by Mysti Parker
Leonard and Jerry have wondered off to sit in the breakfast area, where Jerry is still hugging his dead ostrich’s urn.
“He’s adopted,” she says in a half whisper, as though this might be a secret to Jerry, but I’m pretty sure he’s figured that out by now.
“Oh, I see.” Not really. “Do you live nearby?”
“No, we live in North Dakota. We own the biggest ostrich ranch in the state.”
“It’s very nice of you to come all this way to deliver Bernie’s ashes.”
“We didn’t come for that stupid bird. We heard Jerry was getting hitched.”
“Hitched? You mean Carol?” She’s the other front desk clerk, and they’d been dating for as long as Henry and me, but I haven’t heard Carol talk about marriage. And she talks about everything. Very closely. I can tell what Carol’s had for lunch every time she gossips.
“Yes, that’s the floozy. She’s not taking my boy away from me unless I say so.”
She takes the album back from me and plops it in her purse, then stilt-walks over to Jerry and his dad. Nick gets brave enough to approach the front desk again. He whispers, “So let me get this straight. Jerry is the adopted son of a Polynesian couple who live in North Dakota and own an ostrich ranch.”
“Right…I think.” I’m starting to wonder if we’ve had a gas leak and we’re both hallucinating.
“And their last name is Garcia.”
“Right.” It occurs to me then that I’ve never heard Jerry’s last name. It’s kind of like the cherry on top of this bizarre sundae. “Our maintenance man is Jerry Garcia.”
The Muzak, which has been eerily quiet since I walked in, comes to life with the bluesy beat of I Need a Miracle from The Grateful Dead. I’ve had enough of feeling high when I’m not for one day. I take my check, say bye to Nick, wave to Jerry and his Polynesian parents and head for my car. Henry’s going to think I’m crazy when I tell him what happened. But what else is new?
Episode #23
Soul Sisters…Not!
My phone chirps to life with the Birds of North America ringtone. I remind myself to delete that one before I develop a hate for chickadees, and blindly smack at the bedside table until I find the offending device. Finally, I blink past the groggy blur. Who the heck is calling at 7:15 AM on Saturday? It could be the retirement home calling about Mom, which gets my pulse racing with worry. Or it could be The Roche Hotel with another I-can’t-make-this-stuff-up catastrophe, which makes me crave some reading time with the classifieds.
It takes me a minute to register the name on the caller ID: Katherine Stevens-Casker. I don’t remember which man she got that hooked-on last name from, but Katherine Stevens is undoubtedly a black sheep. She’s also my sister.
“Great.” I decide not to answer it and let the call go to voicemail. She may be calling to tell me about marriage number six. Or is it seven at this point?
Henry’s arm is draped across my waist. He stirs and hugs me close. His stubbly face and messy hair makes me smile.
“Who’s calling?” he asks through a wide-mouthed yawn.
“My sister.”
He raises up suddenly on one elbow. “You mentioned having a sister, but haven't said a word about her. What's up with that?”
“I don't know.”
“So why didn’t you answer it?”
“Because it’s my sister.”
Henry’s mouth is pinched up on one side, the way it does when he’s confused, which happens a lot when he’s with me. But it’s so stinking adorable.
“Katherine,” I say, not hiding the spite in my voice, “is my older sister. She’s been married five or I don’t know how many times now. I’ve lost count.”
“You don’t have any more exes I don’t know about, do you?”
“No.”
“But just being unlucky in love surely isn’t enough for you to disown her, is it?”
“No, I’ve disowned her because she’s a kleptomaniac. With money and men.”
“Oh, yikes. Did she steal from you?”
“Katherine stole money from Mom about a year before I had to put her in the retirement home. Poor Mom wasn’t thinking clearly enough and handed over her checkbook. Katherine wiped out her checking account. Luckily I’d set up a good savings account for Mom’s pension, so she wasn’t left broke. I threatened to strangle Katherine with my own hands if she dared get within a mile of Mom again.”
“I don’t blame you. What about the men?”
“She stole my first high school boyfriend. I had to go to prom with Dirk, the pimply-faced captain of the academic team. Katherine and Eric, my boyfriend, were crowned prom king and queen.”
“Ouch. No wonder you’re bitter.”
“I suspect Nick had a fling with her too, but who hasn’t he had a fling with?”
"Mrs. Roche?"
"You're awful." I give him a playful smack.
Henry chuckles, then flops onto his back and stretches while I admire his muscles flexing. “I hate to say it, but Nick showed up out of the blue. What if your sister does, too?”
“I may make good on my threats. Would you visit me in prison?”
He chuckles. “If we can have conjugal visits.”
Even though my sister’s potential reappearance makes me nauseous, Henry makes me laugh. That’s just one reason I love him. We spend the next couple hours exploring a few more reasons before we shower, dress, and enjoy a sister-less and ex-less brunch with Mom and his grandpa at the retirement home.
****
Saturday at 3:12 PM I’m back to work, and the hotel is abuzz. Actually, Richard is abuzz. He’s darting around in the office from filing cabinet to desk to shelves and back again, shuffling through papers, jotting down notes and wiping sweat from his forehead. A sticky-note is stuck to the bottom of his shoe, a helpless yellow square flapping against the carpet.
Carol's about to leave. I stop her in the lobby before she walks out. "Hey, what's up with the boss?"
"I don't know, hun. But I've got to get home and whip up some dinner for Doris and Leonard."
"Oh, right, Jerry's parents. How did the introduction go? His mom didn't seem too happy about you and Jerry being together. And what's this about marriage?"
Carol laughs. "We're not getting married yet. I mean, we've talked about it, but..." She sighs, looking at her bare left ring finger. "Anyway, Doris wasn't too happy at first, but I showed her my vintage clothing collection, and she warmed right up."
"That's great."
"I've got to run. See you later, hun."
I walk back behind the front desk to observe Richard's frenzied search. Carol's gone for the day. Jerry’s taken a couple days off to be with his parents and grieve his dead ostrich. Richard’s wife Susan has just stepped out for the day. Nick’s off all weekend, thank God, but that leaves me to calm our manager down to a less frantic state.
“Do you need help?” I ask from the doorway.
He gives me a manager-in-the-headlights look and stammers with his watered-down British accent. “No, no. I mean, yes if you would. But then I’m not sure…”
“Why don’t you sit down and let me get you some decaf? We’re not busy at the moment, so maybe we can figure it out.”
I go to the lobby and pour Richard the last steaming bit of decaf from the carafe. When I return to the office, he’s sitting down, slumped in the chair like a fallen soufflé.
“Thank you, Jane.” He takes a sip and wipes his forehead with his handkerchief. “Can I tell you a secret?”
“Um, sure, I guess.”
“We’re not doing well financially.”
“Really? But I thought we were, with the increase in business and the TV show and renovations and all that.”
“We were, yes, but it’s starting to lag. Taxes have gone up this year, and the Best Western has free unlimited wireless now. Two more hotels are opening not a mile away this spring.” His face brightens from melancholy to mildly hopeful. “But I did make a bid to host an import
ant event. I didn’t expect The Roche to be chosen, but we got it. I’m just not sure now how we will actually host it, if we have the ability to-”
“Richard.” I interrupt his rambling before he works himself up into a sweaty mess again. “What event have you agreed to host?”
“It’s a local battle of the chefs. It’ll air on all the local networks, not just the cable access channels.”
“That’s wonderful!”
“Yes, but the only kitchen we have is the tiny one off the breakfast area.”
“Did you tell them that we don’t have the proper equipment for that?”
“No.”
“You lied?!”
“Not exactly. There used to be a full kitchen upstairs where the big conference room is now, and the ventilation, wiring and plumbing is still in place. But the appliances were all sold to pay back taxes. We didn’t think we’d need them again.”
I lift a very skeptical eyebrow in response.
“I’ve found some equipment for a very good price from a restaurant that was foreclosed. But it needs to be installed.”
“How soon?”
“By Monday.” He winces as though I might box his ears, which I would if I didn’t still need this job.
“And you want me to…?”
“Could you ask your dear Henry if he might be able to help Jerry with the installation? He’s handy with that sort of thing, I believe, from what you’ve told me. We can pay him, of course, double our cost of the donuts from his bakery. We can’t get an installer out here at such short notice.”
I’m tempted to say that Henry’s not at anyone’s beck and call simply because he’s a donut guy. But then again, poor Richard looks so desperate, and he’s really trying to make this place work. He’s persevered despite Mrs. Roche’s interference, a malfunctioning Muzak, a dead councilman and a supposedly haunted room. Not to mention my sleazy ex-husband who’s only working here in a useless effort to get me back.
“All right,” I say. “I’ll ask him. I can’t promise he’ll do it.”
“Of course. And thank you, Jane. We couldn’t have kept this place going without you.” He looks so relieved, I can’t help but smile. And he gave my ego a little boost, which is always nice.
****
Sunday afternoon, Henry helps unload used kitchen equipment from the back of a rental trailer. Thanks to Jerry, that part goes quickly. He has the strength of Hercules and is a maestro with a dolly. He wheels in three large appliances to every one of Henry’s and doesn’t appear to have broken a sweat. When the last piece is safely upstairs in the former banquet area, Henry’s forehead is glistening, and he rests for a moment, leaning against the front desk to catch his breath.
“You are so sweet to do this,” I say, giving him an appreciative kiss.
His lips have a hint of salty sweat, and he’s wearing his bakery work shirt with Levis. His tool belt must be made of some kind of aphrodisiac leather, because every time he wears it, I tend to forget who I am for a while. I’d really like to sneak off into a vacant room with him, but I’m on the clock, and he’s got some manly stuff to do.
He pulls back and tweaks my nose. “Nah. I’m getting double donut pay. I’ll put that into savings for…later.”
Of course 'later' means future marriage, but I don't have time to go into panic mode. The door chimes ring as he wheels his dolly around and gives me another quick kiss. When he steps back, I suck in a breath. We have a guest, if you can call her that.
Muzak announces her entry with the showdown track from The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly.
“Jaaaannne!” My sister Katherine’s sing-song voice echoes across the lobby. “My goodness, you’ve gained weight since Nicky left.” She gives Henry an appreciative once-over. “Who’s this now?”
I’m not fat by normal standards, but Katherine has always been Hollywood thin. I suspect she’s lived on a diet of weight loss supplements and an exercise routine of running to the bathroom to throw up her meals. She’s wearing stiletto boots, skinny jeans and a form-hugging long sweater. Her makeup looks like it’s been airbrushed on. Katherine shares my dark brown hair, but hers is highlighted in just the right eye-catching stripes. And she’s caught Henry’s eye. Until I bump the tissue box accidentally on purpose, knocking it to the floor and breaking him from the trance.
“Henry, meet Katherine, my sister.” That last word was hard to say, but I manage to spit it out without sounding like a hissing cat.
She slinks over and offers her hand. Henry glances at me before taking it for a brief handshake. “Nice to meet you,” he says. “I’ll leave you two to visit. I have to get back to work. See you later.”
“Oh, I hope so,” she purrs.
Henry gives me an apologetic smile and speeds down the hall with his dolly.
That leaves Katherine and me to face off.
“What are you doing here?”
“Is that any way to greet your dear sister?” Her smile is as sinister as the music, waiting for one of us to draw.
“I thought I told you to never show your face around here again.”
“You said don’t come within a mile of Mama. I’m more than a mile away, aren’t I?”
“You still didn’t answer my question. Why are you here?”
“I missed you.”
“Bull.”
“Okay, fine. I need a place to stay. I’d like a room for the night, please.”
“We’re booked.”
Katherine looks outside to the nearly empty parking lot. “Bull.”
“Either you’re looking for money or a new husband. Or both. Am I right?”
She pulls a credit card from her cigarette case and slaps it on the front desk. “Jimmy’s in prison. We lost the condo to pay his gambling debts. I just need a place to park for a while until I can catch a plane to Florida.”
“Why here?”
“Why not?”
“I think you know why not.”
Muzak skips a few screeching tones that make us both wince before blaring En Vogue’s You’re Never Gonna Get It.
Katherine gives me her signature eye roll. “Just rent me a room. I’ll be out of your hair in no time, and I won’t lay a finger on your boy toy.”
“It’s Henry. And no, you won’t lay a finger or anything else on him.”
“Yeah, yeah. Be a doll, and check me in while I get my suitcases.” Katherine winks and slinks outside to her car.
I check her into Room 12 and hope the councilman’s ghost makes her run screaming for the door tonight. But our fantasma has been quiet, even for the superstitious housekeeper, Mrs. Gonsalves, who claims she talks to him all the time. She’s harmless, but I suspect she’s a bit bonkers.
Then again, the councilman died during an escapade with two hookers, and my sister isn’t far removed from Earth’s oldest profession. She once bragged about sleeping with a guy because he owned a nightclub and gave her free cocktails. Maybe she’ll be enough to conjure up his spirit.
Katherine rolls two suitcases haphazardly through the glass doors. I smile and come around the front desk into the lobby. “Let me help you with your bags.”
“Really, Jane? You were ready to tar and feather me just a minute ago.”
“You’re my only sister. I want the best for you.” I give her a compulsory hug and take one of the bags from her. “I’ll show you to your room. It’s really to die for.”
Episode #24
Hot Lights & Spaghetti Nights
You know the great thing about hosting a battle of the chefs? All the delicious smells drifting in through the vent system. And the bad thing? All the delicious smells when I’m stuck behind the front desk checking in a never-ending parade of needy guests.
One of them stands before me now, wearing a press badge and a sneer. “I need my room to be seventy-two degrees at all times.”
He’s awfully egotistical for someone who works for a cable access channel. Of course, I don’t say that. Instead, I apply the Barbie smile and sapp
y sweet voice I reserve for such gems of the human race. “There’s a thermostat in your room, sir. You may adjust it as you wish.”
“Hmph, I guess I’ll have to set my own wake-up call too.”
“Oh no, I can set that up for you, sir.”
“Good then, set it for 6:00 AM sharp.”
“You got it,” I say with a wink and finger pistol point.
“Mm hmm.” He rolls his oversized luggage down the hall while I promptly punch room number 25 into the computer, wake up time 4:45 AM. I’m not working that shift tomorrow. Nick is, so he can deal with Mr. Seventy-Two Degrees. If my stomach wasn’t trying to crawl up my throat to get to the gourmet smorgasbord down the hall, I’d be a lot less naughty.
Katherine emerges from the elevator, yawning. Her high-heeled boots clomp across the tile before going quiet on the carpet at the front desk. Dark circles ring her eyes. Her hair is teased a lot higher on one side than the other.
She gets my Barbie voice by default. “Sleep well?”
“I want a different room.”
“Why?”
“Noises.”
“What kind of noises?”
“Like bed springs squeaking.”
“You of all people should be used to that sound.”
“Yeah, yeah – it wasn’t me or from the rooms next to mine. There’s something weird in there. My hairbrush was in the toilet, and my purse was on the balcony.”
“Too much bourbon?” My eyelashes flutter – I’ve gotten quite good at this.
“I wasn’t drinking bourbon! Now give me a different room.”
“I thought you just needed one night.”
“I never said that.”
“Pretty sure you did, but it doesn’t matter anyway. We’re all booked up for the Battle of the Chefs. Sorry, you’ll have to remain where you are or check out.”
Katherine erupts into one of her squealy stomps – the kind she perfected when puberty hit. “Fine, I’ll just go talk to the chefs. A couple of them are total hotties.”
She prances off down the hall in search of the hottie chefs. This could work in my favor. Katherine smitten with a chef would mean she’d turn her attentions away from Henry. Yes, I’m a scheming, jealous woman who’s not above hooking my sister up with a complete stranger.
