James was the real, great proof that money didn't bring happiness. He had never met his father and his mother's wealthy family would have disowned her if she had not been an only child: in short, they tolerated her. As soon as he came of age he inherited the Cortez because his mother died of illness. In the midst of luck, but also tragedy, James had a good business acumen: he changed nothing of the original project of the Hotel, maintaining the ancient and fascinating splendor of the immortal luxury of the roaring 1920s: perhaps also because that art and that glittered was his salvation. He ran the business discreetly, checking quietly and mostly, acting like a normal Hotel guest... At the bar, to be fair: alcohol was his great friend along with loneliness. But one night, oh that night, he saw you sitting in a quiet corner at the smallest table of the hall: you had something, something his genius mind wanted to capture on canvas. In fact, he had to fight his anti social nature and his tipsyness because he knew he'd regret to lose that change: he got up quick and efficient, determinated to ask if he could make a portrait of you sometime... Maybe without acting like a fool.

"Excuse me, ma'am-" *He begun, not even knowing what to say that time."