LAX was packed with people scrambling every which way. Michael rolled his way down the long terminal and made his way down the stairs leaving the gated terminal. A line of chauffeurs waited at the bottom of the gate, holding signs at their chests. There was a tall bald man dressed in an all-black suit holding a sign that in fat marker read "Harvey Sinclair."
Michael approached the man. As he got closer, he found the man much more prominent than he'd appeared further away. His eyes were black and tilted towards his beaked nose. His eyebrows were thin and flat.
"Harvey Sinclair," Michael flashed his ID quickly before stuffing it back to his wallet. He reached out his hand to the man who didn't shake it.
"Come." The man said. Turning and walking to the sliding door.
Michael followed the man to a long shiny black car. All four windows were tinted dark. The man climbed in the passenger door and shut it behind him without saying a word. Michael opened the rear door and slid his suitcase across the leather seat. As soon as the door closed behind him, the car pulled from the curb. The driver was wearing a matching black suit. He had short buzzed hair faded to nothing on the sides. He had a strong jawline that seemed to be at a constant clench. Michael decided it best not to speak.
The drivers at the airport were not friendly at all. I am currently on my way to the resort, but so far, the trip has left me more stressed than relaxed. A word of advice to the resort, first impressions matter.
Michael stuffed the notebook back into his suitcase and stared out the window. It took nearly an hour before they made it out of the developed city into the beautiful green scenery. He admired the views as the golden coast came in and out of sight as they made their way through the rolling hills. The car slowed as it turned off the highway onto a narrow dirt road. Every few hundred yards, a driveway veered to either side, leading up to a stunning gated house. Michael stared as each property seemed to top the last. The two men in the front seat stared straight ahead.
After twenty minutes, the dirt road came to an end at a large black gate that had a fancy letter 'M' inscribed in the middle where the two sides met. Large walls spread out from either side of the gate.
The driver reached onto the dash and pressed a clicker Michael hadn't noticed. The two gates slowly swung inwards, revealing a path that led down the side of a hill. As soon as they rounded the corner, the view opened up. The resort was not at all like the one Gary had shown him on the brochure. Those photos looked like a hotel, a vacation. This was was something else. This looked like a secret, a getaway that would cost seven thousand a night. A two story French Chateau design that stretched wide and high with windows that extended the entire length of their floors. The mansion was sitting at the bottom of a beautiful, well-trimmed valley. The estate narrowed towards the rear as if to point towards the quiet, empty beach where the sun currently hung in perfect symmetry above the water.
The car made its way down the chocolate tiled driveway. It slowed as they circled around the stone fountain that sprayed a perfect circle of water from its top.
As Michael stepped out of the car, he was hit with the calming aroma of the salty ocean air. The sounds of waves crashing on the beach echoed in the distance. He pulled his suitcase from the trunk and stepped towards the sand-colored stairwell. Before Michael could thank the drivers, the car pulled back around the fountain and began it's ascent back up the hill. Michael felt a bit guilty experiencing this without Katiella but decided he'd have Gary book them another stay here for the second vacation he'd been promised.
Michael reached up and swung the heavy knocker three times. The door pulled open, revealing a sizeable golden room. The space was empty except for the various glossed vases spaced evenly on both sides of the room. Each held plants that looked too perfect to possibly be real. A broad staircase wrapped spirals up the back right wall. Michael looked up and saw a glass chandelier hanging in the center of the room, reflecting rays of light from the sun coming through the window that made up the second floor's back wall. There was a large banner hanging from the floor’s railing that read, "Welcome home." It seemed oddly out of place.
"Harvey Sinclair?" A woman's voice said, breaking Michael from his trance. He looked down to see the woman that had pulled the door open. She was nearly half a foot shorter than he was even with her grey high heels. Her brown hair was pulled up into a small tight bun. She was wearing a black and white striped tailored button-up that was tucked into black business slacks. There was a presence about her that made her out as someone you didn't want to cross.
"Yes, mam," Michael replied, deciding not to show her the ID unless she asked. She didn't.
The woman looked at Michael. He couldn't tell if she was glaring at him, or if her face naturally rested in a scowl.
"Could I please see your phone?" She asked, reaching out her hand, implying it was a demand, not a question.
Michael hesitantly pulled his phone from his pocket. She grabbed it and slid it into her own.
"I'll be needing that to make calls this week," Michael contested.
She shot him a questioning look, "There will be no phones this week." She stated. Michael tried to argue, but was cut off, "I'll show you to your room."
Without asking, the woman grabbed Michael's suitcase and rolled it to the stairs. As they reached the second floor, Michael fell behind for just a moment to gaze out the enormous window at the direct view of the beach. There were two palm trees where the grass met the sand. A rope hammock swung gently in the breeze between them. Just before the palm trees lay, a small jacuzzi carved straight into the earth.
Michael scurried after the woman that had disappeared somewhere to his left. He searched aimlessly down the hallway before finding her in a room near the end of the hall. The room was about the same size as his entire apartment. The entire far wall was one large window that overlooked the ocean. There was a counter that ran across the lower third of the window that had sand and seashells infused inside of its glass build. At the end of the glass counter, a small refrigerator was built seamlessly into the wall.
A king-size bed with light blue sheets sat in the center of the room. A large painting of the ocean hung above the bed. There was a full nightstand on either side of the bed with large round lamps sitting on top.
"This is where you'll be staying for the time being." The woman said as she walked towards the door. "Feel free to explore, but please, for your own sake, don't break anything." She stopped in the doorway. "Dinner's at six. Do not be late."
"Mam, I'm really going to need—"
"No phones. Take this." She handed Michael a small device that looked like a smaller phone, "It calls me directly if you need anything. There's an alarm set for ten minutes to six. The side button shuts it off. Don't be late for dinner."
She shuffled out of the room. Michael fiddled with the device for a few moments and found it only had two functions; clock and call. There was no dial pad, just a single call button that apparently went directly to the lady. He shoved the device into his pocket, jumped on the bed, and sprawled out on top of the covers, not too soft, not too firm. He got up from the bed. He wanted to nap but decided he'd instead explore for the two hours leading up to dinner.