Flagship, Blue, Dermatologist, Maid, Christmas

By Ann Moss

The hotel’s glittering flagship was The Monument in NYC, directly across from Central Park. Architecturally it paled compared to the opulent Hotel Plaza Athenee in Paris. Still, the smell of fresh gardenias wafted out the Art Deco entrance all year, even in the harsh winter. The covered entry and an always-clean black gold-trimmed carpet welcomed heeled and patented guests throughout the year. The Monument was the place to be seen, and now it was Christmas. Sparkling, fragrant, whimsical Christmas. At least it usually was.

This year was different. Few guests walked the carpet. The gardenias were absent. The wind blew bitter across the entrance. Everything felt dark. Navy blue. The guests that arrived were from local shelters or just in need of the food bank set up in the opulent lobby.

I suppose it started with the virus. Everyone and anyone was desperate to remain healthy. As soon as the morgues were full, bodies filled unusual places like refrigerated trucks, cold gymnasiums—ice rinks and stores shuttered, restaurants closed, people kept their heads down wearing masks and goggles. No one made eye contact for fear of being taken into a conversation. Drones swooped down, sensed the molecules of the virus, and, like a hawk with talons, scooped up the poor souls who registered positive. Then in a giant gust of wind, people disappeared amid deafening screams. Most stayed at home with their windows closed and shades drawn. Delivery drivers were the most highly paid - sometimes earning as much as hundreds of thousands of dollars a year to compensate for the personal risk associated with the job.

There was no employment other than to care for the sick, produce or deliver food. At The Monument, former luxury suites were now clinics or operating suites. Brian Silver, General Manager of the hotel, still cared for each person who came through the luxurious, now tarnished, brass hotel doors with grace and genuine kindness. The city long recognized his exceptional concierge abilities.

“Heidi pull the shades!” shouted Brian as a drone hovered outside the entry window. Little Heidi was just eight years old and the daughter of a former doorman who died from the virus two years ago. She was quick and lithe with silver blond hair. Brian had never heard her speak.

Elizabeth Baker stood in the dim hallway outside her penthouse door. The elevator whined as it approached. - the result of little maintenance throughout the year. A renowned Dermatologist, Elizabeth recognized the first outward signs of the virus—patches of blue skin on the face and arms—and kept her distance when not wearing protective gear.

To be continued...