Sage was a spiritualist, New Orleans born and bred, with an ancestral line of African American spiritual women stretching back behind her into history. It was in her blood. She stood in the newly cleaned courtyard in her flowing robes, a deep emerald green this particular time, and put her hands out. “I’m letting the spirits come to me,” she said. “You need to place pots around. They should be filled with basil and white sage and rosemary and lavender. Here, here, here, and here,” she said to Roxy, pointing at four spots in the space in front of the hotel. “They will ward away evil spirits, and I will invite angels and other benevolent spiritual beings to bless and protect this space.”
Roxy wasn’t entirely sure she believed in all that, but she guessed it couldn’t hurt. Besides, it would make the entrance to the Funky Cat smell wonderful. She placed huge pots of herbs just as Sage had directed and hung baskets overflowing with brightly-colored blooms from the exterior walls. Finally, Sam hung a sign with the name of the hotel emblazoned across it under a rendering of a cat that looked rather like Nefertiti, Roxy’s long-haired white Persian. The cat on the sign was wearing a trilby hat at a jaunty angle and holding a saxophone.
The courtyard now looked so good that Roxy was satisfied that the standard of the outside of the Funky Cat matched that of the inside. The interior of the building had come a long way in the time since Roxy had taken over and in the process of restoring it, she had uncovered yet another useful talent of Nat’s—restoring or repurposing worn neglected furniture and decorations.
“It’s called ‘upcycling,’ Rox, and you can do it with just about anything if you have the right eye and the tools,” Nat had said. “Beauty on the cheap.” The hotel had benefited from her passion enormously.
They’d transformed the dining room into a grand eating area and the lounge into a sumptuous, decadent sanctuary for relaxation and rest. They had furnished the rooms with a mixture of real antiques and upcycled items in a variety of dark woods, silver, and gold, with occasional touches of powdery blue. The bedrooms had had a similar treatment. But Roxy still worried that there wasn’t enough color, so she and Nat went through, adding splashes of flamingo pink and royal blue and gold—a cushion here, a toothbrush holder there, until there was a heightened vibrancy to each room.
“It’s so fantastic, Rox. You’re gonna be on TV soon, I just know it,” Nat said to her soon after they opened.
Word-of-mouth recommendations about the Funky Cat spread quickly. After her Grand Opening event, as news of Roxy’s relaunch of the hotel became known, business picked up. Roxy had seen a dramatic increase in bookings and was now at full capacity nearly every night.
“Oh, I don’t know about that, but it is pretty amazing, isn’t it?” Roxy had felt her confidence grow in leaps as the days passed. The Roxy of old—anxious, wallflower Roxy—seemed to have gone. An energetic, confident businesswoman had replaced her. Roxy was mostly fine with her transformation, but occasionally doubts emerged. She knew that despite her efforts and the professional demeanor she strived to project, there were times when she wasn’t quite as together as she appeared. Now though, it was showtime. Whatever the next few days had in store for her, Roxy had a responsibility to be calm, unflappable, and in charge. The game was most definitely on.
CHAPTER THREE
NAT RETURNED TO the kitchen red-faced and scowling. “What did that woman bring with her, the entire contents of Harrods? She told me she’d just been to England and had ‘stocked up on essentials.’ Essentials? She thinks all these Burberry trench coats and designer dresses are essentials? Really!” Whenever she was angry, Nat’s British accent became more pronounced, all clipped tones and short vowels. “And not only did I have to carry all those bags upstairs, but I also had to get a load of the clothes out, hang them up and check for damage and creases.”
Roxy was surprised Nat had played along with Ada’s requests. “Doesn’t sound like you, Nat.”
“I know.” Nat flopped on one of the stools they kept in the kitchen and pushed her short dark hair back from her face. “Normally I would have told her to jog on. I mean, I’m not her personal assistant, am I? But I knew I had to do it. Imagine, what if she had been secretly filming and I told her I wasn’t going to help? It wouldn’t make a good impression, would it now?”
“Right,” said Roxy biting her lip. She was already wondering if they had gotten themselves in too deep. They’d had plenty of guests before, but those were nice normal ones. Perhaps naïvely, she’d thought the Instagram influencers would be the same. “Thanks for taking one for the team.”
Nat rolled her eyes and hopped off the stool. She began to drench the bread pudding Roxy had prepared earlier with caramel and whiskey sauce. “Well, the next few days are going to be fun, fun, fun, aren’t they?” she said, pulling a face and clapping her hands. “Just four more guests to go. Let’s hope they’re not all as demanding as Ada. We’ll not cope.”
To Roxy and Nat’s relief, Ada didn’t make as much work for them that afternoon as they feared. She called down to reception for soda water but stayed quiet the remainder of the time. There was a lot of work to do in the kitchen, and Roxy, Nat, and Evangeline did not need distractions.
When everything was prepared and laid out for the evening meal, Roxy hurried to shower and change. Since transforming the hotel, she’d had part of a downstairs storage area turned into two rooms—a bedroom and a bathroom. These were now her private quarters. The room at the top of the house where she’d first stayed as a visitor had been transformed into a wonderful penthouse-style suite. That’s where they were going to put Lily Vashchenko, one of the other influencers. She had the most followers, but now Roxy wondered if she should have put Ada Okafor in there.
Roxy went into her room and slipped her shoes off. She padded in her socks over to the bed where her fluffy white princess of a cat Nefertiti was curled up, purring away. Roxy tickled her under her chin. “Hello, my love,” she said. “You look so cozy there.”
Nefertiti looked up at her, gave a little mewl in appreciation and closed her eyes in what appeared to be ecstasy as Roxy rubbed her cheek.
There was nothing Roxy loved more than curling up with a good book and Nefertiti on her lap. But there was little time for that these days, what with all the hotel work going on, and there was absolutely no time for it now! She took a lightning-fast shower and slipped into a crisp, pressed, white shirt, tight jeans, and silver pumps. She heard a knock on the front door and quickly looked in the mirror before smoothing her hair.
As she came out of her room she was immediately faced with the next couple of guests, two young men in t-shirts, jeans, and hoodies. Unlike Ada, they had their cameras at the ready.
“So we’ve just arrived at the Funky Cat,” one of the men was saying. Roxy recognized him as Michael O’Sullivan. He had dark hair, thin lips, and a serious-looking face. “Isn’t it looking grand?”
The other man jumped in front of the camera, pulling a silly face. “Woohoo! Far too grand for the likes of me!” Roxy knew he was Dash Davies, recognizing him from his unruly red hair, wild grin, and bright t-shirt. He was known for always wearing some wild color or other. Together the two men made up the Instagram and YouTube star duo Michael & Dash. They toured the world in a variety of styles, from budget to luxury, and while Michael compiled the serious reviews, Dash always had a trick up his sleeve to make things interesting and, Roxy suspected, boost views. He posted videos with such titles as The Ice Bucket Challenge…In Greenland! Or Man Downs 100 Pints of Lager in London!
“Hey there!” Roxy said with a huge smile. Her heart was pounding. She knew she was on camera, and despite the position she was now in, she still wasn’t at all used to fame, notoriety, or even people noticing her. She’d only recently allowed Sage to include pictures of her on their own Funky Cat Instagram profile. “The stars of Michael & Dash! So glad to have you guys here! My name’s Roxy, I’m part-owner and manager of this hotel. I’ll be your host during your time with us.”
&n
bsp; Dash bounded forward and wrapped her up in a hug. “We’re totally pumped to be here!” he said into her shoulder, a little too loud for comfort. Then he backed up. “Me and Mike have been…”
“Michael,” his partner said.
“Oh sorry, I forgot.” Dash slapped his hand to his forehead. He looked at Roxy and grinned. “I do have a tendency to be overly familiar. Excuse me. Michael.” He gave a little bow and discreetly rolled his eyes at Roxy as he straightened up. “So, anyway, we were saying, we’re so totally excited to come to New Orleans to get our dose of the culture. We want to eat ourselves silly on all that Creole goodness. I’m planning to put on at least ten pounds. Can you hook me up, Rox?”
Roxy laughed. “I certainly can. And, if you turn the camera around, you’ll see someone who’ll make sure of it.” She pointed out the door. “That’s Elijah’s Bakery, and he makes the meanest beignets–they’re square donuts–the world has ever seen. We stock up on them for breakfast.”
“Sounds like a plan, Roxy!” said Dash. Then he grabbed his case. “Right! Where’s my room?”
“Come with me!” Roxy said feeling excited now. While Michael was quiet and serious—maybe a little pompous—Dash’s energy was contagious.
But they didn’t get very far. Before they’d ascended four steps, there was a cheery “Hello!” at the door.
CHAPTER FOUR
ROXY TURNED TO see an older woman in her late 60s, her gray hair cropped short, rather like Roxy’s. She wore a big smile and an equally large backpack. Compared to Roxy’s earlier guests, she cut a more quiet, modest figure. She was dressed in cargo pants, a plain gray t-shirt, and hiking boots. In her hand, she carried two trekking poles. For one horrifying moment, Roxy couldn’t remember her name before it came rushing back to her. “Sylvia Walters!” She was a travel influencer from Maine. Most of her followers were women aged 65 and over.
Sylvia had obviously done her research. “You must be Roxy Reinhardt.”
“Indeed I am.” Roxy came down the steps and shook her hand. “I can show you all up to your rooms. We’re ready for you.”
“No personalized service?” Michael muttered. It was quiet, but loud enough for Roxy to hear.
Everyone went quiet.
“Michael!” Dash hissed, giving him a little shove on his shoulder.
Unfortunately, the shove was a little too hard, and Michael fell down the four steps they’d just climbed. The camera crashed to the ground, and Michael stumbled, then over-corrected, finally splaying out at the bottom of the stairs.
“Ow!” he said.
Roxy and Sylvia gasped.
Dash hurried down the stairs. “Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to…”
“Shut up!” Michael said, pushing him away roughly. “You could have seriously hurt me.”
“Are you okay?” Roxy asked, peering at him.
“Who cares about me?” Michael barked, reaching out for the camera that had crashed to the ground when he fell. “It’s this I’m worried about.” He took a look and nodded. “Thank goodness. Still intact and still recording.” He turned the camera back to himself. “Well, I just took a dive, but I’m fine now. See you guys in a little while.” He pressed a button and the red recording light flicked off. “Hmph. Let’s carry on.”
Dash looked embarrassed. “I’m real sorry, bud.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it too much,” said Sylvia. “Drama always commands attention. You might even turn into a meme!”
Roxy saw Michael’s facial expression darken, and she jumped in quickly before the conversation turned into an argument. “Let’s get you up to your rooms, everybody!”
Roxy, having felt excited just a few minutes earlier, was feeling stressed now and wondered again if this Instagram promotion had been such a great idea after all. She tried to hide her fears with a smile. Dash seemed to read her thoughts because as they turned the corner on the staircase, he patted her on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Roxy. We’re not litigious.”
Roxy laughed nervously. “Well, that’s something.” She hadn’t even thought about that. She settled her guests into their rooms without further fuss, but by the time she returned down the stairs, she felt a little sick. What had she let herself in for? She popped her head in the kitchen to see how things were progressing. Nat was hard at work at the counter while Evangeline was flitting between pans like a fly.
“How’s progress?” Roxy asked. She paused. “Nat, don’t you need to get dressed?”
Nat stuck her tongue out. “We have it all under control, thank you. Anyway, I’m just booting it, so no rush.” Roxy knew what she meant. Nat was not a dressing-up sort of girl. She loved her black distressed jeans and band tees and big combat boots. Roxy doubted even a million dollars could get her slipping into something slinky. When it came to dinnertime, Nat usually just changed her shoes, from the worn-down boots she wore every day to something a little fancier.
Nat had amassed quite a collection of Doc Martens over the months of working at the Funky Cat—purple sparkly ones, teal patent ones, silver-and-black stripy ones, and a black patent pair with red ribbon laces that tied in a huge bow. Each time she got a paycheck, she put some aside for her next purchase. The boots, while not elegant, were part of Nat. They gave her character. She also put a brush through her short, unruly hair, which transformed it into a pretty, sleek bob. Her tattoo sleeves still showed, though. All in all, Roxy had reconciled herself to Nat’s appearance and just about considered her appearance an asset, a nod to the quirky character of the Funky Cat Inn. She certainly sparked conversation between the guests at mealtimes.
Despite Nat’s tongue poke, Roxy smiled back at her and said, “It’s smelling delicious. I can’t wait!” She looked around at the food preparations laid out around the kitchen. It gave her butterflies to know that much of the next few days would be memorialized in perpetuity in videos and pictures and reviews. Were they really ready? She shook her head. It was too late to think about that. At least she could rely on the food not to let her down.
Her nerves made her want to start fixing everything. She headed back into the dining room where Nat had laid out fancy white tablecloths and huge place settings with reams of cutlery for each person. Three vases of flowers graced the center of the table. Roxy clasped her hands and tapped them against her mouth as she walked around inspecting everything. She scanned every place setting, making sure each knife, fork, and spoon was just so. She tweaked the positions of the flowers. When she couldn’t improve things any further, she went over to the lounge area and checked that all the cushions—blue and bronze—were in perfect alignment.
“Hello?” a deep female voice called out from the hallway.
Roxy hurried through to the entrance. “Hello, there!” she said. The final influencer to arrive, Lily Vashchenko, was in front of her. Lily was tall, much taller than Roxy, and older, perhaps in her early thirties. Waves of blonde that emerged from darker roots bounced over her shoulders. She had slanted almond eyes that were distinctly Slavic and made her look innocent but a little seductive at the same time. She wore tight white jeans and a white swishy top with silver butterflies fluttering all over it. Black stilettos with a silver heel finished off her ensemble along with big silver jewelry that pierced her ears and lay around her neck.
“You must be Roxy,” Lily said somberly. She placed her palms on Roxy’s shoulders and bent in to air kiss her on both cheeks. Roxy, her mouth forming a perfect “O,” couldn’t help but allow herself to be embraced like this. “Lovely to meet you, Lily.” As Lily let her hands fall, Roxy watched Lily’s rose gold iPhone warily—was she filming?
Lily saw her glance and said smoothly, “I’m not recording yet. That would be bad manners. You’re new to this whole business, so I shall not put any pressure on you. I’m only going to put good things in this review, don’t worry.” Lily had a thick Russian accent. She grabbed the handle of her large suitcase, also rose-gold, and smiled, cat-like, the skin around her eyes creasing
at the corners. “So, where’s my room?” Lily tilted her head to one side and smiled with her lips pressed together. “I don’t know you, but I am proud of you for running such a lovely hotel. That’s such an achievement at your age.”
“Thank you! Please come with me,” Roxy said, unsure whether to be flattered or patronized, but she was glad to be able to tell Lily what she was about to say. “You’re getting the penthouse suite!”
CHAPTER FIVE
AT 6 PM, ROXY called up to the guests’ rooms to let them know that dinner would be served in an hour. She told them that beforehand they could relax in the lounge and have the nibbles she’d prepared: chips, pistachio and cashew nuts, olives, and champagne. Then they’d head to the huge dining table for their meal.
In preparation for the evening, Roxy changed into a purple satin dress and paired it with silver sparkling shoes and a silver necklace and earrings. Before Roxy arrived in New Orleans, she’d loved clothes and jewelry, but never had the confidence to wear show-stopping outfits. She felt like a kid playing dress-up when she tried. She also hadn’t had the budget for anything but basics. She’d stuck mostly with jeans, plain skirts, sweaters, and tees. But now? Now, she had a newfound confidence and she was making the most of it! Nat had shown her the best thrift stores in the city, and Roxy had become an exceptional bargain hunter, kitting out her wardrobe with the kind of outfits that befitted her role at the hotel but on a very small budget. There was nothing else for it in her opinion, New Orleans and her position simply demanded glitz and glamor.
Roxy didn’t have time to do anything special with her hair, not that there was a lot she could do with it—it was a pixie cut after all—so she simply finger-combed it, and with a flick of mascara and a slick of lip gloss, she was ready to go.
New Orleans Nightmare Page 2
