I shoved the wine into the ice bucket, grabbed hold of the cart and headed for the elevator. The cart was heavier than I expected. It was just my luck to get one that didn’t work properly. The same thing happened every time I went grocery shopping with Mom. The cart I picked always seemed to want to go in a different direction than the way I wanted it to go.
I made it into the elevator and pressed twenty. I glanced at the bill Helga had made up to check the number — 2014. I mustn’t forget to get it signed by Robert Rudsnicker. I wondered if I’d even get to see him. It was a woman who’d phoned the order to room service. Maybe she’d meet me at the door and I wouldn’t even get inside. But what if I did? What would I say to Robert Rudsnicker? I could tell him how I’d admired the last film he’d directed, East of the Okavango. It was a big adventure film set in Africa. He’d won an Academy Award for best direction. Maybe I’d get a chance to tell him how much I wanted to act and direct. I hadn’t any more time to think about what I was going to say because the elevator door opened and I was on the twentieth floor.
I was startled to see a man in a suit, sitting on a chair opposite the elevator, reading a newspaper. He put the paper down, glanced at the identity card pinned to my shirt, gave me a nod, and went back to reading his paper. I guessed he must be with hotel security.
I pushed my wobbly cart down the carpeted hallway. There were only a few rooms on this floor, so the suites had to be huge. I found 2014 and rapped nervously on the door.
There was no answer, so I rapped again. The door opened suddenly and I was face to face with a very sleepy-looking Robert Rudsnicker.
“Roo-room service, sir,” I stammered and I pushed my cart through the doorway.
Robert Rudsnicker yawned and then a puzzled look crossed his face. “Roo-room service. I da-da-don’t remember or-ordering fr-from roo-room service.”
At first, I thought he was mimicking me. Then, to our astonishment, my cart gave a sudden heave as something or someone tried to extricate themselves from the bottom level. A head bobbed out, a blue head. Then, with an awful crash, the whole cart tipped over, sending an avalanche of ice from the ice bucket across the carpet, to be quickly followed by the wine, cheese, the flowers, and everything else on the tray.
I was so startled I jumped back into the hallway. Then, with a great deal of thrashing and heaving, Aunt Phyllis scrambled out from the toppled cart. Before I could move or say anything, one of her thrashing legs caught the open door, slamming it shut in my face.
I stood there, dumbfounded, as the security guard raced up to me. “What happened?” he hollered.
I didn’t know what to say. Inside the room I could hear Aunt Phyllis’s voice saying, “Oh Robert, you have that nasty stammer back again.”
I stepped aside as the security guy rapped on the door and it was opened again by Robert Rudsnicker.
“It’s okay,” he said. “Oh. Here.” He thrust the room service bill at the security guy, who passed it to me as Robert Rudsnicker closed the door again.
I don’t think Aunt Phyllis knew it was me she’d used to gain access to Robert Rudsnicker. If the hotel found out, I was sure to be fired.
As I headed for the elevator, the puzzled security guard followed, mumbling, “I’m sure that’s the same broad I threw off this floor earlier. There’s no accounting for these film types. I guess I’d better report it, in case there’s any ramifications. I can’t understand how she got in there.”
I didn’t want to think of the ramifications if the hotel found out that Aunt Phyllis and I were related.
9
AUNT PHYLLIS WAS BEAMING. “As soon as Robert Rudsnicker knew I was trying to reach him, he had me shown to his suite right away.”
I spluttered in my bowl of Rice Krispies. Some went down the wrong way and I started choking.
Aunt Phyllis didn’t notice. She went right on talking. Lying would probably be a better word.
“He was rather upset, in fact, that the hotel security staff had tried everything to prevent me from contacting him. He was delighted to see me and was grateful I was able to get him working again on getting rid of that stammer of his. He’d forgotten everything I’d taught him. It’s all in the breathing, you see.”
I was still trying to breathe myself. The Rice Krispies were still going snap, crackle, and pop in my windpipe. Mom poured me a glass of orange juice and shoved it towards me.
I gulped some of it down, and had almost relieved my choking, when Aunt Phyllis said, “Over a bottle of Chablis, Robert and I discussed a small part for me in the film, Funeral at Feng-t’ai, that he’s directing. He remembered Chablis was my favourite and he’d already ordered it from room service before I’d reached his suite. He’s very thoughtful.”
“Sip the juice more slowly, don’t gulp it,” Mom said, clapping me on the back as my choking changed to a fit of coughing.
“So what does this mean?” Dad asked. “Will you be taking up residence in The Ritz now that you’re a star, or what?”
“Well, no. Not exactly. I’ll stay on here for a while.”
I heard Dad groan, but Aunt Phyllis didn’t seem to notice.
“Robert wants me to continue helping him with his breathing exercises for a few days. He’s been having a terrible time with the co-star, Johnny Random. That’s what brought Robert’s stammer back, all the stress. Johnny Random’s just got too big for his boots since he won the best actor award last year. Robert would like to replace him, but the film studio signed a contract that would cost them millions if Robert fired him, and of course Johnny Random knows it. The owners of Pocket Money Pictures hired Robert because they know he always strives to keep a film within budget, but they made a big mistake when they hired Johnny Random.”
“So what’s your part, then?” Dad asked. “The one this director fella promised you. What’s his name again? Sounds like a dirty laugh.” Dad laughed at his own joke.
“It’s Rud-snicker,” Aunt Phyllis snapped, as she stressed the first part of the director’s last name. “Robert Rud-snicker.”
“Well, I was close anyway,” Dad went on. “I read in the paper this is one of those big battle movies in ancient China, with a big mob laying siege to some castle. That’s a far cry from your last role in that French opera thing, unless you’re going to play a geisha or something, entertaining the warlords. But with blue hair, I dunno.” Dad mumbled the last bit, although I’m sure Aunt Phyllis heard him and chose to ignore the remark. “It beats me why they aren’t filming the thing in China. They’d have a lot more Chinese to choose from.”
“A good part of the film will be made in China,” Aunt Phyllis replied.
“Oh! And the bad part here?” Dad couldn’t control his laughter.
Aunt Phyllis frowned. “Sometimes, George, your humour is very juvenile. You know I wasn’t fooled for one minute by that rubber lizard thing you hung on top of the shower curtain.”
I gave a gasp, or what would have been a gasp if I wasn’t still coughing and trying to sip the orange juice at the same time. I succeeded in snorting some of the juice up my nose. Aunt Phyllis had to be talking about Ralph. We didn’t have any rubber lizards in the house, as far as I knew. I tried to glare at Dad, but I wasn’t very successful because my coughing and choking had filled my eyes with tears.
I finally got my coughing under control enough to struggle to my feet to go check on Ralph and make sure he was okay.
Aunt Phyllis was still talking. “Most of the film, I believe, will be shot in China, but then it’s easier to shoot the castle siege itself here, where there is more space. China has become far more crowded since the late 1800s, which is, I believe, the era when the actual event took place.”
I couldn’t believe it. Here was Aunt Phyllis hardly here one day, and, if what she said was true, she’d already landed a part in the movie. But how much was true? She’d lied about being invited to Robert Rudsnicker’s suite. She’d lied about him ordering the wine before she got there. She was the one who had orde
red it. I’d taken the order myself. Still, Robert Rudsnicker hadn’t thrown her out. Maybe she had been promised a part. If so, I was the one who’d pushed her into it, so to speak.
I found Ralph dozing on the top of the shower rail. He opened one eye and looked at me for a moment, then closed it and went back to sleep.
“Lucky for you you didn’t move when Aunt Phyllis was in here,” I said to him, as I pried him off the rail. I had a hard time doing this, as he didn’t want to be disturbed, and clung to the rail as hard as he could. “Come on, Ralph. Cooperate. You’re lucky to be alive. If Aunt Phyllis had thought you were real, she might have freaked out and flattened you with the shampoo bottle.”
I spent the morning in school thinking of ways I could get to meet Robert Rudsnicker myself, without throwing ice and flowers all over his hotel suite floor or having crazy old ladies jump from beneath room service carts. Would I get a chance to deliver something to his room again? It was unlikely. But if I did, would the fact that Aunt Phyllis was my great aunt influence Robert Rudsnicker into giving me a job as an extra? Storming a castle sounded far more exciting than chopping celery.
An announcement over the P.A. from Mr. Shamberg that work experience students should remember to get their weekly employment activity and time record sheets signed by their supervisors at the place of their employment started me scrabbling in the desk to look for my form. Unfortunately this was in Ms. Havershaw’s class.
“Surely you haven’t got that horrible reptile back here again,” she shrieked.
“No, no,” I said hurriedly. “I’m just looking for my time record sheet for work experience.”
“Well, whatever zoo has employed you,” Ms. Havershaw smirked at her joke, “will have to wait until math class is over. Those rat-scrabbling noises you are making are causing a disturbance.”
“Sorry. I found it.” I pulled the somewhat crumpled form out of the desk and held it up.
“Good. Good. Now perhaps we can get back to the topic at hand.”
I caught Celia’s eye as I bent over my math text. She smiled. I wondered how things were going on the movie set. I also wondered why Robert Rudsnicker was in The Ritz in the middle of the afternoon if he was shooting the film. If I got a chance, I’d ask Celia what was going on.
I didn’t get a chance. When math class ended I couldn’t find my form again and I started another search. By the time I found it on the floor, the form had a perfect imprint of some guy’s muddy boot. I rushed off to Mr. Shamberg’s office to get a new form but he wasn’t there. By the time I found out he’d left the school, I’d missed my regular bus. I was going to be late at The Ritz.
I did my best to clean off my employment activity sheet, but it didn’t help much. I changed into my uniform as quickly as possible and rushed into the kitchen to find Kin and get my assignment for the day. I couldn’t see him anywhere. Everyone looked really busy.
“Somebody get that pot roast out of the oven, or it will be burnt, Cajun style.” It was Chef Antonio. I hadn’t noticed him before. He was standing not far from me, kneading some kind of dough, and his hands were covered in flour.
Nobody moved. Everyone, except me, was busy. I hesitated, but only for a moment.
“Somebody get that pot roast!” Chef Antonio roared, and glared pointedly at me and at the oven in question.
I pulled open the oven door. The huge pot with a lid was steaming and bubbling away, and a blast of heat hit me in the face. If I hadn’t shaved my head I’m sure my hair would have been singed.
“Vite! Vite!” Chef Antonio yelled.
I didn’t know what that meant, but I thought I’d better do something. I looked around desperately for something to grab the pot with, and someone tossed me what looked like a piece of an old bathrobe. I grabbed it, covered my hands with it, and reached into the oven for the pot. I hadn’t expected it to be so heavy and my arms sagged under the weight. Unfortunately, the make-shift pot holder was indeed a piece of an old hotel bathrobe and several loose threads around the edges immediately ignited from the oven burner. I staggered back with the heavy pot and it looked like my hands were going up in flames. I spotted a counter to dump the pot on, but before I could hoist it up high enough, one of my hands slipped.
I tried desperately to hang onto the pot with one hand before it hit the floor. I wasn’t successful. I wasn’t strong enough. The free end of the pot bounced as it hit the floor, just as a pair of large feet loomed in front of me. For a second I thought, those white pants look a bit strange with brown cuffs. Then, to my horror, I realized I’d slopped brown gravy over the shoes and white pants. I didn’t need to look up to check the owner. I knew. I tried to look on the bright side. The white pants may look bad, I thought, but at least the shoes were brown to begin with.
10
ALL THE CHOPPING AND mixing noises faded, then ceased altogether. The whole kitchen seemed to be waiting with bated breath. The only sounds came from the hissing pots on the stoves and a chugging dishwasher. In a daze, I sensed a pair of hands swoop up the pot off the floor and a pair of feet stomp on my flaming bathrobe.
I steeled myself for the explosion. It came, but not the way I expected. Like watching a movie in slow motion, I saw Chef Antonio look down at his pant cuffs, pick a speck of gravy off on the end of his finger and put it to his lips.
His face suddenly turned bright red. “More salt!” he bellowed. “More salt.”
He glared around the kitchen at the cooks who suddenly became very interested in getting on with the preparation of the food. Mixers started to whir and chopping sounds took on a particular frenzy.
Chef Antonio turned on his heel and walked away as I caught sight of Kin beckoning to me. I hurried towards him, grateful that Chef Antonio had, for the moment at least, lost interest in me.
Kin was grinning from ear to ear. “You trying to get on good terms with Chef Antonio?”
“I guess that’s the end of my job here,” I groaned.
Kin was still grinning. “Don’t worry. Chef Antonio has a temper. Sometimes he explodes, sometimes not. Today was your lucky day. Chef Antonio is more worried about taste. For him, everything needs lots of salt. His secret recipe.”
“Well, he’s not going to forget me spilling the gravy on his pants because today I have to get him to fill in my employment activity sheet.” I pulled the grubby form out of my shirt pocket and showed in to Kin. “What’s he gonna say about me when he fills this in?”
“Not much to fill in on this form,” Kin said. “Mostly just what jobs you’ve been doing and number of hours.”
“But what about the bit on the bottom?” I pointed. “What about ‘observed strengths’ and ‘weaknesses’? And what about ‘overall performance rating’? Where it says ‘circle one: unsatisfactory, below average, average, above average, and outstanding’. And then there’s supervisor’s comments. What’s he gonna say there? One word … fired!”
Kin put his chin in his hand and studied the form.
“Hmm. Maybe under ‘observed weaknesses’ he should say ‘needs to develop stronger wrists for heavy pots.’ And under ‘observed strengths,’ ‘has burning desire to handle job. Really fired up.’” He burst out laughing.
“It’s not funny, Kin.”
“You worry too much, Harry. Chef Antonio hates filling in forms. And anyway, who tells you what to do every day?”
“Well, you do.”
“So. Who do you think will fill in this form? I am really your supervisor, so, no problem. Anyway, no way you will get fired. We are very busy now with the hotel full and Mother’s Day coming soon. Chef Antonio will just change his pants. Accidents happen in kitchen often.”
I let out a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Kin.”
“Oh, I almost forgot. Everything very busy right now. If you’d like to make a few extra bucks, outside catering is looking for extra help for private party tomorrow night. You interested?”
“Sure. I could do with the extra cash.” And I’d get to work with Cel
ia. She was sure to be working if they were short-handed.
“Good,” Kin said. “You stay here after work. Bring a white shirt and your best pants. I’m not sure if you’ll work as waiter or help with food. Henry Nicholson, he’ll tell you. He’s in charge of outside catering.”
I spent the rest of the day turning carrots for Mother’s Day — four hundred of them. I wondered how many mothers would show up at The Ritz and if they had anything to do with choosing the menu. Were mothers the same everywhere? Maybe, I thought, Chef Antonio’s mother had told him to eat carrots when he was a kid because they were supposed to be good for his eyesight or something. By the time I’d finished all those carrots I think my eyesight was failing. I felt dizzy from the blur of orange in front of my eyes.
Before I left Kin brought me my completed employment activity sheet. He had made a photocopy, so the footprint wasn’t so noticeable, and he’d given me a pretty good report.
I left for school early the next day before Aunt Phyllis was up. I didn’t think I could stand listening to her go on about the role she was going to get in the movie. But I had a more important reason for leaving early. I caught up with Celia in the hall. I wasn’t sure what to say to her. We hadn’t talked much, except that time my pants hadn’t fit me at The Ritz, and that was not exactly a topic I wanted to recall. So I just blurted out, “I’ll be working with you tonight. I’ve been asked to help out with outside catering. They needed extra help.”
“Oh.” Celia seemed surprised. “It’s the reception at city hall tonight.”
“The reception? City hall?”
“Yeah. Don’t you know what it is? The mayor and council are throwing a party to thank the film company for choosing our city to make the movie. It means a lot of money will be spent here. This is the first time I’ll be able to mingle with the stars. I saw Johnny Random once, but I’ve hardly seen any others. I’m doing my best to stay out of the way of the sleazy electrician. He’s always looking at me. He gives me the creeps. Just like that lizard of yours.” Celia grinned.
Harry Flammable Page 5
