The Crescent

Chapter 11

When she and her father arrived at The Crescent Hotel, Zacari Jones drew in a breath.  The place looked like a four-story tiered cake, lavender chimneys poking out and high windows plastered on its circumference like ornate fondue. Even so, something about the hotel gave Zacari the impression that if one were to take a bite, they might find shards of glass jagged in the vanilla. But then the moment passed, and her gaze returned to her phone. Her newest YouTube upload was creeping up on one million views, and she only a few days ago she'd been convinced it would make it there. But it'd been sitting at a frustrating 8345 views. Maybe she needed a new upload. Or maybe everyone was bored. Disgusted, she slid her phone into her pocket.

 

A few strides in front of her, Zacari's father rambled into his phone as they passed the golden crescent moon statue, went up the front steps, through the double oak doors, and right up until it was their turn in line to check in.

"Alright, I've got to get off here." The bass of her father's voice resonated off the foyer walls. He slipped the phone in his pocket. It was one of those clunky, construction phones, impervious to the elements and an eyesore to Zacari. She preferred her newest version of the iPhone her mother had given her for Christmas, ideal for videoing and uploading her hand-puppet renditions of the musical Hamilton, trending now as Handleton. She'd painted intricate little costumes onto her hands from the characters in the musical, attached google eyes and mouthed along with her hands. Something was absurdly hilarious about the whole thing, and one of the renditioned songs, "Say No to This," went viral. Zacari hadn't expected it, and now she felt a pressure to make something else for her subscribers. If not funny, at least interesting. She was, unfortunately, at an impasse.

The name is brilliant, she consoled herself. She fought the urge to check her phone again. Instead, she looked at the hotel, and the mess her mother had forced her into.

Everyone in the foyer was blatantly staring at them. Zacari's father, Raymond, had a knack for drawing the attention from any room he entered. He had dark eyes, thick lashes, a sharp jaw. His kept his hair close cut and waved, the same hairstyle he'd had since Zacari was a little girl. He was a little leaner from the last time she'd seen him. Not that it mattered to everyone to anyone in the foyer. Whether they ogled because of his good looks, because he was black in a mostly white part of Arkansas, or a little of both, he took in the curious stares and blessed them with a dazzling smile. An elderly, white woman with painfully orange-dyed hair adjusted her bra strap. Zacari internally gagged and pulled out her phone and scrolled through Instagram. The Handleton account was at least getting a lot of activity. In her peripheral vison she watched her father turn to the front desk and check the two of them in.

"You're all set."  The receptionist, a shapely woman with straw colored hair, handed Zacari's father two skeleton keys after getting their information.  "Would you like the bellman to take your bags up to your room for you?"

Zacari and her father glanced at the bellman. He was a beefy, red-headed man with a scowl wrinkling up his nose. Meatloaf face, Zacari privately observed, like many of the older men here, with their collared pinstripes tucking in their potbellies, led by wives in flowing, flowering tunics she suspected were made from actual draperies. She scoured the room for anyone a shade darker than milk, but Zacari and her father were the only black people here.

"Thanks, beautiful, but we'll manage," Zacari's father said, winking at the receptionist. His hand tightened on his tool bag. He took it practically everywhere. Once upon a time it'd been used to fix things around Zacari's house, but now it was used to woo attractive women. Car troubles, leaky sinks, jammed locks, his tool bag was nothing more than a means for an end. The end, of course, a new number in his phone. "I'm sorry, you must have customers telling you that all the time."