by David Horne
Ashley stood smugly on the far side of the front desk. Between the two officers, a young woman cowered. Martese del Rosario looked to the floor while tears streamed down her face.
“You have a choice,” Ashley told Martese. The young woman looked up at Ashley. “The owner of the hotel said you can quit right now or these officers will arrest you for stealing.”
He understood the context of the scenario, but it felt preposterous to George to think Martese had anything to do with theft.
“What’s going on?” he whispered to Mary Sillar from room 309. Her husband, Hugh, stood close by and watched the young woman sob harder. She began sputtering in Tagalog.
“Uh, do you understand what I’m saying to you?” Ashley asked slowly. “We can’t understand what you’re saying. Do you even know how to speak English?” The question sounded loaded as if alluding to immigration status and that the police officers might have another reason to remove Martese from the premises.
“I understand you,” Martese shouted. “I don’t take anything.”
“Well I think you do take anything,” Ashley said and held up two small hospitality bottles. “These were in your backpack.”
“I know, I’m sorry,” she responded.
“These things add up, Martese.” For a moment Ashley sounded sincere. “After a while, if you keep taking these things, we won’t have anything left for guests.” She surveyed the group gathered to watch. The police presence was unnecessary. George felt Ashley went too far, even for her.
George clamped down on the inside of his cheek. The hypocrisy oozed from Ashley like rancid pus. Several times, George witnessed Ashley taking bottles of hand lotion from the reserves. He looked around at the faces watching the tragedy.
John Dunlop made eye contact with him and during the final moments of Martese’s employment at the Comfort Hill Hotel, Dunlop winked at George.
The frown on Duncan Chamber’s face was so severe it looked to cut into the flesh. He watched as the officers escorted Martese from the building. At least without handcuffs, she went passively.
Ashley caught sight of George as he ducked into the men’s room to change. When he returned to the lobby, the guests had dispersed. Everyone avoided Ashley; even guests understood she was a force not to face. She summoned him to her office. He stood in the doorway.
“Hopefully, that’s the last of the theft going on around here,” Ashley said with finality.
“I don’t think Martese stole anything more than bottles of hand lotion or shampoo.”
“Are you sticking up for her? Why didn’t you say something before the police hauled her away?” Ashley’s tendency to embellish made George’s stomach sour and the inside of his cheek ache.
“I’m talking about the thefts reported from the guests.”
“Why?” she pried. “Was something else reported missing? I didn’t see anything in the hotel log about another theft.”
If he said something about the missing pearl necklace, it could jeopardize Florence’s status as a guest and get her evicted as a cat owner.
“I just think someone outside the hotel has access to the guest rooms.”
“Why would you say that?” she asked. “You know I don’t let just anyone into the hotel. Do you allow guests to bring people in without adding them to the ledger?”
The problem with talking directly to Ashley about issues at the hotel was her ability to turn around the subject and make one feel insignificant and accused.
“Of course not,” he returned with an edge in his tone. He saw by her face Ashley picked up on the anger. “I just think maybe a former employee still has a master key.”
“I know what you’re talking about. You’re going on about someone who worked here before both of us.” The story of a former night auditor who pilfered from guests was more legend than fact. “That guy doesn’t even live in town anymore.”
Instead of pointing out that Ashley commuted to work every day, George pointed out, “We’ve never updated our key card system. There is still the one missing master key from a while ago. I just don’t think anyone at the hotel is stealing from the guests.”
“But it’s okay to steal from the hotel itself?” Ashley asked, trapping George in a quagmire of rhetorical nonsense. “Martese is gone. I don’t want to hear more about it.”
He waited for Ashley to dig more into his bruised ego. “I got word from the owners today they are looking into finalizing the sale in the next few weeks.” She gave him a look of smugness. “I guess I should be thanking you. Mr. Dunlop went on and on about you today.”
It was impossible for George to feel any less of a person than he did at that moment. A friend terminated unjustly and he was too afraid of losing his job to stand up to management about the wrongdoing.
He moved away from the manager’s doorway and went to the front desk. Ashley had eaten at the desk again. Crumbs covered the countertop. He grabbed the paper towels and cleaner from under the desk.
“I’m looking to hire someone, and you need to train him.”
The statement made no sense to George.
“What position is available?”
“The owners are looking to have someone else on the staff that can cover the evening shift. And they want to show the hotel available on your nights off.”
“I thought I was covering the evening shift now.” Although it even made sense to George to have the hotel open every night of the week.
“They want to bring on another person to handle the overflow for the summer. I told them it was a good idea.” Ashley lifted a stack of papers. The hobo bag over her shoulder looked heavy and cumbersome. “I have this list of resumes to go over tonight.” She slipped away from the front desk and waddled out of the foyer.
***
An hour later, the lobby was quiet. The desk was spotless. The chime on the elevator made George stand at attention. Duncan Chambers strolled through the lobby.
“Are you checking out, Mr. Chambers?” George asked. Duncan had a small travel bag over his shoulder. He maintained a placid face while inside, George felt a rush of loss.
“You know you can call me Duncan, right George?”
“It’s just something I do. Hard to break, Duncan.”
“I’m leaving for New York for a couple of days.” He leaned over the counter and lowered his voice. “I have a stack of money and cocaine in my apartment; I’m hoping your manager doesn’t find it and throw me out of the hotel.”
“Ashley rarely ventures beyond the front desk during the day.”
Duncan frowned. “I'm sure I saw her the other day in the stairwell.” He shrugged. “Is there a gym in town? I noticed the hotel doesn’t have one.”
“Among the list of ideas I have for the hotel, it is close to the top.”
“What other ideas are you talking about?” he pressed.
“If you’re interested, I’ll show you when you get back. Enjoy your trip, Mr. Chambers.” George grinned at Duncan for the play on formality.
Duncan grinned. He waved to George as he moved across the lobby. “See you around, George.”
Chapter Eleven
It was apparent by Angel’s expression she heard about Martese’s termination. She gave George a slight smile, but there was no joy behind the illustration. Things were changing at the hotel, and it was impossible to dismiss.
“Is she going to be okay?” George asked Angel. They moved into the storage area. He began to help her prepare the housekeeping carts.
“Yes, I think so. We pooled some money together to buy her a bus ticket for Pittsburg. She has family that lives there.”
George removed $20 from his wallet and handed it to Angel. “Can you see she gets this?” he asked her. “I’m willing to write her a letter of recommendation too.”
“Ashley told her that since she quit, Martese wouldn’t be allowed to collect unemployment. Is that true?”
“I honestly don’t know.” Ashley left the woman no recourse for the discharge. “
I wish I could do something. I feel terrible about it.” It was unnecessary to admit he was on the chopping block because Angel rested her head right next to his.
“I don’t understand.” Angel collectively made sure each cart had the proper amount of cleaning supplies, linen, and toiletries. George saw her hands trembling with frustration. “Why is Ashley so nasty about all this? I know people have complained a lot about missing items. It’s been happening a lot more lately.” She moved a case of toilet paper from the high shelf and it slipped before George could help. The rolls spilled across the floor. They worked together to gather the runaway toilet paper.
“Maybe it's something to do with the sale of the hotel.”
“I am worried about that too,” she admitted. “Aren’t you worried?”
“No,” he said. “I think everything will be okay.” He hoped it was true.
“Ashley tells me things when you’re not here.” She rolled the carts single-file into the hallway behind the front desk. “I am worried about my job.”
“What kind of things does she?”
“She says the new owners are going to bring in another housekeeping service. She says we might not have jobs after the sale. I don’t know if I should quit now or not.” She lowered her voice. Angel stayed clear of the camera that peered down at the front desk and lobby. She knew where it was easy to stand without detection. “I might get a job with housekeeping with a hotel in Montpelier. Martese said she would look for something for the rest of us in Pittsburg.”
“I hate to see everyone leave just because we’re getting a new owner. I’ve met the guy.”
“You have?” This took Angel by surprise. “What’s he like?”
“It’s not official yet, so it’s best not to say anything to the rest of the crew. But I think he’s a nice man. I hope he has the best intentions for the hotel.” He needed to address another theft. “I talked to Florence. She said her pearl necklace is missing now.”
“I don’t know what it looks like. Whenever I clean room 304, Mrs. McAlester is home. She doesn’t like leaving Lucy alone with the vacuum cleaner going.”
In the hallway, George and Angel stood watching the empty lobby. The smell of freshly brewed coffee followed them from the storage room.
“Ashley told me she’s hiring another overnight person,” Angel told him. She looked worriedly at George. “She said not to talk to you about it.”
George frowned and clarified. “Ashley is apparently looking to hire someone for the summer months. But the position was for the evenings. Maybe she wanted to have the hotel open for guests on my nights off.”
But the words from Angel’s observation made a spiky ball start churning in George’s belly. “I think we’re getting mixed signals from Ashley.”
“I think even if the new owner wants us to stay, I might leave.” This admission didn’t surprise George. Out of the catalog of housekeeping people who rotated through the front door, Angel stayed the longest. “I don’t know if I can keep working with that woman.”
“I guess I’m lucky my shift doesn’t overlap much with hers.”
Andrada strolled through the lobby with a determined look. “I don’t like that woman,” she said. So close to the camera, George tried to avoid looking at its lens. “She better not try something like that with me.” Referring to Martese’s termination while on view of the security camera was seditious behavior and Angel waved her hands. She indicated to the camera and made a motion across her throat in an unsuccessful attempt to signal Andrada to stop talking.
“I don’t know if I can take much more of her.”
George had never encountered Andrada’s wrath before that day. She was a small woman. Strong arms hung from the short sleeves of the powder blue uniform top. Maybe there was truth to the rumors about her former life.
“I can’t believe she threatened to have Martese arrested.” She stepped through the small swinging door separating the lobby from behind the desk. George stood out of sight of the camera. He kept his mouth shut. If the security monitor had sound, Andrada was next on Ashley’s hit list.
“Martese said Ashley suggested she was an illegal immigrant.”
Hearing Angel’s accusation, Andrada launched into a stream of Spanish. The words punctuated by her raised fists and Ashley’s name within the inflammatory remarks. George knew very little Spanish. But the few swear words he remembered from high school made repeat cameos in Andrada’s rant.
He wandered behind Andrada and hooked the woman’s arm as he moved. He leaned closer to her ear and spoke. “I think you should stop talking because I think the camera has sound.”
Andrada’s face turned a shade of pink before it drained into alabaster. It was impossible to take back the angry outburst. George hoped Ashley’s Spanish was less informed than his understanding.
“You must have made an impression on Mr. Dunlop,” Andrada said, smiling when she brought it up. “I was cleaning his room yesterday while he was there. He just kept telling me how wonderful you were.” Andrada had successfully segued from doom and gloom to embarrassment and shame. “I think he likes you.”
Angel grinned at the assertion and both women giggled. Then Nicole arrived with her own look of worry, causing the others’ to return. She caught up to the most current events. The women began pushing the housekeeping carts into the lobby. Each had her respective duties, and no one needed reminding where to go. They were efficient and fast.
Andrada had lobby duty. While George reconciled the cash drawer and updated the guest ledger, he noticed she spent more time cleaning the central area. Since she was on camera, he suspected she gave Ashley a show of hard work in case management reviewed the security footage.
Chapter Twelve
Sunday night was difficult to appreciate. George worried about the brewing foundation that used to be a nice place to work. Hotel staff was caught in the unstable environment of a waking volcano. Ashley was volatile, and it seemed the closer to the final days of the hotel changing hands, the more unpredictable she became. Once she was a harmless complainer, now she was a simmering volcano ready to spew a pyroclastic flow over the entire staff. It was a place where she would be the last one standing.
“I feel the world is ending,” a voice said from the other side of the counter. The center of the Rusty Ax was the handmade bar. The rest of the open area surrounded the bartender, encapsulating her in a ring of wood and alcohol.
Carl Ohlweinny was a writer. At least that was his profession to George whenever he stopped for mail at the front desk. Room 320 was a depressing place because it received minimal sun. Carl kept the window curtains closed.
George watched Carl slide along the outside of the bar, circling to take up the stool next to him. “You, my friend, are in trouble.”
He was intoxicated but coherent. George had already drunk one of the two beers he would have that night. He ordered the second and waited for Carl to collect his thoughts.
“The world is closing in around you,” he announced.
It was possible out of all the rooms in the hotel, Carl occupied the one space where spirits dwelled. He was dark most of the time George spoke to the man. Maybe it had something to do with occupying the one room rumored the site of an ax murder. Maybe it was the fact Carl made his living thinking about alternatives to reality. Carl accepted occupancy of the room, even knowing its supposed history.
“You think I don’t notice things going on around the hotel.” He waved a drunkard’s finger at George. “But I do.”
George felt obliged to buy the man another drink. Carl might know something of the changes at the hotel. Feeding his miser might help loosen his tongue.
Carl spent long hours sequestered in the hotel room hammering out articles and blog posts for his clients. He made a modest living as a freelance writer and had the luxury of working from home in his underwear. His prize possession was a very expensive laptop, and he made sure it was secured within the apartment if he left the room.
&nbs
p; “I know your fellow staff is losing their jobs. And I know the hotel is up for sale.” The bartender brought a mixed drink for Carl. When he sipped at it, the barkeeper shook her head to indicate to George after that Carl was cut off. “And I know about you and Mr. Room 214.”
This development took George by surprise. He had maintained a covert and discretionary interaction with John Dunlop. Unless the new owner was a braggart behind George’s back, it was a secret rendezvous.
Carl saw the look of shock on George’s face. He clapped a hand on his back and laughed. “Don’t worry about it, man. You got worse things going on.”
“What are you talking about?” he had had enough of Carl’s drunken slurs.
Carl pressed his shoulder against George’s. “You’re on the chopping block. I pay attention. Your manager is leveling the playing field at the hotel. I think she’s going to start moving to get you fired before the hotel changes hands.”
“Where did you get your information?”
“I had a long conversation with Andrada.” Her name sparked a tangent in Carl’s dialogue. “Did you know she was a corporal in the guerrilla resistance in her home country?” He waved away the idea. “She was telling me about how your manager already fired one of the housekeeping staff for stealing something mundane like shampoo.” Carl sipped at the brown liquor with ice. George didn’t know what the drink was, but it cost him $20. “She’s going to chip away at the competition.”
“I’m not competing with Ashley for her job. I’m the night auditor. I like my job.”
“Do you?” Carl asked pointedly. “Do you really?”
It was an unsettling question that wormed its way into George’s belly and knotted with the spiky ball Angel seeded earlier.
