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Chapter One
Brady
Two massive black SUV’s with dark tinted windows pull into the parking lot. The scene looks like a squad of FBI agents ready to make a raid. I wonder if the vehicles sport bullet-proof exteriors. That thought comes from watching too much “FBI: Most Wanted” and other police dramas on TV.
Hiding in a corner inside the lobby, I peak through a window and watch with interest. Presumably, our high-profile guest, celebrity superstar Alexis Taylor, has arrived.
The Christmas Inn’s staff are on edge about the A-list actress who’s booked a suite here for the holidays. It’s all they can talk about as they speculate her motives for hiding out in this small town.
She’s fleeing from a recent breakup. Apparently, she just broke-up with another A-list male star who was caught cheating on her.
She’s hiding out from the paparazzi who stalk her every move. Photos of the starlet doing everything from walking down the street to attending fancy galas, grace tabloid covers nearly every week. Although I don’t personally read those gossip rags, several employees at the inn do, and I tend to believe what they tell me.
She’s recovering from some serious disease. Unclear—the gossip in Hollywood is rife with rumors about her being ill and unable to work. I feel real empathy towards her if someone so young is fighting a major illness.
You’d think she was the Queen of England with all the fuss. The inn is pulling out all the stops, stocking her room with vases of real flowers, luxurious soaps and shampoos, and a giant fruit basket filled with every kind of exotic produce they could find this time of year. The preparations seem a bit over-the-top, but the marketing bump the inn will get from her mere presence is going to pay for all the extravagant perks, many times over.
Slam! Slam!
An entourage emerges from the SUV’s. Two bulky guys wearing jet black suits and dark sunglasses, hover next to the vehicles, standing with their arms crossed over their broad chests and their feet a shoulder’s width apart. FBI agent look-alikes playing the role of bodyguard? Why does she need those?
Next, a tall, thin middle-aged woman with bright red hair tumbles out with a laptop bag slung over her thin shoulder and a massive purse clutched in her hand. An assistant? An agent? A handler?
The over-sized purse bumps her hip as she strides towards the inn’s entrance as if she’s on a mission. She ignores the men holding sentry and doesn’t even take a fleeting look at the inn’s festive decorations. No sign so far of the starlet. Is this her advance team? Why does she need that?
I blow out a sigh as I watch all the pomp and circumstance surrounding Alexis Taylor. It’s going to be a long week if she insists on bodyguards and assistants accompanying her every move at our cozy little inn located in the small town of Hope Creek, Tennessee.
Her pompous arrival sure isn’t endearing me to her, although the pastor’s recent sermon at my hometown church pops into my mind. He cited the verse from the gospel of John, ‘Stop judging by mere appearances, but instead judge correctly.’ The pastor went on to explain that Jesus’ frequent teaching was that we should not be superficial in our assessment of other people. I need to give Alexis Taylor a chance.
The Christmas Inn is known for its joyful atmosphere and festive setting—holiday decorations adorn each room. This resort is where couples in love come to hear the chapel bells ring, declaring they’ve found their one true love. It’s not the place where high maintenance stars hideout from their latest problems.
Swoosh! Bam!
The woman with the large purse enters the inn with a flourish. As the door bangs shut behind her, the breeze accompanying her entrance topples several elves from the fireplace mantle. Willow, the inn’s part-time receptionist, plasters a smile on her face and starts to greet our newcomer. Before Willow can utter even a syllable, the woman says, “Alexis Taylor is checking in. Where’s the bellhop to assist with luggage?” She peers around the lobby as if bellmen are hiding behind the Christmas tree. Her huffy voice sets my teeth on edge as I observe the proceedings from my corner hiding place.
Willow’s smile slips, but she quickly recovers. “We don’t have a bellhop, but our maintenance man, Brady, can assist with the bags.”
The woman crinkles her nose as if she detects a foul odor. “I guess that'll do,” she says while waving her hand in a dismissive fashion.
That’s my cue, and I pop out from my hiding spot. “Show me to the luggage and I’ll bring it in,” I say with forced politeness.
The woman looks me over from head to toe, her eyes narrowing as if I don’t measure up to her expectations. I suddenly feel underdressed in my khaki pants and long-sleeved button-down shirt that the owners insisted I wear for this occasion. Will I get an even frostier reception when the star and her entourage sees me in my usual uniform of blue jeans and a T-Shirt? I am the maintenance man for Pete’s sake.
“Rufus and Harold can assist your man with the bags,” the woman says in a haughty voice, ignoring me as if I’m not standing here. Willow and I exchange a commiserating look, then I lope outside to deal with the bags.
The bodyguards stare at me with unflinching expressions, their sole purpose is apparently to guard the SUV and its occupant. Neither makes any move to assist with the bags. “I’m here to retrieve the luggage,” I say, looking at Rufus and Harold for any clue as to which vehicle the bags are in. One of them grunts and opens the back hatch of the SUV that’s still idling in the lot. My eyes widen when I see that the backend is filled to the brim with luggage. There’s no less than ten bags stuffed into the rear of the voluminous vehicle.
Unloading bag after bag, I carefully place them on the ground until I can round up the inn’s luggage trolly. Rufus and Harold don’t lift a hand and I don’t ask them to. The role of bodyguard must not include dealing with luggage or being polite.
When the rear of the vehicle is partially unloaded, I notice a woman sitting in the backseat, scrolling on her phone. She was obscured by all the luggage up until now. She ignores me and I ignore her. At some point Alexis Taylor will emerge, but obviously we’re all at her bidding until then.
Fifteen minutes, and several trips later, the huge stack of luggage is safely ensconced in the starlet’s suite. Even though she booked the largest suite at the inn, it was a tight squeeze for all her luggage. I chuckle to myself wondering where Alexis herself is going to fit. I double check the SUV’s spacious backend one more time, making sure I didn’t overlook anything.
After the vehicle’s rear door clicks shut, Alexis emerges. She’s wearing a fur coat that envelops her small body, sporting dark shades just like the bodyguards, and she teeters on impossibly high-heeled boots. Knowing her activism towards treatment of animals, the fur must be fake, although it looks very real.
She doesn’t even glance my way, her eyes still firmly affixed to her phone, as she strolls towards the entrance. The abundant festive decorations don’t even catch her eye, whereas most guests ooh and aah over them with childlike wonder. In fact, her body language of slumped shoulders and sagging chin, plus her lack of eye contact, gives off the vibe of someone who is dejected and unhappy.
Miss Taylor’s exit from the vehicle must be Rufus and Harold’s cue to leave. They hop into the SUVs and drive away, their tires crunching, and spewing up a little gravel. The roar of the engines eventually fade away as they disappear into the distance.
“Does Rufus or Harold have a hot date?” I ask, as I catch up to Alexis.
She jumps and spins, almost toppling over on her high heels. “I didn’t see you there!” she exclaims, putting one hand up to her chest and finally glancing up from her cell. I grasp her elbow for a few seconds to keep her upright.
Alexis dazzles with her sparkly and shiny beauty—from her golden locks to her polished nails and jewelry—but the snooty, celebrity air that she wears like a cloak detracts from her natural good looks. Her blonde hair tumbles around her shoulders, a cascading blend of white and gold, like a glittery angel. Despite the dark glasses, I instantly recognize her from a movie I recently saw her in.
“If you’d glance up from your phone occasionally you might notice what’s going on around you.” The snarky remark pops in my head and out my lips before I can suppress it.
She slides her shades up, gives me a dismissive look, then slides them back in place again, obscuring most of her pretty face. “Rufus and Harold would be bored at a quaint little place like this,” she says with a dismissive shrug.
Even though she ignored my rude comment about her phone, her rude comment about the inn stings and puts up my hackles. I’ve worked here for six years and feel pride and ownership in this charming B&B. Annoyance zips up my spine.
She’s a spoiled celebrity, so what is she doing at a “quaint little place” like this? I choose to let her remark slide. Instead, I graciously open the door for her, which I’m not sure she notices because she’s focused back on her phone again. Alexis sails through the door like a princess with nothing better to do than make a flamboyant entrance. When she sees that the lobby is vacant aside from her own assistant and Willow, she falls back into her previous slumped shoulder pose.
The redheaded assistant, who’s still hovering in the lobby, paces back and forth. Her agitated movements make her look like a caged lion. She also suffers from phone attention syndrome because she’s staring at the device clutched in her hand. She doesn’t even give Alexis or me a polite nod as we arrive in the reception area.
“We have that call in eight minutes, come on,” the assistant mutters, while staring at her phone.
Alexis sighs and trails after the tall lady as if she’s a reluctant dog on a leash. “Where’s the elevator?” I hear Alexis ask from the hallway.
“You have to use the stairs at this place,” is the assistant’s condescending reply.
Willow and I swap pained glances. This is going to be a long week. Strolling into the kitchen, I grab a bottle of water and contemplate our new guest. She sure hasn’t enamored herself to me so far, although I feel a begrudging level of sympathy towards her.
Maybe all Alexis Taylor needs is to unwind and have some fun.
