Rock Star Treatment
Rock Star Treatment
May's Short Fiction features social-media star, a hotel, and impressions.
By Vince Wetzel
Copyright Vince Wetzel and OT Press
The moment Vic Taylor rode in on his Harley, David confirmed it was going to be a long day and night.
He had read the stories of the boorish behavior of the latest pseudo social media influencer slash pop sensation slash movie star. Tonight, Taylor was staying at David’s hotel, the luxurious Sawyer hotel in downtown Sacramento, as part of his performance at the arena next door.
David already had his staff take photos of all the furnishings and furniture inside Taylor’s room to help document the anticipated damage, along with indexing the replacement costs for an itemized bill. Since he learned that Taylor would be staying at the Sawyer, David began researching the stories and calling old friends in other hotels to understand if the media reports were exaggerated.
They were not. In St. Louis, Taylor had stuffed one of the elevators with as much furniture from his room as he could and sent it to the lobby. In Tampa, he threw a chair through the window to see if he could make it land in the pool (he missed by ten feet). In San Diego, Taylor held an orgy in his suite. Afterward, the room was unbookable for a week as they needed to replace carpets, furniture, and televisions.
David was surprised Taylor hadn’t been banned by his international hotelier corporation like many other chains had done. He suspected that Taylor just paid the damage no questions asked. It was part of the reason David took the inventory.
After all, this wasn’t the first time David prepared for a wild celebrity. He had worked at luxury hotels for much of his career, moving from his hometown of Sacramento to San Diego to Hawaii to Huntington Beach and back to Sacramento, and had his share of coddled primadonnas and their wild side, fueled by alcohol and drugs. Prepare, document, and have security and the police on speed dial if shenanigans escalated.
But, in everything he read and talked with his friends in the hospitality business, he did not expect Taylor to drive his vintage Dyna Wide Glide Harley Davidson motorcycle up into the hotel lobby and to the registration desk, revving up the 80-horsepower engine so loudly that the guests and staff stood with their mouths agape.
“Take care of this,” Taylor said to the young valet, who had run beside the motorcycle as it entered the lobby. Taylor threw him the keys and two $100 bills. He went right up to the front desk. “Keys? I need six.”
At first, David thought the motorcycle was only traveling through downtown on J Street. But the rumble (or was it his dread?) grew more acute, reverberating through the halls, into his office and even in his internal organs.
David skirted past Molly, the registration desk attendant, to the side and take care of Taylor himself. Everyone knew Taylor’s reputation and in an early staff meeting, David explained that he would be there to attend to Taylor’s needs the best he could so that no one else would have to endure the abuse.
“Yes, everything has been taken care of by your management,” David said. “We have also worked with them on a damage deposit and a contract for any damage done to the property while you are staying with us.”
Vic Taylor’s bright blue eyes stared over his sunglasses. “Hey man, it’s not me. It’s my fucking homies. They’re the ones that destroy the shit out of things. But aight, I’ll keep them at bay.”
“Well, we do appreciate if you do take your motorcycle again, that you allow our valet to take possession at the front carport instead of the lobby.”
“Whatever dude,” Taylor said. “It was a fucking rental from San Francisco. Picked it up this morning. They’ll probably come by and pick it up when they miss it in a few days.”
Taylor looked at David with defiance and a bit of annoyance. David gave his best smile and handed Taylor five of the six key cards. He kept the final key, intending to personally escort Taylor to the room himself.
David and Taylor rode up in the private elevator to the luxury suites and condos atop the Sawyer. This elevator went from the suites to the sub-basement level where musical acts, professional basketball teams, and other VIPs crossed to the arena without having to deal with the ordinary serfs who paid the exorbitant ticket prices.
“Your road manager and assistant came in about an hour ago,” David said. “I was surprised you didn’t ride in the bus with everyone else?”
“Nah, I needed some time alone.” Taylor said. “Sometimes all those fuckers drive me nuts.”
David nodded and continued to stare forward. Taylor leaned in close, like he was going to share a secret. “By the way, who do I talk to find some companionship before the show. Is it you? I’m thinking the top strippers you’ve got in Sac would do.”
David furrowed his brow. The Sawyer had a reputation, and he was not going to let this one man, no matter his star status push it into the gutter.
“We do not do that sir,” David said. “I suggest you rest up for your show and let us provide you some of the best cuisine from our top chefs.”
David knew Taylor was not going to be dissuaded from his bacchanal lifestyle. But at least, David and the Sawyer were not going to be complicit. Taylor huffed and said something about getting one of his roadies to procure the strippers for the evening.
David led Taylor into the penthouse suite, which featured 20-foot-high floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the arena, the Sacramento skyline, the Sacramento River, the Tower Bridge and the Triple-A baseball park across the river. David was always impressed by this view, regardless of how many times he saw it.
Taylor didn’t appreciate it, and just walked to the luggage that was brought by his assistant an hour before. He gently brushed the bags before continuing to the bathroom. David thought Taylor’s entourage would arrive soon and started his way back to the door.
“Hey,” Taylor called from the bathroom.
“Yes, Mr. Taylor.”
“Can you come here for a second?”
David crossed the room and headed toward the bathroom, which was bigger than his first apartment. The door was open, and David thought Taylor had a question about the features of the smart bathroom. But as he crossed the doorway, Taylor was sitting on the toilet, his gray joggers around his ankles. David immediately turned away.
“Sir?”
“Proof that celebrities are people too. See, I have to shit just like everybody else.”
“Understood sir,” David said.
“I’m not the terror that everyone says I am. It’s all about reputation management. It drives everyone crazy trying to figure out what I’m going to do next. That’s what the people want and sometimes that means a little destruction. Don’t take it personal.”
David continued to stare out of the bathroom and toward the living room. David wondered how this view would change by tomorrow morning? What would be destroyed, missing, or soiled?
“The clicks are it. You know that every time I destroy a hotel room, I make ten times what it costs to pay for the damage I cause. All from the people who want to destroy hotel rooms but don’t have the means or the guile to do so.”
David thought through that statement, but also remembered all the stories of his colleagues in the industry who had to put up with Taylor and celebrities like him who disregarded the people who had to clean up the mess.
“You know there are people who work really hard to keep places like the Sawyer clean,” David said. “They do so without complaint and for too little money for what you put them through. It would be nice for you to think of other ways to get your clicks and generate revenue.”
Taylor laughed followed by a flush. David continued to stare forward as Taylor washed his hands, dried them and walked past him and out of the bathroom.
“Yeah, maybe. But I know that you’ve meticulously chronicled every single item in this room. I would hate for all of that work go to waste.”
The door opened and Taylor’s assistant and road manager came in, looking exhausted but also relieved that Taylor had made it to Sacramento without wrecking the Harley and injuring himself.
“Your ride from San Francisco to here is already trending. People taking video of you speeding past them on the highway,” the assistant said. “Great idea to post you getting on the bike.”
“What can I say? Do something out of the ordinary and people eat it up,” Taylor winked at David.
David left Taylor with his paid babysitters and returned to his office. As the night wore on, David marked when Taylor’s show started and ended, expecting to be called or summoned for one transgression or another.
At around midnight, David’s phone buzzed. Here we go, David thought. But it wasn’t anything to do with Taylor. It was a text from his friend Paul. Not a stranger to crazy stories in his younger days, Paul was now living through David’s untold scandals of high-end hotels.
“I hear Vic Taylor is staying with you tonight. Any stories?”
“Other than him driving a Harley into the lobby or me walking in on him taking a shit, all is quiet,” David typed. “Too quiet.”
Indeed, certainly there would be complaints or outrageous food orders or even the gang of loud strippers strolling through the lobby. Maybe they came through the sub-basement? David went to the front desk to check.
“Hey, Cindy, anything from the Taylor suite?” David asked.
Cindy, a petite blonde and recent graduate of San Diego State University, shook her head.
“Nope, we haven’t heard anything. Not since the show ended. And that was just the usual fans coming out of the concert. Nothing from Mr. Taylor or his people.”
That was odd. He texted Taylor’s assistant Denise. He waited for 20 minutes and when there was no response, David decided to check things out for himself and boarded the elevator to the penthouse suite. As the doors opened, David expected the music to be blaring, or maybe walk in on an orgy in progress in the halls. Instead, when the doors opened, it was silent and eerie. Nobody was around.
He pulled up his walkie talkie and dialed Josh, who was his eyes in the sky tonight, viewing all of the monitors in the hotel. He should have called Josh in security first.
“Josh, come on in Josh. This is David.”
“Yeah,” Josh’s deep crusty voice blasted through the radio speaker.
“What time did you see Vic Taylor and his entourage come through the tunnel and into the elevator?”
There was a pause, then Josh said, “Didn’t happen.”
David looked at the radio. What kind of code was Josh talking?
“What do you mean it didn’t happen Josh?”
“They didn’t enter the hotel through the tunnel. They never came through.”
David looked back at the penthouse suite. Was it possible that Taylor slipped by Josh and headed up on his own and without his entourage. Was Taylor still at the arena at 1 a.m.? David walked to the door to the suite and put his ear to it. No noises. He was tempted to knock on the door to check if everything was ok, but waking a rock star was not the right call, especially if there were no signs of danger to Taylor to himself or others.
With reluctance, David returned to the elevator and returned to the lobby. As he approached Cindy, her eyes raised, anticipating an answer to the mystery.
“Find him?”
David just shook his head and shrugged before walking back to his office. He couldn’t believe this was going to be a quiet night. David was just prolonging the inevitable. But, if nothing happened by 3 or 4, then it likely didn’t happen. Anything escalating past 4 a.m. had a slow burn hours before. Rarely had a party go from zero to sixty after 3 a.m.
Two hours.
David poured himself another cup of coffee. He may need caffeine over adrenaline to get through the night. He was getting too old to pull these all-nighters.
Where was Vic Taylor?
As if the spiritual world was listening, Josh came over the radio.
“Hey boss,” Josh said. “I think I have a beat where Vic and their people are.”
“Where? What are they destroying? Do we need to call the cops?”
“Cops have already been called. That’s why I know. I’ve been listening to the scanner.”
David was confused. “I don’t get it.”
“They’re not at the Sawyer. They’re two blocks down at the Conroy, you know the single occupancy hotel for low-income people? I guess they’re partying there.”
“That makes no sense. Why would they go to that cess pool?”
“I don’t know. But the TV stations are on it. They were there practically before the cops. The cops think the media was alerted before the cops.”
David had a thought. He pulled up his TikTok and Vic Taylor’s page. Sure enough, Taylor was tagged in posts. On David’s small four-inch screen, Taylor was smoking out with the Conroy’s residents, drinking malt liquor and singing at the top of his lungs. He did find some strippers who were giving lap dances to the residents and Taylor’s hangers on. The residents were not annoyed by the intrusion. They were enjoying a touch with celebrity.
David scrolled across another post. Taylor was shirtless and making out with three strippers at a time. He pulled his tongue out of some blonde’s mouth long enough to look at the camera.
“They didn’t want us to party at the fancy Sawyer. So, we’re taking the party to the streets baby,” Taylor said. His eyes were half closed and the women’s mouths were plastered on both sides of his tatooed neck. “Hanging with the real people on the edge. They party like rock stars every day. And all I gotta do is throw a few thousand and I’ve given a few folks a new lease on life. I’m like Robin Hood baby.”
David closed the app and shook his head. Taylor was hardly Robin Hood. But what did Taylor say while he was on the toilet? About clicks and making money. This certainly would bring him more attention than destroying a hotel room. Maybe Taylor was a lot smarter than he looked.
David collapsed into the couch in his office and closed the door. As much as pulling an all-nighter, the anticipation of a Taylor pillaging drained him. Exhaustion and relief swept over him. Nothing was going to happen at the Sawyer tonight. But then there was a hint of disappointment. There would be no stories to tell Paul, his friends, or his fellow hoteliers. The Sawyer would not be a part of the Taylor lore. David shook off his disappointment and reclined on the couch. He could still get a couple of hours rest before his overnight shift ended.
David is a main character in the novel Friends in Low Places (2021)
Lose Yourself update
This week, I was blessed with the opportunity to hold a book event at my local brewery (Bike Dog) and Winery (Baker Family Wines) tasting room.
More than 40 people came out to show their support of the book and I appreciated the opportunity to reconnect with old friends and make new ones. I am always in awe of these experiences as I think about how folks will sit and read (for their own entertainment) words I typed (and deleted, and retyped, and revised, etc.).
Thank you to everyone who came out. More tour stops announcements to come, but I’m honored. If you’re not in California, you can purchase directly from my distributor or on Amazon, Bookshop.org and other online retailers. Also let me know if you do. I can send a personalized and signed adhesive plate you can affix to the front pages of your copy.
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