By Ivy Stevens

“What is this?”

“This is your room.”
“This is not our room.” 

You’re 100%, dead certain that when you made this reservation, you asked for a suite, with a kitchen, bathroom and TWO small bedrooms. The room in front of you, at which the friendly front desk gentleman is gesturing, is smaller than your first apartment. There’s a desk, a wardrobe, a door that clearly leads to a small bathroom, and one, single queen sized bed. “I specifically reserved a suite for the weekend.”

He looks confused, and slightly alarmed. “I’m sorry, you must be mistaken. We don’t even have any suites here.”

You close your eyes. Okay, so you weren’t the one to make the reservation, per se. That was your assistant Danny. But you did have a conversation with Danny, in writing, over email, about your expectations for your accommodations. This weekend is your only break between several long work trips. The last two weeks straight have been nothing but red eye flights and shareholder meetings at random company headquarters in cities all over the country, and the next two weeks will be more of the same. This weekend was your one and only chance to unwind, stop working, and relax for one goddamn second.

You open your eyes and shoot Danny a look.

He catches your eye and splutters, quickly swinging his backpack to the floor and rifling through it. Danny is young, new to the company, having just been assigned to you a few months before this godforsaken series of trips. It had taken some time to get used to one another, as is always the case with new assistants, but things had been working out more or less smoothly on the trip until now. You try your best not to compare him to your old assistant Patricia, who had been superb and had moved on to bigger and better things.

“I’m positive I have the confirmation right here.” Danny’s carefully not looking at you now, and you’re trying very hard to stifle the long-suffering sigh that is working its way through your chest. Finally, he pulls out some slightly crumpled printouts. “Ah! Yes, here. It says ‘suite, two rooms, kitchenette…’”

The baggage boy takes the papers, a practiced smile on his face. He looks them over quickly and then turns them around, pointing to the hotel name at the top of the sheet. “This says Hotel Armand. This is the Hotel Almond.”

There is a moment of complete silence as you stare at the paper, unblinking, before slowly turning your gaze on Danny. He makes that sputtering noise again, grabbing the papers out of the bellhop’s hands. He pulls out his phone, presumably to check the email confirmation against the one in his hands. “I don’t understand, is this not 148 North Augusta?”

“This is 148 South Augusta.” The man’s smile implies that this is a question he has answered more than once in the past. Your chest hurts with the pressure of holding in the groan that is currently trying to escape. You put a hand to your head and begin massaging your temple.

“Danny. Let’s make some calls, alright? Excuse us for a moment.” You turn on your heel and stride back down the hall to the front desk area, where you can at least sit while you figure out whether or not to strangle Danny. You’d driven through the evening to get here, thinking longingly of your private suite and cushy bed, and now it is 2am and all you want is some sleep. Danny follows at your heels like a sad puppy, still scrolling through his email.

“I’m so sorry Alex, I don’t know how this happened. I checked the address like five times, maybe the GPS auto filled the address without me noticing, you kinda get used to just following those directions without really thinking about it–”

You cut him off. “Just, call the hotel, the real hotel, and let them know we’ll be late for our reservation.” He nods and scurries out the front doors, taking the call outside. The front desk man returns to his post as you flop down in a recliner.

“If it helps,” he says from behind his desk, “that room I showed you is available. Last minute cancellation. You’re lucky. The music festival is happening this weekend, and most of the hotels around here have been booked up for months.”

You put on your most gracious smile and try to keep the annoyance out of your voice. “Thank you, but I really don’t think my assistant and I will be taking you up on your kind offer.”

“Ah,” says the man, raising his eyebrows. “I pegged you for a couple. No pun intended.” He laughs a little nervously.

You’re barely paying attention, having taken out your own phone to check on the rest of your itinerary. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” You look up. “A couple? I could be his…well, maybe not his father, but still…” You turn your attention back to your phone, pulling up your GPS to check how far away Hotel Armand is from your current location: 45 minutes, somehow.

“My apologies, it was just a…vibe.”

You finally lose the battle you’d been having with the sigh, dropping your face into your hands, as you realize the desk clerk was right: every hotel within a reasonable distance from you is booked solid.

The sliding doors whoosh softly as Danny reenters. You look at his expression and can tell immediately you’re not going to like what he’s about to say. He knows it too, judging by his posture as he approaches you. “Please tell me the good news.”

He opens his mouth, then pauses, seeing something in your face. You try to smooth your expression. You’ve often been told that you get a little scary looking when you’re mad – something in the eyes. It’s not an intentional thing, and you’ve been working on it. Not enough, apparently. When you’re tired you have a somewhat looser grip on your emotions.

After a moment he continues, in an apologetic tone. “The Hotel Armand has a very strict check in policy, and as it is now after 2am–” You wince. “–the suite has been considered forfeit and offered to another guest.”

You can feel a nerve on your forehead twitching, and you rub your eyes from a mixture of frustration and exhaustion. Danny perches on the chair beside yours, continuing with a nervous energy. “I called several other hotels in the area, but none of them have any rooms available, let alone a suite.”

“I know Danny.” You lean back in the armchair, giving up on your phone and letting your hand fall into your lap. “I was just checking availability as well. There’s nothing.”

Danny sinks back into his chair slightly, looking somewhat relieved. “Armand is only 45 minutes away, let’s just…show up, and demand they give us a room! I’ll fix this Alex, I swear I’ll figure it out.”

You glance at the man behind the desk, who seems to be carefully not listening to anything going on in his waiting room. “You’re positive that’s the only room you have available?” He looks up immediately, holding up a keycard – you knew he was eavesdropping. You sigh, from the bottom of your soul, and heave yourself out of the armchair. At the desk you snatch the keycard out of his hand, pat your pockets until you locate your wallet, and put your card on the counter. Danny rises from his chair to follow you, looking resigned. The clerk runs your card and hands it back. “Do you at least have another bed we could bring in? A cot? A sleeping bag?” You’re only half joking.

“I’m very sorry, sir,” says the clerk, looking rueful. “All our resources have gone to the out of towners coming in for this music festival. If I could get you something else I would. But unfortunately it’s true – there’s only one bed.”