Mara laughed.
“How was the entrance?”
“Almost disappointing.”
“That good?”
“Very.”
They walked toward the elevators.
Near the restaurant, Naomi noticed an older woman sitting beside the windows.
Mara noticed her looking.
“My mother.”
Naomi stopped.
The woman was drinking tea beneath the morning sunlight.
Beside her was a small plate of pastries.
“The rooftop restaurant?” Naomi asked.
“Tonight.”
“Good.”
Mara looked toward the lobby.
“Do you ever wonder whether any of this would have happened if Roland had recognized you that first night?”
Naomi thought about it.
“Yes.”
“And?”
Naomi watched guests cross the marble floor.
A businessman carrying his own suitcase.
A family with three noisy children.
An elderly couple walking slowly together.
A young woman in an expensive dress taking photographs.
A delivery driver asking the concierge for directions.
Different people.
Different lives.
The same front door.
“If he had recognized me,” Naomi said, “I probably would have received the best suite in the building.”
Mara smiled.
“Presidential?”
“Definitely.”
They both laughed.
Then Naomi’s expression became serious.
“And I might never have learned what the hotel was really like.”
The elevator doors opened.
Before stepping inside, Naomi looked once more across the lobby.
For years, executives had spoken about protecting the hotel’s image.
Naomi finally understood what had been wrong with that idea.
A building did not have character because of chandeliers, marble floors or expensive rooms.
Its character was revealed in smaller moments.
Who received a smile.
Who was made to wait.
Who was believed.
Who was helped.
Who was ignored.
Who was welcomed before anyone knew whether they were important.
The elevator doors began to close.
Mara pressed the button for the eighth floor.
“Where are you staying this time?” she asked.
Naomi smiled.
“Room 214.”
Mara stared at her.
“You’re joking.”
“No.”
“The heater still sounds like a freight train.”
“I know.”
“And the view is terrible.”
“I remember.”
“So why?”
Naomi leaned against the elevator wall.
“Because if the least impressive room in the building isn’t good enough for me, it isn’t good enough for anyone.”
The doors closed.
And this time, nobody needed to know who she was.