Summer, 1928
Ian
“Hotel Grand Meridian”, it read.
The words were set in flat, black letters, placed along a section of smooth concrete above the massive, pale pillars that held up the entrance to the building. A wide brick staircase led up to a single, golden revolving door, looking to be the only front entrance to the massive hotel. It was a brick behemoth, sprawling its collage of red clay, windows, and fire escapes down both sides of the street corner it rested on.
All in all, it was quite the intimidating sight.
Ian found himself idly counting each row of windows along the building, standing on the sidewalk that made up the hotel’s perimeter.
Goddamn, must be at least 12 stories …
He had no clue how, but it’d happened. He’d gotten the job.
The more Ian thought about it the less it made sense to him. Not only had he been late, but he was almost certain he had seen red streaks on the interviewer’s hand once he’d shaken it. Ian had been able to flash a quick look down at his palms before sitting down, and sure enough, the bleeding had started all over again. And on top of all of that, the delirium from his tiredness had sapped away any recollection of the mock questions he’d practiced in the mirror the day prior.
It was a combination that seemed to surely only lead to being denied the job, and yet, here he was. Standing in front of what might have been the most foreboding building Ian had seen in his entire life.
They must’ve been real desperate.
Just another job, it’s gonna be fine.
Although the self-affirmations didn’t help all that much, after another moment Ian managed to will himself to start the trek up the stairs.
Row after row, he worked his way up, his brain only filling with more and more thoughts of anxiety of the impending workday as he ascended, until he reached the golden revolving door marking the entrance.
Ian didn’t even give himself another moment to think about backing out, of going back down those stairs and retreating back home. He pushed through the door at once, and stopped in his tracks just as quickly once he made it in.
The scene before Ian was one that didn’t even feel real to him. Glossy patterned tile sprawled all throughout the floor, occasionally blocked by fine rugs with velvety couches and wooden coffee tables placed atop them. Massive white columns ascended to the high ceilings of the lobby, connecting the balconies of multiple bustling floors to one another. Each one of the balconies had droves of people standing on it, the combined sound of each person’s idle chatter compounding on top of one another into a flood of noise that swept through the spacious room.
Jeez, this place is crazy.
If it was even possible, Ian somehow felt even more out of his element.
“Excuse me? Sir?”
A voice snapped Ian out of his hotel-induced trance. It’d come from a woman who was impatiently looking at him from behind a desk across the room.
The front desk attendant looked to be older, dressed in what Ian assumed was the hotel’s uniform. A black jacket, the buttons large and shimmering gold, with a pair of dull, red pants and a bellhop cap.
“Ah, sorry about that!” Ian spoke as he began to stride towards the front desk, “Just not used to seeing, um ... sights like this.”
He couldn’t help but look around again for another moment as he took the last few steps to the counter.
“Mhm.”
Ian turned to look back at the desk attendant, but she was hunched behind the desk now, appearing to rifle through some kind of container.
“You’re the new bellhop, right? Ian Foolhardy?”
“Yep, that’s me.”
Ian tried his best to seem as chipper as he could, but his lack of sleep from the night before wasn’t helping all too much. The anxiety that came with the thought of attending this job the next night had kept him up far too late, that and the fact he was still adjusting to a nightlife sleep schedule. Either way, his attempts at looking cheerful were clearly not panning out well, as the woman simply responded to him with a deadpan “Alright then.”
She came back up from behind the desk, dropping a small, folded pile of clothing, with a hat quite similar to her own placed atop it.
“Staff live in the end of hall 1500,” she pulled a key out of her pocket, dropping it onto the clothes pile, “you’re room 1585. Yer shift starts at nine PM, you’ll get off at five. Lunch is usually around one-thirty.”
She looked up at Ian with tired eyes much like his, the many wrinkles on her face only accentuated by the seemingly permanent frown she wore. “Got that?”
“Yes ma’am.”
Her frown looked to deepen slightly upon hearing that.
“Please, you don’t gotta refer to me all formal like. It’s Dorothy.” She stuck out a hand over the counter.
Ian stuck out a hand to meet Dorothy’s, cringing in pain slightly as the still-tender cuts touched her hand.
“Well, nice to meet you Dorothy. I’m-”
“Ian.” She shook his hand firmly. “I got that.”
An excruciatingly awkward silence washed over the two of them following the interjection, and after far too long a time, Ian finally decided to end it with a swift exit.
“Right. Uh, well then,” Ian shoved both of his hands under the small pile of clothes, picking them up and turning around as he spoke, “I guess I’ll be going.”
“See you around.”
Ian was already a few steps away from the desk, and simply responded to her words with a backhand wave as he continued walking towards one of the many hallways leading deeper into the hotel.
He slowed his pace a little once he’d turned the first corner in the hallway he’d chosen to enter, as if getting out of Dorothy’s sight would erase the memory of what’d happen.
Jesus Christ, so much for first impressions.
He continued absentmindedly roaming around the halls for a while, trying to at least slightly familiarize himself with the hotel. This hallway was a lot less extravagant in appearance compared to the entryway of the building, the only real decoration being the patterned, yellow wallpaper both walls adorned. Doors with room numbers stuck onto them were symmetrically placed on either side, each set of numbers written in a formal, gold print.
1209, 1210, 1211, 1212 …
Wait.
Ian looked down at his key again.
- Where the hell is 1585??
Ian had never really been to a hotel, so he wasn’t the most adept on how he was supposed to find his room in the first place. Well, the numbers were increasing, right? He’d probably just happen upon it if he kept walking in this direction, and the hallway looked to be pretty damn long. Surely the 1500s would come eventually!
And so Ian began his journey down the 1200 hallway.
