The service areas formed a maze of corridors beneath the Saint Angel. According to notes written on the blueprints, this was to allow Saint Angel’s maintenance workers and cleaners to move from one area of the hotel to another without being seen by the guests. The original managers wanted the Saint Angel to appear “magically clean.” The notes implied that seeing the help would ruin the hotel’s aesthetic. Storerooms and closets were hidden in the decor for this purpose as well.
Though a sign warned against it, I took pictures of the blueprints. The flash reflected off the glass case, making it difficult to see the images beneath. I did the best I could and left the miniature museum.
On my way to the elevator, a clatter echoed through a nearby hallway. When I turned the corner, I found Wolf Godfrey on his hands and knees. His cane lay out of his reach. I picked it up and returned it to him.
“Can I help?” I asked, hesitating to touch him. His face contorted with pain.
“Please,” he gasped.
Carefully, I lifted him from the floor and made sure he was steady. His breath wheezed in and out of his lungs.
“Would you be so kind,” he began, grimacing, “as to help me up to the penthouse? I’m afraid I took on too much today.”
With a hand under his elbow, I led Wolf to his hidden elevator. He flashed his golden ring to access it and we rode up to the top floor. This time, we exited on the opposite side of Rodolfo’s. Two doors lined the hallway, one for each penthouse suite. In my head, I reviewed the blueprints, but nothing could have prepared me for what lay beyond the door.
Glass windows lined the far wall, so daylight illuminated the entire suite. Everything shined a bright shade of white, from the tiles in the kitchen to the carpets to the leather couches in the sitting area. Fine art decorated the walls, though I didn’t recognize the artists. A sculpture of a naked, twisted body stood by itself in one corner, glimmering in the afternoon sun. The hips and cheekbones appeared feminine while the shoulders and thighs had masculine muscle definition. The sculpture sported no other clues as to which gender it was meant to represent.
“The office, please,” Wolf said, weakly gesturing to another room.
I helped him to sit behind a desk. As I backed away, I realized he looked different. Today, he wore a solid purple dress shirt, black slacks, and nice shoes. His nails were buffed and clean but free of polish. His hair lay combed neatly.
“Hot date?” I asked.
His answering chuckle didn’t convey much humor. “Honey, please. I wouldn’t dress so plainly for a date. Fetch me that sweater, will you? I don’t feel like myself.”
I handed him a lurid orange sweater that I’d have mistaken for a shag carpet. He struggled to push his arms through the sleeves, but when he managed to draw it on, he looked much more like the Wolf Godfrey.
“I had a doctor’s appointment,” he said before I asked. “At my old stomping grounds.”
“Stomping grounds?”
He pointed to the wall above his desk. There, several degrees and awards for various medical accomplishments hung in gilded frames. Each one had Wolf’s name on it.
“You used to be a surgeon?” I asked.
“World-renowned,” he confirmed. “People would come from all over to have me cut into them. Then” —he lifted his velvety hands— “my diagnosis made it impossible to continue.”
“It ended your career?”
Wolf nodded and smiled. “I shouldn’t be happy about that, but I am. After I stopped practicing, I was allowed to be free. I didn’t have to hide anymore.”
“Hide from what?”
He paused to think about it. “Myself. I was terrified to be the person I knew I was inside. I got married. I had Jonathan. Then this disease came along. I asked myself why I was so ashamed to be who I truly was.”
I sank into the white sofa opposite Wolf’s office chair. “What was the answer?”
“Societal and familial expectations,” he replied matter-of-factly. “A strict religion. It took a lot of work before I accepted myself for who I am.”
“Which is what?”
He spread his arms and smiled. “The person you see today. Neither here nor there. In between and loving of all. Respectful, kind, and proud. At least, I like to think so.”
I smiled too. “I admire that.”
Wolf’s happiness faltered, and he let his arms fall. “Of course, life doesn’t always work out the way you want it to. My epiphany triggered less desirable events as well.”
“Such as?”
“My wife left me.” He handed me a framed photograph from his desk. “She called me a liar and said our marriage was a scam.”
The picture showed a version of Wolf I barely recognized. He was younger with a trimmed goatee and a white doctor’s coat. He did not smile. A dazzling woman stood by his side, looking up at Wolf with an expression of awe. Between the two adults stood a small boy with a mop of blond hair.
“Jonathan took his mother’s side,” Wolf said. “He blamed our fractured family on my new acceptance of myself, though I never intended to break us apart.”
“That doesn’t seem fair.”
“I couldn’t tell them what to feel,” he replied. “Not when I was so trapped by my own feelings for so many years. Jonathan was seventeen when I told him, old enough to make his own decisions about me.”
“So that’s why you don’t talk,” I said. “Why does he live here then?”
Wolf waved aside my question. “Various complications. Obligations and such.”
A persistent beep emanated from Wolf’s computer. He rolled to the monitor and shook the mouse to awaken it. His eyes widened as he watched the screen.
“You need to go,” he said, frantically waving me off the sofa. “He can’t see you here.”
I quickly stood up before the wheels
