“Breathe,” I whispered.
“Right,” she nodded, gritting her teeth. After searching through her bag, she pulled out some folded papers. “We’re going to check in. You have about two hours before we have the table-read, so don’t wander off without your phone, all right?”
“Whatever.” Alson rolled his eyes as he started toward the entrance.
Heather ignored him, turning her attention to me instead. “Ready?”
I nodded and we followed the bellhop, who took the rolling cart from the chauffeur and led the way across the portico with its smooth, cobblestone driveway to the steps leading to the glass double doors. A greeter wearing the same red coat and black pants as the bellhop opened the door for us and we rushed inside the warm and luxurious lobby.
The lobby was a large, open room with high ceilings and plush red carpets. The dark wooden desk to the right of the front doors further accentuated the stark contrast between the carpeting and the snow-white walls. To the left of the doors was a restaurant called Black Diamond and straight ahead was a hallway. Beside it were four gold-plated elevators. Even though it wasn’t Christmas, I couldn’t help but detect the rich scent of cinnamon, probably blasted through the vents to get vacationers in the holiday spirit.
Heather walked up to the desk. I felt a sudden presence and realized that both Jon and Alson were standing beside me while Tox stood at a distance. As Heather was checking in, the desk clerk noticed Alson and her eyes grew wide in excitement. Gasping, her jaw dropped and she stammered, “Oh my God, are you? Is it? It is you, right?”
Alson winked at me, his eyes dancing as he sauntered up to the desk. Nearly shoving Heather over, he leaned against the counter. “Hi, there. I’m Alson Andrews. What’s your name?”
The desk clerk looked like she was about to hyperventilate. Her sandy-blonde hair bounced as she stammered, “Uh, I’m . . . I’m . . . I’m Jenny.”
“Jenny, huh? That’s a really pretty name. It’s nice to meet you, Jenny. The cast, crew, and I are so grateful to be able to use your amazing resort for our show,” he paused, surveying the lobby with exaggerated awe. “This is such a gorgeous place. I know it’ll make our show look great.”
“Your show is amazing! It’s unbelievable! It’s the best show on TV! I never miss an episode. I’m so excited you chose this resort. You’re my all-time favorite actor ever.”
Beside him, Heather looked like she might vomit. Alson clutched his heart at her genuine praise. “Jenny, thank you. That may be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
Brushing her hair behind her ears, she exclaimed, “Oh my gosh! No, thank you. I can’t believe I’m standing here talking to Alson Andrews! No one’s ever going to believe me.”
“Would you like a picture?” he offered, flashing his famous smile.
“Yes! Yes, please. Can I? Oh my gosh.” She pulled out her phone and handed it to him, trembling.
“Take our picture,” he ordered, shoving the phone in Heather’s hands. Quickly glancing at Jenny, he smiled, adding, “Please.”
“Whatever,” she muttered, rolling her eyes as she took a picture. “Could we finish checking in now? I’m kind of in a hurry.”
Jenny was staring at the picture on her screen dreamily. Finally, she looked up. Typing on the keyboard rapidly, she muttered, “So you’re staying in Suite 208 and Mr. Andrews—”
“Alson,” he interrupted, still smiling.
“Alson,” she repeated, blushing, “will be in Suite 209.”
“What?” Alson frowned. “We’re in adjoining suites?”
“Is . . . is that a problem?” Jenny stammered. “I could move you if you’d like.”
“No, it’s not,” Heather glared at Alson. “Adjoining suites are fine. Right, Alson?”
“Yeah, fine. Whatever.”
As soon as Jenny handed Heather the key cards, she passed them on to me. “Why don’t you take the guys to the rooms and help the bellhop with our luggage? I’ll be up in a minute.”
I nodded and headed for the elevator with Jon, Alson, and the bellhop in tow. As soon as the doors opened to the second floor, the bellhop turned right and began pushing the cart down the plush-carpeted hallway. Like the lobby, the walls were white and the carpet was a deep Persian red. The bellhop pulled the luggage cart to a stop in front of a red door with the number 208 in gold. I studied the electronic key cards until I determined which set were for that suite.
Unlocking the door, I turned on the lights. The bellhop, a middle-aged man with short auburn hair, struggled to maneuver the heavy cart through the tight doorway while Jon and Alson watched with disinterest. I was annoyed that neither of them offered to help because I knew if Rick were here, he would have without question. Thinking about Rick caused my frustration to increase. “Seriously? Neither of you is gonna help the man?”
Alson flipped back his hair, rolling his eyes as he walked away. Jon crossed his arms, frowning. “I think the man knows what he’s doing. Besides, I think I pulled a muscle at the gym. And you know I have a bad back.”
As Jon continued spouting off excuses, the bellhop pulled the cart inside and rolled it over toward the navy-blue couch along the left wall. I reached for one of the bags, but the bellhop refused to let me help. Wiping sweat from his brow he inquired, “Where would you like these, miss?”
Jon walked around the tired man and past the chestnut-colored coffee table before falling on the couch next to Alson who picked up the remote and turned on the television. As soon as the screen lit up, Jon grabbed the remote from him. Alson cried out and reached for it only to have Jon brush him off. When Alson began shouting for his bodyguard, I sighed, muttering, “You can leave them all here, thank you.”
“Hold on!” Alson’s ears perked up. “What about my luggage? This isn’t my room!”
“So?” I pointed to the door on the wall behind the couch. “Your room’s right there.”
“Exactly,” Alson nodded. “So my luggage should go in that room.”
“Are you kidding me?” I stared at America’s Favorite Teen Dream in disbelief. “You can’t move luggage from one room to another?”
“If this loser hurt his back working out, can you imagine the damage I could do to my back if I tried to lift all that heavy, heavy luggage?” he demanded, reaching for the remote again. When Jon shoved him off again, Alson angrily snapped, “You suck! Don’t you know who I am? I’m the star of this stupid show!”
I was about to argue when the bellhop interjected, “Miss, it’s no trouble, really. It’s my job. Just let me know which luggage is his and I’ll move it.”
I wanted to argue with the little jerk, but I knew if I offended Alson, it could cost Heather her new promotion or worse. Offering Alson a dirty look, I pointed to the three matching designer bags and opened the door as the man finished unloading our luggage and rolled the cart to the next room. This time, the bellhop left the cart in the hallway and carried each piece of luggage inside the room. Leaning against the doorframe, I said, “It’s really nice of you to do this.”
He placed the smallest bag on top of the other two beside the coffee table and wiped his brow with a white handkerchief. “It’s nothing, miss. This is my job. Is there anything else you need?”
A knock on the door grabbed our attention and we both turned towards the sound. Heather stood in the hallway and smiled. “Hey. Everything set?”
I pulled some cash from my wallet and nodded. “Yep. I’d say we’re good.” I handed the bellhop the money. “Here. Thank you for your help.”
He tried to hand it back. “I can’t take this.”
“Nope, that’s yours. Thank you again.”
“Dan.”
“What?”
He smiled. “My name is Dan.”
“Oh. Well, thanks, Dan.”
&n
bsp; He followed us out into the hallway and began pushing the empty cart towards the elevators. “I hope your stay with us is a pleasant one. Thank you for choosing Paix du Rockies.”
We watched Dan the bellhop climb onto the elevator, dragging the cart behind him, before I shut the door to Alson’s suite. We paused in the hallway between the two suites. Heather rubbed the back of her neck and sighed. “Well, one headache down, nine hundred thousand to go.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. It’s just . . . I was trying to get a separate room for your friend, but apparently the studio only booked a select number.”
“They didn’t book the entire hotel?”
She unzipped her parka. “No, they booked half the hotel and a couple trails for filming. Guess I misunderstood. Regular guests got the other rooms, but everyone knows about filming. Plus they beefed up security for Alson and Roch to avoid incidents like the one at the gate.”
“How much do I owe you for the room?”
“Whatever, Jordan. Don’t even start going there. You’re not paying. You came here as a favor to me.”
“I came here to go on vacation with my best friend. I had no intention of mooching off her.”
“Whatever,” she repeated. “You’re still not paying.”
I followed her into our room, prepared to argue, but stopped when I saw the guys. On the couch, Jon and Alson were focused on their cell phones and didn’t even notice the football highlights blaring on the television. Heather and I looked at each other and I smiled. “Leave it to actors to ignore the most important game of the season.”
Jon looked up from his phone. “Huh?”
Heather laughed. “All right, get out.”
At this, Alson looked up. “Excuse me?”
Heather motioned toward the open door. “You two go to your own room.”
Alson looked at us suspiciously before turning his gaze on Jon. Jumping to his feet, he exclaimed, “That’s my room!”
“Wait a minute,” Jon stared at me. “You can’t seriously expect me to room with this overpaid, no-talent, little putz!”
“No talent?” Alson puffed up his chest, attempting to match Jon’s height and size. “Who’re you calling no talent? I won an Emmy!”
“Did you order it online?”
“Hey!” I pulled Jon back. “Calm down.”
He took a deep breath. “I’m fine.”
“Well, I’m not!” We looked over at Alson. He flipped back his hair dramatically and put his hands on his hips. “This is bull. This stupid show is nothing without me! I will not share a room with some extra.”
“Extra?” Jon’s green eyes flashed with rage. “Did you really just call me . . . you’ve got a lot of nerve, you spineless little—”
“ENOUGH!!!” The room was instantly silent. My best friend, the calmest, most laid-back person I’ve ever known, had finally reached her limit. She pointed at Alson. “I know you’re the star of the show. I’ve heard it so many times in the past twelve hours I’ve lost count. And I get it—you don’t want to share a two-room suite. Fine, whatever. Stay there by yourself. Do whatever you want! I really don’t care.” More to herself, she groaned, “I’m tired of babysitting you.” She took the room key card from me and threw it at Alson. “There’s your key. And you,” she turned towards Jon. “Take a walk or something.”
Awkward silence followed as we all stared at Heather. She was obviously stressed out, but never in my life did I think she would express herself so openly. Apparently, neither did Alson. His eyes were wide with surprise. His adjustment to her outburst happened quicker than mine. He laughed.
“Yeah, whatever.” Turning on his heels, he headed toward the door and paused. Frowning at Jon, he said, “I wouldn’t even leave my worst enemy alone with . . . that. So . . . if you want to chill at my place . . . whatever.”
“Gee, who could turn down an invite like that?” Jon picked up his bags and walked past us, pausing in the doorway. “Yeah, all right. I definitely wouldn’t want to be left alone with these two.” Heather walked over to close the door when Jon popped his head back inside. Grinning, he added, “On second thought, maybe I would.”
Heather swung at him and he barely avoided her fist. She closed the door and leaned against it, sighing. I sat on the edge of the coffee table, giving her a minute to get her bearings.
“You all right?”
“Yeah. It’s just a lot, you know? I had no idea how much energy it takes to be the head writer,” she paused, laughing. “Actually, the head writer position has nothing to do with it. Alson is the problem. I can’t believe David’s only in the hospital for a hernia. Representing that kid for any length of time would put me in a mental institution!”
After locking the door, she crossed the living room and stopped in front of the granite bar that separated the living room from the small kitchen. On the bar sat a large basket filled with chocolates and two wine bottles wrapped in cellophane with a silver bow. I turned off the television and crossed the room to meet her. “What’s that? Something from the hotel?”
She shook her head absently as she unwrapped the package. “I don’t know. Wow, this is some really expensive stuff. I doubt the hotel would give a writer Godiva and . . . wait, here’s a card.”
“What is it?” I asked.
“It’s David. He says, ‘For the greatest girl in the world. Thanks for dealing with the pain in my neck while I deal with the pain in my stomach. I owe you.’”
“So, David,” I grinned as she was looking through the basket. “He sounds nice.”
She removed the cellophane wrap and tossed it in the trashcan beside the counter. “He’s very nice,” she agreed, a smile crossing her lips. Catching herself, I saw a look of guilt flash in her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’ve been so preoccupied by Alson and the show I forgot about you and Rick. How’re you doing? You know, we have an on-set psychologist if you want to talk to someone.”
“Wow,” I removed my parka. “You must think I really need help if you brought me a shrink.”
“That totally came out wrong. Let me start over. Rosalyn Grace is a clinical psychologist. She works at a clinic in Burbank and six months ago, she started to work for the studio in her spare time. She practically gives her time away to anyone on the show who needs her.”
“Why would a clinical psychologist volunteer her time to a sitcom? Is she a fan or something?”
Heather picked up a small box of caramel chocolate from the basket and rolled it over in her hands. “No, it never made sense to me, but I think she’s a friend of Nancy’s or something. Anyway, she’s really nice.”
“Have you talked to her?”
“Well, no,” she admitted, walking past me and grabbing her two bags. Carrying them toward the door to the bedroom, she muttered, “It’s just . . . I don’t know, some people think it helps to talk to someone, you know, unbiased or whatever.”
“You think I need a shrink because I broke up with my boyfriend?”
“What?” Groaning, she added, “No. Geez it was just a suggestion, okay? I’m not trying to get you committed. Whatever. Look, I’m gonna take a shower then head over to the ski rental place to get our equipment before the table-read tonight. See ya.”
8
“No thanks,” Heather replied when I offered to go with her to get the ski equipment. Straightening her celadon wool sweater, she took a deep breath. “There’s no need. I gave the ski shop your measurements last week. If the skis don’t fit, we can stop over there in the morning and they’ll adjust them. You just . . . do whatever, you know, get ready, and when I get back, we’ll go down to the conference room so you can meet everyone.”
I walked with her to the door. “Heather?”
She turned around. “Yeah?”
“Um,” I hesitated, scr
atching behind my right ear. “We okay?”
“Whatever, Jordan.”
“‘Kay. And about earlier . . . I appreciate the offer, but I don’t want to talk to some shrink. I hope you’d never feel the need to either.”
“God, Jordan, give it a rest,” she laughed. “Listen, we’ve all got stress. Major, cataclysmic stress. Sometimes, it’s easier to talk to someone uninvolved and I was just saying Dr. Rosie’s a really good listener. It was just a suggestion, okay?”
“Sure,” I nodded, feeling a little uncomfortable. “See you later.”
“Later.” Picking up her coat from the oak chair beside the door, she walked out of the room. I watched as Tox followed her to the elevator.
Sighing, I looked around the suite. It was probably the nicest hotel room I had ever had. The navy-blue, micro-suede couch rested against the left wall with an attractive, chestnut-colored coffee table directly in front of it. Straight back, a chestnut-colored dining room table and chair set were positioned in front of a large window overlooking the mountain so guests could enjoy the view while eating their meals. To the right of the table was a mini-kitchen boasting dark cabinets, granite counters and a stocked mini-bar. Along the right wall near the door leading to the bedroom was a chestnut-colored entertainment center with a forty-inch flat screen television on it.
Bitter Retribution Page 7