She even had me man the guest relations center for one entire afternoon, covering everything from room cleanliness complaints to requests for extra towels or pillows.
She seemed to enjoy every minute.
Finally, I’ve been released from her command, and I can begin doing the job I was hired to do. And the first thing on the agenda is a meeting with the head of the Wyoming Cattlemen’s Association in the Antelope Conference Room on the sixth floor in one hour.
I gather my files and laptop and place them in my messenger bag. After a quick look in the mirror to freshen up my lip gloss, I click off my office lights and head out to the lobby.
The Belicourt is … a lot. Even after a week of walking through this place, I still have to stop myself from staring.
Antler chandeliers with crystal accents that catch the light hang over the polished marble floor. The knotted pine plank ceiling is stained a rich walnut hue, which adds warmth to the open space. Everything gleams—the floor, the window glass, polished stone hearths.
This area is part of the original structure of the hotel, which was a five-story inn with one hundred guest rooms, featuring the lobby, grand hall, and the Cottonwood Court, located off the grand hall. The Cottonwood Court is a central open space that the five original floors of guest rooms overlook, with rocking chairs and love seats scattered throughout, where guests can relax in the evenings and listen to music with cocktails or light bites.
Three new towers were added to the hotel between the late ’60s and the early ’90s. The Alpine Tower, located east of the main inn, stands fifteen stories high and holds an additional three hundred guest rooms. The Grand Teton Tower—where the spa, restaurants, and shops are housed—is located to the west. And the Prairie Tower—with its eight floors of conference rooms, convention spaces, and ballrooms—is located behind the main inn.
The main elevator sits just off the grand hall, tucked between two enormous marble columns that stretch all the way up to therafted ceiling three floors above. It connects to the main inn and all fifteen floors of the Alpine Tower, with access to the other two from the third floor.
It’s like navigating a labyrinth of hallways without getting turned around.
I press the brass button and shift the leather strap on my shoulder.
The elevator dings softly.
The doors slide open quietly.
And inside stands a woman who looks like she stepped straight out of a vintage postcard.
She’s older—late forties maybe—but there’s something bright and mischievous about her that makes it impossible to guess her real age.
Her hair is a wild mess of tight curls, cut into a chin-length bob, and dyed a shade of platinum blonde that does not occur in nature.
She’s wearing the Belicourt signature blazer—hers with gold buttons—and a matching bellhop-style cap with shiny gold trim.
But the part that really catches my eye is the lipstick.
Dark burgundy.
Dramatic.
Bold.
And just slightly smeared on her front two teeth.
Her smile widens when she sees me.
I like her immediately.
“Well, hello there,” she says brightly as I step inside the elevator. “Floor?”
“Fifth floor, please.”
“You got it,” she says, reaching over to press the button for the fifth floor. “You must be Miss Storm.”
“I am. How did you guess?”
“Oh, honey,” she says. “I know everyone who works in this building. Plus, it’s on your name tag.”
She leans against the control panel like she’s settling in for a conversation.
