x
The tattoo seemed to be a hall pass too.
Jane led me first to a floor with long halls stretching off in both directions, lined by tightly-packed doors on either side. The doors were numbered, and we strolled down the left hall until we found number 276. She produced a small fob and waved it in front of the door; a green light blinked overhead and the door clicked.
Inside was a small, clean, simply furnished room. It had a bed, a desk, a table, a chair, a restroom, a window, and a computer tablet resting on a stand – just what you’d expect to find in a hotel room, but with better quality and less decoration.
“This is your room. You can stay here whenever you want, and it’s a good place for you to rest or think or write later on today. But don’t forget what I told you – you are mine, and I won’t treat you like another girl might. I’d like you to spend your time with me. I won’t lock you in here, either. Here’s your key – you’ll need it to get out as well as in. If you do decide to leave the room, I only ask you to send for me first so you don’t get lost. Oh, and there’s a spyhole beneath the numberplate – see right here? So, if you do want to spend any time in here, I’ll give you a little piece of tape to cover the dot on your side.”
We left my room – my cell, really – as it was. Now that I knew about the spyhole, we flipped up the numberplate on several of the other doors along the hall. Most of them were empty, or too dark for me to see anything. I could just make out someone sleeping in a few of them. Jane motioned me over to one nearer the elevator. There were two or three shadows inside, crouching over the bed, rocking and arching and slumping in the dark. “I think that’s Vanessa’s ender in there. It looks like they’re getting ready to check her out.” She dropped the numberplate and confided, “Vanessa doesn’t like to get her own rooms messy. Do you want to watch on the monitor?”
I shook my head. No, thank you!
*
For the rest of the morning she guided me throughout the hotel, in what was apparently no particular order – sometimes we seemed to go up in the elevator, sometimes down. We paraded around the pool on the roof, and she stopped to chat to a couple of the girls sunbathing and to introduce me. The one named Jolie asked if we’d already made plans for tomorrow night, because she had thought of a few for me. Jane clutched me possessively, but she laughed. We went through the parking garage again (I had a bit of a car fetish), into several kitchens, and around the two floors of the private casino. Beside the enders’ rooms, very little of the hotel was empty. Girls and marks and visitors and staff were everywhere, lounging, bustling, or providing or receiving all of the luxuries for sale. I exchanged furtive glances with the few people I saw dressed like myself, but they each huddled closer to the girl nearest them and turned away.
We saw the “recreation rooms” – conference halls converted to stages for fantasies more elaborate than Jane’s spider web. Most of them were in use or being prepared for use. We watched from the control room as a chorus line with lacy petticoats and not much else beneath their skirts performed the Can-Can for a small audience of well-dressed business-types. Across the hallway, workers were tightening up the rigging on what appeared to be the inside of a one-ring Big Top, complete with wild beast cages and straw and peanut shells on the floor. One of the rooms was now a series of indoor pools, decorated like the bottom of the ocean. With a wink Jane told me that if I wanted to meet a mermaid, it could be arranged.
She took me through the back hallways where I saw the girls in various stages of make-up and dress. Whenever they noticed me, I was met with either an angry glare or worried scan, until their eyes flicked down to the tattoo on my arm and back to Jane. She showed me the security room, though only through the glass door, and pointed out the rows of solid-state drives archiving spectral, audio, and chemical feeds from every room in use. Each year, she told me, the government sampled the archives to verify federal standards were met and to exploit the requisite bribes. She took me to the investor’s office – her hotel wasn’t publicly traded, but it was a very profitable business. There was an elaborate cutaway model of a cruise ship the hotel was planning to acquire. She even took me to the morgue and crematory, and showed me how the smoke was reclaimed before it left the building to eliminate the odor, which was not good for marketing.
We ended the tour in a diner on the street level, where we sat on the same side of a booth, squeezed onto the red vinyl bench so we could both watch the same people. I was still satisfied from breakfast, but she ordered a grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup for me, saying I may not remember to get dinner tonight. As I ate, she silently pored over a small tablet from her purse. Then, while my mouth was full, she asked, “Molly or Claire?”
I looked at her for explanation, but there was none, so I swallowed my mouthful and asked, “What do you mean?”
“Choose one – Claire or Molly? First reaction.”
For no good reason I said, “Claire.”
She seemed pleased, so I finished lunch while she made jokes about the people passing by outside and whispered secrets into my ear. She had a taste of my tomato soup while it was still hot, but nothing beside.