Lost Weekend (A Rocked Story) by Clara Bayard Page A

that Joe patted my hand and told me to wait. The car door opened and he climbed out. A few seconds later he was next to me on the other side, helping me from the car.
    Holding his hand to keep from stumbling, I could feel sun on my face. From the smells and sounds, we were in the city for sure.
    “I see you trying to figure out where we are. Settle down.” He held my arms and turned me slightly, big calloused fingers scraping softly on my bare skin. There was a tug behind my head and he said, “Okay, open your eyes.”
    I blinked in the sudden light, and then gasped. We were standing in front of the Franklin-Rose Hotel. One of the oldest and grandest hotels in New York, it had been closed for over a decade due to a long legal battle that had spilled over into violence over ownership between the intermarried members of the Franklin and Rose families. I knew about the place because, like everyone else, I’d followed the trial of Marcus Rose on television and online all year, and even wrote an article about it for the free paper I freelanced with on occasion.
    “Oh my god!”
    Joe grinned. “Good surprise, right?”
    “Great surprise.” I laughed and threw my arms around him, not caring that a sidewalk full of people could see. I even tuned out the photographer snapping our picture. How did they always manage to find him?
    “I can’t believe you remembered.”
    “Babe, no matter how busy I am, I’ll never forget anything you say to me.”
    I kissed him hard on the lips and grinned. “Are we visiting or staying here?”
    “Please. I wouldn’t bring you here just for a glance around the place. We’re booked in a suite for the weekend.”
    I screeched with excitement, grabbed his hand, and dragged him inside. We sped past a doorman, through the ornately filigreed doors I knew had been perfectly restored from their original state. Into the lobby, where the bright marbled walls and floors nearly glowed. Up to the front desk, also restored from the early days of the hotel, it was tall and inviting, the warm mahogany somehow overcoming the immensity of its size.
    But before I could say anything, a young woman rounded the counter quickly, smoothing her dark hair back into a bun. Stiletto heels clicking, slim legs shifting gracefully under the pencil skirt of her suit, she was my physical opposite. Someone I would have once been nervous around, especially with Joe.
    “Mr. Hawk,” she said, smiling at him. “Welcome to the Franklin-Rose. I’m very sorry I was unable to meet you outside. My name is Stephanie, one of the hotel’s-.”
    “No problem. Look, Stephanie, no need to stand on ceremony. I’m here for a quiet trip.”
    She nodded sharply. “Of course.”
    “If you can get us checked in I’d really appreciate it.”
    “Already done, sir. I’ve got your keys right here and a bellman will deliver your luggage shortly. If you’ll follow me I’ll show you up to your suite.”
    Joe and I exchanged a look.
    “There’s no need. Tell us the number and point us at the elevators.”
    “I…well. Certainly. Suite 913.” She seemed baffled at the idea that Joe didn’t require more special treatment and toadying.
    I stifled a giggle.
    “Here you are, sir.” She handed over a folder, presumably containing our keys. “My cell phone number is included, should you,” she glanced at me, “either of you require anything.”
    “Great,” I said. “Off we go.”
    “Yes, of course. Are you sure there’s nothing I can do for you right now? There’s champagne and other refreshments in your room, but feel free to call room service for additional items.”
    I rolled my eyes and was turning away when Joe spoke.
    “Actually there is one thing you could help us with.”
    “Yes?”
    “Please try to keep the paparazzi away. And if you can’t, I’d appreciate another route out of here. I’m not here for publicity.”
    Stephanie nodded. “We’ll do our best, sir.”
    “Great. Thanks.” He smiled at her and I