Chapter 15
CHAPTER 15
SATURDAY, DECEMBER 17, 1927
L ouisa
Our slow shuffle toward the hotel is more difficult this morning, with the slippery sidewalk. Snow mixed with sleet enveloped the city yesterday, leaving behind a low-hanging fog and icy streets that are sure to put a damper on today’s Christmas parade.
“Slow and steady, Lou,” Clara, tucked in close beside me, coos as we skirt icy patches in the frosty air. “There is no need to rush.”
“I hope not, since you woke me a full thirty minutes ahead of schedule,” I tease, shooting a bemused glance at Clara’s ducked head.
“Well, I suppose I could let you walk there on your own,” Clara chides me in return. “Though, I imagine getting home might prove to be more of an issue.”
“You know I am grateful.” I squeeze her arm in my gloved hand. “I am sorry that I have caused such a fuss. I never meant for you to have to work extra shifts to make up for my missed ones.”
“As long as your ankle is feeling better, that is all I am concerned with.” We reach the corner of Howe and Georgia and situate ourselves near The Hotel Georgia’s covered entranceway for a brief rest. “Besides, I would have had to help get you to work either way. I might as well earn a wage for the day too.”
Clara allows me to rest a few minutes more before wrapping her arm around me for support as we cover the final distance toward the warmth and safety of The Hamilton.
“I am actually looking forward to returning to work.”
Clara eyes me suspiciously.
“Truly, I am. Two days sequestered at home has made me appreciate the hustle and bustle of the hotel. Besides, I am keen to apologize to that kind Mr. Barnes. I don’t know what would have happened had he not been there. I might have slid right out the front door and onto the street.” A laugh erupts from within me at the thought of such a scenario.
We turn left down the alley toward the employee entrance at the back of the hotel.
“Louisa, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. People aren’t always what they appear to be at first glance. I—I want you?—”
I interrupt my sister mid-sentence. “Does this have anything to do with Mr. Thompson? You can’t hide it from me, Clara. I saw the way he looked at you.”
“No, this isn’t about…” We are at the base of the steps when the back door opens and Cookie appears. Clara’s words rush out of her as Cookie descends the first step, arms outstretched in what I interpret as an offer of assistance. “I am not hiding anything from you, Lou, but we can’t talk about this now.”
“Here we are, then.” Cookie meets us halfway. “I’ve been watching for the likes of you. Figured you might need a hand navigating these stairs.”
“Thank you.” I take hold of Cookie’s arm as she helps me from above, while Clara ensures I do not tumble backwards.
Once inside the warmth of the kitchen hall, I rest long enough to take off my winter wear, handing Clara my coat and toque to deposit in the locker room.
“Ms. Thompson has got you set up in a corner of the lobby. With everyone expected to head out for the parade, it should be fairly quiet in there for most of the day.”
“Thank you, Cookie. I am grateful to be able to return to being useful.” I sit on the offered stool to rest my foot while I wait.
Cookie chuckles, clearly knowing more about the tasks ahead of me than I currently do. “Tell me that once you’ve polished every piece of silver in the hotel’s storerooms.”
“Do you need me to help get you situated?” Clara, arms full with both her and my belongings, moves toward me while discreetly checking the clock on the wall.
“No need to worry about that.” Cookie shoos Clara with a wave. “The new maid, Gwen, will be here shortly to lend a hand. You go about your day, and we’ll make sure Louisa is taken care of.”
Clara meets my eyes, and I flash her a reassuring smile. “Okay then, but please fetch me if anything changes.”
“Not to worry. Louisa will be just fine.” Cookie’s control of the situation is enough to set Clara in motion, and she is off without another word.
Cookie was right. The morning passes quickly as Gwen and I, partially hidden by a makeshift screen in the far corner of the lobby, polish silver platters, bowls, and teapots.
I positioned myself with a view of the space between the registration desk and the lift, hoping Mr. Barnes will feel the need to venture out from his suite today. I am eager to apologize and thank him for his kindness.
I never intended our first meeting to be one of such spectacular and dreadfully embarrassing fanfare, but now I’ve got to use what I have available to me. The man just might be my ticket to Hollywood. I rehearse my planned apology in my head while polishing.
Quietly, I convince George, the bellboy Ms. Thompson tasked with transporting the silver between its storage room and our polishing station, to leave the screen a little more ajar, allowing me a wider view of the lobby beyond. As we move on to polishing some sort of tiny forks, Gwen pauses her continuous chatter about her family’s upcoming holiday plans to inform me they are seafood forks.
“Seafood forks?” I ask, turning the delicate utensil in my hand.
Gwen points to a squat, seven-tined fork. “This one is for sardines. See how it is shaped? It is wide enough to pierce a single sardine at a time.”
I wrinkle my nose at the thought of the fishy smell. Gwen has confirmed her upper-class status with her knowledge of fine silver, though I suspect this is the first time she’s polished any.
“So, is it true?” Gwen asks, head bent over the small table holding dozens of silver pieces.
“Is what true?”
“About Mr. Barnes, of course.” She looks up at me with a wrinkle in her brow. “That you ran right into the Hollywood director? At first, I didn’t believe it, but the story kept getting repeated.”
My face warms with humiliation.
“It was a brilliant plan, you know. I’m just sorry I didn’t think of it myself.” Gwen tilts her head to the side, her look of pure innocence conflicting with the casual manner in which she schemes.
I clench my jaw. “I didn’t plan the collision. I slipped on the wet tile.” I am considering mentioning the very real injury to my ankle when I catch sight of Mr. Barnes stepping out of the lift.
I tamp down my frustration with the girl and summon my sweetest demeanour. “Gwen, would you be so kind as to find Ms. Thompson and ask her where I should eat my lunch this afternoon? I’m afraid I won’t make it up the stairs to the lunchroom, and I’m beginning to feel hungry.”
Still new to the job and accustomed to doing what she is asked, Gwen puts her cloth and tiny fork on the table and slides past the screen in search of the matron.
I wait a moment to allow Gwen time to vacate the lobby before tugging the screen open a fraction more to reveal myself. The movement catches his eye, and when Mr. Barnes looks up, I offer a timid wave in his direction.
“Miss Wilson, it appears you are on the mend.” His voice booms as he crosses the floor.
“Mr. Barnes, I was hoping to see you today.” His chin lifts in question, but the jubilant expression lining his rounded face does not change. “I wanted to thank you for your assistance and apologize for crashing into you. I feel such a fool for not seeing the wet tile.”
“Nonsense, Miss Wilson. It was my pleasure to be of assistance.” He leans a little closer, delivering me a knowing wink. “It isn’t every day that a man gets to become someone’s hero.”
A laugh flutters from my lips, and I am rewarded with the knowledge that I have captured the man’s attention. “I thank you all the same, sir.” I tilt my head and widen my smile, ensuring his attention remains on me.
“How is your ankle feeling?” The man makes a show of bending down to peer under the small table at my stocking-covered ankle, a feat that can’t be easy, given the girth around his middle. He returns to standing, his face a touch redder than before.
“Much better. Thank you.” Movement behind him catches my attention, and I see our conversation is about to be cut short, as Ms. Thompson and Gwen are heading in my direction.
“I am glad I got to thank you properly. I truly am grateful.” I push the words out in a hurry as Ms. Thompson arrives beside Mr. Barnes.
“Mr. Barnes, how nice to see you out and about.” Ms. Thompson is polite, though I sense a hint of reservation within her words. “Is there anything we can assist you with today? Perhaps you’d enjoy a tray of goodies sent up to your suite?”
“I won’t decline such a generous offer, madam.” He steps to the side, gesturing for Ms. Thompson to accompany him. “Do you suppose you could arrange for spirits to be sent up to the suite?” Though he lowers his voice, it’s far from a whisper. “I’m afraid we are still under prohibition laws in California, and I understand the fine folks of British Columbia are far more sensible than that.”
“I am sure that can be arranged. I’ll have one of the bellboys bring up a selection for you to choose from.” Ms. Thompson nods politely. “Well, if you’ll excuse us. Miss Wilson, will you come with me, please?”
I use my arms to lift myself to a standing position before taking the first cautious step with my recovering ankle. I deliver a radiant smile in Mr. Barnes’ direction and follow the matron slowly out of the lobby, my thoughts turning to how I might meet with the man again.
Cookie greets us in the kitchen hallway. “It’s not every day I get to dine with the illustrious Louisa Wilson.” Cookie beams as she waves me through to her pastry kitchen. “Clara has dropped off Louisa’s lunch, so we are all set.”
Ms. Thompson nods. “I’ll leave you to it then.”
In the warmth of Cookie’s pastry kitchen, a small bench and two stools are tucked against the back wall. “So, this is where you eat your lunch?” Until this moment, I hadn’t actually considered where the other employees commune for the noonday meal.
“Welcome to my humble abode.” Cookie gestures for me to take a seat. “Clara left your sandwich. In a bit of a hurry, she was.” Cookie’s face scrunches in what I interpret as concern before transforming once more into her familiar jolly state. “Chef has been so kind as to pour you a glass of milk.”
“Oh my, I am to be spoiled, then. Usually, it is just plain old water.” I unwrap the sandwich and bite into it.
Cookie leans in with a mischievous grin. “You may even be graced with a delicacy for dessert, since you’re in my domain.”
I chew and swallow before asking, “What kind of treats have you been busy concocting, given the holidays are right around the corner?”
“Mr. Olson has got me testing five different types of cakes for the New Year’s Eve celebration. I swear the man can’t make up his mind. He says each one I present is the best he has tasted yet.”
I cover my mouth as a laugh sneaks through my lips. “I’d take it as a compliment. Though I don’t suppose it helps you determine which cake you are to make for New Year’s Eve.”
“Well, he’ll have to make a decision soon or there won’t be any cake at all.” Cookie takes a bite of her lunch, a homemade roll with roasted chicken and sauce that oozes out the sides.
“What are the plans for New Year’s Eve at the hotel? We don’t work in the evenings, so we haven’t heard much about the festivities.”
“Oh, it is going to be glamourous. A long day for sure, but it will be wonderful to see the lobby and reception area decorated with candlelight. And the food. Oh, Louisa, you’ll never believe the array of food. Hu is making his famous dim sum, Chef has got his hands full with appetizers, and I am helping out with puff pastry filled with crab and shrimp. Then, of course, there will be delicate slivers of the cake Mr. Olson selects.”
Despite being halfway through my sandwich, my mouth waters at the planned meal. “That sounds wonderful.”
Before I have finished the last of my milk, Cookie places a slice of cinnamon-swirl coffee cake in front of me. “No wonder this room always smells so good.” I thank her by diving into the cake with a generous bite.
As I enjoy my cake, Cookie bustles about the small kitchen, leaving me to think more about Mr. Barnes. He is a friendly sort, and given his animated response toward me, I can tell he enjoyed our brief chat. In my experience, few men can let my charms go unnoticed. It’s amazing what a coy smile and a demure glance will do when it comes to holding the attention of men, hopefully including this Hollywood director. As I take the last bite of cake, I find myself contemplating how I might orchestrate another meeting with him.
Cookie tells me she is going to the storeroom and that Gwen will be back to collect me once she has finished her own lunch. I frown at the idea of needing someone to collect me, but I keep the disappointment to myself. I’ll be back at full capacity soon enough, and then I’ll use every advantage at my disposal to ensure another meeting with the man who could whisk me away to Hollywood.
The more I think about it, the more confident I am that Mr. Barnes is just the sort of gentleman who would be happy to help me with my journey toward stardom. Once he is aware I am an actress, I am quite sure he will know precisely what steps to take.
I sit up straighter as conviction courses through my veins. All I need to do is figure out how to get up to the eighth floor without putting my job at risk.
“Louisa, are you in here? Ah, there you are.” Gwen pokes her head into the pastry kitchen. “Are you ready? We’ve only got the chocolate spoons to go.”
“Chocolate spoons? I hope you are joking.”
A puzzled expression is painted across Gwen’s features. “No, I’m quite serious.”
“Well then, we must not dawdle.”
My sarcasm is lost on the girl, so all I can do is stifle a giggle and follow her to the lobby. As we continue polishing, I consider how I might make an unnoticed visit to Mr. Barnes’ eighth-floor suite.