Stuck In The 60s

Chapter Eleven

      I heard people talking behind the big, wooden door. "Is that our food?" and "Go an' get it!" They sounded like male voices. 

     I heard steps, someone was walking towards the door. I leaned against the wall, waiting for the person to open the door and take their food. I felt silly in the maid outfit, especially because I was a young girl, not even a teenager. These men in Room 276 would probably laugh at me.

     I was awoken from my thoughts by a voice. "I'll open the door a crack," the voice said, "And then, you can give me our food." I raised an eyebrow. It was a statement I hadn't expected to hear.

    The door opened slightly. I couldn't see the man's face, or his body, in that case. Suddenly, an arm shot out of nowhere, grabbing the tray that held the food. 

    "Thank you," the man said, quickly shutting the door. He left me standing there, a bit dumbfounded. I hadn't expected my first task to be for such a private group. Maybe they were a famous group, just like the Beatles.

       I skipped down the stairs, from the top floor all the way down to the lobby, where I had started. I saw Patrick Hayes, who was still sitting behind his desk. He saw me hop down the long, winding stairs, and jump onto the red carpet.

      "How was it?" he asked me, "Did you find the room? Did you get the food to the people?"

      I could tell he was a bit worried for me. It was my first day, I didn't exactly know my way around the building.

      "Yes, Mr. Hayes," I said proudly to my employer, "Although, I did find one thing unusual."

       "What is that?"

       "Well," I started, thinking of how to explain the situation I had experienced, "I was delivering the food to Room 276. The people in there, they only opened the door a crack, and told me to give them the food through there. They didn't even show their faces."

        I expected Patrick to be as confused as I was, but he only smiled and nodded his head.

       "I'd assume so," Patrick said, "Those boys do want their privacy."

       Privacy? Why would those fellows need such privacy? They were in a public hotel, after all.

       "Why is that, Mr. Hayes?"

       Patrick gave me a strange look. "I'd figure a young girl like you would know," he said, shocked. I gave him the same look he gave me. 

      "What are you talking about?"

      "That famous group is staying here at the Edgewater Hotel," Patrick said, confident that this famous group was staying at the hotel, "It was in the papers this morning."

      I had a feeling that it would be a famous group. They wouldn't want a fan to go crazy after even seeing their faces.

     "What group was it, Mr. Hayes?"

     "I believe the group is called the Beatles."

    "The Beatles?" I thought, "I delivered food to the Beatles, and I didn't even get the chance to see their faces?" I was furious, absolutely outraged.

    I darted up the winding stairs, despite Patrick ordering me to stop. I wouldn't listen to him. At this point, I wouldn't listen to anyone.

    Second floor, third floor, fourth floor. There were seventeen floors I had to conquer. I raced up each one, faster than I had ever run before.

    Fourteenth floor, fifthteenth floor, sixteenth floor, seventeenth floor. I had reached the top floor. I didn't take the time to breathe, it wasn't as important. I remembered that Room 276 was right at the end of the corridor. My face was burning, and probably redder than a newly-picked apple.     

    It hurt to run, but I ran anyway, faster each second, and each second getting closer to the door. 

   Suddenly, my body hit against a wall. I winced, rubbing my arms to somehow get rid of the pain. I looked up, and realized what I had run into was the door to Room 276.

   "Who's there?" I heard one of them say. It sounded like Paul McCartney. They must have heard me run into the door, mistaking it for a knock.

   How would I be able to get into the room? "It's the maid," I said, trying to be as calm as possible, "I've been told to clean this room." They'd have to let me in.

   The door had opened a crack, just as it had before. I saw someone's eye look through the crack, staring at me. The door opened up a bit more, and a hand motioned me inside the room. Inside, i was screaming, crying, ecstatic. Outside, though, I was completely calm. 

   It was Paul who had motioned me in. I was correct, of course. 

  "Please," he said, aggrivated, "Be quick. The reporters can't know that some girl was in our hotel room." 

  "Sure, fellows," I said, a bit surprised, "I promise."

  I suppose the look on my face was a little odd, because all four men started giggling. "What's the matter?" John Lennon laughed, "You look like you've seen a ghost."

  I didn't know what to say. I was standing in the same room, with my idols, and I probably looked like a fool. I decided it'd be best to laugh along with them.

  "Sorry," I apologized.

  They laughed again. "You're cute," John said, "Don't apologize."

  I smiled from ear to ear. I had barely said anything, and it was the best day ever.