*

“Use your room key to access the 21st floor in one of the three elevators at the end of the lobby,” said concierge John, who handed Rebecca the two card keys. We were in Chicago to see art, architecture, and The Lion King.

You must understand, we’re in our seventies with no priors. But a little cranky after a five-hour train ride and a mile hike with travel backpacks from Chicago’s Union Station to the Palmer House Hotel.

As we lingered in a crowd in front of our assigned elevators, a white haired lady of our vintage whispered, “There’s a service elevator right around that corner with two brown mesh swinging doors. It goes right to the top, no stops, follow me.”

Over three days, we met housekeepers, janitors, food service workers, and a valet with a toothbrush. They all smiled; two winked.

No one ratted.

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