7. Noree Marcell
By the time security escorted us through the lobby of the hotel, I was trying my hardest not to look like I had never been anywhere nice before.
The St. Regis Crescent sat right in the middle of the city, and the gold lighting made everything look warm and expensive. Even the air smelled rich.
Huge cream-colored couches sat off to the side with gold tables in front of them, and fresh white flowers were placed everywhere. I was in love and could only imagine what the rooms looked like.
I adjusted the strap of my old weekend bag on my shoulder, trying to hide the fact that it was ripping a little, while the bellman rolled my suitcase behind us.
Then I saw a famous basketball player standing near the front desk.
Fucking Rodney Storges!
I almost lost my mind. He was tall as hell, dressed in sweats, with his security standing beside him.
Girl, don’t stare!
“Mmm! I’d drink his bathwater!” Char shouted, damn near embarrassing us all because I was sure Rodney heard her.
I couldn’t help but laugh a little. I’d drink his bathwater too!
We took three more steps before spotting an actress I had watched in at least five movies sitting near the bar with sunglasses on, trying to be discreet.
But she was Sidney fucking Zillow!
How could she ever be discreet?
I wanted a picture so bad. Something I could send to Nourah and say, Bitch, look who I just saw.
But I kept my hands wrapped around my bag and continued walking like it was nothing.
“Damn, she’s fine as hell in person,” Percy, one of the other winners, said, rubbing his hands together and playfully licking his lips.
“Hell yeah. I’d marry that woman. She 90’s fine!” Allen joined in.
One of the security guards glanced back at me, and I straightened my face immediately.
This reminded me of the scene from B.A.P.S. when they saw Heavy D and Leon, then went crazy. That was exactly how I wanted to act, but I was not about to get escorted out before dinner because I couldn’t act right.
Eventually, we got on the elevator and finally made it to our floor. All of our rooms were next to each other, but I was surprised to find out none of us were sharing rooms. Honestly, I was happy about that because it would’ve been just my luck to end up rooming with Char.
The hallway was quiet, with thick gold carpet under our feet and soft lighting coming from little gold fixtures along the walls. Even the doors looked expensive. Dark wood, gold numbers, polished handles.
When we finally reached mine, the bellman swiped the key, pushed the door open, and stepped aside.
“Welcome, Ms. Marcell.”
I smiled before walking in.
Then I stopped.
“Oh my God.”
The room was beautiful.
A king-size bed sat in the middle with white bedding so fluffy it looked fake, like piles of cotton balls.
There was a sitting area near the windows with a curved cream couch, two gold chairs, and a small glass table.
The curtains were already open, giving me a full view of Atlanta through floor-to-ceiling windows.
The bathroom was off to the side, so I went to peek inside. There was a huge shower and an even bigger soaking tub that I was definitely about to get acquainted with before this weekend was over.
The bellman rolled my suitcase over near the closet and placed my smaller bag on the luggage stand.
“Please arrive downstairs at eight fifteen,” he explained.
“Okay. Thank youuu!”
He nodded before heading toward the door.
The second it clicked shut; I stood there for a few seconds. Then I ran toward the bed and flopped backward across it.
A squeal flew out of my mouth before I could stop it.
I kicked my feet against the mattress, laughing to myself as I stared up at the ceiling.
“This is crazy.”
I could not believe I was really there.
Me.
Noree Marcell.
In a luxury hotel after spending the day inside Ozy Love’s studio.
Singing with him. Talking to him. Standing close enough to practically kiss that man!
My stomach flipped at the thought. Just straight butterflies all up and through there!
The way he had looked at me inside that booth had been doing something to my mind ever since we left. I kept trying to tell myself I was imagining it because Ozy probably looked at every woman that way.
He was Ozy Love. Half the country probably thought he had flirted with them at some point.
Still…
There had been moments.
The way his eyes dragged over me. The way he smiled when I hit that run. The way he leaned closer when he talked to me, even though the room had not been loud enough for him to need to.
Maybe he was just being nice and doing it for the cameras, or maybe I needed to get a grip before I embarrassed myself.
“Girl, please. Shut up and just live in the moment.”
Ugh!
This weekend was going to be filled with surprises. I was certain of that.
I turned my head and noticed a minibar.
I hopped off the bed and hurried toward it.
The doors opened to reveal tiny bottles lined up in neat rows, along with snacks. There were glass bottles of water, soda, chocolate-covered almonds, little bags of chips, and enough liquor to have somebody on their ass by the end of the night!
I was gonna keep it cute, though.
“Wait.” I mumbled.
I spotted a tall, dark bottle sitting in a silver bucket on top of the counter.
A note rested beside it. I picked it up and smiled when I saw my name written across the front.
Noree,
I hope you enjoy your stay and your Weekend with Ozy experience. Please enjoy this bottle of Chateau Margaux.
See you soon, beautiful.
—Ozy Love
My smile grew before I could stop it.
I picked up the bottle and turned it around, reading the label like I knew anything about wine. It looked expensive, and who was I to waste a gift?
I found the opener inside the cabinet and struggled with it for almost a full minute before the cork finally popped.
“Ahhh!”
I screamed and jumped back.
The bottle tilted in my hand, and I caught it before I spilled wine all over the carpet.
“Girl, don’t make a mess in here. You do not got it like that,” I mumbled to myself.
I laughed as I poured myself a glass, then carried it over to the windows.
The city stretched out below me. I took a sip and smiled.
This felt good.
Being around people who lived and breathed the one thing I had once wanted more than anything.
For those few minutes in the booth, I had forgotten everything else. I had forgotten bills, work, and responsibilities.
Standing beside Ozy with the headphones on and hearing the track play through the speakers, I felt alive in a way I had not felt in years.
Even knowing it was only for fun.
Even knowing it was part of the documentary and would probably be edited out.
It still mattered to me.
Then Ginger had to walk in acting weird as hell.
I tried not to let it get to me, but I was not stupid. I knew when a woman was throwing slick shots.
The food comment was distasteful. Like… that bitch didn’t know me, and although I’d always been more of a lover than a fighter, she didn’t want it with me.
What I could not figure out was why she felt threatened by me.
Ginger was beautiful. Supermodel-thin and famous. Plus, she had the man and the career, so she was already winning.
Why would she care about me?
I shrugged, but then all of a sudden, it hit me. I paused with the glass halfway to my lips.
Did she notice him looking too?
“Nope.”
I took another sip.
I was not doing this.
I finished my wine, set the glass down, and decided I needed a shower before my imagination had me planning a wedding to a man I didn’t know from a can of paint.
Fluffy white towels were stacked on an open shelf, along with bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and body wash.
Then I saw the robe hanging near the shower.
My name was embroidered across the front in gold.
Noree
Underneath it, in smaller letters, it said:
Weekend with Ozy Guest.
My mouth fell open.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
A pair of slippers sat underneath it, and when I checked the size, they were actually my size.
I held the robe up against my body and grinned at myself in the mirror.
“I could get used to this.”
I took a long shower, letting the hot water loosen my shoulders. By the time I came out, steam followed me into the room, and a bitch was clean-clean.
I’m talking squeaky.
I had just wrapped the robe around myself when someone knocked on the door.
I glanced toward it.
“Who is it?”
“Veronica!” she shouted through the door.
I walked over and opened it.
Veronica stood there holding two dresses on hangers, one pink and one purple, with a nervous look on her face.
“Hey, girl,” she said. “I was coming to get your advice, if you don’t mind. It’s almost time for dinner, and I cannot figure out what the hell to wear.”
I stepped aside.
“Come in.”
She hurried inside and laid both dresses across the bed.
“I brought options, but now I hate both of them.”
I walked closer and looked them over.
The pink one was cute but plain. The purple one had too many straps.
I tilted my head.
“The pink one is better.”
“You think?”
“Yeah.” I nodded. “I think the purple one is doing too much.”
She laughed.
“That was my first thought, but I wanted somebody else to say it.”
“Try the pink one on. Let me see.”
She carried it into the bathroom while I started getting ready. I sat at the vanity and rubbed lotion over my arms and legs before spraying myself with body mist. My makeup had held up pretty well, so I only needed to touch up my foundation, add more blush, and redo my lips.
I had just taken my wig down from the towel I had wrapped around my head when Veronica stepped back into the room.
The pink dress hugged her waist and fell to her knees.
“Oh, girl. You look good!” I complimented her.
She was probably around twenty-eight, and for a good part of the day, we had been chatting here and there. She seemed pretty cool.