Room 702 (21 page)

“A little.
 
To date, I have approximately a thousand words and need forty-nine thousand words.
 
They’ve already given me an extension.”

“And the prompts didn’t work?”

 
“No.”

 
“And I don’t suppose you want me to recommend anyone to critique those one thousand words?”

“No.”
 
Aditi preferred to write alone, and not to share her work until the first draft was complete.
 
“I have a question for you.”
 
“Shoot.”

“Now, here me out, have you ever read fan fiction based on your works?”
 
As a successful author in the fantasy genre (which has surprisingly and recently crossed over to mainstream commercial fiction), she knew there were countless blogs and artistic portrayals of her characters.
 
Aditi counted herself lucky to have such dedicated fans.
 
However, her interaction level with her readers was limited to book signings and occasional interviews.
 
She didn’t go so far as to avoid them, but mostly, she had enough going on.
 
Between editing, writing, blogging, tweeting, research and a vacation once in awhile, there wasn’t time.

“No,” she answers honestly.

 
“Really?
 
Not once?”
 
“Why would I lie to you?”
 
“Okay, then that’s your assignment for today.
 
Get online, and read what’s out there.”
 
“What do you think will happen?”
 
“I think it’s important for you to see how others view your characters – what can be done with them.
 
The potential and possibility.”
 
“If this crazy idea works, you realize I will disavow all knowledge this conversation ever happened, right?”
 
“Yes.”

 
“Thanks, David.”

“Don’t mention it.”
 
Aditi places her phone in her pocket, stands up, walks around the room and opens the door to the patio.
 
Walking out onto the balcony, she takes a few minutes to try and clear her mind.
 
Sitting down and observing the world below, she relaxes and forces the pressure out of her system.
 
Having seen enough, she flips her iPhone onto silent and positions herself back at the desk.
 
Bravely typing in her name in the Google search engine, she hits the enter key.
 
Sure enough, a multitude of responses came up.
 

For the next few hours, Aditi explores a variety of different sites.
 
She finds casting choices for her characters, well-written short stories and tales that are barely legible.
 
She laughs at some of the comic scenes and is genuinely disturbed by other interpretations.
 
Although she had always been afraid to look, the author checks in some of the reviews on Amazon and finds a mostly positive response to her work and is delighted by the knowledge.

Getting up to use the bathroom, she comes back and checks her phone.
 
She hasn’t missed many calls, but sees that David has texted her.
 
She redials his number, and isn’t surprised when he asks, “How was your afternoon?
 
As bad as you thought it was going to be?”

 
“It’s funny, there’s some fantastically creative stuff out there.
 
I had no idea.”

“Speaking of ideas, do you have any?”

“Nothing concrete.”

“Have you tried writing anything yet?”

“No.”

“Why don’t you do that?
 
Aim for one thousand words today and then sleep on it.”

“Will you be the one to call my agent and tell them what I did today?”

“No, you’re an adult.
 
Now, open your keyboard and start putting words into sentences.”

“Fine.
 
Sure you don’t want to come over for a drink?
 
This hotel is really nice…”

“Get to work, Banerjee.”

“Yes, sir.”

Sitting at the same desk, with candy wrappers, at least half a dozen Winchester branded water bottles in various states of being finished, half-drained cups of coffee in saucers littered with partially nibbled cubes of sugar, remains of various room service meals, damp towels and clothes surrounding her, Aditi pounds fast and furious on her laptop’s keyboard.
 
Her concentration is broken by a knock on the door.
 

Pushing dark and slightly unkempt hair out of her eyes, she walks to the door.
 
Looking at the digital peephole, she sees a friendly face on the other side, and unlocks the door, opening it.
 
Suddenly realizing the state of the suite, she says sheepishly, “Hi Dawn, please come on in.”

“Thank you.”

“Sorry for the mess,” Aditi gestures to the week’s pile of things, scattered on every surface, and stacked into piles.
 
Together, they clear a space on the settee.
 
“I noticed you have only taken advantage of limited housekeeping services for the week.
 
Would it be okay for me to send them up now?”

Aditi waves her hand and answers, “No need.
 
Is there something I can help you with?”

“While we,” Dawn clears her throat and continues, “and I speak for the entire Winchester management and staff, are delighted to have you in residence, I do have to let you know that while we were originally able to extend your stay in the suite, in two days there is a previous booking we’ll have to honor.”
 
Aditi remains quiet.
 
This room has been her sanctuary.
 
What had started as a four-night stay has extended to eight nights.
 
“Miss Banerjee, is that okay?” Dawn prompts, “We could move you to another room, but I’m afraid our suites are all booked for the weekend.”
 
“No, no… I was planning on leaving.”
 
Dawn stands up and trying not to react to the collection of trash and accoutrement in the room and says, “Let me know when I can send the bellhop tomorrow morning to help bring your things down.”
 
“I will, thank you.”
 
Dawn hesitates another moment and says, “And let us know if we can help with anything else.”
 
As soon as the door closes, Aditi immediately pulls out her phone and dials her former professor.
 
Once he picks up, she all but shouts, “They want me to leave!”
 
“It had to happen one day.
 
Not to mention, I know you are doing well, but how can you afford to continue living at the Winchester?”
 
“What happens if I leave and the ideas go away?” Aditi avoids the answer with a question.
 
“When was the last time you left the room?”
 
“I’ll have you know I go downstairs for breakfast every day.
 
The muesli here is especially delicious.”
 
“Okay…”
 
“And once I went up to the rooftop pool!”
 
“And before that?
 
Any exercise?”
 
“No.”
 
“Have you left the property at all in the past week?”
 
“Er…
 
I’ve been busy working!
 
There hasn’t been time.”

“When was the last time you took a shower?”

 
“I…”

“Changed your clothes?”

“What does what I wear have to do with how I’m writing?”

“Have you actually interacted with anyone this week?”

“The room service staff are particularly lovely here.
 
Does that count?”
 
“Aditi, I say this with all the love in the world.
 
Go take a walk.
 
You’re turning into a shut in.”
 
“But…”
 
“No excuses.
 
Call me when you get back in the room.
 
And you must be gone for at least an hour.”
 
The author hangs up the phone, resigned.
 
Walking to the bathroom, she looks at herself in the mirror.
 
The reflected image is not one she’s particularly proud of.
 
Aditi can’t remember the last time she bathed, and although she usually boasts a fit figure from morning runs on the beach, the week long period without exercise has not been kind.
 
Splashing water on her face, she walks out of the bathroom and in the mess finds clothes that are vaguely clean.
 

Pausing at the door, Aditi keeps her index finger on the handle, unsure if she wants to step through.
 
What if her thoughts dry up after the walk through the doorway?
 
What if her ideas only exist in the Winchester?
 

 
Confidently slipping her key in her pocket, Aditi reminds herself she’s a good writer, that people enjoy her work, and opening the heavy door, walks into the hallway.

With two pieces of luggage (a Louis Vuitton Keepall 45 and a busted duffle bag) and two garment bags, a teenage couple creeps into the suite.
 
 
“Are you sure this is the right room?” Ben asks.
 
“Positive,” Chloe replies, pleased with the room.
 
 
Then, remembering his manners, Ben says, “I’ll just hang up your dress and my tux.”

“Thanks.”

Chloe wanders silently around the space, running her manicured fingers over the various surfaces.
 
She’s been dating Ben Harvist for awhile, and has decided the nuisance of her virginity is a problem she wants to get out of the way.

 
Does she love him?
 
Yes, or as much as a high school junior is capable of loving a high school senior.

Is she attracted to him?
 
Undoubtedly.
 
They’ve snuck around and made quick physical progress in their relationship.

Is it a cliché to lose one’s virginity on prom night?
 
Most certainly.

 
Does she care?
 
Not particularly.

 
Even now, finally alone, really alone, there is only the smallest distance holding them apart from fully consummating their relationship.

 
Chloe has no fantasy of this moment being some life-changing event, but she does have a healthy curiosity of what exactly happens.
 
How the process works, what goes where, how it will feel.
 
Part of the reason she’s chosen Ben is because he still has his V card.
 
While it might be better if she was with someone who knew what they were doing, she wants to believe this will bring them closer.
 

 
She realizes many of her friends (and most of the nation) are convinced she cashed in her virginity a long time ago, but she doesn’t care.
 
Let others believe she slept with Blade Mathers during the first season of
Take One! At Mulholland High
, but with Ben she feels there won’t be embarrassment.
 
Ben knows the truth.
 
Privately, he has nothing but respect for her.
 
She wasn’t ready to have sex with Blade and she didn’t give into the constant pressure.
 
She held her head high even when the entire country thought she had slept with him and called her all kinds of names.
 
He’s still not entirely sure how she did didn’t crack.

 
However, in this suite, Blade Mathers is a distant memory.
 
Although the young actor’s rising popularity makes it nearly impossible to get away from his face, Chloe is glad she’s waited for Ben.
 
It does bother her sometimes – what the media says, but Chloe is glad she’s made it this far without having sex.
 
As far as she can tell, intercourse complicates things and her life is already crazy enough.
 
Well, maybe something weird will happen, but she believes he won’t judge her or spread rumors about what takes place between them.
 
While Chloe has talked to her more experienced best friend Pepper, hastily viewed a few videos on the internet, and started a course of birth control, she is still equal parts nervous and excited.
 
 
“Who recommended this place again?” Ben asks, closing the closet door.
 
“Do you remember Chelsea and Shaun?”

 
“The Brits?”

 
“Yes.
 
She was just telling people she was pregnant.”

 
“We met them at some barbecue, right?”
 
“Yeah, anyway, he does real estate with my dad.
 
I talked to her for a little bit and she said they had a great time here.”
 
“I can understand why, this place is fantastic.”

“Better than the pool house at home?” she asks flirtatiously.

Accounting for the amount of time they have been spending ‘studying’ at the aforementioned location, Ben blushes.
 
Six months ago in Ohio, fooling around in the pool house with a semi-famous reality star seemed impossible, but then his father, a spectacular cook, accepted a job with Chloe’s incredibly wealthy step-father and the rest has been history.
 
He and his bratty sister had moved to the exclusive neighborhood of Mulholland Creek and started school among the rich and famous.
 
Ben changes the subject and says, “I still feel shitty about not paying.”
 
“Really, it doesn’t matter, and anyway, I’ve got plenty of money and trust me, this is exactly how I want to spend it.
 
Not to mention, every young man should own a tuxedo.”