January 3
Gwen met me for breakfast at one of the hotel's restaurants at 9 a.m. sharp. She kept the earpiece of her phone in one ear to catch all calls immediately. At the same time, she managed to flirt with the waiter through her lilting French accent, butter a slice of toast and study me as if my freckled face was a work of art. I sank back into my chair and marveled at the globs of oatmeal swirled with honey. Food still had a way of making me nervous. I pushed the bowl aside, and looked back at Gwen's bright eyes, framed by short, wavy blond hair.
"I would like you to really take part in this exhibit, Kat," she said. "It's always most interesting when the artist is there to talk about his or her work."
"I hate public speaking."
She shook her head and broke out her kindest smile.
"Nothing intimidating, of course... I'm talking about one-on-one conversations. You'll spend a couple of hours at the exhibit each day so that visitors can come over and chat with you."
"I can't tell them what the drawings mean."
"That's all right," she said. "They won't expect you to pour out your soul. Visitors understand the context of this kind of exhibit."
I felt my face go scarlet. Gwen put her hand on my arm.
"There is no reason to feel embarrassed..."
"By the fact that everyone will be thinking I'm some kind of nut?"
Again she shook her head.
"Kat, no one is 100 percent stable all of the time. The ability to produce something artistic in a moment of angst is impressive. That's why I'm in the business of showing this kind of art, and that's why people buy it."
I twirled a long strand of rebellious hair around my finger and looked at Gwen skeptically. But I wasn't tempted to end the whole deal. I still couldn't help being intrigued by the idea of showing these ugly charcoal drawings. Maybe someone else would appreciate them more than I did. I wanted to satisfy my curiosity.
"How do you like the hotel?" Gwen asked.
"Other than the middle-of-the-night visitors, I guess it's OK."
"What do you mean?"
I hesitated. Gwen took a quick phone call, laughed, explained away a problem with alacrity, and returned her attention to me. No, I couldn't tell her about my experience. She would think it was ridiculous and nothing more than a silly dream. I would have to handle the situation on my own.
##
I tapped my fingers in agitation on the marble desk as I waited for the whiny-sounding attendant to finish her phone conversation. Yes, the hotel is a block away from the tube, and yes, there still is a room for two available this weekend. Mmhm, mmhm. She nodded and noted information in the reservation book with looping swoops of her thin hand. Finally, she hung up and turned her tired-looking, round face to me.
I told her I was staying in room 405 and that I had had a noise problem the previous night.
"Ah, the plumbing. Yes, the showers and toilets are a bit loud because we have a special system that is environmentally friendly—"
I cut her off.
"No, it's not that," I insisted. "Someone was knocking on my door for about ten minutes in the middle of the night, and when I dragged myself out of bed to see who exactly was making such a commotion, I found myself face-to-face with a naked woman!"
The woman's eyes seemed to grow two sizes larger in about one second.
"I don't know of any such thing. Our hotel is very respectable."
"Well whatever type of hotel you have, I'm telling you there was a naked woman walking the halls last night. Whether she's... an escort or call girl or whatever..."
"We don't ever have—"
"You obviously know very little about what the hotel does and doesn't have," I said. A sarcastic laugh escaped from within, and I felt as if my cheeks were turning the same color as the unruly hair that I flipped over one shoulder. I knew exactly what I had seen.
"Look, it's clear you're not going to admit anything, but don't say it isn't true. You're better off saying nothing." I smirked and shook my head. The woman seemed dazed, unprepared for a confrontation that didn't resemble any of the trial ones tested on her before she took the job.
"I think you should be aware that there's a tall, thin woman, in her late 20s maybe, with long brown hair who just so happened to be banging on my door last night. If you see a guest who fits that description, you might want to find out what she's doing here."
"I'll be on the lookout. Our job is to assure our guests' well-being." A stilted, robotic answer.
It was pretty clear she only wanted to get rid of me and return to the fan magazine hastily stuffed under a tourism brochure. No use wasting any more time there. It was a losing battle. Plus, for the first time in a long while, I had work to do. Gwen would be meeting me a half hour later to start setting up the exhibit.
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