympathetic expression, "Are you a long-time fan? You said you'd seen Long and Winding Road, right? That was a billion years ago."
I swallowed.
"Don't cry, sweetheart. I'm just a human like the rest of us. And don't ever be impressed by someone's fame. Be impressed by their character," he handed me a napkin.
His eyes twinkled good-naturedly, "What did you say your name was?"
"Salem," my heart rate was accelerating.
"That's a beautiful name," he nodded.
"Salem Katherine Wells," I waited for a beat before adding, "Daughter of Erin Wells."
His eyes narrowed, and his brow furrowed, "Erin Wells?"
"Erin Renee Wells."
"I haven't heard that name in -"
"Almost eighteen years?"
He looked even more bewildered now.
"How old are you?"
"Seventeen."
His tone was stern, "Is this some kinda prank? If this is some practical joke, I find it tactless and humorless."
He was standing again, "Whatever your name is, please leave. Lou."
Lou was escorting me by the elbow in a flash.
"Wait! You used to call her Mishy!" Lou was pulling me from my seat.
"You met in front of Old North Church. She was on the Freedom Trail, and you ditched your last class to go to your favorite Italian spot. You followed her all the way down to the Paul Revere statue!"
"Wait, Lou."
The moment seemed frozen except for my heaving breaths and racing thoughts.
"It - it was summertime, and it started raining. You gave her your Harvard crew neck so her hair wouldn't get wet, and you promised her the best caccio e pepe in town."
I looked at him through wet lashes, "She said it was the fanciest cheese and noodles she'd ever had."
His expression was wistful as he stared at me, "This is... impossible."
I pinched the strip of photo booth photos in my pocket, tears spilling, "She found out she was expecting after you left."
I put the photos on the table, afraid of getting too close.
He glanced down at them, lowering himself back onto the couch.
"You're... my dad."