Hotel Liasion

by JLee Meyer

  This hotel, reborn as Hotel Liaison, had been purchased the year before by a partnership, SDS-LLC, and had been in renovation since. According to the news article Laurel had found online, it was going to focus on women travelers. That was intriguing in and of itself. Between the name and the stated purpose, Laurel’s imagination was filling in all sorts of blanks. She had to laugh. Yes, Laurel, a hotbed of lesbians, all waiting to cater to your every whim. Still, a girl could dream.

  When the elevator finally made it up to the third floor, Laurel stepped out into a dingy hall that was carpeted with a wool runner complete with bare spots and a musty smell. She felt like an intruder and found herself almost tiptoeing down the hall.

  Gambling on the element of surprise, she’d avoided the administration offices, thinking if she could get a peek, maybe she could determine the value of the papers. Depending on what she found, she would either write the visit off as a pleasant diversion in a tedious day or she would have unexpected ammunition for a confrontation. Three years with Rochelle had accustomed her to the idea that everything was a battle, so she anticipated having to argue her way into being allowed to examine the discovery. If it was meaningful, she was positive that Rochelle would want to take over, and then nothing would be easy.

  But still, she had to take the chance. What if the papers were important? What if the discovery would put her on the fast track to being a tenured professor? Or better yet, have other universities vying for her services? She knew the chances were slim, but she mustered up the courage to try the first doorknob she reached, hoping it would be unlocked. This was trespassing at the very least. Maybe she could be hauled away. If the owners discovered her they might ban her from the property. Then they could give the right to examine the material to someone else. This was a terrible idea.

  “May I help you?”

  Laurel whirled to see a woman a bit shorter than her, with chestnut hair and intelligent brown eyes, holding what looked to be a large, heavy box. “Oh! Oh, dear. May I help you with that box? It looks heavy.”

  Laurel scrambled to find some excuse for her presence. This woman must work on the property. Her mind raced as she hurried over to help. The woman stared for a moment, then seemed to remember the box and almost lost hold of it. Laurel got there in time to take some of the load and steady her.

  The stranger said, “Thanks. I’m just moving in here temporarily.”

  Laurel couldn’t help but notice how nicely she filled out her jeans, but she shook her head to erase the thought. She held most of the weight while the woman fought to extricate a huge lump of keys from her pants. Finally, she was able to get the door open and plop the box on the floor in the empty room. It seemed spacious, not the tiny, cramped room her research had led her to expect. The wooden floor was scratched and almost black with age and it had a sour smell, but there were windows, too. She imagined that if the film of age and neglect were scraped off, there would be a lot of light.

  Holding out her hand, the woman said, “Hi. I’m Stef. And you are?”

  Laurel quickly shook her hand and couldn’t seem to stop shaking it. She self-consciously pulled away when she realized the woman had a curious look on her face, studying her. “I’m Laurel Hoffman. I…was just trying to locate one of my students. I understand she lives here. I teach at Cal.”

  That really didn’t explain much, but she hoped maybe this Stef person would let it go. Laurel cringed inwardly. She’d been discovered lurking around in a building she had no right to enter without the owner’s permission. The woman in front of her folded her arms across her chest, and looked her up and down dubiously.

  “She lives here? What’s her name?”

  She had no choice but to tell the truth. “Ember. She’s a pretty young woman who audits a class I teach in women’s studies. Blond hair, blue eyes, likes to wear baggy clothes. She’s very nice.”

  With a slight scowl, Stef said, “I know her. She’s at work upstairs. I’ll tell her you stopped by.”

  Realizing something wasn’t right, Laurel added, “Is she in trouble? You seem upset. It isn’t her fault I’m here. She was really excited about some papers that were found, and…I got curious. I wondered if I could get a look at them. So here I am.”

  That wasn’t what she meant at all. She hadn’t meant to blurt out everything. This intriguing woman made her tongue-tied. Stef’s deep brown eyes narrowed and Laurel was on alert. She must have said the wrong thing again. She ducked her head and quickly exited the room, mumbling, “I’d better go. Thank you for your help.”

  Halfway down the hall, she heard, “Wait, where are you going? Don’t you want to look at the papers?”

  Laurel almost tripped over her own feet doing an about face. “Do you know where they are?” She realized she must look like a fool and tried to stop fidgeting like a five-year-old.

  “Stef” slid her hands in her back pockets and cocked her hip. The look revealed full breasts and a very sexy figure. Laurel had schooled herself to not react to her students, some of whom were breathtaking, but this woman was about her age and it was all she could do to not stare.

  Probably reading her mind, Stef grinned. “They’re at the end of the hall, corner room. I have the key. They’re pretty dusty, though.”

  “I don’t mind. I mean, it’s not a problem, I’ve looked at old papers before.”

  Now she felt bad for maybe getting this woman in trouble with her employers. She couldn’t be doing that well if she was forced to live in a hotel that was questionable before, but now was under renovation, for heaven’s sake. Damn. Rochelle would have no problem with the small deception. Most researchers wouldn’t think twice. Laurel was always having a problem with ethics. She had them.

  Stef was still staring at her, waiting for something, and Laurel realized it was her turn. Sighing, she said, “Wait. You might get in trouble with your employer. I can’t let you do that. Tell me where the offices are and I’ll try to talk to them. They might prefer someone else to examine them.”

  The woman blinked, then straightened. Laurel swore her eyes turned a shade darker. Eighty-two percent cacao popped to mind. “I’m sure it would be fine if you looked. You’re a professor, right?”

  “Assistant professor,” Laurel corrected.

  “There were only ledgers and files and some clothes and things.” Stef sounded genuinely regretful. “Boring stuff. Probably a waste of time for you.”

  Laurel grinned. “Remember, I’m an academic. I love boring stuff like that. So, if you’re sure it’s okay, I’d like to see them.”

  Stef’s frank gaze made Laurel’s temperature rise. “Oh, yeah. I didn’t mean to insult you about the ‘boring’ crack. Okay, let’s go.”

  *

  There was only a bare bulb hanging from the center of the room. The windows were as grimy as the other room. No furniture, no place to sit. Some of the boxes were wooden but might be rotten. There was a lot of material, enough to fill half the space. This was, indeed, going to be a project, and she had a class in two hours. Shoot.

  Stef was still in the doorway. “Let me dig up a chair for you. Maybe a flashlight.”

  “No, no. I don’t want to put you out any more than I have. Would it be okay if I came back later? I’ll need to be wearing something to work in, obviously, and I can bring lights and things I need. I even have a folding chair.”

  She was thinking about disposable gloves, a dust mask, and maybe even klieg lights borrowed from another department. Keep it simple. The more people you involve, the more the word will get out. Much as she enjoyed the academic world, gossip was rampant and wanting to be in on a find was standard procedure. She reasoned that the worst that could happen was a small article to keep her on course for tenure. But there was something here, she could feel it up and down her spine. She was lost in thought when she heard Stef’s voice.

  “Fine. I’ll be around.”

  “Wait, Stef?” Scrambling to the door, Laurel found her waiting, looking over her shoulder. The long
red-brown hair flared around her face, making her look incredibly sexy. “How shall I get back in? It might be after five, if that’s okay. May I have your phone number?”

  Laurel was disconcerted at what sounded like a pick-up line. Maybe it was. Her cheeks were really heating up now.

  Grinning, Stef said, “I’d like yours, too.”

  She said it in a way that seemed like flirting. Was that true? This good-looking woman was flirting with her? No, that didn’t happen. They exchanged numbers, Laurel painfully aware that her blush had continued to cover her entire body. “What’s your last name? I’ve been rude not to ask.”

  Stef didn’t seem to hear the question. She reached for her key ring and searched, then removed a key. “Here, have a copy made and get this back to me later. Okay?”

  Only able to nod in gratitude, but wondering why this woman would trust her since they just met, Laurel took the key and clutched it tightly in her hand.

  Stef must have read her mind again, because she said, “I know you’ll return it, and I probably won’t be around every time you want to get in. You will need to make arrangements to get in the outside door if it’s after six. Okay, see you later?”

  “Yes, thanks. I’ll get a copy made today. Could I, could I bring a pizza and some wine? To repay you for your kindness.”

  Silent for a moment, Stef nodded, then said, “Not necessary, but sure. What time? I’ll meet you downstairs to let you in.”

  *

  Driving across the Bay Bridge to get to the campus, Laurel was astounded at her own temerity. She had not only barged into the old hotel and practically commandeered the mystery papers, she’d asked a woman for a date, kind of. Well, you haven’t really asked her out, you merely want to thank her. She thought about the half-truth of that, and tested her guilt meter. It registered a six of ten.

  Her thoughts immediately detoured to Rochelle. She wasn’t going to be home tonight. She’d already said she would be out at another of her endless meetings with her cronies that resulted in coming home late and half smashed. She’d never know that Laurel was gone.

  “I should tell her,” Laurel mumbled beneath her breath. “I should tell her about the papers, too. After all, she’s my partner, not to mention chair of the department.”

  As soon as she said the words aloud, the joy of the new discovery was lost. She imagined that most people would be excited to tell of their possible career-making discovery. Their partners would be happy and help them celebrate. But her reality was much less inviting. The first thing Rochelle would do was downplay the possibilities, talk disparagingly about the papers, the hotel, the area, anything to make Laurel feel stupid for even checking out her hunch. Then, if there really was something there, she’d want most, if not all, of the credit. She was supposed to be publishing a lot more often than Laurel, and she’d been coasting on tenure for some time.

  No, Laurel decided, the thing to do was to keep quiet until she knew what she was dealing with, then she could decide what she would tell Rochelle and when. Meantime, she had a class to teach and, later, a room full of possibilities to explore. Not to mention dinner with a really attractive woman. Her spirits were suddenly soaring.

  *

  Stef whistled as she loaded another box onto the cart. That professor had such intense green eyes, a real knockout, and she was so earnest, Stef had to chuckle. Shy, too. Hmm, we now have a quasi date. Wonder how that happened?

  Denny came up and shoulder-bumped her. “What’s up with you? I haven’t seen a smile on your face since before Kevin sniffed up our budget. Did you find a trunk full of money you’d forgotten about?”

  Surprised to feel her ears tingle, Stef kept her attention on the boxes. “No, nothing that good. I wish.”

  A hand on her shoulder stopped her. “Are you blushing? You are! What happened? You get laid? Dawg, I am so jealous.” Denny stood back and grinned.

  Holding both hands up in surrender, Stef said, “Whoa. I wish for that, too, but no such luck. I did, however, meet a really hot professor.” As Denny’s eyes widened, she added, “Seems little Miss Ember was bragging to her classmates at Cal about the hidden room and its contents.”

  “She’s in college? At Cal?” This was news to both of them and probably would be to Jock.

  “Well, from what I understand from her professor, Laurel, I mean Dr. Hoffman—the one with the amazing green eyes and honey-blond hair down to about, oh, her breasts—she’s auditing.”

  “Oh, Laurel, is it?” Denny leaned closer. “And you know her how?”

  “Well, I offered to let her get a look at the papers we dug out of the hidden room. And, to repay my generosity, she’s offering a hot, tasty”—Stef indulged in a heavy pause; she loved to tease Denny—“pizza and some wine. Tonight.”

  Denny started tapping her toe. “I thought you were going to quietly dispose of that stuff, since there was no dead body. That’s what you told me. Suddenly a pretty face turns up and asks all nice and you turn over the goods. What if she finds something that would stop construction?”

  Stef hadn’t thought of that and could tell that Denny was only half joking. “Look, Den, there are no organic parts in that junk, other than maybe a few desiccated rat carcasses. And when the professor discovers those, she can come screaming to me, and I’ll dispose of them. Brave person that I am.”

  “Uh-huh. You’re a sucker for green eyes. You always have been.”

  Getting busy with the boxes again, Stef muttered, “Yeah, well, it’s only pizza.”

  Still, she was looking forward to the meal with lovely green-eyed Laurel, and hurried to finish so she could shower and change. Denny got distracted with a phone call and didn’t bring the subject up again, for which Stef was grateful. There was something about Laurel that she was drawn to. Perhaps her attraction hinted at the early promise of a friendship, but it didn’t feel like that. Hell, she didn’t even know if Laurel was gay, but she knew that Laurel had checked her out. She didn’t want to jump to conclusions, she just wanted to see where it would go.

  Laurel seemed honest, and genuinely nice. She hadn’t wanted to get Stef in trouble for letting her in the room. Of course, Stef hadn’t mentioned her last name, which would have been a dead giveaway as to who owned the hotel. She wasn’t sure why she’d avoided that disclosure. Maybe she didn’t trust Laurel after all. Or maybe she just didn’t want to be a Beresford for a while. It had been her experience that once someone heard her last name, the relationship changed. She’d been used before and was sick of it. The truth would come out soon enough. Meanwhile, perhaps she could just enjoy herself with a woman she was attracted to.

  Chapter Seven

  Stef had to struggle not to laugh when she came down to open the locked exterior doors. Laurel was balancing the pizza on top of pads of paper and file folders, carrying bags containing all sorts of crap, and lugging a backpack that looked like it weighed more than she did. She looked cute, a word that rarely entered Stef’s mind. She was dressed in jeans, a large denim shirt over a white tank top, and sneakers. Her hair was hastily piled on top of her head and she wore glasses.

  They schlepped everything into the elevator and along the hallway to the corner room where the papers were housed, and settled in, only to realize that the electrical outlets were ancient, with no grounding port. Stef dug up an extension cord and power strip and ran it from her room. She’d had an electrician rig a temporary setup that would safely support newer electronics until the remodel reached the third floor. She’d also done that for Mrs. Castic, but her own tiny kitchen would have to struggle along with only a microwave. She didn’t mind because Sika always made coffee and breakfast in the kitchen for the three of them and anyone else who wandered in hungry.

  They couldn’t plug in all the lights that Laurel had brought, but Stef suggested they use her place if they found anything interesting. She stopped short of offering Laurel a key to her room, puzzled by her impulse. She seemed determined to give the woman anything she wanted. This had
never happened before, even with former lovers.

  Stef had taken the time to sweep the room before Laurel arrived, so they sat on the floor and enjoyed a good bottle of wine with the pizza. Their chat focused on the papers, the logistics of examining them. Laurel had brought a box of disposable gloves to protect the papers and their hands. She also had a camera and wanted to photograph everything before they started. She took a few pictures with Stef in them, too. Then Stef took shots of her, the professor with her find. Through the viewfinder she saw grace and elegance, and those unusual green eyes tinged with what she thought might be sadness. She wondered about that.

  Once work commenced, they fell silent. Stef wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but Laurel assured her that anything interesting was fair game. They spent time just getting to know the material, randomly perusing. The earliest that they found dated from 1912. The guest registration was interesting in that it was easy to read, even though badly faded. Evidently, penmanship was stressed back then. The record began with a Mr. and Mrs. Thisandthat, but after 1915, after the Panama-Pacific Exposition, there were single names, usually Mrs. Somebodyelse, occasionally Miss Whatever, but always a woman.

  Musing out loud, Stef said, “Well, I guess the hotel was primarily for women travelers almost from the beginning.”

  Carefully moving papers around, Laurel commented, “That makes sense. Single women were not supposed to travel alone and definitely not supposed to sleep in the same buildings as men. There were several San Francisco hotels for women only.”

  “Weird that they sign their names as Mrs. Mansfullname,” Stef said. “What’s that about? Why can’t they just say Mrs. Jane Fullname? It’s like they don’t even exist except as property. Look at this, Mrs. Nelson Doubleday.” She didn’t mention that her stepmother relished saying she was Mrs. Wellington Beresford the Fourth. Like that meant something.