The Songs of Leslie Orange

“Hotel California,” Leslie Orange read off of the sign in front of the luxury hotel. She took a deep breath. The warm California air filled his lungs. It was Leslie’s first time in California, and with the recent string of sleeping on the streets, she was glad to finally stay someplace relaxing for a while. She decided to take a longer than usual break, and she was going to spend every minute of it in the hotel. She grabbed her backpack and guitar and rushed inside, out of the desert heat. As soon she did, she realized she stuck out like a sore thumb. Everyone walking about in the hotel was dressed with designer labels. Leslie looked down at what she was wearing, a multicolored dress, a white, sleeveless shirt, and an orange knitted cap. She certainly didn’t look like anyone from around here. She slowly approached the front desk. “I’m here to check in,” she said. The woman at the front desk smiled at Leslie.
“Welcome to Hotel California, you can check out anytime you like,” she said. Leslie smiled. The woman typed a few things into her computer. “What is your name?” She asked. Leslie told the woman her name. The woman, whose name was Betty, typed more things into her computer, and then handed a key card to Leslie. “Here you go,” she said. Leslie took it.
“Thank you,” Leslie said. With her backpack on her back and her guitar in her hand, she crossed the lobby towards the elevators. She moved slowly as she did so. She was busy taking the hotel in. Everything was white and made of marble, except for the furniture, which was all an ocean blue color. The place seemed so upscale and swanky. Leslie even saw a few celebrities. She decided to stop herself from staring any longer and go up to her room. The elevator dinged, and the doors rolled open. The elevator was full of rick looking people. Leslie shuffled in. She made sure her guitar didn’t hit anybody. The elevator was now packed to the max with people. Leslie just stood there silently. When the doors opened up again, Leslie was on her floor. She started down the hall and after a few moments, found her room somewhere in the middle. She opened the door, and walked into the room. Like the lobby, it was quite pristine looking. White, marble floor, marble counters in the bathroom, and blue sheets on the bed. The room looked modern, with a wireless room phone, an HD flat screen television, and remote controlled blinds, but it had an air of a vintage touch, she couldn’t put her finger on it. She tossed her bag onto the floor and placed her guitar against the wall. She looked around one last time before tossing herself on the bed. She drifted off to sleep.

…During her nap, she tossed and turned, hearing voices from somewhere.
“Welcome to the Hotel California, plenty of room at the Hotel California, they’re living it up at the Hotel California,” they said. Leslie turned over and over…

Around eleven or so at night, Leslie left her room to take a stroll and tour the hotel. She had been asleep since she’d gotten there, and didn’t really have a chance to look around. Leslie noticed the dark hallway she was walking down was empty. For some reason, the hotel was quite different looking at night. The pristine white floors were now dark and orange from the poor lighting. Leslie looked around. The place now kind of scared her out.
“Such a lovely place,” She heard someone say. She turned around, but there was no one there. It sounded like the voices from before. Why was she hearing voices suddenly? She turned into a little waiting area for the elevators. It too was poorly lit and orange from the light. It flickered. Leslie just stared at the elevator door, waiting for it to open. She suddenly noticed the ceiling had mirrors on it. She started herself. She never realized how blank her face looked. It must be difficult for people to guess what she’s feeling.
“Such a lovely face,” the voice said again in the same tone. Before Leslie could react, the elevator doors opened. Leslie stepped inside and pressed the ‘L’ button for lobby. The doors closed, and in moments they opened again on the main floor. Leslie stepped out. The lobby was far less full then it was earlier. Looking around, she hardly saw anyone down there. She walked towards the desk, and noticed a restaurant inside the hotel. Glancing inside, she saw the bar was full of people, and the bar tender was surrounded by buckets of ice, all with a bottle of pink champagne in them.
“Mirrors on the ceiling, the pink champagne on ice,” Leslie said.
“We’re all just prisoners of our own device,” a woman leaving the bar said. Leslie looked at her.
“What?” She asked, not sure she had heard the woman correctly.
“If you’re about to go in there, I suggest the dirty rice,” the woman said smiling, “It’s amazing.” Leslie smiled weakly and nodded. That was weird. She kept walking. Betty was still at the front desk, but she looked tired. A man in front of Leslie was talking to her. Another man next to her stood there quietly.
“Where’s your manager?” The guy in front of Leslie asked angrily. “I called down here an hour ago for some wine for my fiancé and me,” he said. The man next to Betty raised a hand to quiet the man.
“And sir, I told you, we don’t have that particular year. We haven’t had that spirit here since 1969,” the man said. Leslie raised an eyebrow. The man sighed loudly and walked away. Leslie walked up to the desk.
“I couldn’t help but overhear you conversation, but wines aren’t spirits,” Leslie said. The man looked at her.
“Oh, right,” he said, as if he really wasn’t talking about the wine. He turned and left. Leslie looked at Betty, who looked as though she need some sleep.
“Are you okay?” Leslie asked. Betty nodded.
“How can I help you Miss Orange?” She asked. Leslie shrugged slightly.
“Do you have a pool here?” Leslie asked. Betty nodded again.
“Yes, but it’s closed for repair,” she said. Leslie nodded.
“Thank you,” she said. Leslie walked down the lobby. She passed a gift shop, another restaurant, and a staircase. She came to a door. Looking outside, she saw the desert she had seen earlier. She pressed on the door handle, but the door didn’t opened. She pressed it again, but still, nothing. The night man standing next to her looked at her.
“Relax,” he said. Leslie looked at him.
“How do I open this door?” She asked, ignoring his previous comment.
“We are programmed to receive,” he said. Leslie raised an eyebrow.
“What?” She said, now no longer concerned about the door. The night man continued.
“You can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave.”