Second Chances

The Royal Treatment

The Uber drove up to the entrance of the Four Seasons Hotel aglitter with a profusion of white lights and garland. George climbed out then opened the car door for Maddy.

"Gotta get my bag," she said.

"The porter will take care of the luggage." He escorted her through the sumptuous lobby decorated with fresh fir trees bejeweled with hundreds of tiny white lights.

"Whoa!" Maddy stopped in her tracks.

"What?"

"Leylandiis." She inspected one of the trees.

"Huh?"

"Leyland cypress. I've never seen these as Christmas trees. They're beautiful."

"Come on. Let's check in." They walked to the desk where an enormous fresh boxwood wreath adorning the back wall drew her attention.

"Hey, Georgie," said a sing-songy voice, which came from an impossibly beautiful woman wearing a tight-fitting navy blue suit. Noticing Maddy, she said, "I mean, Mr. Spiros."

"Oh, hi, Astrid," George replied.

"It's soooooooo nice to see you again." She smiled, displaying her perfect bright white neon teeth. "As always. If there's anything you need, Mr. Spiros, please let me know."

"Thanks," he said, trying very hard to not watch her walk away, her thick blond ponytail swinging in rhythm with her hips. "Astrid is the concierge," he said, trying to play off the encounter while swiping his card at a kiosk. He handed a key card to Maddy then asked, "Would you like to join me for a nightcap?" He gestured toward the lounge. "They're sorta famous for their amazing craft cocktails."

"I'm kinda tired," Maddy replied. "I think I'm gonna head up to my room."

George waved the porter over, who wheeled Maddy's suitcase behind him. "Would you escort this young lady up to her suite?"

"It would be my pleasure." He smiled. "The elevators are right this way."

"Maddy? See you for breakfast at eight?" George said.

"Down here?"

"Yep."

"Awesome. See you tomorrow."

"Good night."

When the elevators opened on the twenty-fourth floor, the only sound Maddy heard was a light piano version of "Carol of the Bells" playing softly in the carpeted hallway.

"It's so quiet up here," she said. "Where is everybody?"

"There are not a lot of guests on this floor." He led the way, transporting Maddy's suitcase to room 2407. He swiped the key card, opened the door, and wheeled the luggage into the suite. "Would you like me to stow your luggage in the closet?" he asked.

As the lights slowly faded up she said, "You sure this is my room?" She stepped into the spacious front entryway, a gateway into prestige and opulence.

He checked his card. "Madison Taylor, Davenport Pharmaceutical?"

"That's me."

"This is your suite." He offered a warm smile.

"Suite," she repeated, her eyes following a trail across the large wool rug where two leather loveseats flanked a sumptuous leather couch, surrounding a glass-top table. Beyond that was another room, perhaps a study, or an office. The far wall was lined with tinted windows overlooking the bay, the glow from nearby buildings reflected in the glass like Christmas lights. Staying here would ruin her for life. This is how the one-percenters live.