With this revelation, I hung me shoulders. I yelled even louder, “Janey! Please open the door!”
Then, a door opened next to where I stood. A man asked in a loud voice, “What are you bellyaching about?” A man with an English accent, who wore spiked hair, stared directly into me eyes.
“You opened the door,” I said, surprised.
The man asked in a calm voice, “How did you get into the hotel?”
“I don't know. I just opened the door and came in, but nobody seems to answer doors when I knock.”
“Nobody ever gets in, or out, of here.” He wore a black leather jacket and very tight black leather pants. He also wore spike heels and a spiked bracelet on his right wrist. “Well, don't just dawdle. Come in.”
Kind of curious about finally getting an answer, I will.
I followed the man into his penthouse room with elegant furniture and a bed made of white fur.
“Do you drink vodka straight up?” the man asked, sort of stamping on the floor with his spiked heels. “You can't ask them.” The man took off his jacket and slung it over one of the chairs exposing his black tank top.
“Man, you really don't know much about this place.”
“No.” I looked around at the beautiful surroundings and the triangle ceiling.
“Well, hell, I'm going to have a shot of vodka.”
“Before you do, why did you say you can't ask them?”
“You already knocked on their doors, bloke.” Before I could even open me mouth, the guy with the black spiked hair said, “No, on second thought, I'm going to have a glass of lime with a twist of cherries. What can I get you?”
“I'll have Coke, if you're asking.”
“Oh, I got Coke.” The man went into another room.
I walked around the room. The light came in from the outside, and I walked over to the window in an arch shape and touched the satin gold curtains. “What is this on the wall? Some drawings of this lady with dark massacre and punky hair. Why does she look familiar, and why are the drawings on the wall all over the place?” I whispered.
The man came back and handed me a glass of Coke in a glass tumbler. “You know the saying, ‘Nobody gets out of here alive?’ Well, that's true,” and the man in the black tank top took a seat on a plush red chair and crossed his legs.
I also took a seat a couple of feet away and held me glass and asked again, “Why did you tell me you can't ask them after I told you I knocked on all those doors and nobody replied?”
“Jim Symeon Rick.” The man took a drink from his glass.
“Weren’t you, at one time, in The Love Guns?”