No one replied. The breathing on the call mixed with moans from the couple behind her, who evidently enjoyed having a captive audience. Bedsprings creaked with the undulating tempo of proficient lovemaking. By Sterling’s ear, with the woman on top. Good for her.
“Oh, yeah, just like that,” said the Russian woman.
The man immediately sped up, springs squeaking at jackrabbit pace. Typical. Couldn’t follow simple instructions.
Sterling covered her free ear to focus on the call. “Hello?”
The line went dead. She hung up. It rang again, so she shrouded herself under the curtain, giving them more privacy to do… whatever was making the Hungarian man grunt. The suite was stiflingand smoggy. She pressed her bone-tired forehead to the icy window pane as she answered, mock-banging her head against it between each frustrated word:
“Hotel. Orient. Concierge. Speaking.”
No reply.
“Please. For the love of whatever deity you choose, stop calling this number.”
She hung up. Cradling the phone in her arms, she leaned against the cool glass, eyes closed. It rang. Again.
“Who. Are. You?”
A gruff voice crackled through, his accent a French caricature. “My, my, my, don’t you look delicious tonight? Who I am isn’t your concern,Sterling.”
The fine hairs on her arms stood. She peeled one eye open, eyebrow arched, and squinted through the foggy window. She was on the fourth floor, and the French consulate across the street was closed. During the day she could see into the offices, their bookcases stacked with identical blue binders with white labels and desks staffed with men in identical blue suits with white shirts. But at this hour, it was empty. Well, it should have been.
She wiped a circle in the condensation. Someone was standing in the window directly across the way. Sterling leapt back, knocking the phone base to the floor, the receiver still by her ear. Across the way, the silhouette jumped too.
She exhaled, clutching her chest, almost laughing with relief. Darkness had transformed the consulate’s windows into mirrors. It was merely the Hotel’s reflection staring back at her, a scattering of red lamps and intertwined shadows.
Ducking behind the curtain, she peered down at the consulate’s fogged glass entry vestibule, where the lecherous security guard’s cold blue flashlight blinked on and off. The guy was a creep, always leeringat Fernando. The flashlight’s Morse code message merely signaled his boredom. The only sign of life in the unlit offices towering above him was on the third floor, one level down from Sterling, where a sliver of light gleamed from the crack in an open office door, slicing across the anti-static carpet. A shadow crossed over the strip of light. Sterling shivered.
“Who are you? Where are you?”
The sliver of light disappeared. Whoever was in there had closed the door.
“My name isn’t important. What matters is I’m close enough to see you. The moonlight suits you.”
Terror crawled up her spine. Her ears thrummed. She’d been hiding in Austria long enough she’d almost forgotten this sensation. The acute fear of being found. How it tightened her throat. How it tasted metallic, like rolling a bullet under her tongue.
She clenched her eyes shut. No, she was being paranoid. She was safe at the Orient. Mr. K ensured it. She wouldn’t let some prankster rattle her.
“Listen, not to kink-shame, but if you want a peep show, kindly pay for one in the Gürtel and leave our guests alone.”
She hung up. The couple was going at it atop the sheets. The open curtains should have tipped her off about their exhibitionist streak.
The phone rang again. She ripped the cord from the wall, taking a few chunks of plaster with it. She’d explain to Mr. K in the morning. Sterling kept her eyes on the carpet as she left.
When she returned to the office, Fernando still wasn’t back. And the switchboard was awash with blinking lights.Oida. Every upper-floor room was calling. Sterling looked at the knot of cords underneath the box, unsure where to start. “Fuck it.”
She flipped the switch for the entire system. Boom. Problem solved. Look at her, real Concierge of the Year material.
She sighed, basking in blissful quiet.
The front door opened. Theunlockeddoor. The footsteps walking in weren’t Fernando’s. A frisson of fear brushed over her skin.
The intruder was a young man wearing a loose gray delivery uniform that emphasized his slender frame. He held a cardboard box low, by his pelvis. He yawned. If this was the creep from the phone here to hunt her down and kill her, he seemed rather nonchalant about the matter.
As a precaution, Sterling watched his hands while hers fumbled, searching the desk for an improvised weapon, accidentally ringing the brass service bell as she did. A letter opener rested atop today’s delivery of love letters from her admirers, which she hadn’t bothered to open yet. She grabbed it, and concealed it behind her back.
“Welcome to the Hotel Orient. How can I help you?” she said, muscles tense as her smile.
