The One and Only Alexa Kalekar
OUTSIDE OF MY WINDOW ought to have been a canaille. Devotees ought to have been mobbing the police sent to guard my lodge. Drones ought to have been making fly-bys. Those UAVs should have been dropping love notes on my balcony while trying to surreptitiously take my picture. Plus, the press should have been disguising itself as bellhops, as concierges, and as other members of my staff.
It is me, Alexa Kalekar, the cynosure of Hollywood!
I can hear the officers talk into their handhelds and can see them sneaking glances at their screens, whose displays are visible from far away. Otherwise, discounting the random taxis, which pass my hotel without slowing down, the night is quiet.
In hindsight, perchance, I should have stuck to Barnard’s priorities. It migh
