Chapter 25
CHAPTER 25
TUESDAY, DECEMBER 27, 1927
L ouisa
I sneak up to the eighth floor. With only twenty minutes left in my shift, I am almost out of time to meet with Mr. Barnes, as he invited me to do. I am more than a little aware that Clara would balk at my decision to speak with the man. She may even cause a scene, and I simply cannot have that. Seeking him out within my work hours is the only solution I’ve come up with.
Having resolved the misunderstanding between my sister and Mr. Barnes, it is easy to convince myself I am deserving of this one thing for myself. Eager to talk further about how he might assist me in fulfilling my Hollywood dreams, I take the risk, leaving Gwen to restock the linen cupboard on her own.
Climbing the stairs is a breeze, with most of the maids in the hotel finishing up their day with bringing supplies from the basement storage room to the linen cupboards, to restock their carts in preparation for tomorrow. I’ll have to arrive at work early tomorrow to stock my own cart, that is if I wish to have any hope of staying on schedule with tomorrow’s roster. It is a sacrifice I am willing to make.
At the top of the landing, I pull the stairwell door open a fraction and peek into the hall. Seeing no one, I slip through the doorway and move toward suite 815. Several paces down the hall, I hear voices coming toward me. Stranded halfway between two back-of-house stairwells, I panic. There is nowhere to hide, and in my blue uniform, I stand out like a sunflower in a field of red poppies. I spin in a circle, my eyes darting across every surface, desperate for a hiding place to appear.
A supply closet five feet ahead of me almost blends into the wood panelling, but its shiny brass doorknob catches the light from an overhead chandelier. Thankful for the elaborate decor of the eighth floor, I dash toward the closet and tuck myself inside. I am quietly drawing the door closed as the hushed voices of two eighth-floor maids pass by.
My breathing is rapid and my uniform is stuck to my back with sweat. I take three slow breaths, just as I would before stepping onto the stage, and extract myself from the closet. Walking quickly, I am in front of suite 815 in less than a minute. I knock quietly, trying not to draw attention from anyone besides Mr. Barnes.
“I thought I heard someone knocking.” Mr. Barnes opens the door wide and gestures me inside. “No need to be shy, Miss Wilson.”
I smile demurely, aware the man has no idea what I’ve risked to be in his suite right now. “Thank you for seeing me, sir.”
“Can I offer you a drink? The hotel is in the midst of preparing for the New Year’s Eve party, and I’ve had the good fortune of testing the celebration’s signature cocktail.”
Mr. Barnes takes two steps toward a small tray laden with bottles of varying shapes, sizes, and colours. He lifts a cone-shaped glass with a long stem, its rose-hued contents spilling over the lip and onto the carpet as he spins to proudly display the beverage. “I give you The Hamilton Special.” He sips from the glass before adding, “It’s not a very clever name, but I suppose it is more about the fun of it all.”
I decline the sweet-smelling concoction but comment on its pretty colour, taking a seat on the sofa when invited to do so.
Mr. Barnes sits beside me, placing his half-drained glass on the low table before us. If it weren’t for his proximity to me on the sofa, I would mention the glass leaving sticky residue on the expensive coffee table.
I chide myself firmly, realizing how much like a maid I’ve truly become. Pivoting my attention and my body toward the man, I delve into the conversation I have come to have. “Mr. Barnes, you mentioned that you could assist me in my pursuit of an acting career in Hollywood. I am interested in knowing how you suggest going about such an endeavour?”
“Please, call me Harold. May I call you Louisa?”
I nod my assent and wait for him to continue.
He reaches for his glass and drains it in one gulp. The hair on the back of my neck lifts, but I push the discomfort away with a subtle roll of my shoulder.
Mr. Barnes stands and plucks something from the writing desk a few paces away. “As it so happens, Louisa, I have some exciting news for you.” Waving a square paper card in the air, he beams like a cat who caught a canary.
I stand to gain a better look at what he is holding. Mr. Barnes bows seriously and presents the card to me.
My gasp brings a knowing smile to his lips. “An invitation to the New Year’s Eve ball at The Hotel Vancouver. How wonderful.” Excitement bubbles up inside me as I do my best not to jump up and down like a giddy schoolgirl.
“My plan, Louisa, is to escort you to the ball and introduce you to every director, producer, and writer in attendance. We will dine on caviar and drink champagne, and we will light the night on fire.”
I leap forward and squeeze his arm in a brief but enthusiastic show of appreciation. Too ecstatic to sit, I roam around the living room of his suite, pacing from the window to the door, around the writing desk and chaise lounge, and back again. “I have so much to do. I need to get a dress and shoes, and I should make an appointment at the salon to have my hair set. Oh, I do hope they aren’t fully booked.”
The daylight beyond the large windows is fading into evening, reminding me of the time. My mind is humming as I think about what Thomas will say when I tell him that a Hollywood director is introducing me about town. I contemplate the cost of a phone call or perhaps a telegram, and my heart races at the thought of giving him the happy news. Maybe we will both find ourselves in Hollywood.
Harold pours himself another drink as I lose myself in the experience of my dreams coming true. Standing beside the writing desk, I let my eyes scan the papers spread across its surface. Most of them don’t make sense to me, with their numbers and columns, and given my elated state of mind, I am hardly surprised at my inability to focus, though I take notice of one that is different from the rest, a piece of stationery embossed with a woman’s name, set aside from the other papers at the top corner of the desk. Harold, his second drink in hand, pats the sofa and gestures for me to join him. “You have plenty of time to sort out the details, my dear.”
I sink into the sofa and cross one knee over the other. Swivelling my head in his direction, I am about to thank him sincerely for the invitation when I find him stretching toward me, one hand landing on my knee while the other wraps around my shoulders.
Instinctively, I leap from the sofa and stand, fuming before his half-slumped position. “Mr. Barnes, what do you think you are doing?”
“I did you a favour, so now you do me one.” The man’s words are slow and slurred, and I can’t help but wonder how much alcohol he consumed before my arrival.
“I beg your pardon.” I cannot remove the incredulity from my voice as the reality of his intentions becomes all too clear in the dwindling evening light. “I think you are mistaken, sir.”
He pushes himself back into a seated position, his glassy eyes roaming up and down my body. “This is how the world works, Louisa. Did you think you could waltz into my room and demand a full-fledged career in Hollywood in exchange for only a polite thank you?” Mr. Barnes shakes his head, a patronizing expression sliding onto his face. “Now, why don’t you be a good girl? Come sit here and let me explain how a young woman such as yourself succeeds in show business.” He pats the seat beside him, eliciting a shudder from my head to my toes.
“Clara was right. You are nothing but a scoundrel.” As soon as the words leave my lips, shame engulfs me. I did this to myself by ignoring my sister’s warning. I was foolish and stubborn. What would Thomas say? I shake the thought from my head, and Clara’s face, contorted by anguish, stares at me in my mind’s eye.
“What did you do to my sister?”
Mr. Barnes tries three times to raise himself to standing before he succeeds. “Nothing. All I wanted to do was give her a kiss. One harmless little kiss.”
I step backwards toward the door, an accusatory finger pointed at his chest. “You stay away from me, and stay away from my sister. Do you hear me?”
Mr. Barnes waves me away with an unconcerned motion before he drives a verbal sword right through me. “You could have been famous. Now, you’ll just be a maid. Nobody remembers a maid.”
I let the suite’s heavy door close with a thud. My eyes brim with angry tears, and I brush them away out of spite. A shadow caught between a chandelier’s glow and a hallway wall catches my attention.
The shadow moves, and so do I. By the next corner, I’ve caught her. Skulking around the eighth floor, rather unsuccessfully, is Gwen. “What are you doing here? I thought I told you the eighth floor is off limits to fifth-floor maids.”
Clearly unapologetic, Gwen stands her ground. “But you are a fifth-floor maid, Louisa.”
“Argh, I don’t have time for this. I have to find my sister.” I stalk down the hall toward the closest stairwell. Gwen is nipping at my heels, spurring me into a run.
“Wait. Won’t you tell me what he said?” Gwen is undeterred by my insistence to flee. “Will he help you get to Hollywood?”
“Stay away from Mr. Barnes. He will only bring you trouble.” I holler the words over my shoulder as I reach the first floor, where the locker room is located.
Pushing through the door into the locker room, I am surprised to find it vacant. More time must have passed than I realized. I yank the door open again, only to find Gwen falling through it toward me. “Gwen, don’t you have somewhere else to be?”
“Not until you tell me about Mr. Barnes. If I am going to succeed like you, I have to follow your lead. Please, Louisa. Tell me how to win his favour so I can go to California too.”
“You can’t.” My arms flail as my bottled-up frustration lets loose. “Don’t you see? Mr. Barnes is not the answer.”
“You’re just saying that so you don’t have to compete with me. I remember what you said that first day we worked together. You told me not to let anyone stand in the way of my dreams.” Gwen’s doe-eyed expression morphs into one of determination. “I imagine that includes you as well.”
With a nonchalant shrug, Gwen turns on her heel and storms away.
I want to call out to her, to tell her I was wrong. I want to tell her she has to believe in herself because she is the only person who won’t let her down. Instead, I watch her walk away while asking myself how I’ve managed to get so off track. I’m no better than Barnes, wielding words like they don’t matter. Shame on me for assuming that Gwen wouldn’t take them seriously.
Returning to the locker room, I change into my day dress and winter wear. Clara must be waiting for me in the kitchen hallway. I’ll find her, and I’ll make things right with my sister.