Perry turned to get a look at the hotel's lobby as the taxi pulled away and drove back out down cherry blossom drive. The lobby was maintained with a vintage vibe that reminded him of something from Viva Las Vegas. Faded gold trim, green velvet furniture to match the bellhop's uniform, dark wood planks on the floor, and framed pictures of celebrity guests from years passed. To Perry's left was the famous lounge he'd heard so much about and to his right were two blackjack tables and one more for roulette. Along the wall were five slot machines that looked like they hadn't been played in years. On the counter behind the front desk, Perry notice a cardboard box that was filled to the brim with old, glass ashtrays. Ages ago, when it was legal to smoke indoors, nearly every patron toted the classy, green glass ash-catchers around the hotel. Now, they looked to be worth nothing more than paperweights. Nevertheless, he noted the faint smell of old smoke that was cooked into the walls as deep as the stain in the wood slats under his feet.

His study of the interior was interrupted by the busy staff member. "You'll be in 404, Mr. Stone." The man disappeared into a small back office and reappeared with a golden key attached to a green gem, resembling the gate at the road, with the small room number engraved. "Right this way and I'll show you to your room."

As they made their way to the elevator, Perry took note of the few other persons that appeared to be guests as well. He saw an older, grey-haired couple at a small table in the lounge, enjoying some drinks. They said nothing to each other, only sat looking out the large windows at the hotel grounds. The old man's pale, blue cane rested against his leg. Perry was impressed by the man's ability to match his shirt to his cane and wondered if he had a thousand shirts, all that same color, just to coordinate each time he left his house. The woman with him was dressed in a dark, plum jumpsuit with gold rings on nearly every finger and a few necklaces to match. Her thick, gold-rimmed glasses sat low on her nose while she sipped her martini.

The elevator dinged as it began its descent to the lobby and a noise of a man shouting as he entered the hotel caused Perry to look. "No, I can't hear you!" The man turned to walk back outside, holding his cell phone to his ear. He appeared to be frustrated, clearly hoping for better reception. Again, muffled by the glass doors this time, the man shouted into his phone, "Hello?! Can you hear me at all?!" Pulling his phone away from his ear, he looked down to see the call had dropped. Perry noticed the bellhop had left his side to try and greet the disgruntled customer. "Service up here is shit."

"Yes, we're sorry, sir." The employee held the door for him to enter the lobby again. "The landlines are, by far, the most reliable source for calls from the canyon." He apologetically signaled to Perry for the wait.

Perry, noticing how understaffed the hotel was, offered to make his way to his room on his own. "I'm sure I can manage." He reached out his hand and received the room key, nearly dropping it, due to the bandages on his injured finger.

As the upset man with no cell reception dropped his bag on the front counter, he placed his phone into his sportcoat's breast pocket. He was clearly just passing through and traveling for business. He wore khaki suit pants with his navy jacket over a light, yellow polo shirt. The man looked disheveled with half of his color out of the coat and the other tucked neatly beneath. Perry assumed he knew the type; shaved head to hide his terribly-receding hairline, large chest because he only used the bench press at the gym, but a protruding gut from too much daily beer. If he had to guess, he was a bully when he was young and was still a bully now.

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The elevator doors opened as Perry turned back, ready to head to the fourth floor. He stepped inside and saw himself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. The stubble on his face had grown into a short beard now and his eyes looked heavy. He was wearing a grey t-shirt under a tan jacket. His brown-rimmed reading glass hung from his shirt collar and his hair needed a wash. He slung his bag and camera over his shoulder and awkwardly pressed the floor button with his pinky, avoiding the injured finger, and watched the elevator doors close. He yawned and stretched by leaning side to side in an attempt to get the blood moving again. He opened his eyes wide and blinked, trying to wake up as the elevator came to a stop at his floor and the doors opened. He almost collided with a young woman that had her head down, clearly not expecting someone in the elevator. She was dressed in overalls and carried a tool bag and a bucket. She was wearing a construction mask with a tan hat pulled down low and her boots were covered in white dust. Perry wasn't much of a manual labor guy, but he recognized someone hanging sheetrock when he saw it. He naturally apologized and stepped aside. The woman made no effort to make eye contact and kept to herself. Perry found the directional sign and made his way down the hall to room 404. The hotel carpet was dark green with small, white dots and the walls were an earthy cream. Gold sconces lined the walls every fifteen or twenty feet giving the floor a low-lit, need-to-whisper vibe, and the doors were painted deep, glossy emerald.

Perry's door was heavy and closed with a loud thud that startled him. The room was small with a queen-size bed, a small nightstand with a lamp. When he turned on the light, he noticed the wallpaper was printed with a giant, black-and-white image of Joey Bishop from the 1960s. The large-print image was the first modern touch he'd seen in the hotel. Based on what he knew, he'd guess each room had a different celebrity on the wall. There was a TV mounted to the wall with a desk that matched the nightstand in the corner by the window. Despite the size, the room was clean and organized. As Perry began to lower his bag onto the bed, there was a knock at the door.

Perry looked through the peephole to see the bellhop again. Surprised by how quickly the man was back upstairs, he opened the door. "That was fast."

"I apologize for the inconvenience, Mr. Stone. Did you get settled in?" The man nodded toward the room.

"Yes," Perry replied, "everything's fine. Thank you." He leaned out the door and looked down the hall. You made it up here awfully quick. Is there another elevator?"

A beeping sound interrupted them before he could answer. He reached behind him and unclipped a small two-way radio from his belt. He turned away and spoke briefly in a low voice. There was a short pause and a quiet reply that Perry couldn't make out. As he spoke into the radio again, his demeanor changed and he appeared agitated. "You're kidding me! ... No, just wait! I'll be right there." Flustered, he spoke through gritted teeth and clicked off the radio. He turned, replaced his pursed lips with the same, wide smile, and pretended as if nothing was wrong. "I apologize for the inconvenience, once again, Mr. Stone." He bowed slightly and hurried back toward the elevator.