Hotel Ruby Page 6

Catherine glances behind us and her expression falters. She pulls away from my brother with a longing sigh. “I’ve got to run.” She tilts her head like she hates the idea of leaving him. “Promise me you’ll come see me before tonight’s party,” she says.

  “Promise,” Daniel responds. Catherine doesn’t acknowledge me before walking purposefully toward the garden doors, shooting a quick glance at the front desk. My brother watches her until she’s out of sight, and when she’s gone, he turns to me with a shit-eating grin on his face.

  “Gorgeous, right?” he asks.

  I shrug. “For a murderous doll, sure.”

  “Wish I hadn’t given you that description,” Daniel mutters.

  I shake my head in mock sympathy. “You really didn’t think that through.”

  He laughs, and we make our way toward the elevators on the other side of the lobby. Just when I think I’ve gotten used to the opulence of the Ruby, I’m dazzled again by a new bit of crystal or a painting I didn’t notice.

  “Mom would love this place,” I say to myself. The minute the words are out of my mouth, Daniel clears his throat, aggressively readjusting his towel.

  “It’s cold,” he says distantly. “I’ve got to change.” He starts ahead, leaving me behind in his silence. I want to yell to him that I miss her too. That it hurts me too. But Daniel hates when I talk about Mom, so I shut up and follow him.

  We walk through the lobby, and the concierge is at his desk, typing on the computer. Daniel and I climb into the elevator and press our floor numbers, facing out. Kenneth looks up from the desk.

  He’s motionless as the doors close to block him out.

  Chapter 5

  My father orders his steak rare, and I raise the corner of my lip in disgust as the blood flows from the cut in his meat to stain the white dinner plate. He bites a big piece off his knife and glances at Daniel.

  “What are your plans for tonight?” he asks him, chasing his food with a sip of red wine. I’m still trying to get used to seeing my father like this. His wavy salt-and-pepper hair is tamed with gel or mousse, making it flat and old-fashioned. He’s clean shaven, rosy cheeked. But strangest of all, he’s interested in our lives again.

  “Don’t know,” Daniel says, picking up a drumstick of fried chicken. “Might meet Catherine later, but until then I’ll probably work out. You?”

  “I received an invitation to the party in the ballroom tonight.” Our father laughs and takes a sip of wine. “Can’t remember the last time I attended a formal event. Probably my wedding.”

  I divert my eyes to the white linen tablecloth. The way he said it—like his past with my mother was some casual memory—hurts. I wait for Daniel’s reaction.

  “You’re going to the party?” he asks our father with a strained voice. Daniel is clearly rattled by the mention of our mother, but in typical fashion he’s ignoring it. If he doesn’t acknowledge that she died, it can’t hurt him. That’s what he told me once, anyway.

  “Yes, I thought I might have a drink or two,” Dad says. “You should come. I believe you received your invite?”

  Daniel crinkles his nose. “Yeah, but it’s not exactly my scene. A bunch of old people, isn’t it?”

  “Not all of them.” Dad laughs. “But I’ll be doing my part for the senior citizens.”

  He’s funny. I forgot that about him. Daniel smiles, and suddenly I’m the odd one out of this family-bonding moment. “I didn’t get an invitation to the party,” I say, feeling slighted.

  Daniel smirks. “You must have pissed someone off, then.”

  “Whatever,” I say. “I wasn’t going to go anyway. I don’t want to be stuck at some stuffy party all night. And that guy Kenneth at the front desk? What a tool. I’d rather find my own form of entertainment.”

  My father’s hand tightens around his glass, and he takes a sip of wine. “Then I should probably alert housekeeping,” he says through pursed lips. “Your idea of entertainment involves property damage.”

  His words are a slap in the face, a harsh dose of reality in the dreamlike peace we’ve found in the hotel. I blink quickly, humiliated. Angry. My father starts to apologize, but Daniel drops his food and starts to wipe his hands on his napkin, pushing back his chair like we’re leaving.

  Dad never did wait for an explanation about the house party that got Daniel and me sent away. I figured he didn’t care enough for me to offer him one either. It was almost three weeks ago—a Saturday, the day after my birthday. Daniel had brought me home one of those Hostess mini apple pies, tossing it like a football to where I sat alone in the kitchen.

  “Happy seventeenth,” he said with a smile, his arm around the stray he’d brought home. She snapped her gum, all blond curls and attitude, unimpressed with my existence. I thanked him, though, because Daniel had remembered my birthday and my father had not. He’d stayed at his office the last three nights, and I started to doubt he was coming home at all.

  After my brother left, I went up to my parents’ room and sat on the bed. My mother’s memory had been scrubbed from the house, even her scent. All that was left were a few pictures that stood on the mantel in the family room. I waited on the bed until dark, but my father still didn’t come home.

  My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I took it out to see Ryan was calling again. I still don’t understand why he stayed with me. I had never come out and told him that I wasn’t in love with him anymore, but he should have seen it. Instead he treated me like a sick child—his love a chicken soup for my lonely soul. But it seemed too cruel to leave him now. I’d end up married to him someday, I figured. It was the only way to justify my mother’s death.

  I WANT TO HAVE A PARTY TONIGHT, I texted back, not wanting to actually talk. CAN YOU MAKE THAT HAPPEN?

  For my birthday Ryan had skipped school with me and made me breakfast at his house. I spent the day going through the motions with a hollow heart, as an empty vessel. Sometimes I wondered if Ryan’s unconditional love could suffocate me.

  WHO SHOULD I INVITE? HEY, ARE YOU OKAY? he responded.

  NO. AND INVITE EVERYONE.

  I didn’t wait for him to answer before heading to my room to grab clean clothes from my closet. The next forty minutes were a blur of shower steam and too much mascara. I wanted to forget tonight. Forget him. Forget me.

  The party was in full swing, loud and smoky, when I was on the couch, laughing with a stranger. He had shaggy black hair and heavy cologne. He put his hand on my thigh. I told him to fuck off. And then Ryan was there, fighting. My head spun with a delicious mix of alcohol and danger, and I stood up and watched—not even telling them to stop.

  The couch tipped back, taking the side table with it, lamp busted on the floor. Ryan had the guy by his collar, punching him in the face. I’d never seen him so angry—and in that moment I realized he was really angry at me. At my abandonment.

  “Ryan?” I called weakly. All of my guilt, my pain, my sorrow, cracked the surface. The tone of my voice must have scared him, because Ryan immediately turned toward me, his eyes fearful. The other guy took the distraction as an opportunity, blasting Ryan in the side of the head with his fist—knocking him out.

  My entire body stilled as I watched him fall, first his large shoulder connecting with the floor, and then the top of his head with a thunk. The party quieted, all except the song playing in the background—what was that song? It was one of my mother’s.

  When Ryan didn’t immediately move, people started to murmur their concern; some went for the door right away. The guy, just some random fucking guy, spit on my boyfriend. He wiped the blood that Ryan had drawn off his chin, shooting me a hateful glare.

  “Slut,” he said, even though my refusal of his advance contradicted his statement. Then he swiped his hand along the mantel, sending the framed pictures crashing to the floor. Smashing them into tiny bits of sharp glass and paper. I moaned and fell to my knees, my mother’s picture, broken.

  It was all falling apart. I wanted my mother. I screamed it; I y
elled it at the others as they stared at me, wide-eyed.

  “I want my mother!” I shrieked uncontrollably, breaking the blood vessels in my eyes and tearing at my hair.

  And then my father walked in. We never talked about what happened. He never asked if I was okay.

  “Not cool, Dad,” Daniel says from across the restaurant table. He drops his napkin over his food and comes to take my arm to pull me up. When I blink, tears drip onto my cheeks.

  “I didn’t mean that,” my father says sincerely. “Audrey, please—”

  “Enjoy your dinner,” I say in a shaky voice, and let Daniel lead me from the room. It isn’t until we’re in the lobby that my brother gathers me in a hug, squeezing the breath out of my lungs before he releases his grip.

  “Ouch,” I say, and wipe the tears from my face. “And thanks.”

  Daniel nods and glances around the lobby like he’s not sure what to do with me now. “He didn’t know,” he says quietly. “I try not to blame him because he didn’t know that you were dying too.”

  “He didn’t ask.”

  Old pain haunts my brother’s features. Daniel is the one who saved me that night. He came home right after my dad and drove me and Ryan to the hospital to deal with his concussion. Ryan could barely look at me after that, like he had seen or heard some version of me that scared him. Eventually Daniel was the only person who looked at me at all.

  My brother lowers his head. “Maybe one day you’ll tell Dad all about it.”

  I smile sadly and murmur, “Maybe.”

  In the movies there are always these poignant moments when people work out their misunderstandings, their miscommunications. But that’s not real life. In real life it’s hard to tell someone you don’t love them anymore. It’s harder to tell your father you don’t know how to live another day. My grief has stolen my voice.

  Daniel glances over to the restaurant, probably thinking about his lost dinner. “You can go back,” I tell him. “You don’t have to starve for my benefit.”

  He looks doubtful. “Of course I do. I’m your brother. Besides, Dad’s credit card can handle a room service charge. I was hoping for lobster.”

  I laugh, and Daniel and I walk toward the elevators. “Please come to the rooftop tonight?” I ask. “I don’t want to meet people by myself.” I’m not nearly as sociable as Daniel. I’ve learned to operate within the buffer of his charisma, avoiding the main focus so I can choose my words. Be funny. Now I’ll have to work on the spot.

  “What about that cute girl from housekeeping?” Daniel asks, pressing the button for the elevator. The doors open immediately. “You two were getting along famously. Besides, Aud. I wasn’t invited, remember?”

  “You’re just mad she didn’t fall all over you.”

  “A little,” he allows. “But it’s only Wednesday.” He winks, and I push his shoulder, my tension faded. Even with tonight’s emotional hiccup, I’ve been having fun. I can’t remember the last time that happened.

  The elevator stops on his floor. “You always have plans,” I tell Daniel, still hoping he’ll change his mind about the roof. He walks out and shrugs apologetically.

  “I’m very personable. It’s a gift and a curse.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  He chuckles and heads down the hallway toward his room. I sigh, my shoulder against the elevator wall. Daniel’s pursuits are wasted on Catherine, in my opinion, but I’m not going to bring it up. He seems happy with her, and more than anything I just want to see my family happy again.

  It’s just after sunset when I follow Lourdes through the metal door onto the roof. The air is warm, humidity sticking to my skin. The music is low and haunting—the slow scratch of violins, an echo of a voice singing. One of the servers from the ballroom walks by and presses a cold bottle into my hand. He’s dressed in a white T-shirt and black pants. His hair is no longer slicked to the side, but spiked out and shaggy around his ears. He winks at Lourdes.

  “Welcome back, gorgeous,” he says. Lourdes flashes him a smile and spins dramatically to watch him walk away. It’s flirtatious but playful. Jokey in a way you can only be with your close friends.

  “Everyone’s really happy to see you,” I say, taking a sip of my beer. “How long have you been gone?”

  Lourdes slides her gaze in my direction. “A while. I was suspended.” I mouth an “Oh,” but she laughs. “It wasn’t anything illegal,” she explains. “Kenneth and I just have a difference of opinion.”

  “I can imagine,” I say. “He seems like he’d be a terrible boss.”

  “You have no idea.”

  I glance around the roof and find the server who handed me the drink. He joins another guy, and they climb onto the edge of the roof, their legs dangling over the side. I point them out to Lourdes. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

  “Yep. That’s why they do it. In case you haven’t noticed,” she says, motioning around us. “Most everything fun is dangerous. I’m sure Eli has told you as much.”

  My heart rate spikes at his name, and I turn to her. “I don’t really know him that well.”

  She laughs. “You will—it’s Elias. We’ve all fallen in love with him at some point or another.” She leans in like she’s telling me a secret. “Our lot has been together for a while, Audrey. It’s about time we had someone new to stir things up. I am truly torn about your entire situation.”

  “My situation?”

  “You’re leaving soon,” she says, taking my drink to sip from it. “But part of me wants you to stay at the Ruby.” She hands back my bottle. “Now come meet my friends.”

  Lourdes starts toward the group sitting on a row of metal cylinders near the wall, laughing and causal in the fact that they do this all the time. I guess if there’s a party every night, one you’re not invited to, this is a pretty cool alternative. There’s an older guy about halfway across the roof wearing a green army jacket, even though the weather has grown muggy. His head is shaved and he’s handsome, and he grins the minute Lourdes and I get within three feet of the group.

  “Ah . . .” he says, putting his boot up on a crate, blocking our path. “It’s about damn time,” he says with a slow drawl. “This place has been torment without you.” He darts a look at me. “Now what do we have here? I don’t believe you’re supposed to bring guests to the roof, Miss Fuller. Is she an exception? What would Kenneth say?”

  “I don’t really give a shit what Kenneth thinks,” Lourdes says sweetly, reaching to run her fingers over his arm. “Besides, Jerome, he’s not the boss of her.” Her smile fades. “Or me.”

  Jerome lowers his boot from the crate. “He’d beg to differ. But you know I have a soft spot for you.” He waves us past. “Have fun, darlin’,” he tells me.

  “Thanks.” My questions are starting to multiply, but Lourdes walks on and I don’t want to get left behind. I jog to catch up with her.

  We stop in front of a group of five or six people. The waitress from the restaurant who gave me ham, the valet who flirted with me when I first arrived, even the quiet girl from housekeeping, among others, are here.

  “There’s our girl,” the valet announces, smiling at Lourdes. “Nice to see you again. We’ve—”

  “Yeah, yeah, you’ve missed me.” Lourdes brushes away the sentimentality, humble but endearing. The group watches her with adoration. A hint of sympathy. Then their attention shifts, and they lean forward, waiting for me to speak. I’m suddenly speechless.

  “This is Audrey Casella,” Lourdes says for me. “Her brother’s the hot blond one.” The girls and a thin guy sipping from a martini glass all smile and nod to each other. I want to roll my eyes, tired of people always noticing Daniel for his looks.

  “He’s also a nice guy,” I add. They glance around and laugh like I’ve told a joke I don’t know the punch line to. “No, really,” I say quieter, turning to Lourdes.

  “I’m sure he is,” she says. “But we don’t really judge people based on how nice they are. The nice ones usually go to the
party downstairs.” The valet reaches to touch Lourdes’s thigh to get her attention, and when she looks down to where he’s sitting, he hands her up a bottle. “Thank you, Joshua,” she says, then holds up the drink in cheers. “To our new guests,” she announces. “May they extend their stay and keep us company.”

  “Cheers to that,” Joshua says with a sly grin before taking a drink. The others murmur their toasts, and then Tanya moves aside for me and Lourdes to sit down. I take an extra sip, trying to calm my nerves. I don’t know any of these people—and I’m intimidated, especially when they seem to know everything about each other.

  “So tell me, Joshua,” Lourdes says, stretching her leg to lay her foot across his lap. He immediately puts his hand on her ankle, stroking his thumb over the skin. “How long have you and Catherine been rekindled? I had to hear about it from the dishwasher.” Joshua’s fingers still, and my heart sinks.

  “Rumors,” Joshua says, moving Lourdes’s leg off of him. “I know better than to deal with her. Not since the last time she stabbed me.”

  “Catherine stabbed you?” I demand, my worry for my brother spiking. The group looks over at me, and I earn a few stares from across the roof.

  “Shh . . . ,” Lourdes tells me. “We’re not supposed to gossip about the guests. And Joshua’s fine. He’s making it sound more dramatic than it really was.”

  “Yes,” Joshua says sarcastically. “I tend to exaggerate when women stick knives into my belly.”

  “What’s funny about that statement,” Tanya calls out, “is that ‘women’ is plural.” They all start to laugh, but I’m wondering if my brother is in danger. I want to ask, but at the same time I can’t tell if they’re joking or not. And I’m not sure how they’ll react if Daniel is hooking up with someone’s girlfriend. I’ll get the details from Lourdes when the others aren’t around.

  Lourdes swears from next to me, and I turn to follow her line of sight. Elias, dressed in a pressed black suit, is walking across the roof terrace and heading straight for us. I realize I’m grinning like an idiot, and I try to play it cool before anyone notices.