I am a new model shooting in a new city with a new photographer. It is 2:30 am when he drops me off at a friend's house where I am staying. She's a friend per se, but in the way that you hang out with someone for three straight days, you become friends. She had left a key in a lock box for me to get into her house while she stayed at her boyfriend's. Well, she had said she had left a key. The key wasn't there. I knock on all of the windows, no one will wake up. It's too late. Call her phone, straight to voicemail. So there I am on orbitz looking at motels at 3 am on a girl's porch who I think I remember her last name, but maybe not. I find one, call, "hello, do you have a vacancy?" "can you hold the room for me?" "oh honey, there will definitely be room for you" 1st bad sign. Call an uber and the guy is interested that I'm from Detroit. He does "um, business" there. "Near there" Ok, he grows weed there. He says it's my lucky day, he has a joint for sale, $20. I snort, not sure if it was because he said "it's your lucky day" or because in Detroit I buy 3 joints for 20$ and I'm presuming this is Detroit weed. "No thank you," I say politely. I get to the motel and the woman who answered the phone is behind bullet proof glass. 2nd bad sign. She gives me the keys. $110 *poof* As I get in the elevator a man walks by with his girl and makes a comment about me coming to party here. Yes, me with my duffel bag all by myself. He has full lips but when he snarls/smiles at me all his lower teeth show, like his mouth is either too lazy or disgusted to stick close to his teeth. I go to the room, the toilet doesn't work. I go down to the desk and look through the glass and explain to her I need another room, she doesn't seem surprised, gives me another key. This room is worse. In this one, the dead bolt doesn't work. I can hear my mother's voice in my head warning that they know I will be alone all night and to always lock the dead bolt and check that the phone works. I am starting to think this is a really bad sign. I go down again. Look the woman in the eye, and end up seeing only myself in the reflection. 23 years old, so much make up on my face that it's sinking into my tiny budding wrinkles, florescent lighting beaming down on my yellow, fake blonde hair. She doesn't look up, sends me with yet another key. The man comes back with his girl again and sees me getting a new key. He holds the elevator so I have to ride up with them. He asks what was wrong with my room and I tell him. "The dead what?" He says. Apparently this is a new term for him. "Yeah, you know the chain that let's you lock the door from the inside?" I say. "Oh yeah, I know that." Turns to his girl, "She wants to be real secure." I'm not sure now if we're stating facts or this is a jab so I just say goodnight and leave. This time the remote to the tv doesn't work. I'll take it. I sleep in my clothes under the blankets and keep my bag zipped up next to the bed in case I need to leave quickly. I watch I Love Lucy for awhile and laugh a little even though Ricardo was a wife beater and hardly anyone knows that. I wonder how other girls would have dealt with this situation.
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