Happy and full, I suddenly didn’t feel so alone anymore.
5
Molly
The Day I Made A Friend
I spent the next morning exploring the hotel. It was five stories, and we were on the third floor. The ground floor was deserted. Nobody was behind the desk. All the lights in the lobby were on, though, which made itfeellike everything was normal. If I tried hard, I could pretend that the staff was having a meeting and would return at any moment.
The front doors which exited into the plaza were locked, and there was no way to unlock them from the inside without a key. I could have easily broken a window, but I decided I wasn’t that stir-crazy.
Not yet, at least.
The restaurant was closed. I walked around inside, but the doors to the kitchen were locked. That was disappointing—I was hoping to find somerealfood to eat inside.
Adjacent to the restaurant was the hotel pool. It was an Olympic-length swimming pool, with five lanes and a diving board. Next to the pool were two big hot tubs. The bubbles came on when I flipped a switch. Too bad I didn’t bring a swimsuit.
The second floor boasted a lounge with two billiard tables and a pull-down screen for a projection TV. There was also a fully-stocked bar, though the bottles were behind locked cabinets.
“Nowthat’sa glass window I’m tempted to break,” I said out loud. “When I run out of wine.”
When I got back in the elevator, I noticed a phrase engraved in Italian next to the floor buttons. I translated them on my phone:Rooftop access - fifth floor.
I exited onto the fifth floor and walked around. I didn’t see any rooms marked with sticky-notes to indicate they were occupied by guests. There hadn’t been any on the other floors, either. That meant me and my neighbor were the only ones in the hotel. We had the whole place to ourselves.
I kind of felt like Kevin McCallister inHome Alone,except I couldn’t order a cheese pizza.
The rooftop access was in the stairwell. A ladder extended to a square metal hatch in the ceiling. But there was a padlock on the hatch, preventing me from opening it.
I returned to my hotel room and found a note waiting for me on the floor next to the dividing door.
Want some breakfast? I’m making omelets.
I wrote a reply and sent it over:
I thought you’d never ask! Trade you a bottle of breakfast wine?
I smelled cooked eggs before his reply came.
This food’s on the house. I’m Donovan, by the way.
Donovan. Sexy name alert. I wrote a reply:
I’m Molly. Sorry about the notes. I don’t think it’s safe to chat in person. I’m washing my hands after every note, too. Hope you’re doing the same.
A knock came on the door soon after. When I opened it, a plate was waiting in the partition containing a perfectly-shaped omelet. A delicious yellow half-circle of goodness.
The omelet had bits of bacon and onion inside, with a gooey, cheesy interior. When the plate was empty I wondered how I had wolfed it down so fast.
Another note appeared:
Texting is probably safer than passing notes. Here’s my number.
With nothing else to do, I crawled into bed and texted him.
Molly: Thanks for the omelet! It was delicious.
Donovan: I hope you’re not Jewish