McGrave's Hotel by Steve Bryant Page B

little guy.”
    “You aren’t taking her up to Mr. Lesley’s suite? You can’t do that.”
    “Sorry, sport, but you don’t get to escort all the pretty girls. This one is my turn.”
    “You can’t—”
    “No can’t , sport. This way, Miss O’Toole. I apologize for my young friend. He’s still more or less in training, don’t you know?”
    James watched helplessly as the arrow above the elevator swung through its arc, indicating that Roderick and Miss O’Toole were rising to the thirty-ninth floor. Dracula’s lair indeed. He hoped Mina would fare better than Lucy.
    Moments later, like a sheriff turning in his badge, James removed his cap, placed it on the Front Desk, and slid it over to Mr. Nash.
    “About earlier, Mr. Nash. When that girl came in with You-Know-Who? I should have been more professional. I submit my resignation.”
    Mr. Nash looked up from his paperwork, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “You do go on about the strangest things, Jim, boy,” he said. He slid the cap back over to James. “Have you had your break yet?”
    When the bellhops worked all night, they each received a one-hour break for dining. Usually, they spent the hour at a little table in Chef Anatole’s kitchen, feasting on his fabulous French cooking. If James had his way, he would gorge nightly on the desserts—the crêpes suzette, the profiteroles, the crème brûlée. Chef Anatole was a wizard.
    James shook his head to the question. He had forgotten all about such mundane things as food.
    “That girl you spoke of. You gather correctly that she is a Very Important Person. I hope you are in the mood to be more accommodating, because she has requested that you escort her to dinner, at our best table in the Boneyard Club. She wishes to dine with you.”
    “What? Me? That’s crazy.”
    It was staggering to know that anyone so lovely existed at all and that she was actually in the same building. James had secretly hoped to merely catch sight of her once more. That he might get to dine with her, that he might get to talk to her, was beyond his wildest fantasies.
    “But why?” he added. He did his best to feign nonchalance.
    “Her party has been traveling for many hours, days actually. The young lady hasn’t had time to dine at all lately, much less enjoy a decent meal. Apparently, Jim, boy, she singled you out as someone she would rather dine with than with her bodyguard. We shall have to chalk it up to your personal magnetism.”
    “Um, okay,” he said. “It seems most unusual, dining with a guest, but I guess I can eat with her.”
    “Thank you, Jim, boy. Given the young lady’s family connections, I was hoping you might approve this assignment. You are expected and may go on up. They are staying in the penthouse, of course.”
    “Of course.”
    “And, James—”
    “Yes?”
    “The girl. Her name is Fawn.”

Chapter Nine

     
    Dinner for Two
     
     
    If the prospect of dining with the beautiful daughter of Death was the most likely thing to make a boy’s knees wobble, the reality of being scrutinized by her bodyguard ran a close second. At least James did not have to deal directly with her father.
    They stood in the foyer of McGrave’s luxury penthouse, the hotel’s lavish observation residence floating high in the night, famous for its panoramic view of New York City, with floor-to-ceiling glass in every room. Across the greatest skyline in the world, a million lights were gleaming.
    The bodyguard did a slow walk around James.
    “I am Mr. Wu,” he said. “May I ask what is in your pocket?”
    James listed the contents: one brass master skeleton key, one compass, one magnifying glass, loose change adding to one dollar thirty-five, two sticks of chewing gum, and one jackknife.
    “Very good,” said Mr. Wu. “Merely curious.”
    Fawn’s guardian seemed to be gathering his thoughts.
    “Master James,” he said at last. “Many nights, I am with Miss Fawn. Many, many nights. I can never be far from her