Sins of The Past

Jonnathan never ceased to be surprised by the magnificence of some hotels.

Two years of success and I was still able to stay gobsmacked in the lobby watching the high ceiling of the building, its cobblestone tiles, its leather sofas, its digital campfires, its golden lighting and that crowd of people coming and going in elegant suits and tight-fitting dresses. The smell of elegance in the air as if money had its own aroma.

It still surprises her to know that he was among those wealthy people who could afford to spend thousands of dollars on a hotel room with a beautiful balcony overlooking the city, a room bigger than an apartment, foam bathtubs and a TELEVISION the size of Vesuvius.

Standing at the entrance, with his suitcase in hand, at least looking around, he was simultaneously filled with pride and a damn impostor syndrome.

He had to continually remind himself that he deserved to be there.

I had sacrificed a lot (and a lot) to be there.

Jonnathan walked to the reception, gave his identity and I hope they told him what his room would be. Having finished the paperwork, a bellboy, as if he had been trained by ninjas, came out of nowhere, took his suitcases and left the employee elevator. Amused, Jonnathan watched him walk away. He took the key to his room and went to the elevator.

While waiting for him to come down, he passed his weight from one leg to the other. He was excited at the prospect of the new project he would embark on, although it was also scary. There was a nudity in his new project that he had avoided for a long time. I knew, unfortunately, that I would have to face a painful process of deconstruction. That he would have to face memories of a past that he would rather leave buried. That would open wounds already closed. Still, he was determined to keep going, even if he had to carve his flesh open.

To be honest, it's not that he loved working, but he loved what he did and that was precisely what gave him strength.

The elevator came, he got on and pressed his floor (the fourteenth). Before the doors closed, he heard a voice screaming.

"Stop the elevator, please!"

Jonnathan did it reflexively by obstructing the entrance with one arm.

Then he was speechless.

A woman came in who I recognized immediately.

"Thank you," she said with a slight smile and placed herself next to him.

He did not answer, he could not with a dry mouth as he had it.

He let the door close and settled his arms on his back like a military man.

Is that her? Think. Damn, it's her. It can't be.

Marie Mirey

How can I not recognize her?

She was a very successful actress.

She had started as a child acting in youth series until one that made her particularly famous in her teens. "The remote village," it was called. It was about her and a group of children solving mysteries in a village. A kind of Scooby Doo with real people. What seemed like a simple premise ended up with extremely interesting plots and a success that pointed Marie Mirey to stardom. After that she had starred in many films, and Jonnathan had seen several, but in his mind he kept remembering her for her role as Elle in that series. It was one of his favorites.

And now she was just like that, as if nothing.

It was not the first time he had met someone famous. He had had a couple of encounters with actors and the odd film director since his sudden success. They usually treated him with respect, but there was a barrier that separated them; they were of totally different scales. On those occasions Jonnathan had also become nervous and resorted to his only defense mechanism: to keep quiet like an idiot, speaking the minimum necessary.

He wasn't the most charismatic guy in the world.

But fuck! Now he was meeting Marie Mirey! And she was as beautiful as behind the screen. A little short, but not too much. Sixty-five meters or so. She would have been twenty, which is four years younger than he was. A short curly hair that reached the shoulders, of a light brown color. Big, brown, expressive eyes that always favored her in her performance. Smooth features and thin lips. A well-groomed figure evidenced by the suit she was wearing at the time: tight blue jeans, a handbag and a top that exposed a sensual abdomen.

Even so, there was something about her different from the typical actresses who exploit her sexuality. Marie possessed a certain childish charm, like a cloak of naivety that she managed to convey to the camera and which, as far as Jonnathan could tell now, was real.

The elevator kept going up and Jonnathan was struggling with himself.

Should I tell him something or not?

As a rule, he resisted the urge. She imagined that a famous person must be tired of being recognized on the street, of being stopped and asked for photos. He didn't want to be just another idiot in the world. Pear was hard not to be. What will it be about the famous people who push us to tell them that we recognize them? No idea the truth.

And what would I tell him?

The elevator was near her floor. She wasn't getting off yet. He soon would. He was running out of time.

He half opened his mouth when the elevator acted for him.

With a slight thud and a low light that lasted a few seconds, the elevator stopped.

He and Marie saw the faces.

"He stopped moving, didn't he?"she asked.

He didn't answer. He tried to press one of the buttons, but nothing happened. The hum of the engine was no longer felt. He pressed the alarm button, again without any reaction.

"I think there was a power outage or something," he finally said.

"And why is the light on?"