Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 77354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
“Was it a performance art project or something?”
There’s no answer, so she slips out a key and lets us in. “Who knows. But nobody’s mental health needs to see shit like that. Always knock.”
She tucks her plastic key into her apron pocket. “Carts always stay outside. This guest is on his own, so it’s a relatively easy clean. Can you start by emptying the trash cans? I’ll bring out the used towels.”
“Sure,” I say. We both get to work. The suite is beautiful. There’s a living room with a large L-shaped sofa opposite a big-screen TV with stunning views toward the park. There’s a bar at one end, a desk at the other, and a door leading through to a dining room, complete with eight chairs. I empty the rubbish and line the bins with fresh bags, while Marcella moves the dirty towels out of the bathroom and then comes into the bedroom to strip the beds of their sheets.
“Let’s make the bed,” she says. “We need yellow sheets.”
That didn’t sound right, but I follow her to the trolley.
“You see?” She points to some yellow stitching at the edge of the sheets. “The reds are small doubles. The yellows are kings. We use mainly yellows.”
We set to work and Marcella patiently teaches me how to make the bed—something I thought was a simple task I’d been doing for years, but apparently not as a professional.
“You prefer people traveling on their own?” I ask, trying to make conversation.
“Yes, and for business. Those people tend to be tidy and are out a lot, so there’s no problem getting in there to service the room. They don’t tip as well, but that’s okay. I prefer an easy life.”
“How long do people stay?”
“Usually only a couple of days. But the guy in here has been here almost a week and there’s no sign of him leaving. Apparently, he’s booked in for a month.”
“A month? How come?”
“Who knows. Maybe his apartment is flooded? Has roaches? But we don’t get many people here in that scenario because the insurers won’t pay the room rates. Especially the suites. So I don’t know this guy’s deal. Maybe he cheated on his wife and she’s kicked him out.”
We finish making the bed and Marcella shows me how to reset the room—how the remote control must go in the same place, how we have to check the notepads have paper and any guest charger wires or computer cables are secured in neat loops with a hotel-branded cable tidy. Everywhere is dusted, curtains are pulled to exactly the same distance each side, cushions are plumped and put back in a specific order only Marcella seems to know. Tables are tidied and the fruit bowl taken away.
I open the wardrobe doors to put back a discarded coat hanger. Dark suits fill the space on one side, bright white shirts on the other. I slot in the additional hanger to the end of the row and trail my hands over the suit jackets. Someone has expensive taste. I get a whiff of a familiar scent I can’t place. It smells rich and dark and sexy. My mind is still so full of Bennett, I can’t imagine who else would smell like this. I shake my head, trying to clear my mind of images of the night before, and close the wardrobe door.
Marcella works like lightning. She’s done three things by the time I get to the end of a question about my one job.
We’re almost finished in the bathroom when Marcella comes in with additional loo roll. “The other suite on this level—the Avenue—has just put their light on. The only thing left in here is the mirrors. Can I leave you in here to do that and I’ll make a start down the hall?”
She must see the panic in my face. The mirrors run all along the vanity unit behind the two sinks and on the backs of the doors. I’ve never cared whether mine at home are perfectly clean, as long as I can see through them.
“Don’t worry, I’ll come back and check them.”
“I’ll do my best,” I say.
“Okay, I’ve cleared out all our things and I’m going to move the carts so they’re by the Avenue Suite. Just come to me when you’re done.” She hands me two cloths and a bottle of what I hope is miracle glass cleaner.
I set to work, determined to do a good job. Training me must be additional work Marcella really didn’t need today, and she already works really hard. I don’t want her to have to redo the mirrors in here. I need to lighten her load a little.
I’m a few minutes into my transformation of the mirrors when I hear the door to the suite open. Shit, I really wanted to be finished before she came back. She’s probably finished the Avenue Suite by now and I haven’t even managed to clean some mirrors.