The Roche Hotel (Short & Sweet Romantic Comedy): Season Three

by Mysti Parker

  The Roche Hotel

  Season Three

  Mysti Parker

  Copyright © 2016 by Mysti Parker

  Kindle Edition

  Kindle Edition, License Notes

  This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, shame on you. Every time a book is stolen, a kitten dies somewhere in the world. You don't want to kill a kitten, do you? Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and/or persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are the property of their respective owners and are used for reference only and not an implied endorsement. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Dedicated to the late King Henry VIII & his six wives:

  Catherine of Aragon

  Anne Boleyn

  Jane Seymour

  Anne of Cleves

  Catherine Howard

  Catherine Parr

  And to that little hotel in Louisville, KY…

  WAIT!!! Don't read further until you've caught up with Jane and the cast of this Tudorific romantic comedy in...

  The Roche Hotel, Season One

  After her husband ditches her for a blonde actress wannabe, Jane Seymour needs a job that pays the rent. The struggling Roche Hotel needs a miracle. With the former owner’s wife butting her nose into the renovations and new owners who are in way over their heads, Jane may be the answer to their prayers. Sure, she can handle The Roche Hotel’s quirky staff. But, can this skittish divorcee keep it all together when handsome Henry the Donut Guy makes his first delivery? This collection of serial fiction stories is a Tudorific romantic comedy that will leave you laughing out loud and hungry for more.

  The Roche Hotel, Season Two

  Jane Seymour and the quirky staff of The Roche Hotel are back for another hilarious season of this Tudorific romantic comedy. Thanks to Jane’s no-nonsense practicality, the struggling hotel is on its way to becoming a thriving business. Henry the Donut Guy has won her over with his delicious pastries and irresistible charm. Even her ailing mother has found a new love. Life is sweet until a new assistant manager is hired…who just happens to be Jane’s meddling, sleazeball of an ex-husband. How will Jane keep the peace and prevent the hotel from going under without losing her mind?

  Now, on with the show!

  Episode #21

  A Tear in his Beer

  Despite a bitterly cold January, my heart is happy and warm. Mom and Henry’s grandpa Julius had a beautiful Christmas time wedding right here at The Roche Hotel. That was also the day I finally said the L word to Henry. Screamed it, actually, right in the middle of Mom’s wedding reception. However it happened, at least I’m able to tell the man I love how I feel without thinking the world might cave in.

  Henry and his dad own Hermann’s bakery, and though Henry’s job is delivering donuts to local hotels and other businesses, he’s not poor by any means. He bought me a luxuriously soft alpaca cardigan for Christmas, so I’m bundled up in it as I start my shift at 3:00 PM, looking forward to going back home to him. Well, back to his apartment, anyway. We still haven’t officially moved in together. Julius gave Henry his house so he could live with Mom in the retirement home. So Henry’s busy fixing that place up. He’s not mentioned the M word yet, but it hovers in the air every time he mentions going to Home Depot for new trim.

  I’m fine with the L word, but there’s one thing holding me back from even considering the M word yet.

  That thing is Nick.

  My sleaze-ball ex-husband turned assistant manager of The Roche Hotel isn’t at work today. Suits me just fine, but general manager Richard Smythe is sweating more than usual. A sure sign that he’s upset.

  Richard stands in the doorway to the office, dabbing his forehead with his handkerchief. “Do you think he’d just up and leave, Jane? Go back to California with his girlfriend?”

  Having been dumped by Nick myself in that very manner, I put a hand on my hip. “History tends to repeat itself.”

  “Of course, yes, I’m sorry.” Richard wilts onto the door frame. Then he brightens a bit, waving his sweaty handkerchief at me. “You know, I think that could be his Mercedes I saw parked over at O’Shea’s. Could you check and see if he’s there?”

  “What about the front desk?”

  “I can handle it. Oh, and have you seen my scarf?”

  “David’s wearing it.” I motion toward the pedestal in the lobby. Our small replica of Michelangelo’s David stands vigilant, his stony unmentionables hidden under a green and black plaid scarf like a Scottish kilt.

  Richard shakes his head, exhaling in tired frustration while he goes out to retrieve it. “Why can’t the old girl just leave him be?”

  The old girl is Mrs. Roche, the former owner of the hotel, who still resides here most of the time and can’t keep her nose out of the hotel’s business. She’s been on a mission to cover David’s nakedness since Richard bought him.

  A church van has just pulled up outside. They’re already bucket-brigading their suitcases onto luggage racks. Richard is a computer amateur at best. His wife, Susan, isn’t here to help him, Carol the first shift clerk is already gone, and I have no idea where Jerry, our hairy sasquatch of a maintenance man, is at the moment. Jerry may look like something caught on camera in the Ozarks, but he’s a computer genius.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask.

  Richard stands up straight, crams his handkerchief back in his shirt pocket, and nods like he’s ready to go down with the ship. “Yes, you may go, Jane.”

  An entire gaggle of children come flooding out of the van. I grab my purse and hurry out the door in the hopes of finding my ex has disappeared so I can get back and rescue Richard. The herd brushes past me, and I see one of them has left a shiny trail of snot on the sleeve of my new sweater.

  “I don’t get paid enough for this,” I grumble as my shoes crunch across the salted parking lot to O’Shea’s.

  ****

  I’m about to declare Nick a serial deserter when I finally spot him at the far corner of the bar. He’s slumped over a mug of beer, making a weird sound like a hyena who couldn’t quite figure out how to laugh.

  I slide onto an empty seat next to him. It’s not like the bar is full at 3:15 PM. He glances up at me. “Oh babe, it’s awful.”

  “Well, the sound you’re making is awful, if that’s what you mean. Are you crying? Is something wrong with you?”

  He sits up, snatches a handful of bar napkins from the stack nearby and wipes his face. “No, it’s Brandy.”

  Ah yes, should have known. Brandy, his blonde wannabe actress bimbo, who had flown in from California to reclaim Nick, who had left her so he could reclaim me. Of course, Henry had beaten him to it. I wouldn’t have taken Nick back even if I had to resign myself to the life of a crazy cat lady spinster. But, this whole soap opera is making me crazy, cat or no cat. />
  The bartender holds up a bottle of Jack and an empty shot glass. He’s got a ‘geez-that’s-one-pathetic-man’ look on his face.

  I shake my head. “So, Brandy left you?”

  Nick holds out his hands, his wad of napkins balled up tight in one fist. “No, it’s a lot worse than that.” He slumps over again, resuming his hyena sobs.

  I’ve never seen Nick cry, not once. It’s ridiculously surreal.

  Patting his back rather awkwardly, I try to console him. “There, there…so, did her boobs spring a toxic leak or something?”

  “No, babe, Brandy’s pr-e-e-eg-nant!”

  “Did you say Brandy’s pregnant?”

  He nods, then blows his nose like a trumpet.

  “Oh. And you’re sure it’s yours?”

  “Do you think she’d come all the way here if it wasn’t? She could pin it on a movie producer and live it up in Malibu.”

  I’m not really sure what to say in this situation. At one time, I’d thought about having Nick’s kids. We both had career ambitions, though, and wanted to wait until the timing was right. All that disintegrated with our divorce and my pink slip from teaching English lit at the community college. Another woman was having his kid now. I didn’t know whether to feel sad or relieved. The way Nick was blubbering, I decided to go more funeral and less baby shower.

  “What am I going to do?” Nick wipes his face again and takes a swig of beer.

  “What does Brandy want to do?”

  “She wants to get married.”

  “And you don’t?”

  “No. You know why I came back.”

  “Yes, and that’s not going to happen. There’s really only one thing you can do.”

  He downs the rest of his beer. “What’s that?”

  “Get your butt off that bar stool and get back to work. You have a hotel to run and a kid on the way.”

  “Okay, I guess you’re right, babe.” He slides off the stool and heads toward the door.

  “Of course I am.” With a dry napkin, I wipe the forgotten snot from my sweater. The bartender slides Nick’s bar tab to me and clears his throat. Nick sure knows when to pull a disappearing act, all right.

  Episode #22

  Fowl Play

  Henry the Donut Guy in Levis is no doubt the best eye candy a girl can get, but Henry in Levis and a tool belt. Wow. Just…wow.

  “Could you hand me the drill?” He’s standing on the second step of a ladder to install mini blinds in the living room of the house his grandpa gave him.

  “Huh?” I’m caught in the trance of my boyfriend's incredible backside.

  “The drill,” he says, looking over his shoulder.

  “What drill?”

  He smiles and steps down from the ladder. “I know you know what a drill is. You’re way smarter than me.”

  Henry hugs me tightly and kisses my neck in just the right spot to make my knees wobbly. I hang on to his tool belt to stay upright.

  “What do you think so far?” he asks.

  “It’s looking great, not that it didn’t look good before. Except for the 70’s green and orange everything.”

  “Don’t forget the sunflower yellow appliances.”

  “Right. I like the stainless. Definitely a nice addition for people who actually cook.”

  He puts his arm around me and stares into the kitchen like a ship captain looking across a sea of plywood flooring. “Don’t worry, Jane. I’ll keep you fed. What color would you like to paint the bedroom?”

  “Don’t ask me. It’s your house.”

  “Well…” He gives me a slow, gentle kiss, the kind that drops my IQ down a few points. “…I was hoping you could share it with me.”

  I pull away and walk into the kitchen, pretending to inspect the sink. “You mean, like, move in?”

  “Yeah, or whatever.”

  I know what whatever means, and it stirs up a big ball of anxiety in the pit of my stomach. We’ve been officially a couple for just a few months, but we’re madly in love. At thirty-something, both of us have tried and failed once in the relationship department. It would seem only natural for us to advance to the next step.

  Henry wraps his arms around me from behind. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I just, um, need to go pick up my paycheck. Totally forgot.”

  “Why don’t you just get direct deposit?”

  “I dunno. I’m old school, I guess. Dinner at El Nopal at six, right?”

  “Yeah, see ya then.” He shrugs and looks a little deflated. That seems to be the cycle of our relationship. Henry gets his hopes inflated, and I stick my needle of doubt in it until it pops. Round and round we go. I really hope he doesn’t get tired of this ride anytime soon.

  “Love you,” he says.

  “Love you, too.” I give him a quick peck and a pat on his backside, and I’m out the door and in my car before he can say anything else.

  ****

  Nick’s there at the front desk when I get to The Roche. “Hey babe, isn’t it your day off?”

  “Don’t babe me, and yes, but I’m picking up my check.”

  He leans over the counter and winks. “Are you sure you didn’t miss me?”

  “Very sure. How’s your baby’s mama?”

  He sighs and starts flipping through some envelopes. “Morning sickness or whatever they call it. She’s holed up in my bathroom.”

  “Has she been to the doctor?”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “You guess so? You should be going with her.”

  “Why do you care?”

  “I care about the poor kid who has no choice in his or her parents.”

  “Fine. I’ll go next time.” He pulls out an envelope and hands it to me.

  I stand there tapping it on the front desk. Nick seems to be really listening to me when it comes to being responsible for a change. Could it be my ex is finally growing up?

  The door chimes ring, and in comes a couple of rotund kids. The closer they get, though, the older they look. I think they’re Polynesian. The man wears a large cowboy hat, cowboy boots, and a bolero. She's decked out in a fur coat atop a baggy floral blouse and yellow leggings. Several pieces of mismatched costume jewelry sparkle in the LED lights while she strides along in a pair of knee-high slick black boots. A giant purse is slung over her left shoulder. They reach the front desk, which is neck-high to them.

  They frown at me before turning to Nick. “Where is Jerry?”

  “Jerry?” Nick asks, looking from one to the other as though he’s seeing things. “You mean the maintenance guy? You got a problem with your room?”

  “No, we wouldn’t stay in this dump. Where’s our son? Where’s Jerry?”

  Nick scratches his head and scrunches up his face. “Your son’s with Jerry?”

  “No, our son is Jerry!”

  Down the hall around the corner comes the sound of squeaky wheels on a mop bucket. It’s followed a moment later with a deep and joyful bellow. “Mom! Dad!”

  Our resident six-foot-six overalled sasquatch of a maintenance man wraps the petite couple in a crushing hug and lifts them off the ground. When he drops them, the woman I’m assuming is Mom reaches up to pinch his hairy cheek.

  “Why you so skinny? You been eating?” she asks.

  I’ve learned to interpret most of Jerry’s grunts. He answers with, “I’m na mana num,” which I think means “I’m fine,” followed by, “What’re you doin’ here?”

  Jerry’s mom exhumes a stainless steel vase from her giant purse.

  “It’s Bernie,” she says. “He died last week. Had him cremated.”

  Dear Lord, it’s not a vase, but an urn. And poor Jerry slumps as though all the enthusiasm from his odd reunion has evaporated. His beard and eyebrows are quivering. I think he’s on the verge of tears, but it’s hard to tell behind all the facial hair.

  “How?” He sniffs and strokes the urn lovingly. Reminds me of King Kong smitten with a blonde damsel.

  “Just ol
d,” Jerry’s dad says.

  Nick is standing there dumbfounded like he suspects he’s hallucinating the whole thing. It would seem as though Jerry has lost a family member, so now’s the time for some words of condolence, no matter how awkward the situation.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss,” I manage to say in an appropriately solemn tone. “Was Bernie your…?”

  I know I shouldn’t be nosy, but I just can’t help myself.

  “Ostrich,” Jerry says.

  Nick starts snickering, and I’m about to bop him on the shoulder to keep him quiet, but he bursts out laughing before I can.

  “Ostrich?” Nick says. “Are you serious?”

  Jerry snaps his head around and glares at Nick, who’s turned few shades paler. We’ve never seen Jerry angry, but if he wanted to, he could probably snap Nick in half like a toothpick.

  “Sorry.” Nick’s voice is a bit shaky. “It’s just not every day, you know…right Jane?”

  Now I glare at him. Leave it to my ex to dump his idiocy on me. “I’m sorry, Jerry. Pets are like family. I’m sure he was a lovely companion.”

  His mom waves a dismissive, ring-adorned hand. “Bernie was a jerk. We’d have butchered him a long time ago had it not been for Jerry. He’s the only one Bernie got along with.”

  “I see.” Not really, but it seems like the right thing to say. “I’m Jane, by the way. I work the front desk. And this is Nick, the-”

  “Her husband,” Nick says.

  “Ex-husband. And assistant manager.”

  Jerry’s dad takes off his cowboy hat. “Leonard Garcia.”

  I shake his hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

  “I’m Doris,” Jerry’s mom says. She doesn’t offer a handshake, but instead pulls a small photo album from her purse and hands it to me.

  I start flipping through it, while she leans in and narrates. The first photo shows Doris, dressed in a similar bohemian outfit, holding a toddler on her lap.

  “That’s Jerry, six months old.”

  “Just six months? He was so, um, cute.” And huge, compared to his mom.