 I considered hailing a cab and directing it to the Omni. What’s one meaningless ride further into the city for a dead end? A ploy to get my heart and mind racing about the possibility of meeting the only man in my life besides my son?
 Meet Greta. A 30-something single-mom living in Chicago proper, ghostwriting for a man she has never met. She’s miraculously completed the monthly manuscript deadline and received a new laptop, a crisp $1 bill, and a note saying he’s ready for a public appearance—only Greta has to go on a hunt around the world to find him! Clue #1 was easy—a note from Clamming on the Omni Hotel letterhead—or was it too easy?
Missed a Chapter? Read Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4
I considered hailing a cab and directing it to the Omni. What’s one meaningless ride further into the city for a dead end? A ploy to get my heart and mind racing about the possibility of meeting the only man in my life besides my son? Hell, it was about the only sense of adventure I’d had in my life since The Night Of Conception. Not that I am counting.
I even convinced myself it would be a distraction for a now over-tired, acting out four-year-old Owen. Hell, it could even tire him out for an afternoon nap. That is until the caffeine kicked in. Nicole. My once editor at my technical writing job. The one they laid off every so nicely with a six month severance package. Last I heard, she’d landed back on her feet as a hotel concierge. Conveniently enough at the Omni.
I decided to throw caution to the wind—and my anxiousness about explaining myself to Nicole. I dialed her last known number from my cell phonebook and took a deep breath.
“Omni Hotel Chicago, how may I direct your call?”
“Concierge desk please.” For some reason I still wasn’t breathing and my voice shaking.
“This is Nicole. How can I help make your stay at the Omni Hotel Chicago more pleasant?”
“Hi Nicole. It’s Greta. From Software Fuge.” God. I sucked at introductions. Or re-introductions.
“Greta?”
“Part of the Tech Writing team?” I needed to stick my head in a bag. The opening wasn’t getting any better. “Sorry. It’s been over 2 years--”
“No, it’s okay,” She was always sweet. Too sweet to whip some hard core technology writers into line and cohesiveness, “It’s been a while. And I didn’t think I’d ever hear from anyone from there…”
“It was crazy times.” I pulled the empty cigarette pack from Owen’s hands, “A lot’s changed too. I don’t work there anymore either.” There was a long pause. An uncomfortable one. “Look, I don’t want to be a bother. Just looking for a friend who might have checked in recently. Can you look them up for me?”
Another pause.
“It’s sorta a surprise visit. They don’t know I live here in the city and I wanted to pop in on them.”
First swearing. Now lying. I’m doing stellar in the Setting Example Department today.
“Sure,” she said with a bit of apprehension, “What’s their name.”
Bingo. “Clamming. Robert Clamming.”
It felt funny using his full name. He was Clamming to Jen and I. But then again, we’ve never met the man. Clamming felt more appropriate for someone who could really be just imaginary.
"Looks like Mr. Clamming checked in yesterday. Want me to connect you to his room?"
Bethany Hiitola lives in a far north suburb of Chicago with her husband, son and new daughter. Throw in the animals, and it is a full house of chaos. Somehow, Bethany still manages to reach for her dream of writing—all between diaper changes, nap times, fixing meals, and work projects. Oh and giving her husband the attention he deserves. More details are at her website: www.bethanyhiitola.com
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