The Boiler Room

Maxim hated being good. He sat quietly at the dinner table, trying to slouch as best he could in the straight-backed hotel restaurant chair. His parents were sipping their wine and droning on about some boring adult conversation related to insurance and the recent rise in taxes. 

“Taxes are the onus of the people, and yet the government is determined to break our backs!” Maxim’s father said loudly. 

His mother nodded her agreement and took a long sip of her chardonnay. Maxim looked around, trying to find anything else to occupy his interest. He absent mindedly fingered the half silver dollar in his pocket, a recent birthday gift from his uncle Franklin, and looked around. The restaurant had high ceilings, with golden accents on the intricate molding, and deep green carpets that made the tables look like they were floating on some kind of deep lake. White tablecloths and shiny silverware attracted the light of low-hanging chandeliers. Maxim craned his head around to see the maitre d’ welcoming a well-dressed couple obsequiously. He thought that the woman’s hair looked much like the top of an over frosted cupcake but—

“Will you sit up straight dear! Don’t slouch at the dinner table.” His mother interrupted his musings. 

“Can I go to the bathroom?” Maxim asked. He couldn’t bear to sit any longer. 

“Of course dear, but please don’t take too long, our food should be here soon.” She turned again to her husband. 

Maxim wandered past the Maitre d’ and down the hall, not bothering to ask for directions. This hotel was old, grand, and although the ownership had tried to update it with all the latest technologies and conveniences, the facade and interior felt as if guests had stepped back into the lavish grandeur of the art deco movement. The highly polished floor and gold accented wall sconces gave the place a timeless character. Maxim meandered through corridor after corridor, each one identical to the last. It wasn’t long until he had gotten lost. He decided that the best thing to do was retrace his steps but he couldn’t quite remember which way he had come. 

“Was it two rights and a left? No. A left then right then two lefts?” Maxim thought to himself. 

He rounded a corner, and at the very end stood a golden door. It gleamed dully in the dim light as Maxim approached. To his surprise, after a few hard pushes, it opened inward. The stairwell beyond was dark, dingy and somehow slightly damp. A far cry from the beautiful golden door that led to it. Maxim took a step forward cautiously and looked down. There was a faint glow somewhere below, perhaps a couple flights down. He thought he heard, someone humming? No. 

The steps were bare, the exposed concrete was slick with moisture. Maxim stretched out his hand for balance. He followed the corridor and found that the air became warmer, drier. He rounded a corner and a wall of heat hit him. Three cylindrical boilers dominated the center of the room, large rivets and pipes creating a web above him. The floor desperately needed to be mopped. Old buckets and pans were stacked in a corner, pieces of pipe lay against the wall. He stared at the ancient machines in awe. They seemed to be alive, rumbling with energy and heat far below the lobby and guests above. There was a loud clang, and someone cursed aloud. Maxim froze. 

“Hello?” He said tentatively. 

He moved forward. Slowly. He peered around the side of the third boiler to reveal a young man with a prodigious mustache dressed in a filthy navy jumpsuit. He sat on an overturned bucket, box of tools beside him as he struggled against one of the many sets of pipes and gauges in the room. The wrench in his hand slipped and he banged his forearm against the pipe. 

“Confounded piece of junk!” He exclaimed, throwing the wrench on the floor and standing up. 

Turning on the spot, he started in surprise as he noticed Maxim for the first time. They stared at each other for several long moments. 

“Who on earth are you?” The man asked. 

“Maxim” he said, and after a moment added “sir.” 

“You lost?” He asked. 

Maxim hesitated. 

“I was uh… Looking for the bathroom?” 

The man laughed goodnaturedly. 

“No ones managed to lose themselves so badly they end up in the boiler room” 

“What’s a boiler room?” Maxim took a step forward.

The man gestured around. 

“The heart and soul of the hotel if you ask me! Without these machines, the entire hotel goes cold. No one likes to stay in a cold hotel.” 

“What’s wrong with it then?” Maxim relaxed a little, curiosity overtaking his apprehension. 

“Gauge is stuck, Madam Hickleby is freezing in her rooms. Says her bones get stiff in the cold. Come and see, I think…” He picked up the wrench again and tried anew, throwing his body weight behind it. Maxim smirked at the name. Hikleby? Who in their right mind would keep a name like Hickleby? The pipe groaned and a fresh burst of steam issued from above. 

“Ha! Take that you stupid lump of metal.” The man stepped back, dirt streaked hands on his hips. His mustache twitched. 

“Well, now that you’re here, might as well make yourself useful. Could you go to Madam Hickleby and check that her heat is working? Tell her that Arthur sent you.”

Maxim thought that the last thing he wanted to do was find an old lady in the hotel and knock on her door, but didn’t want to be rude to his new. Friend? Acquaintance? So he asked: 

“Um… what’s her room number?” 

“Ah! Yes of course. How would I expect you to know where she is!” He laughed a little and pointed at a service elevator in the back of the room. It was older than any elevator Maxim had ever seen. Ancient rusty doors with dozens of circular lights over the doors indicating the floors above. 

“Take that elevator to floor thirteen, then find room 1355 at the end of the hall. I’ve got loads to do down here. No help, I’ve always asked them for an assistant but they never send one.” 

Maxim wasn’t exactly sure who “they” were, but felt a small twinge of pity for Arthur, down here in a dingy basement with no sunlight or company. 

The elevator screeched but ascended at a steady rate, periodically clunking and straining. The doors were so rusted that Maxim wondered if they would open again to let him out, but as the elevator jerked to a halt, the doors slid open with only a slight groan of protest. The thirteenth floor hallway looked different from the rest of the hotel. Still immaculately clean and well- lit, but the carpeting was a warm gold instead of blue. The wallpaper was a deep emerald green and the sconces had been changed. As he walked, Maxim kept his eyes on the room numbers until he stopped in front of a door that looked quite like all the others. 1355 gleamed next to the doorframe in slanting brass numbers. 

Maxim cleared his throat and rapped his knuckles on the door. Moments passed, but the hallway remained eerily silent. Then there was a click, the handle moved and the door swung inward to reveal a surprisingly tall old woman dressed in a long pink silk robe. Her hair was pinned up in a loose bun, and she wore heavy eyeshadow and red lipstick. A long string of pearls hung from her neck. She arched an eyebrow.

“You’re not Arthur.” She said, a bemused tone crept into her voice. 

“No ma’am. But he sent me. To. Uh. See if the heat is fixed.” 

“Yes it is, thank you. But I had really hoped that Arthur would’ve had the decency to come tell me himself. He’s finally got an assistant now?” 

“No. I’m not–” Maxim began. Madam Hickleby interrupted him. 

“Well come in come in. I have fresh tea and shortbread. You’ve come all this way after all.” She stepped aside and gestured for him to enter. Maxim hesitated, but decided it would be rude to refuse. He doubted that she had many guests, aside from the occasional visit from Arthur. 

The whole place smelled like cigarettes. Maxim noticed an overfilled ashtray on the coffee table. A gramophone sat in the corner, playing softly. The main living room was more spacious than Maxim expected, light streamed through the window and bathed the room in a warm glow. A door to the left stood ajar and Maxim could make out the corner of a large four poster bed in the next room. The whole place looked as if she had lived here for decades. A bookcase stood against the wall, shelves filled with leather bound tomes and strange objects that Maxim had never seen before. A bar cart with decanters and crystal glasses sat within easy reach of the blue satin couch. Oil paintings adorned the wall, the largest being a portrait of Madam Hickleby herself, wearing a long evening gown and standing next to the very same blue satin couch that sat in front of him. She looked much younger there. 

As Maxim gazed around, he found himself flipping the silver dollar in his pocket between his fingers. He had brought the coin with him everywhere since his uncle Franklin had given it to him. It grounded him, kept his wandering thoughts from wandering too far. Franklin had taken him aside at his birthday party to give it to him in secret. His booming voice lowered to an attempted whisper.

“It’s a lucky coin, you know. You can spend it if you wish, but I would hang on to it if I were you, never know when you need it.” He winked at Maxim and turned to rejoin the party. 

Maxim now took the coin out of his pocket and stared at the gleaming silver surface, feeling the weight of the coin in his hand. It didn’t feel particularly lucky, but he liked the feel of it in his hand. Light flickered on the edges of the woman pictured there, making her seem alive. Almost. 

Madam Hickleby entered the room again with a tray laden with the promised tea and shortbread, crossing the room in long strides. She set the tray down on the coffee table and motioned for Maxim to sit down. Her robe billowed beneath her as she sat opposite him on a velvet loveseat. They sat in silence for some time as she poured the tea, then abruptly, she broke the silence. 

“I used to own this hotel, you know. My husband and I lived in one of the penthouses. We had guests from all over the world, and it was our job to entertain. I could throw quite the party.” The corner of her mouth twitched as she handed Maxim a cup of steaming tea. At this point, Maxim didn’t care much about anything except the dull knowledge that he had been gone too long already. His parents were probably looking for him, his untouched plate sitting at the empty table. 

“I moved here after he… Well. I was the one who found him. When it happened. Couldn’t bear the thought of living in the penthouse where he... anyway. I moved my things here.” 

“Oh.” Maxim said. 

He mentally kicked himself. Nothing better to say than ‘oh?’ Stupid. 

“I’ve seen you. With your parents.” Madam Hickleby was looking directly at him now. Her eyes piercing, clear. Maxim was stunned. He was absolutely sure he’d never seen this woman before. She was too. Obvious. Any room she entered would lean to her presence. 

“You’ve seen me here? At the hotel?” He asked. 

“Yes, always very curious. Curious boy. How old are you? Ten?” 

“Twelve.” Maxim said. 

“And do your parents listen to you? Listen to what you have to say?” She took a sip of tea.

Throughout his entire life, no one had asked him that before. Adults were always telling him things. What to do, how to behave. His opinion rarely mattered. He was always told ‘We know what’s best’ in one form or another. Maxim looked into her steely gray eyes. 

“No. They don’t.” He said simply. 

Madam Hickleby sat back and took a long sip of her tea. 

“I thought so. I was a child much like yourself, ages ago. So I can usually identify the type. Some parents, they’ve forgotten what it means to be a child.” Maxim shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. 

“I’m uh, sorry Madam, uh, Hickleby but I’ve been away from dinner for so long and…”

Madam Hickleby waved her hand. 

“Oh I wouldn’t worry too much about that. They’ve probably not noticed how long it’s been. I’m sorry, but I speak the truth.” 

Maxim felt a small pang in his chest and thought that she was probably right. Madam Hickleby leaned forward. 

“That coin in your pocket. Who gave it to you?” 

Maxim had been absentmindedly moving his fingers across its raised surface. He took it out to show her. 

“My uncle Franklin. He said it would bring me luck.” A twinkle appeared in Madam Hickleby’s eyes. 

“And he’s quite right. May I see it?” She held out her hand. 

Maxim hesitated. As if in giving her the coin, he was relinquishing his power somehow. Not that he ever had any. He felt exceedingly small sitting on the couch with his tea. 

“Ahhh yes.” She said knowingly. 

Madam Hickleby turned the coin over, studying it. 

“This is a special coin you have here.” She flipped it back to Maxim. He caught it midair. 

“Why is it special?” Maxim asked her. Intrigued in spite of himself. 

“It’s not the coin itself, but the meaning you bestow upon it. I know it’s special because it is meaningful to you.” 

“I–” Maxim started, confused. 

“Would you believe me if I said the moment you walked through that golden door to the basement and the boiler room, time ceased to move forward as you know it?” 

The question seemed to come out of nowhere. No adult had ever entertained such a ridiculous notion so seriously before. Time moving backward? Stopping? This is the real world? Is it not? Time is the only constant. 

“I don’t know if I’d believe you.” Maxim hesitated. Madam Hickleby had clearly gone mad, all these years spent in a room by herself.  

“You are young, and don’t know the mysteries of the world yet. Many people never get to see them. They are too distracted to find the door that you found, to open it. You were able to see it because you believed it to be there. I implore you to keep your mind open to closed doors, don’t become too comfortable with the way the world is supposed to be. Those people, the people you see in the lobby. They are more dead than I.” 

Maxim wasn’t entirely sure what she meant by this. From all appearances Madam Hickleby certainly didn’t seem dead. 

“Our time is nearly up. Flip your coin in the air and see if it lands on the great lady there. If she shows you her face, you will remember this conversation in your future. Where time waits for no one.” 

She had a kind of glazed look in her steely gray eyes now. Maxim wasn’t sure how to respond, how leave this strange room. He couldn’t think of a single thing to say. 

“The coin, Maxim.” She inclined her head to the small metal object. The woman pictured there seemed to sway in an invisible breeze. Without another word, Maxim flipped the coin high into the air, and watched it fall again to his hand where it landed face up, the woman on the coin staring back at him. 

Madam Hickleby smiled and leaned back in her chair. 

“Curious, curious boy.” She said, gazing at him. 

The next moments were somewhat of a blur. Maxim seemed to recall saying goodbye and walking down the hall to the elevator, pressing the button for the lobby and emerging into a wall of sound. Everything was suddenly in sharp focus. Bursts of laughter, people talking and moving by him at alarming speeds. He walked back to the restaurant lobby in a daze, overwhelmed by the spectacle of it all. What had just happened? The details of his journey already seemed alarmingly fuzzy. 

When he sat back down at the table, his parents barely noticed him, as if he had never left. Wine glasses sat on the table, lower than before, but not empty. He couldn’t begin to describe what had happened to him, couldn’t even think of a way to introduce the subject of a golden door that lead to strange and unknown places in the hotel. His parents had never found a golden door, he was sure of that. Never in their lives had they been open to seeing it. So he chose to sit in silence for the remainder of the dinner. 

When they took the elevator back to their room, Maxim stared at the circular numbers on the elevator wall. Number thirteen was nowhere to be found, as if the hotel had simply forgotten how to count. Eleven, twelve, fourteen… Maxim unconsciously put his hands in his pockets, and there, he felt the smooth surface of the coin. Perhaps the golden door had been real after all.