by Claire Adams
Makani got off the phone beside me after answering questions to a hotel guest about just that before she turned and looked at me.
"Another one?"
"Yeah. The turn out's going to be pretty great tonight."
"Sounds like it," I said. Makani frowned at me.
"Are you all right? Why don't you sound excited? You usually love these things."
"I do. I was just thinking about something. Well, actually someone."
"Who? No, wait. Let me guess. Our esteemed guest in the Hulopoe suite?" she said knowingly. I nodded.
"I was just thinking about whether he'd show up or not."
"Have you seen him since he checked in?"
"Not really. Just in passing. I know it's a big place, but nobody else really has, either. He was at the bar a couple times the day after he checked in, but that's it. It's like he's boarded himself in there. He hasn't done anything here on the grounds. He doesn't even come out of there for his meals. He orders in."
"We don't offer in-room dining, so the guests don't use it."
"You know what I mean, Makani," I sighed.
"I don't. He's on vacation. He probably came here so he could relax, and people do that in different ways. He has television, Wi-Fi, food up there. He doesn't really need to leave if he doesn't want to. Maybe snorkeling and hiking aren't his idea of fun."
"So he came here to look at the inside of his suite for three months?" I asked. She shrugged.
"Maybe that's exactly what he did."
"I don't think he's okay," I admitted.
"Why? Because he's a person who enjoys his own company?"
"I just think maybe something's wrong. It's been a week. Even if people don't end up doing anything while they're here, they'll at least come out of their rooms."
"It's like he's insulting you personally for not liking golf," Makani said.
"Joseph told me to get his suite ready for him, and I told him that he could look for me if he needed anything. I feel sort of responsible that he has a good time."
"As a concerned member of the Four Seasons staff, right?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. My eyes widened at what she was suggesting.
"Of course," I said, a little insulted.
"This has nothing to do with the fact that you're a fan?"
I shook my head. "I'm working, and he's a guest at the hotel. Him having a good stay is part of my job and responsibility." Makani nodded her head slowly like she still didn't believe me, but was going to let me get away with this one.
"All right. Go invite him to the luau. You're so worried about him not having a good time, go threaten him with one."
"You think I should?" I asked.
"If nothing else, go up there and make sure he didn't die when we weren't looking. Either way, you'll get what you want. You'll go up there and see what's been keeping him, or you'll finally get him out taking part in all the complimentary activities he's paying for whether or not he does take part."
I thought about it. She was right. Even if he was up there and hadn't been out for a week because he preferred it that way, then I'd know and would be able to rest knowing he was okay.
"Are you okay down here for a few minutes?" I asked her.
"Go. I've got this," she said, waving me away. Before going up, I grabbed some pamphlets from the concierge: the ocean activities one, the wilderness activities one, and the cultural activities one. There had to be something he liked from those three. If nothing else, then golf. Anything. I couldn't imagine coming to Hawai'i and spending all my time inside.
I got to the second floor and stopped at his door. I inhaled deeply, knocking. I waited, not hearing any activity on the other side. I tried again, knocking a little harder. The door was yanked open just as my fist was coming to meet it.
Nate Stone was standing in the doorway of his suite pulling a robe over his shoulders. He was wearing that, underwear, and nothing else. The underwear was stretchy, tight over his hips and crotch. So tight that I didn't want to look back down there to see just how tight. Christ Almighty, was this guy hot. I knew what he looked like without his shirt on, but it was different seeing it in real life. Different and distracting.
We were in the same space. I wasn't just looking at a picture of him; he was looking back. My eyes went down his body slowly before coming back to his face. He was fit and muscular, with ridges in his abdomen and two lines like a “v” at his hips, tapering down and disappearing under his underwear.
What had I come up here to do again? Oh right.
"G-good afternoon, Mr. Stone," I stammered. I cleared my throat. He came closer, leaning against the doorframe, crossing his arms. The movement made the robe move over his chest, tightening the large muscles there. Oh my God, could he at least tie it closed? I felt myself blush. Should I leave and come back when he's dressed?
I was trying to be professional. I had come up here to check on him to make sure he was okay. Well, he certainly looked that way. More than okay. A lot more than okay.
"Call me Nate. Abby?" he said, furrowing his brow a little like he was trying to remember my name.
"Right. Abby. I'm Abby," I said stupidly. Oh my God, when did I stop knowing how to form whole sentences?
"Is something wrong? I don't think I called the front desk today," he said. I looked at him, getting a better look now that he was closer. His hair was messy, and his eyes had dark circles under them, like he hadn't been getting much rest. He looked like he'd been stressed, like he hadn't taken that trip to the spa that I had suggested.
"You didn't," I said.
"You guys make personal room calls?" He cocked one brow asking me the question. I hoped I wasn't annoying him.
"No. We're just a little concerned, Mr. Stone. Nate," I started. "The Hulopoe suite's one of the best in the hotel, but you haven't been outside for days." He tilted his head a little, looking surprised.
"What? Are there cameras in here? Are you spying on me?" he asked.
"No, not at all. With everything to do on the island, we're just surprised you haven't done anything yet."
"I'm good. Thanks," he said.
I held the pamphlets out. "If you change your mind," I said. He took them and looked at them. "In fact, there's a luau tonight on the luau grounds near the beach."
"Oh yeah?" he said, not looking up.
"It's the first one of the summer. There will be food, music, and performances," I said. He still hadn't looked up.
"Uh-huh," he said. I blinked. Maybe this had been a mistake.
"Hope to see you there," I tried to say brightly. He nodded, not even bothering making a sound that time. I opened my mouth to tell him good afternoon, but stopped. I turned and started walking away quickly.
Had I been bothering him that much? What was wrong? Why was he in such a bad mood?
I sighed, wishing I'd said something a little different. Even if he was in a bad mood, that didn't mean he had to act like that. What was that thing people said about never meeting your idols? I never imagined he'd be so dismissive. Even if he didn't want to talk to me, he could have at least said it, not treated me like I hadn't been standing right there.
Maybe Makani was right; he didn't want to be disturbed. He wanted to enjoy Hawai'i from the great indoors. He wasn't going to come down to the luau. He was perfectly happy in there. If that was the case, then who was I to tear him away from his happy place?
You can't get them all, I thought, coming back down to the lobby. I had made the invitation. If he really didn't want it, then so be it. As long as he was doing whatever made him happy.
I got back behind the desk, flopping down into my seat.
"How'd it go? Is he dead?"
"He’s fine. He’s also not coming."
"He said he wouldn't?"
"He didn't have to. He was pretty upset that I'd gone up there."
"Really? Was he rude? He seemed like a nice enough guy the last time I talked to him," she said. I shrugged.
"I was obviously disrupting
whatever it was he was doing up there. He was just humoring me till I left."
"Maybe you just caught him at a bad time?"
"No, I think he's just happy spending his days and nights inside. It's fine. If that's what he wants, then that's fine. He can do that."
"Are you all right? You sound a little upset."
"It's silly. I just thought talking to him would be different. He was a little cold and dismissive."
"Bad fan experience?" she asked.
I smiled sadly. Nate Stone was a person — just like any other person. I knew that by listening to his music. I couldn't romanticize him as someone who didn't have bad days and who didn't have a personality of his own. I just always have expected that people wanted connection. Smiling at someone, being nice to them opens you up to them. I had tried with Nate, and he hadn't wanted it.
"I think we're doing our job leaving him alone," I said wryly.
"Who knows? He might surprise you."
I let myself think about it for a while. Nate Stone on the beach tonight. Given the way he apparently felt about company, I couldn't see it happening. Hey. I’d tried.
"He won't show up."
Chapter Seven
Nate
People have been getting addicted to heroin for decades. People have been getting clean for decades, too. Robert Downey Jr. did it, and he became Iron Man. I could do this. If I felt it coming and just managed not to do it once, this one time, then I could do it again. It would become easier. Then, I could become Iron Man.
It had been hours. I was running out of things to do and tell myself so I didn't stab myself with a needle and shoot the heroin directly into my heart.
I tried drinking; I had so much booze in the room, and it helped, but it wasn't the same. It had just made my head hurt. I tried eating real food, but the steak had only one bite taken out of it and was still on the dining table, stone cold from sitting there so long.
My body knew what it wanted. It was a fight. It was trying to wear me down, just make me do it because I knew that when I did. I'd feel great. I'd feel like shit for giving in when I didn't want to, but I'd feel great. That craving would stop, and my mind would clear, and I'd feel normal.
That was all it was. I just wanted to feel normal. If that meant feeding the beast, then that couldn't be that bad. Not if all the other time I couldn't even think straight because I was fiending too hard. I'd just take a little. Not enough to get me high, just enough to-
I heard my phone vibrating somewhere in the room. I got up. Where the hell did I leave it? It wasn't on the bed, not on the couch, not on the floor, either. I walked out into the living area and saw it on the piano. I went over and picked it up, sort of surprised someone was calling me. I was scared for a second that it might have been Kirsten, but it wasn't. It was my dad.
What was he doing calling me? I wasn't upset that he had; I just thought he had been traveling and was wondering where he was calling from. I took the call.
"Dad?"
"Nate. How are you?" he asked.
"I'm great. I wasn't expecting you to call me. I thought you had gone somewhere."
"I got back this morning. I'm at home," he said. Home was San Francisco. That was where he was. The same house I'd grown up in. He had never moved out. He had a lot of other homes around the country, but he always went back there.
"Did you have a good trip?"
"I called to ask about you, Nate," he said, laughing a little.
I sat at the piano with my back against the keys. He wasn't about to let me get away with not talking about myself. He and I were close; I liked talking to him. I probably should have made more of an effort to reach out to him since he was always checking up on me.
How did he know to call at just the right moment? Two minutes more, and I'd have had a needle in my arm, hating myself.
We had became close sort of by force when my mom died. I never saw him with another woman again. He had hired people to help with me when I was a kid, but it was always women old enough to be my grandmother. Never young au pairs from Central America he'd fuck on the side. The older I got, I wished he would find someone, especially when it was time for me to move out.
I'd been better about talking to him when the band had just started out. He'd always hear songs I was working on before anyone else, and I'd send him our music that we released independently myself, so he didn't have to buy it.
When the stuff with the band and Kirsten started going south, we stopped talking as much. He’d hired a lawyer for me during the divorce and had been really supportive since. He knew about the dope, but I spared him the gorier details of my addiction. Dope or not, I was in a bad place regardless, and he knew that.
"I'm okay," I said shortly.
"Is it all still the same?"
"I'm staying somewhere else. The beach house is gone. It's a golf course now. I'm at the Four Seasons."
"Oh, Lanai?" he said. He'd heard about it.
"Have you been?"
"Only once for less than twenty-four hours for work. Never got to really see anything, but it's a great choice. Beautiful island. Do you like it?"
"Uh, yeah, it's great. I'm having a great time," I said. I wasn't lying. I knew it was a beautiful island from what I'd seen of it coming here from the airport and looking down at the beach and ocean from my private terrace. I did like it.
The fact that I hadn't been outside or spoken to another person face-to-face for nearly a week straight was less important than letting him know I was okay. I would be okay, eventually.
"You learned to swim in Hawai'i, do you remember that?" he asked me.
I did remember. I was the only mainland kid, and I didn't know how to swim. After almost drowning myself trying to join them when they would go out into deeper water, my dad put floaties on me. By the time we were heading back to the Bay, I knew how to swim.
"Yeah. It’s great being back."
"How long will you be gone?"
"The whole summer. I need the time alone. LA's a disaster."
"You know you can always come home. If you want to move, you can have the house in Marin," he said.
I smiled, sighing. I was a twenty-seven-year-old man. I already had a house, and I didn't need to hide out in one of his properties. I wasn't that far gone...yet. I appreciated the offer, though. It was his way of looking out for me.
"Thanks. I'll remember that. I'm doing good, though," I said more brightly than I felt. "It’s nice here. Quiet. I don't have to talk to anybody if I don't want to. It's beautiful, too. I think it's good for me."
"It might be that. Maybe it'll inspire you with your music," he said.
There was something we agreed on. I had been playing a lot since I'd gotten here. Nothing new. Not even any of my stuff, just pieces I'd memorized over the years – some classical stuff, pieces from movie scores, things like that. I'd fallen out of practice when shit got bad. It had been nice to get used to playing again.
"Yeah. Let's hope it does," I said.
"Can I ask about the band?" Dad asked carefully.
"I think I'm done," I said honestly. "I don't want to go back. The label only wants to make money, which means they have to make music that sells, not music that matters. I don't want to put my name on something I don't believe in."
"Your label isn't the only one in the world," he said.
"I know. I'm not saying I want to give up. Remus started as something I loved, but it's changed too much. I won't sell out. I care too much about the stuff I write."
"Take your time off to think about that, okay? When you come back, talk to them; if their terms still don't work, buy yourself out of your contract and leave." The music business was slimy as all hell. It would be a lot harder to get out than what my dad suggested, but I agreed with him.
Remus’s first major label album had broken records. It had done great. We had had unprecedented ticket sales and sold out shows. All four of the songs we released as singles charted in the top ten.
Th
e album had twelve tracks, and in the beginning, as we were putting the track list together, I'd had nine songs that I had written on it. I watched that number drop to seven, then five, then four as the producers engineered what they believed would be a better sound for us, as far as popular appeal would go. They'd chopped some of my songs up, rewriting lyrics and changing the music before they used them, making them unrecognizable.
They made a Remus album that wasn't a Remus album. When it was released and had done as well as it had, I tried to take credit for it, but I couldn't. Not when I had almost nothing to do with more than half the songs on there.
If nothing else, I was getting my career back. The career I had wanted in the first place when I started playing piano with my mother over twenty years ago. The money was less important than being real. I could deal with less money, as long as it meant I wasn't lying to myself.
"I'll do that," I said. "Thanks, Dad."
"I'll leave you alone now. You get back to your vacation." I thanked him again for calling me and hung up the phone.
Sometimes it made me feel shitty that my dad was about the only friend I had left, but other times, I felt like it was a good thing. He was clearly the only person I knew wasn't trying to get anything from me. Me doing well would only make him happy because he cared about me. He didn't need me to make him money or give him money like the band or Kirsten.
I got up from the piano and walked back to the bedroom, feeling a lot better. I spotted my kit on the bed and walked over to it. I picked it up, uncovering some colorful pamphlets underneath. I had picked it up to lock in the safe or something so housekeeping didn't find it, not to shoot up, but what were those?
I put the kit down and picked up the one on top of the pile. It was a pamphlet advertising cultural activities and experiences on the island. Oh right, that girl from the desk had brought them up here. Abby. She had been telling me about something. I had sort of blown her off. I had had a rough morning. I looked through the pamphlet, looking at the colorful photographs and skimming through it.