Having seen Kim and Christian depart the hotel in Teddy Xanakis’s company, I had no qualms about taking the elevator to the fourteenth floor.
Once in the corridor on fourteen, I paused at the credenza and selected a magazine called Beverly Hills Exclusive from those on display. I tucked it under one arm and then did another quick walk-about to verify that the freight elevators on this floor were located where I’d seen them on floors seven, eight, and nine. Sure enough, the Staff Only door opened onto an identical utility area. I closed the door and wandered back to a point in the corridor where I could see anyone who might pass. I leaned against the wall and leafed through my magazine.
Another hotel guest, a gentleman, walked by and flicked a look at me.
“Maid’s in my room,” I remarked.
He nodded and smiled briefly. Maybe the same thing had happened to him.
Ten minutes later, the Staff Only door opened and a room service waiter rolled a cart into the corridor. There was a crisp white cloth over the top and the bottle of Taittinger was nestled in a silver ice bucket, beaded with condensation. Also included were two champagne glasses, a nosegay of yellow roses in a crystal vase, and a cut-glass bowl of fresh strawberries with a side of whipped cream. Nice touch, that, and I would surely be charged accordingly. The waiter checked his order pad and proceeded to a room halfway down the hall. I remained where I was, but kept an eye on him.
He knocked. No answer. He knocked a second time, and after a brief wait, he used his pass key to open the door. He reached down for the door stop that he used to keep the door ajar as he pushed the cart inside.
I took a seat in one of the two comfy chairs provided on either side of the credenza. From my shoulder bag, I removed a pen and the hotel note card, scribbled “With our compliments” on the inside, and dashed off an illegible signature. I slipped the card into the matching envelope along with the business card for the guest services manager I’d collected from the registration desk.
Two minutes later, the room service waiter crossed my field of vision, this time without his cart. I waited until I heard the Staff Only door open and close. Then I tiptoed to the main corridor and looked both ways. No one. I turned left and scampered the short distance to the room he’d just left, which turned out to be 1418. I slid the note under the door.
That done, I had another piece of business to take care of. I went down to the lobby and out to the motor plaza. I fished out my valet parking ticket and passed it to the valet car parker, along with a five-dollar bill. When my car swept into view, I got in and headed for Wilshire Boulevard. Seven blocks later, I found a gas station and filled my tank. I drove back to the hotel motor plaza, where I left my car for the night. My clean underwear was still damp, so I set up the ironing board and iron and sizzled them dry.
20
As I had time on my hands, I amused myself by perusing the room service menu, which boasted no food item with a price of less than fifteen bucks. Well, coffee was ten, but that wasn’t saying much. I finally scarfed down the granola bar I’d bought earlier, chiding myself once again for my nutritional failings. At 9:00, armed with my paperback and my key card, I sallied forth. I took the elevator down to the mezzanine, where I got off and had a look around. The corridors were dimly lit, and I seemed to have the entire floor to myself. I peered over the balcony railing at the lobby below. While I couldn’t see the motor plaza entrance, the doors that opened onto Wilshire Boulevard were easily in view.
Behind me, chairs were arranged in twos and threes outside the empty meeting rooms. I dragged one closer to the railing and sat down. I read my mystery novel, glancing up often for fear I’d miss Teddy, Kim, and Christian passing through the lobby. At 10:45, they returned, not drunk by any stretch, but relaxed and laughing. They paused just inside the revolving doors and there seemed to be a discussion of whether to share a nightcap. I was praying they would not. It was irksome enough that I’d had to hang around waiting as long as I had. Finally, they disappeared from sight, moving toward the lobby elevators.
I scooted over to the elevators on the mezzanine, keeping a close eye on the call pattern. I saw elevator two descend from the fifth floor to the lobby and then watched it go up again, passing the eighth, ninth, and tenth floors and stopping finally on fourteen. I pictured Kim and Christian getting off. When the elevator continued, the numbers climbed as high as eighteen, where it paused again: Teddy Xanakis heading for 1825.