Chapter One
“Checking in for Graham Harris.”
The young woman behind the front desk smiled politely and began typing away on her keyboard. “Welcome back Mr. Harris. I see you’ll be with us for four nights?” She looked at him with attentive eyes, green behind the frame of her stylish glasses. He just nodded in agreement while he fished his ID and credit card from his wallet. “Excellent. We have you in a Deluxe King, and you’ll be up on the seventh floor.” She continued typing away and retrieved a pair of room keys from a box on the counter.
“I just need one key, thanks,” Graham said flatly. He had a bad habit of forgetting to return room keys at the end of his stay and had amassed dozens of the cursed shards of plastic over the last year, the sum of which bulged in an internal pocket of his briefcase.
“Certainly,” the young woman obliged with a smile. “Let me just get this ready for you. Do you need a refresher on the hotel amenities?”
“No thanks, I think I got it. Unless it’s all moved since Friday.” He’d meant for it to be a joke, but his voice was flat and listless after the long travel day, so it came out sounding rather passive-aggressive and rude. He flinched slightly at his own bluntness, but the young woman didn’t seem to mind (or if she did, her professionalism went unbroken). He took the key from her as she passed it over the counter, doing his best to return her smile. “Thank you.”
“Have a great stay, Mr. Harris.”
Reaching for his suitcase, he left the front desk and walked to the elevator bay, anxious to get to his room and change into something more comfortable. He wore his usual business travel attire – jeans, loafers, a plain polo, and a sharp, navy blue blazer. Usually this was comfortable enough for a couple hours in the air, but thunderstorms around Chicago had delayed his first flight, made him miss his connection, and turned his original itinerary into a ten-hour debacle, a frustration no-doubt exacerbated by the fact that he could have made the trip by car in far less time if he’d really wanted to.
As he stepped into the elevator and clicked the button for the seventh floor, he filed this fact away for future use. His current mood had him wanting to swear off air travel forever, all travel in general. Hell, he'd be content to never leave his apartment again after the day he'd had, but this conscientious objection could wait; for now, all he wanted was to dump his bags in his room, grab a stiff drink, and find something to eat.
“Hey there, how we doing this evening?” a friendly voice chimed from behind the bar. Graham looked up to see a young bartender, about twenty-three or twenty-four, he guessed, with a warm smile and shining, dark eyes looking out at him from beneath two thick, neatly shaped brows. Graham recognized him from the previous week, maybe Wednesday or Thursday night, he couldn’t quite remember, though it made sense; he figured the hotel bar at a suburban Marriott couldn’t possibly require too large a staff to keep things running. The bartender’s face betrayed a similar sense of recognition, which he was quicker to vocalize. “You were here last week, right?”
“I was,” Graham nodded, not enthusiastically.
The bartender stared at him intently, his eyes slightly narrowed in a look of deep concentration, brow furrowed into a half-dozen lines, making Graham feel suddenly self-conscious and a little defensive. He was about to speak up when a look of epiphany finally flashed in the bartender’s eyes. He snapped his fingers and pointed at Graham. “Tanqueray and tonic, right? Extra lime?” He asked.
Graham raised his eyebrows, impressed if not entirely amused. “Uh, yeah…good memory.”
The bartender turned, grabbed a tumbler off the counter and the bottle of Tanqueray off the shelf, and began to mix Graham's drink. “Trick of the trade,” he said, a satisfied smile adorning his face. He was handsome, the young man, with strong, smooth features and a lean build, accentuated by the fitted black polo he wore for his work uniform. His skin was a rich olive tone and hair was dark – Graham guessed he was of Latino or Mediterranean descent – and he possessed the kind of casual athleticism, the effortless, neoclassical beauty that so often accompanies youth. Graham observed these details, watching the young man work with a strange mixture of nostalgia and envy.
The bartender topped off the glass with tonic and grabbed two fresh lime wedges from the plastic container, balancing them snuggly on the rim. He placed the glass in front of Graham with a playful flourish. “Here we are.”
Graham noted the second use of we, and wondered whether that was a regional thing.
“Thanks,” Graham said, a little flatly. He pulled out his phone and opened his messages, typing out a quick “made it to the hotel”.
“So what brings you back to our humble little hotel so soon?” He asked, busying himself with wiping down the bar in front of Graham's seat.
“Work,” Graham mumbled. He squeezed the lime wedges into his drink and mixed it with his finger before taking a long, stabilizing drink. As if by magic, the oppressive energy of delayed flights and crowded coach seats began to lift and Graham felt as if he could breathe again. Not wanting to be rude, he continued. “I'm a design engineer for a software company. A Solutions Engineer. Here to kick off the design for a new client implementation project.”
“Oh cool,” he sounded impressed. “What does that entail?”
Graham thought for a second before he spoke. He usually didn't like to bore people with the details and intricacies of his job, and he was sure the bartender was only asking to be polite – or to boost his chances at a tip – but something about his voice, his casual demeanor, encouraged Graham to give an honest answer. Besides, apart from a few please-and-thank-you’s, Graham hadn’t really spoken to anyone all day, and something about the opportunity to converse now felt alluring.
“We’re a facilities maintenance application…so, things like work order tickets and maintenance requests, building inspections, contractor management, warehousing and supplies, stuff like that. So for a new client like these guys, it's a lot of conversations about workflows and personnel, inventory and management structures and task assignments, not to mention collecting all their data and building out all their assets. Basically, it's a lot of spreadsheets and flow charts and…yeah, nothing too exciting.”
“I don't know, sounds kind of interesting,” the bartender mused, drying some pint glasses and stacking them neatly on the back counter.
“You don’t mean that,” Graham said drily.
The bartender smirked. “Okay, it sounds kinda dull, but I'm sure it's at least rewarding to see it all come together, right?”
Graham considered this for a second and took another sip of his drink. “Yeah, I suppose so. It's always nice to leave a client knowing they're at least somewhat self-sufficient after we've got them set up. But that payoff is still many, many weeks from now.” He shook his head, shuddering at the image of his calendar for the coming months.
“Oh yeah?” The bartender flashed a warm smile. “Sounds like you’ll be with us for a while then?”
“Unfortunately,” Graham muttered, taking another long drink. “No offense.”
“Hey, none taken,” the bartender chuckled lightheartedly. “I don’t think this would be on the top of my travel bucket list, either.” He finished stacking the last of the pint glasses and closed the dishwasher door. “Do you want a food menu? Or just drinking tonight?”
“Menu would be great, please.” Graham answered with palpable relief. “Actually…no, no menu. Can I just get the burger?”
The bartender laughed again, his white teeth contrasting radiantly against his golden complexion. “Absolutely, coming right up.”
He plugged Graham’s order into the computer and disappeared into the back for a few minutes. Graham looked around at the quiet lobby lounge, the appealing-yet-generic hotel furniture, the television playing local news with the volume muted. A few guests sat around a lounge table, their disheveled work attire showing the signs of a busy Monday. They talked quietly, their glasses mostly empty. It was after nine o’clock, so he wasn’t too surprised that things were clearing out.
He turned back towards the bar as the young bartender returned from the storeroom, carrying stacks of black, plastic garnish tubs, which he began to store in a low cabinet. Graham watched him as he worked, noticing how his head bobbed along to the rhythm of a song that could only be playing in his head. He seemed so comfortable, content, unbothered by any stress or frustration with his work. It was endearing, this boyish animation and happiness, and Graham felt that it somehow eased the stress and frustration of his own, difficult day.
“Just you then?” The bartender asked as he stood up and bumped the cabinet door closed with his knee. “Or do you have a team somewhere around here?”
“Just me,” Graham confessed, a quick flash of embarrassment warming his cheeks. “We're a pretty small company, so…limited resources and whatnot. Already costing the client a pretty penny to have me here for six weeks, they didn’t want to double the bill with a second person.”
“Six weeks, huh? Well, that sucks,” the bartender commented matter-of-factly.
“It feels like a bit of a marathon, that’s for sure.” He said quietly for a second, deep in thought. ”I’m at leat back home for the weekends, but after the day I've just had, I can’t decide if going home for two-days is worth the headache.” Graham grimaced.
“Oof,” the bartender vocalized. “Rough day?”
“You could say that,” Graham exhaled. First flight was mostly okay. Connection in Chicago got cancelled due to a mechanical failure, so they had to find another plane. By the time that showed up the crew had timed out. so then they had to find another crew. Six-and-a-half hours later, we finally start boarding.”
The bartender’s eyebrows were raised. “Shit. I should've made you a stronger drink.”
Despite his grumpiness, Graham laughed.
“I don’t know, I just don't want to spend the next five weeks feeling like I'm constantly traveling. It might be more worthwhile just stick it out here.” He paused. “Sorry, you don't care about any of this.”
The bartender pondered this, unfazed. “That’s fair, though. Maybe more time to relax and whatnot, but I’m sure it’s nice to get back home, see the family and all. Let’s be real, the only thing worse than being stuck in Iowa is being stuck in Iowa alone.”
Graham snorted a quick laugh, surprised by his bluntness. He nodded halfheartedly in agreement and sipped his drink. “It’s not the worst,” he admitted. “I don’t mind it anyways. I get to rack up some major credit card points. The client’s not bad –not the worst I’ve worked with, at least – and the hotel doesn't suck, so things could be worse.”
“You should really leave us that review online.” The bartender quipped then turned and grabbed another tumbler off the counter top, mixing a drink while Graham checked his phone. He had a few notifications – a couple instagram messages and a handful of work emails he didn’t feel like responding to at this hour – but not much to keep his attention. One text caught his eye – “great, have a good trip”. The flat tone of the message made him deflate, and the weight of the day hit him all over again. He was surprised, then, when a hand entered his field of vision, delivering a fresh gin and tonic next to his nearly-empty first.
“Oh, I didn’t –” he began, looking up.
“I know. It’s on the house,” the bartender gave his signature warm smile and a wink. “Consider it a loyalty perk.”
“Oh,” Graham paused. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He paused, looking at Graham intently. “I’m Archie, by the way.”
“Graham.” He reached out his hand, somewhat cautiously. Archie met him halfway across the bar, his hand soft and warm in Graham’s.
“Nice to meet you, Graham. Sounds like we may be seeing a lot of each other in the coming weeks.”
“Yeah. Yeah, you too.” They shook hands for what felt like two seconds too long, and Graham finally broke away. “Thanks again for the drink.”
“Anytime. Let me know if you need anything else.”
Graham was thinking of a reply when a woman sat at the far end of the bar. Archie walked down to take her order (a cosmopolitan) and chatted her up with all the charm and warmth he'd shown Graham while he began mixing her drink. In a way, Graham was relieved; he'd wanted to have his drink at the bar in peace, to catch up with the news on his phone, maybe read a chapter of his ebook, and enjoy the one perk of this never-ending work trip: solitude.
It’s not that he was pouting, exactly. He wasn't angry about the situation. After all, he’d volunteered for the project partly because of the travel: when the client had first expressed their wish for a full-time, onsite resource for the full length of the implementation, he’d raised his hand, said he was happy to go, insisted that it wasn’t a problem. What he hadn’t wanted to admit at the time was that he had no reason not to. He didn't have any real need to be home, and after the events of the last year, he thought it might be nice to have a change of scenery, a project to occupy his time and attention, an excuse to take a break from his ordinary life.
Admittedly, Des Moines wasn’t the most exotic destination – he probably could've held out and found a project somewhere near the mountains or a beach. But at the time, it was available, and that was something. Graham acknowledged that this maybe wasn't the healthiest coping mechanism in the face of life’s unexpected difficulties, but sitting here in an unfamiliar bar surrounded by unfamiliar faces, he felt a refreshing sense of anonymity. Of peace. The promise of a clean slate, if only for a few short weeks. Maybe it would come back to bite him later on, but for now it was a soothing balm to put all that behind him.
Besides, it was too late for this kind of thinking. The contract had been signed, the accommodations booked, and for the next six weeks – well, five now – this was the way things would be. He’d just have to make the most of it, like he’d been making the most of everything else for the past eighteen months.
And anyways, Graham thought to himself as a waitress appeared with his burger, as far as chatty bartenders go, Archie seemed…alright.
