Robert Beard Final Stop Hotel On a warm July evening in the Mojave Desert, the only sound on the desolate highway was the constant purr of the engine of a ‘67 Corvette Stingray, with the glossy cherry red finish, a red that would have made the feathers of a cardinal look dull and lifeless. The radio was playing the best of the best, primarily classic rock hits, the songs that just seemed to fit in this situation. It was an ideal night, with the wind blowing through the drivers hair, the music, the car, he was on cloud nine. As the sun began to creep below the skyline, he had finally just realized that the car’s check engine light was on and the engine suddenly began to stall and spit out smoke. The driver, whose night was now ruined by this, pulled over on the side of the road, swearing about everything he could. And during his fit of rage, a pair of headlights came over the horizon, the only other car that he had seen for hours. The car stopped, it was a nice car, a Lincoln, black, with white wall tires and the driver was dressed as nicely as his car, a full white suit to match the white leather interior of the car. “Problem?” said the driver of the Lincoln. “ Yeah, old piece of junk stalled out and won’t fire back up. I’m sorry I didn’t catch your name, the name’s Brown, Wade Brown” said Wade as he stood next to his red Corvette. “ I didn’t say my name.” the man replied. Wade hesitated a bit, this wasn’t exactly the reaction he was hoping for. But before he could apologize for the mix up, the man spoke up. “ But since you brought it up, my name is Rick.” There was an awkward pause between the men, and somewhere in the desert around them, a coyote let out a yelp, signaling that night was about to fall. “ Well I stopped because it looked like you needed help. If you can get that ‘Vette of yours down the road about 5 miles,Ii own a hotel that we can check you into for the night, and i’ll have my mechanic check her out.” “That sounds like a plan!” Wade said, as he shook Rick’s hand. But something caught Wade’s eye. During the handshake, Rick’s sunglasses, which he had kept on the whole conversation despite the fall of darkness, had fallen off his nose a bit, and his eyes had no white in them, it was as if his whole eye was a large pupil. Wade figured it was just a shadow from the lights on the dashboard, and thought nothing of it as the Corvette’s engine fired up hesitantly, and he crept down the road towards the hotel. As Wade pulled into the parking lot of the hotel, the red car gave it’s final kick, and died. As soon as Wade stepped out of his car, two small, incredibly small, almost dwarf like men, emerged seemingly out of nowhere and said, “ Leave the keys in the ignition, and she’ll be ready to go first thing tomorrow.” Wade couldn’t believe his ears and before he could thank them, the two men shocked him even more by pushing the Corvette effortlessly into the garage a short distance away. “Wow, they don’t mess around” said Wade under his breath as he strolled towards the revolving glass doors of the hotel. But just as he reached for the door, a light came on behind him, and the reflection in the glass caught his eye. He turned around to see a large neon sign lit up in the most wonderful color scheme. The green complimented the orange, which complimented the pink and so on. The sign read, “ Final Stop Hotel: Stay for a while.” Wade laughed a little as he strolled into the parlor. The first thing to catch Wade’s eye when he took his first step into the hotel was the greeting band. They were playing “Martha My Dear” by The Beatles, all the instruments were played to perfection, the horns, the piano, the strings, and the singer had sounded exactly like Paul McCartney himself. Wade worked his way toward the front desk where he talked to the man behind the desk who had an odd fashion to him. He was dressed like one of those guys that is forever stuck in the 1940’s. Wade explained his predicament to the desk clerk and told him he wanted to check into a room. “That’s curious,” the odd man behind the desk said, “It appears you’re already checked in.” Wade assumed that Mr. Rick had phoned ahead to set up the arrangements. He thanked the clerk, and Wade was instructed to have a seat until his guide arrived to show him around. During his wait, he was given a glass of his favorite spirit, a 20 year old single malt scotch. He sat contently, sipping his drink listening to the band. “Do you gents take requests by any chance?” Wade asked to the band “We sure do.” said the singer back to him. “Well can you play Hotel California by any chance?” The band looked at each quizzically other until finally the singer spoke, “I’m afraid that we’ve never heard that song, but how about Wonderful Tonight, by Clapton?” Wade said that he loved that song, and the band’s guitarist stepped up to take the role. While he was listening, someone tapped on his shoulder, and he turned to see who it was. It was his guide, a tall, blonde, overall gorgeous woman who was around Wade’s age. She had in her hands a room key, and a bottle of Cabernet. She said in an angelic voice, “Hello, my name is Charlotte, and I’ll be your guide around the hotel.” Wade thought to himself, “I could get used to this place, it hasn’t disappointed yet!” Charlotte interrupted his thought by holding out a small maple box. Wade opened the box to see it was a humidor filled with three fat Cuban cigars and a note that said, “Enjoy your tour and your stay ‐Mr. Rick”. Wade thought that this was a very thoughtful gift from Rick, seeing how their meeting was brief. Charlotte leaned to Wade and said, “If you’re ready, I can show you around the hotel.” Wade said that that’d be wonderful, and he thanked the band for the music. “Stop by the lobby anytime, we’re always here.” said the singer with a grin. “I’ll be sure to!” said Wade as Charlotte led him out of the lobby towards the staircase. The stairs were absolutely stunning. Spiral stairs, the whole way up to the top floor. Charlotte was giving details of the hotel, and how Mr. Rick had the place built when he inherited a fortune from his parents’ deaths in a tragic car accident, when Rick was 18. “Mr. Rick had used his fortune to build this hotel after he graduated high school,” Charlotte said, “and he has managed the place ever since. This hotel is his pride and joy.” “I can see he’s put a lot into the place” Wade replied, “everything about this place is perfect! Except for the strange location, all the way out here in the desert, do you get customers often?” “The Final Stop never seems to have a shortage of guests!” Charlotte replied. Wade then noticed that he was yet to see another guest of the hotel since he arrived, but he pushed that out of his mind as he took a puff of the Cuban. The tour continued, visiting the dining room, the pool outside, and plenty of other lounges with fully stocked bars. Wade saw during the tour that there was indeed alot of guests at the hotel, but they were all dressed strangely. Some were dressed exactly like the desk clerk, in a 40’s outfit, while others had the afros of the 70’s, the floral 60’s outfits, and the punk and pop inspired 80’s outfits. Wade was puzzled about this. “Why do the guests have such weird attire?” he thought to himself, but he acted as if this didn’t bother him. Charlotte finally stopped in the middle of a hallway and handed Wade his room key. “Here we are! Room 512! If you need anything else don’t hesitate to call me.” Charlotte said, as she gave Wade a wink and strutted away. Wade tried to hide his redness, but opened the door and walked into his room. The first thing that caught his attention was the style of the room, it was perfect. The room was furnished with leather furniture, a giant tv, fully stocked mini bar (with another bottle of scotch on the counter), an ashtray next to another box of cigars and a bed. It was as if Wade picked out the room in a catalog. He fell in love instantly. “First things first,” Wade said, “I could use a shower.” So he went to the bathroom, freshened up, and when he emerged, he saw his clothes were gone. But in their place was a note that said, “Your clothes are being cleaned, couldn’t have a guest be uncomfortable. Check the drawer under the tv for a set of clothes. ‐Mr. Rick” Wade laughed and thought to himself again, “This place really doesn’t mess around.” He made his way over to the dresser, pouring himself a glass of scotch along the way. He opened the drawer, and was surprised to see that the clothes that were awaiting him were anything but casual. There was a blue leisure suit with white trim, white loafers, and a white shirt. He threw on his outfit, and admired himself in the mirror, even wondering how Charlotte will react to his attire. Once Wade was dressed, he made his way to the dining room for dinner. Along the way, he took an alternate route. He turned down a hall that Charlotte hadn’t shown him on the tour. The wall was filled with a number of fine art pieces, sculptures and mosaics. He admired the pieces, all of which were painted by famous artists like Picasso and Warhol. But these were pieces that he had never seen before, even in museums and the finest art galleries. As he made his way down the hall, he passed a man that looked eerily familiar to the late Pablo Picasso, including the unique mustache. The man noticed Wade looking at him, they exchanged smiles and he continued painting. Wade, a tad shaken up from this, continued to work his way towards the dining room. When he reached the main parlor, he noticed that the band was still playing. Wade walked over to them again and said “You guys are still here? This has to be the graveyard shift for you!” “Oh no, these are our regular hours!” the singer replied, “Well, it seems like we’re always on the graveyard shift.” and gave Wade a wink. They continued serenading the other guests in the lobby, all of whom seemed to be down and out as if they were stuck at a bad party and just wanted to go home. Wade noticed the look of one particular woman, dressed in a gorgeous cherry red dress and red stilettos to match it. Her expression seemed to say “I’m so sorry” the kind of expression you would expect to see at a funeral, not in the lobby of a beautiful hotel with a band playing Sinatra in the background. As Wade made a move to go talk to the woman, Charlotte cut him off. “Wade! We’ve been waiting for you in the dining room! Come with me!” grabbing Wade’s hand and taking him down the hall. Wade looked back at the woman, who mouthed the words “I’m so sorry” Wade’s heart sank at this, and he asked Charlotte to stop for a second. “What is this place?” he asked, “Why are all the guests so depressed? They seem like they’ve been through this before, like it’s just another night.” Charlotte, who was wearing a stunning fuchsia dress and a pearl necklace, replied “Oh they’re just no fun. Now hurry up! We don’t want to be late for dinner with Mr. Rick!”, then she grabbed his hand again. The duo burst into the dining room to see a lavish meal presented, with two available seats at the table. One at the head of the table and one to the left of it. “Ah, Wade! The man of the hour! Have a seat at the head of the table!” Said Mr. Rick in a more optimistic tone than that of the one during their first conversation. “I hope everything has been to your liking thus far! We only want the best for you!” Wade took a sip of his water and replied “Everything has been wonderful so far! You didn’t have to go through all this trouble!” “Nonsense!” replied Rick, “only the best for our guests! Now let’s eat!” They began eating, talking about the hotel and the history of the area. However, the painter had been on Wade’s mind the whole night, so he finally asked, “That hall of art, let me first say how wonderful it is, but the artist working in there looked so much like Pablo Picasso! Small world eh?” Wade said with a chuckle. Mr. Rick, whose sunglasses were still resting on the brim of his nose, replied, “Well that’s because it is!” Wade dropped his fork and silence overtook the room. “Excuse me?’ Wade said. “Of course! Mr. Picasso checked into the hotel back in in 1973! I believe it was in April!” Said Rick. Wade was at a loss for words, and laughed nervously. Having a taste for fine art, Wade knew Picasso had died in 1973. “Ah, you got me!” laughed Wade. But the rest of the people in the room looked at him strangely. “You can’t be serious.” said Wade. “Wade, here at the Final Stop, we have a lot of guests with historical significance” Said Mr. Rick, but as he said this, he began to take of his sunglasses. Behind the sunglasses, was what Wade thought he saw earlier, black. Pure black in Mr. Rick’s eyes. “You’ll see that during the duration of your stay.” Wade ran out of the dining room, down the hall toward the door in the parlor. As he ran, Wade passed very familiar people. He passed John Lennon playing guitar with Jimi Hendrix. President Kennedy holding hands with Marilyn Monroe, who gave him a wink as he ran by. The last face he saw before bursting into the parlor was The King, Elvis Presley himself. When he got to the lobby, he noticed the revolving glass doors were no longer there. Rather, all he saw was the painting that Picasso had been working on earlier. Panicked, Wade turned to the night man and asked, “How do I get out of this place?!” The night man responded with a relaxed chuckle, “Relax Mr. Brown. Here at the Final Stop Hotel, you can check out anytime you’d like, but you can never leave.” As Wade stood there terrified, he heard the band playing a familiar tune in the distance.. The song he had requested earlier, Hotel California.