Derrek had an uneventful night. He had planned to do nothing but sleep as soon as he got to his room, but it wasn’t even 2:00 p.m. yet. That, with the nap he took earlier, would have made for a restless night if he went to bed right then. Lunch services ended at one, and dinner didn’t start until five, so he had very little to do. He could have gone out to a pub or taken in the sights, but after the day he had, he didn’t feel like doing anything that would require him to leave unless he was dragged along.
With nothing else to do, he flipped on the TV and found it to be on a channel that constantly played bizarre game shows. Despite the huge language barrier, Derrek was enthralled with the pies and giant pretzels being thrown around, the ridiculous costumes, and the outrageously wide smile of the host, who he recognized from somewhere, but he wasn’t sure where. He may have been a star from an old TV show or a movie, but he wasn’t sure.
The phone rang. He answered, “Hello?”
“Ah, Mr. Snowe with an E at the end, right?” the voice responded, followed by a hushed giggle.
It was the woman who had checked him in the night before, in whose presence he had embarrassed himself. He meekly laughed and said, “Yeah, that’s me. How can I help you?”
“Help me? Oh no, sir. This is the Schadenfreude! Where we aim to give our guests the gift of absolute relaxation!”
“Right. Sorry. Force of habit.” He rarely got phone calls, and when he did, they were either business-related or a recorded conversation trying to sell him insurance.
“I just wanted to inform you that dinner will be ready in ten minutes, since you missed the cutoff last night.”
Derrek was confused. Last he checked, it was only two. There were no clocks in his room, so he checked his cell phone and found she was right.
4:50 p.m.
He had been watching this show for three hours! He didn’t even know what it was called and could remember nothing but the pretzels and that vague celebrity whose name he still couldn’t place.
“Oh, right. Thank you. I’ll be sure to partake.”
“Very good, sir, and please remember that if you have any questions, comments, or concerns, every one of our employees will be happy to hear you out! Goodbye. Enjoy your dinner!”
The phone played a dial tone, which Derrek listened to for several seconds, still distracted by how long he had been watching that show.
He eventually hung up the phone and got ready for dinner, realizing he could actually smell it from his room—the wafting scents of beef, pork, chicken, and several other meats he had never smelled before. His mouth watered before he even left the room, and his stomach growled like a roaring lion.
He took a seat at the same table he had eaten breakfast with Jeffrey, now seeing the beautiful view through the window. The sun hung in the sky, casting an amber glow over the fields surrounding the hotel and the forest bordering it. There were animals grazing, birds soaring above, and only the thinnest wisps of clouds floating high in the sky. He felt absolute bliss staring off into the countryside until he heard a voice behind him.
“Good evening, sir. My name is Emmett, and I will be your waiter this evening. Would you like anything to drink?”
He looked away from the window to find a pristinely dressed waiter, his blond hair swept back, arms behind his back.
“Oh, yes, I’ll just have a water, thank you.”
He pulled his arms from behind him, a pint glass filled with ice water in his right hand and a menu in his left, and carefully placed them at Derrek’s side.
“I’ll be back soon to take your order. Please don’t hesitate to ask if there’s anything I can do for you.”
“Oh, thank you,” Derrek said as he left.
Derrek was amazed at the service of this hotel, a feeling that had not faded since he had arrived. As he looked through the menu, most of the food names were beyond his pronunciation, and because the descriptions were in German, he based his judgment solely on the pictures. He wasn’t quite sure what was in any of the foods, but he was drawn to what looked like a type of roast. As soon as he looked up from his menu, he saw Emmett standing beside him. He jumped slightly but quickly recovered.
“Are you ready to order, sir?”
“Yes, I’ll have the …” he said, leaning in close to be sure to say it right, “sour … braten?”
Emmett smiled widely and said excitedly, “Ah, the sauerbraten, one of our finest dishes! A wise choice, sir!”
“Well, thank you! But honestly, I can’t read German. It just looked really good.”
Emmett was confused for a brief moment, then understood what was going on. He calmly grabbed his menu and flipped it over.
With an understanding smile, he said, “We do have an English translation on the other side. With this new information, would you like a few minutes to change your order?”
Derrek’s ears turned red with embarrassment, and he took a second to think, looking at the menu, which he could now clearly understand. After looking at a few other options, he decided he wanted to stick with the sauerbraten.
“No, thank you. First choice, best choice,” he said with as much confidence he could muster, handing the menu back to Emmett.
“Very good, sir. Your food will be out momentarily. In the meantime, our live music will be starting soon. Tonight we have a very special guest, a very talented pianist visiting from France, Hadrian LaFayette.”
“Oh wow, that sounds delightful!”
“I can assure you, sir, it is. Is there anything I can get you before I put in your order?”
“Hmm …” Derrek said. He wasn’t partial to soft drinks and wasn’t a wine snob. He rarely drank at all, and even then, it was usually with Shale. “I don’t suppose you have thirty-year Steel Barrel whiskey, do you?”
Emmett pondered that for a moment. “We do have a very extensive stock, but I’ll have to check. Apologies in advance. I do hope you’ll bear with us.”
“No worries at all. Take your time.”
Emmett smiled and nodded, then shuffled off to the window to the kitchen, dropping off his order before entering an adjacent door.
Derrek took another look around the room and saw a stage to the left of the entrance. Atop it was a piano. A man dressed in a tuxedo and white gloves walked up a set of stairs to the side of the stage, approaching the instrument. He assumed this man was the entertainment—Hadrian LaFayette.
A voice came from the speakers integrated into the ceiling as LaFayette took his seat.
“Ladies and gentlemen, may I direct your attention to the stage, where our musical guest, Mr. Hadrian LaFayette, will be performing one of his original compositions. Please, be respectful of your fellow guests and Mr. LaFayette, and above all else, please enjoy your dinner!”
The lights dimmed, and a spotlight focused on the piano, giving a clearer look of the man. His hair was short, curled, and bright red. His tuxedo was freshly pressed and solid black, adorned with a bright blue bow tie.
He took his place on stage, sitting at the piano, and closed his eyes. He cracked his knuckles into his microphone, causing most of the audience to cringe, and put his hands in position. The room went deathly quiet. Derrek could almost see the tension in the air.
The silence was broken by a single note, ringing like a bell tower, commanding everyone’s attention. What followed was a one-man symphony. With his hands, for a brief moment, he completely shattered the audience’s sense of individuality; everyone felt as one in this moment. With his instrument, he took the audience on an emotional journey. Derrek felt his past, those cold, hungry nights, his only comfort being his hope and his sheer determination. He saw that fateful game of chess, and he felt the move that claimed him victory and changed his life.
He felt those years of work, those sleepless nights he spent honing his skills, grinding to earn his position. He felt every single hardship he went through. He felt every good memory. He saw his family, the one he was too young to remember. Without realizing it, he was now crying, but his focus remained on LaFayette. He felt fire and impossible heat. He smelled burning wood and blood. He saw a demon, the same one he had seen in his childhood nightmares. This monster he thought he had locked away in his mind now stood before him in a burning hellscape, holding a bloody hatchet, staring at Derrek with its burning red eyes.
And with that, the song was over. Derrek snapped back to reality and looked around him to find every single person in the room doing exactly as he was: crying. Nobody was sobbing, for nobody was sad. They weren’t bitter tears. Nor were they sweet. Those tears weren’t from any single emotion but rather all the emotions they had felt in their lives, and Derrek felt the same. He tried his best to remember what he had seen but couldn’t. He couldn’t even remember seeing it. He wiped his tears away and stood, nearly knocking his chair over, and led the crowd in uproarious applause.
LaFayette had not opened his eyes, but when he heard the roar of applause, he gazed out into the audience to find every single person standing and clapping. The wait staff had stopped everything they were doing, some mid-order. The chef staff had left their stations to get a better listen. Dozens of people from the lobby had come in. Several people had even come down from their rooms after hearing the beautiful sounds this man had played.
He stood from his seat and stepped to center stage, basking in the spotlight, absorbing the praise he was being given. He bowed, and the applause and cheers grew even louder, and when he came back up, Derrek saw his eyes.
They were piercingly gray, as if a storm brewed within his head. He saw the pride in this man’s eyes and could tell how hard he worked to get where he was. He saw the same pain, love, anger, sadness, and joy he had just felt, but he saw no tears. He felt as if he understood this man and knew the whole world should.
LaFayette left the stage, shaking the wave of hands that reached out to him as he made his exit. Derrek wanted to join them, but he saw that the crowd that formed around him was completely impenetrable, so he took his seat and waited for his order. He saw Emmett squeeze his way through the crowd, holding a brown bottle and a short crystalline glass, nearly dropping both.
He hurried his way to Derrek’s table. “I’m very sorry, sir. It seems I was caught up in the action!” he said, opening the fresh bottle, pouring his drink. “We didn’t have the thirty-year, but I do hope fifty-year will do.”
Derrek was intrigued, since he had no idea they aged it for that long. “Oh, that will be great. Thank you!”
He took a sip and immediately tasted the deep, earthy tones, giving him flashbacks to his twenty-first birthday, when he shared his first drink with Shale.
“My God, this is delicious!”
A wave of relief washed over Emmett’s face. Apparently, he was nervous over this small compromise. He put on a big smile and said, “Very good, sir. Your food should be out soon. Let me know if there’s anything you need.” He left the bottle before hastily walking away, tending to some of his other tables.
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Derrek took another sip and reminisced about the good times with Shale: His eighteenth birthday when Shale had given him an official position in the company. He would have put him much higher up, but Derrek insisted he earn his way up. After starting as a paid intern, in nine years, he had worked his way up to the environmental department, establishing wildlife sanctuaries all around the world, promoting renewable energy, doing his best to make the world a better place. He proved himself again and again, grinding his way to the top of every department he moved on to, earning promotion after promotion, working his way through sales, marketing, customer relations, human resources, even the mailroom.
He had been in environmental for three years but was being held back by Hanes, who saw him as an asset too good to lose. Every time a promotion came around, Derrek would apply, and Hanes would give it to someone else, always citing his lack of experience, whenever it was brought up. He never gave up, however, and kept working, knowing that one day, Hanes would have no other choice but to move him up.
That all changed when Shale made his offer two weeks prior.
“Here you are, sir, our famous sauerbraten, accompanied by roasted root vegetables and risotto a la Milanese.
Derrek looked up to see Emmett holding a plate that gave off a savory aroma, making his mouth water. He carefully placed the plate next to his glass along with a set of cutlery laid on a napkin.
He was shocked. “Is … are these gold?”
Emmett beamed and said, “Yes, sir. We used to use silverware, but those have an adverse effect on the taste of the food. Gold, in our opinion, is the only option for our dishes. We like to call it our ‘gold standard,’ if you will excuse the turn of phrase.”
Derrek was amazed, not at the extravagance of this hotel per se but at how it continued to impress him over and over again. From the moment he walked through the front door, he had been bombarded with constant waves of luxuries and comfort.
“I’m honestly blown away,” he said, staring at his food. “I had no idea there was anything like this anywhere! I haven’t even tasted any of this yet, and I already want to send my compliments to the chef! And don’t even get me started on the whiskey!”
Emmett’s smile grew even wider. “I’m glad to hear everything is to your liking, sir! Here at the Schadenfreude, we strive for greatness in every single aspect of our guests’ experience.”
“I’ve noticed!” Derrek said, finally looking up from his food, making direct eye contact with Emmett. “Thank you, Emmett. I’m sure I’ll remember this night for the rest of my days.”
Emmett was taken aback. Most people weren’t this outgoing about how much they enjoyed their stay. Most took it with a silent smile and a nod, showing their appreciation through their reviews when all was said and done, and even then, many still gave a poor review to leverage a refund. Finding someone who genuinely appreciated the work that each of the employees at this hotel put in was a fresh breath of air. It almost made him emotional.
“It’s no problem, sir. We all do our best here, and I’m ecstatic our best is to your satisfaction! And I certainly hope you enjoy the rest of your night!”
“Oh, are you not coming back with a check?”
Emmett raised his eyebrows in confusion, then smiled and laughed. “No, sir, there won’t be a check coming. The food is included with your room, along with our bar, pool, spa, sauna, exercise equipment, archery range, and golf course—caddy included, of course.”
Derrek shook his head. He had forgotten about the complimentary meals when he booked the rooms. “Right. Slipped my mind. I doubt I’ll get used to it, though!”
“Then it will be a pleasant surprise every meal!”
“I suppose it will.”
With a silent nod and a smile, Emmett walked away, tending to his other tables, leaving Derrek with the delicacy before him and the bottle of nostalgia he had been sipping for who knows how long.
He took a bite from the roast, which was so tender, half of it fell off the fork. He was hit with an intense torrent of flavor, utterly assaulting his taste buds. It was possibly the best thing he had ever eaten. The risotto was perfectly cooked, creamy with hints of white wine and Parmesan cheese. The medley was perfectly cooked, onions, carrots, and radishes that seemed to have been mixed with the same marinade used for the roast.
Before Derrek could even comprehend what he was tasting, he was looking down at an empty plate and saw the sun had almost set. He felt full and thought it might be nice to watch the sunset from the roof. However, he also wanted some more whiskey, so he gestured for the nearest server to come over.
“Yes, sir,” she asked. “How may I help you?”
“Is there any way I could get a to-go cup for this?” he asked, gesturing to the bottle.
“Absolutely, sir, but would you rather simply take the bottle and glass with you?”
A slightly intoxicated smile grew on Derrek’s face. “That would be perfect. Do I need to bring the glass back to the kitchen, or will it just be gathered whenever room service comes around?”
She smiled. “You can leave it anywhere, but I do ask you to not leave it in the walkways or on the stairs, as someone could get hurt!”
Derrek grabbed the bottle by the neck and raised it in acknowledgment, grabbing the glass with his other hand, and walked through the crowded room, drawing as little attention to himself as possible. To his knowledge, he didn’t see any prominent Frostbyte employees, so he figured he would be getting away from this scot-free.
He got to the elevator without any dirty looks and pressed the button for the roof. He danced to the dulcet tones playing from the speaker on the ceiling and realized he had no memories of ever dancing. Thinking something was off, he looked at the bottle to find it had much more than a single glass worth missing in contents, down to about two-thirds full. He was sure it was a fresh bottle. He had seen Emmett open it!
He had been suspicious of the amount of lost time he was experiencing but figured he was just drunk from whiskey and the Brewskis, so he continued dancing until he reached the roof.
The door opened to a massive lounge area centered around the glass pyramid he had seen from the lobby, smoke billowing from the marble column rising from its peak, giving the distinct smell of a wood fire. There was a railing surrounding everything, tall enough to prevent falling over but still short enough that one could look over the edge with comfort. There were benches and several natural areas, rows of flowers and several trees, some even bearing fruit, with signs that read, “Pick as you wish,” in English, and what Derrek assumed was the same in several other languages.
Despite the beautiful, unobscured view of the surrounding several miles, he didn’t see a soul up there with him. His best guess was that everyone was hoping for an encore of that performance. He sat on one of the benches facing west so he could watch the sunset. Approaching it, however, he heard what sounded like angry French coming from behind a nearby hedge. He couldn’t make any of it out, but it seemed to be one-sided, possibly a phone call. He took his seat on the bench and hoped whatever altercation was going on would pass so he could enjoy the view.
The voice got louder and angrier until Derrek heard what sounded like an object being thrown at the ground, making him fix his gaze on the hedge. A few silent seconds passed before he heard footsteps. From behind the hedge stepped a man apparently storming away, who stopped dead in his tracks when he met Derrek’s eyes. They stared at each other for a moment, the man’s face obscured by the shadow of the hedge, before Derrek gestured to his bottle, offering him a drink.
The man walked over to the bench and sat next to him, accepting the bottle and taking a huge swig, which Derrek tried to warn him against doing. The man cringed and went into a coughing fit, being careful not to spill the bottle.
Derrek chuckled slightly and said, “Yeah, it’s more of a sipping whiskey.”
He caught a good look at the man, noting his overly formal attire, pristine white gloves, and undone blue bow tie. He realized this was the man he had just seen perform, Hadrian LaFayette. Considering how enthusiastically he had attacked the whiskey that soon after getting offstage, however, Derrek figured it was a bad idea to bring it up.
LaFayette had regained his composure. “Thank you,” he said with a soft voice and a faint French accent as he handed the bottle back to him. “I needed that.”
“No worries,” he said, reaching for a handshake. “I’m Derrek, by the way.”
“Hadrian,” he said, reciprocating the gesture.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, passing the bottle back and forth, taking sips, staring out into the distance. The bottle came back to Derrek, who saw it was down to a bit over a third left, and he decided to break the silence.
“If you don’t mind me asking, what was going on behind that hedge?”
LaFayette glanced at him with a flash of hesitation in his grey eyes, but he looked back over the horizon, taking a second to find the right words. “My mother called me. You know how parents can be.”
“Honestly, not really.”
He looked at Derrek, confused, then realized what he meant.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—”
Derrek held his hand up and gestured for him to stop, “They were gone before I could even remember them, and I’ve had well over twenty years to deal with it. Your wound seems fresh, so don’t think this orphan doesn’t care about your parental problems.”
For the first time he had seen so far, LaFayette smiled. Derrek handed him the bottle, which he took a sip from before saying, “My father died when I was eight years old, leaving me with my mother, living off the life insurance she made him get. She always pushed me in my schoolwork, signing me up for extra courses, never giving me any free time. I was barely ever allowed outside the house, and even then, I was always chaperoned. The only escape I was ever given was my great-grandfather’s piano.
“She demanded I get lessons to make me a more desirable applicant for university, and I hated them at first, mainly on principle. But then I got the hang of it. I learned the notes, the harmonies, how you can express yourself with little more than a foot on a pedal and a finger on a key. I was beyond the instructors in a month, and my mother thought that was all that was needed of me, and told me to stop.
“For years, I left it behind, until I got into lycée, or high school, as I suppose you would call it, where I found there was a grand piano in the auditorium. I had a free class, and thanks to the school I was in, it was listed as Study Hall, so I never had to worry about her asking questions when I blew it off to practice. Every single day, perfecting this, the only outlet I ever had. Nobody ever said anything about it, the staff liked the music, and I was already at the top of my class, so my teachers paid it no mind, at least until the principal called my mother to praise my skills.”
He took another sip and a brief pause before continuing, “She never said a word. I came home to find my room destroyed, the posters gone from my walls, all of my academic awards smashed, my sheet music torn to shreds, my door taken entirely off its hinges. She even confiscated the sheets off my bed. I asked her about it, and all she did was ignore me. For the rest of my days living there, I swear we didn’t speak a word to each other, just crushing silence. After I graduated, I left. I just left.
“She never asked me why. She never tried to stop me, even when I told her I was going to America to play. I was dead to her. I didn’t hear her voice again until I made a name for myself, and by then, all she wanted was money. I think that’s all she ever wanted. Constant prodding from her, insisting she deserved the money I had made, that I wouldn’t have gotten where I am if she hadn’t pushed me.
“Every day she calls me, and every day, we argue about the same thing. When she isn’t calling me, she’s badmouthing me on social media, or texting me with the same verbal abuse she always uses. It’s … it’s a lot, sometimes.”
Derrek wasn’t sure what to say, and LaFayette could tell.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to dump all of that on you.”
Derrek looked out at the sunset, and without looking at LaFayette, he took a deep breath and said, “When I was eleven, I ran away from my foster home and was homeless, wandering the streets of New York for a year and a half. I would have died on those streets, but I found what I was good at and held onto the hope that things would get better. With tenacity and an ungodly amount of luck, fifteen years of hard work later, I’m at the most luxurious hotel I’ve ever seen on behalf of my place of work, drinking the best whiskey I’ve ever had with the most talented artist I’ve ever met.”
He turned to look at LaFayette with a serious look in his eyes and with the kind of confidence that only comes from a great deal of alcohol, he said, “Never let your past dictate your future.”
This resonated with LaFayette, and even though he didn’t say it, Derrek knew he appreciated what he had said. The bottle came back to him, and it was very low. He took the glass, which had been sitting next to him, poured half of the whiskey into it, and handed it to LaFayette.
“Cheers,” Derrek said, raising the bottle toward LaFayette.
He raised his glass to meet it, causing a loud clink before saying, “À nôtre santé.”
They both drank, taking big gulps of the whiskey, burning their throats and causing their eyes to water. It would have been much worse if it had not been the end of the bottle, but they both still reeled back from it. They laughed through their respective coughing fits, LaFayette letting go of his troubles, even for just a moment, and Derrek finally understanding how quickly a listening ear and a bottle of liquor could form a friendship.
When they both regained their wits, they stared at the sunset, which was almost over at that point. Minutes passed as the two watched the sun slowly drop over the horizon, leaving behind nothing but a sky of orange and a sea of stars in its wake. They saw constellations and galaxies they had never before seen, twinkling like roaring fires.
The hotel was built with an overhang on the roof, preventing light pollution and allowing this magnificent sight to occur. Moments passed, and the orange sky shifted to deep blue, then to midnight black, with more and more stars filling the sky with every new shade.
Derrek checked the time on his phone and found he had been on the roof for three hours. With the morning Jeffrey had planned, he knew he needed to get some sleep. He stood up from the bench, reached his hand out, and said, “It’s been a pleasure, Hadrian, but I’ve got a hell of a day ahead of me tomorrow.”
LaFayette smiled and shook his hand. “I understand, friend. Get some rest. I’ll be doing the same soon enough.”
Derrek gathered the empty bottle and glass and headed toward the elevator. Before he was out of earshot, he stopped and asked, “Hey, why didn’t you ever just block her number. You know, cut ties and such?”
LaFayette turned to face him and thought for a few seconds. The thought had apparently never occurred to him. He found an answer. “Because she’s all the family I have.”
Derrek flashed a smile and boarded the elevator, leaving LaFayette alone on the rooftop. Staring out into the night sky, he took a deep breath and pulled out his newly-damaged phone, calling the contact, “Mère.”
When she answered, he said, in French, “Mother, we need to talk.”