Illuminate (3 page)

“I found this at that antique shop I always drag you to with me,” Joan said.

“Right, the one next to that bookstore that I always sneak into when you take too long.”

“Exactly.” She smiled. “I just thought it looked special, like you, and unique.” She kissed the top of my head. “I liked the wing, because you’re really going places, you know that? You’re soaring, Haven. You have so much ahead of you.”

“Thanks, Joan, I love it, I really do.” I gave her a hug and held her a few seconds longer than I normally might.

“Maybe you’ll actually wear this one, you think?” she asked, smoothing my hair.

“I’ll prove it.” I dangled the necklace from my finger and lifted up my hair. “Would you?”

“I’d be honored.” She fastened it on, then turned me around by my shoulders and straightened it in place so it hit just at that little indented spot at my throat. “Perfect, go see.”

I studied myself in the bathroom mirror. My eyes went directly to the pendant. Generally, everything about my appearance seemed either imperfect or, at best, plain Jane. My nose always looked to me like a blob of uncooked cookie dough. My hair, skin, and eyes were just one shade off from one another in the color spectrum: caramel skin, bone-straight honey brown hair, dark amber eyes. The pink scrubs hanging as they did on my boyish frame did nothing to improve upon all this.

And I had worn entirely the wrong long-sleeved thermal shirt underneath the V-neck top today. My favorites were in the hamper and poor planning had left me with only this old one, with a V-neck just a touch too deep. I looked at the mirror now and wondered if that corner of my scar—the three nasty stripes angled like accent marks and pebbled in texture like burns, located in the space above my heart—had been peeking out like this all afternoon. It was only two inches long but, when coupled with the pair of scars on my shoulder blades, collectively signaled one big, marred canvas. The necklace clearly should have looked glaringly out of place having me as its unworthy mannequin. But somehow this new piece seemed at home. The intense shine of the gold caught the light and cast a soft glow upon my face. I did like it actually. Perhaps I was growing up at last. Maybe this was the first sign of the sophistication to come.
Sixteen.
It felt weighty, substantial, important.

“I love it,” I called out, still admiring it in the mirror. “Thank you so much.”

2. Good Things Come in Threes

Monday came entirely too fast, as it always does. But this time the new week landed with a greater thud in the pit of my stomach. The weekend was a blur of packing. I felt as though I were going as far as the South Pole, not as near as the South Side of Chicago’s Loop. Finally, with two large, overstuffed duffel bags in tow, I found myself outside the imposing fortress of the Lexington Hotel.

My new abode was set on the block’s corner plot where South Michigan Avenue and Twenty-second Street crossed. The brick behemoth reached ten stories into the sky and was belted a third of the way up and again near the top by bands of ornate terra cotta in a pattern of curlicue designs. The bloated vertical seam along the corner of the building bulged where half-moons of bay windows jutted out on each floor. Those were probably some of the best rooms. I had always wanted a bay window—it seemed that girls in old movies were endlessly curling up by them to read or daydream. At the very top, where the sides of the building came to a point, a triangular flag stood proudly, like a college pennant, but rigid, not waving an inch and likely made of steel. It was strung with lights that glowed to read
LEXINGTON.

“Not a bad second home, honey,” Joan said.

“Yeah.” The awe in my voice was evident as I peeked up through the car window. “Wow. It’ll do.”

Joan had pulled the car up to the grand entranceway, which glittered with the promise of romance and style within. Lined by a pair of pillars on each side, the doorway was shaded by a crimson awning and framed in a stone border dotted with golden disks bearing the hotel emblem: the letters L and H entwined nearly one on top of the other. The revolving door, set above a handful of red-carpeted steps with a ramp beside them, beckoned me now. The ground-level exterior, unlike the rest of the hotel, was modern, with swaths of opaque black glass in place of picture windows set in the brick, making it impossible to see in but leaving you to wonder what might be looking out at you.

“Let’s get you moved in, shall we?” Joan said, climbing out to unpack the trunk. I nodded and pushed open the car door to follow.

Overnight, that aggressive winter chill had mellowed into a curious, unseasonable balminess. I pulled off my parka, rolled up my sleeves. I had done my best to look as professional as possible, in a button-down shirt, black pants, and flats, but I still felt too plain for this place. I had spent enough time Googling my new employer and the goings-on of the hotel itself to know that there would be a level of style here that reached far beyond what I was capable of. This Aurelia Brown, from the pictures I’d seen, was perfect—brilliant and beautiful, all things every girl wants to be—and yet somehow looked like she wasn’t even old enough to have graduated from college. I suspected I would have much to learn here.

I lifted the body bag–size duffel onto my shoulder, stumbling under its weight.

“Oh dear, give me that,” Joan said, lifting the other bag onto her shoulder and taking mine from me so she was equally weighted. “Do you want me to go in with you? What time is Dante coming?”

“Five minutes ago.” I studied the building’s entrance. My heartbeat sped up.

“That’s our Dante,” she said.

I shook my head and smiled. He was always late, but it was part of his charm. You couldn’t be mad at him, because when he finally did arrive, it was always with such fanfare, you got swept up by it. I checked my watch: 8:52 a.m. Our start time had been called for 9:00.

“I think I’ll wait another minute. At least it’s weirdly warm out,” I said. “But you go, I’ll be fine. Really.” I stuffed my parka under my arm and took the straps of the bags from her hands.

“You sure?”

No.
I nodded anyway.

“Isn’t there at least a bellhop or something?”

“The place hasn’t opened yet. And besides, I’m not a guest. I’m probably going to end up
being
the bellhop.”

“I hope not. How would you lift all those heavy things all day?”

“I don’t know, but it would be fun if I got to wear one of those jaunty little caps, you know the ones?”

Joan wasn’t listening.

“Don’t let them have you doing anything dangerous.” She pointed her finger at me, in that way of hers.

“I’ll be fine, Joan. Promise.”

“Don’t be nervous.” She pulled me into a bear hug and rocked me back and forth, then kissed my forehead.

“Joan, I’m fine!”

“I know, I know, no PDA, got it.” She pulled away smirking. “You’re gonna do great. And home is just an L ride away. Call me later, okay?”

“Will do.” I bit my lip, looking over her shoulder at the street behind her. None of the cars matched Dante’s mom’s old station wagon.

“Happy birthday, Haven.” She climbed into the car with a wave. I touched the necklace and waved back, watching as she inched out into the light traffic and disappeared down the street. I was on my own. A chill shivered through me even though it was so warm. On a day like today, Dante was the best and most necessary crutch imaginable. But he wasn’t here yet and now it was nine o’clock. Bells chimed in the distance, a church somewhere scoffing that I was about to be late. Not the ideal first impression. I had no choice.

I heaved my bags one on each shoulder and trudged up the red-carpeted ramp and through the revolving door. I had made it only a few steps inside when I let the bags slide to the floor with a thump and dropped my coat on top of them, involuntarily abandoning them to explore. The lobby of the Lexington sparkled; unreal and untouched, pristine and glorious. And empty, too. It felt magically hollow, a place you had stumbled upon that you shouldn’t have, somewhere that was supposed to be locked up and then unveiled with all the pomp and circumstance it deserved.

A carpet of red and gold, with that L and H insignia, sprawled out in all directions and up a grand staircase. Hallways to my right and left held the promise of beautiful gathering places, rooms still to be discovered. Straight ahead, a plush golden ottoman—raised to a point in its center so it looked like a giant spinning top—stood ready to seat at least a dozen or more. But the real show played out directly above: a crystal chandelier shimmered, casting prisms in its countless dangling facets. Beyond that, ten stories up, sunlight streamed down from a skylight so immense it seemed to illuminate the whole place without electricity at all. A portion of each floor of the hotel featured waist-high barriers allowing guests to peer over at the lobby below or at the skylight above. I sat on that ottoman and gazed above, past the magnificent chandelier, and had the sense of being in a giant Gothic church, a place so airy that you felt immediately uplifted. I had never been somewhere so vast and splendid all by myself. Majestic spaces like this were made to be full of people, bustling with bodies. But now it was all mine. It thrilled me, this freedom fluttering inside me, my fingers tingling. Free, for a moment at least, from anyone’s rules or expectations. I wouldn’t have thought I would have liked this feeling, because it came with uncertainty too. But I did.

However, I knew that someone, somewhere in this opulent new home of mine, was waiting for me, ready to show me the ropes. And I had to find them. I hadn’t necessarily expected a welcoming committee, but it did seem odd that there wasn’t a single soul around. There was no one manning the imposing marble front desk opposite the sweeping staircase. No one at the narrow oak bellhop stand near the doors. No one filing out from the bank of elevators. Was it possible that everyone was already corralled in some conference room?

“Hello?” I called out, but my voice was so meek in this grand setting. “Hello?” I wandered to the front desk, letting my fingertips run along the length of the cool, smooth marble. It was set a step or two above me and I stood on my toes to try to see beyond it. Then I heard it: the faintest of whispers. Behind the desk there was an archway, and a corridor in near darkness. A quick blade of light sliced into the dim hallway—a door opening—as an hourglass figure stepped out, silhouetted. A man’s silky voice followed her, wrapping around the air. “You forgot something.” A hand grabbed her bare upper arm and a tall, lean suited-up man stepped into the light, pulling her close and breathing, “This.” He planted a kiss just below her ear and combed his fingers through her shoulder- length waves, kissing her once more.

The woman lifted his chin with her delicate fingers, looking into his eyes. I was so mesmerized I didn’t register the swoosh of the revolving door.

“There she is!” a voice rang out, yanking me out of my haze. On reflex, I jumped away from the desk, jittery as if I’d been caught shoplifting, and stumbled while running toward the front door. There stood Dante with his three matching leopard print suitcases and the quiet guy from our AP European History class. My best friend stretched out both arms: “Happy birthday, sweetie!”

“Aww, thanks.” My heart was still racing. I tried to settle down.

Dante gave me a hug and kissed me on the cheek. “Sorry I’m late. Did we miss anything?”

I shook my head. “No one has come out to meet me yet.”

“Hey, you remember Lance,” Dante said, gesturing to the kid beside him.

“Of course, hi.” I recognized him but I didn’t know if we’d ever actually spoken to each other in so many years of school.

“Hey,” Lance offered, barely audible, nodding once in my direction. Reed-thin in baggy jeans and a Cubs T-shirt beneath his hooded zip-up, he towered over both Dante and me, but seemed to compensate for this with a concave posture. He leaned forward as though forming a cage shielding the center of his chest. His hands were plunged deep in his jean pockets. “And, um, happy birthday, I guess.” He pushed his horn-rimmed glasses up farther on his nose.

“Thanks.” I quickly smiled, awkward. Our eyes danced around each other, then his gaze dropped.

“He’s the third intern, so the gang’s all here,” Dante said. “Don’t they say good things come in threes?”

“Except for three on a match,” I clarified. “You know, if you light three flames off one match someone dies? Something like that.”

“What?” Dante asked, his voice tinged with annoyance, as it was whenever one of my trivial facts got in the way of an otherwise pleasant conversation (which was often).

“Yeah, that’s bad luck,” Lance agreed, glancing sideways from behind his glasses, his eyes grabbing at mine for another flash. The overbearing frames dwarfed his face. They were all I could focus on when I looked at him.

“Well, then you’re lucky I didn’t have time to find a candle.” Dante held out a plastic container and gave it a gentle, celebratory shake. “Ta-dahhh! For you, my friend,” he said, handing it to me. Inside the small, clear dome was a single, perfect cupcake—pink icing dusted with round confetti-like pastel sprinkles and 16 in candy numbers perched on top.

“Dan, you shouldn’t have.”

“Please! It’s nothing.”

“Thanks, you’re the best,” I said but he was already walking away, transfixed.

His eyes rose upward toward the skylight. “Whoa.”

Lance, equally entranced, kneeled on the ottoman staring up at the hundreds of tiny lights along the cords suspending the chandelier. His lips were moving like he was counting: “That’s 1,482—no . . . 83, 1,483 lights. How ’bout that?” he mused. “How do you think they change those when they burn out?” He then wandered toward the front desk. Above it, a screen flashed through a series of the stories that had run in the
Tribune
and some of the other local papers and magazines.

“This place is outta control,” Dante gushed.

“Yeah, I know, right?” I answered.

“I’m so glad you like it.” From somewhere behind me, another voice, a woman’s low and sweet rasp like a crackling fire, shattered my thoughts. This was the voice I’d heard in whispers earlier. She floated down the grand staircase from the second floor, long and lean with a model’s proportions. She wore a fitted black suit jacket over a knee-length black dress, a frill of lace peeking out above the front buttons. She held a clipboard in her hands and now had her light locks pinned up in a French twist, soft tendrils escaping to frame the sharp, unreal angles of her face. We watched her without a word. Lance shuffled over to stand near Dante and me, the three of us side by side like soldiers.