The Van Pact

19: Valerie

What did you think? That I wouldn't jump at an opportunity to see the inside of the Valley Hotel? It's like you don't know me at all.

Let me tell you: the inside of the Valley Hotel is even better than the outside. The lobby is gorgeous. There's gold plate everywhere, but not in a garish Donald-Trump-way. In a sparkly, here's-a-little-something-beautiful-to-look-at-way. There's mahogany furniture, and huge windows opening out to the street. There's burgundy and green velvet seat cushions; tall, exotic ferns; mosaic tilework on the floor; and ceilings so high you feel like you're in an arboretum. The whole place oooozed money.

Jesse did not lie. He did have a good dare. It was so good of a dare, that he went inside along with Stevie and me. We were supposed to walk right passed the front desk, pop into the gold-plated elevator, stop on every floor, walk in every unlocked public room, and if anybody tried to stop us, we were to fix up a story as to what we were doing there. It was brill.

On the first floor, we went in the gift shop and one of the two banquet halls (and sweet mercy, the table setting was fancy). The other banquet hall was 'reserved for an event.' I wanted to peek past the lace curtains on the hall's closed French doors, but Stevie grabbed the sleeve of my jacket and pulled me away before I could get close. As we walked toward the main elevator, Stevie seemed particularly nervous. I caught her glancing over her shoulder at the well-dressed man behind the front desk. Luckily for her, he was too distracted by his phone to notice. Once the elevator door opened and closed and we were safely out of sight of the front desk, I scolded her for being so obvious with the staring. It was like she was wearing a sign that said, all caps, neon, I DON'T BELONG HERE.

On the second floor, we found the gym and three or four unused meeting rooms. We also found a couple public restrooms. I've never seen a bathroom so pretty: black and white tile floors; a cherry wood Art Nouveau sofa with soft pink upholstery; no paper towels or air drying devices, but instead these stacks of maybe a hundred pristine white hand towels, folded into cranes. If I'd had my bookbag with me, I would have pinched a couple for souvenirs.

Then we located the vending machines and the ice makers on floors two-through-fourteen Although the fourteenth floor was actually the thirteenth floor. That triskaidekaphobic detail of twentieth century architecture always tickles my fancy. The fifteenth (or really fourteenth) and sixteenth (or really fifteenth) floors were penthouses. You needed a special key to even get off there.

On the ride back down to the lobby, Jesse pointed out the collage that hung on the inside of the elevator's door. Spliced together were probably about fifty different photographs of visitors to the Hotel, each of varying levels of fame: JFK and Jackie, to Billy Joel (that asshole), to Shirley Temple, to the Dali Lama. Stevie seemed impressed that Tony Bennett was amongst that number- lulz, because she would be- but it got me thinking that it was funny that hotels and restaurants brag about stuff like that. Just that a certain human slept in one of their rooms, or ate one of their egg benedicts. It doesn't seem like a thing to brag about. Now, super fancy amenities, or really good food, sure, brag all you want. But why bring up Billy Joel? Who should care?

When we got out at the lobby, Stevie looked relieved. She shouldn't have been, because I noticed that the previously closed banquet hall had opened their French doors. I poked Jesse.

"Hey," I pointed to the banquet hall with my thumb, "that's now an unlocked public room. Are we required to enter it, author of the dare?"

Jesse peeked at the hall and scrunched up his face like he was thinking.

"I think that counts," he decided.