Chapter Sixteen #2
Today, though, the place is in a bad state.
Like there was a party well into the night.
Half-burned cigars spill over the two large ashtrays in the room, and someone has dropped a glass of whisky on the carpet.
Once again, I am on my knees, scrubbing.
At one end of the room there is a proper big desk, and it seems the guest has been using it for business, because there are papers everywhere.
I’m tempted to gather them neatly together, but I don’t want to mess with any system he might have.
Instead, I neaten the stacks and place them beside each other.
I spot another page on the floor and stoop to reach it, then straighten so fast I almost crack my head.
Under the desk is a white brassiere, delicate as lace.
I pinch one of the straps and hold the lovely garment up to the sunlight to admire it.
I had no idea brassieres could be so dainty.
I can’t stop myself; I go to the washroom and examine myself in the mirror, pressing the brassiere against the front of my uniform.
A quare flutter wriggles through my belly as I wonder who wore this brassiere last night, then dropped it on the floor.
Why would she do that? What was she doing?
I stare a moment longer at my reflection, trying to imagine me wearing it, but the lace is too fancy, too foreign for me.
I lower the pretty thing, envying those lovely women with their sparkly lives, then I stop short.
I hear men’s voices in the room. Mind you, I shouldn’t, since I am alone in here.
I stay perfectly still and listen hard, and don’t I figure out sure enough that the voices are coming from the drain in the sink!
I cannot make out what the men are saying, but I hear them clear as day.
They sound close, but far away at the same time, bouncing up the pipe. I wonder where they are.
I get back to work, cleaning everything in the suite until it shines, then moving on to the next room and the next.
Just after eleven o’clock, I go downstairs and post myself outside of Mrs. Evans’s office, on edge for Bianca.
She exits shortly after I arrive, and when she sees me there, her whole face turns into a smile.
“I got the job!” she cries, rushing to hug me. “I’ll be working with you starting tomorrow! Mrs. Evans thinks the best thing would be for you to teach me the ropes before I’m on my own.”
I grin back, happy for her, only now that it’s me showing her the ropes, I’m afraid she’ll make me out to be a fool. At least I can show her what I’ve been going on about. What is expected here.
“Good for you, Bianca.”
She twirls happily. “I gotta go tell the mamas I can’t watch their babies no more!”
Almost as soon as she’s gone, Mrs. Evans’s door opens again. “Oh, Rosie. I’m glad I caught you. Mr. Carboni in 16-115 has asked that you return to his suite and do a second cleaning when he’s out for supper, at five thirty.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, seeing again the large desk with the tidy piles of paper and the brassiere on the floor, now neatly folded on the washroom counter, beside the sink.
I feel a vague sense of worry that this guest, Mr. Carboni, might question me about the brassiere, but I didn’t know where else to put it.
Mrs. Evans stares me down almost as hard as Granny does, making sure I understand what she’s saying.
“Be extra attentive in that suite, Rosie. Mr. Carboni is a very special guest of the hotel, and he must be treated well. He stays in that suite quite often, sometimes for extended lengths of time, while he carries on his business activities. We must ensure he is comfortable and has all he needs.”
“Of course, ma’am.”
She hesitates, then she spots my necklace. I curse my mistake. Once again, I should have tucked it away, out of sight.
“Can I assume that is a gift from Mr. Walsh?”
“Yes, ma’am.” ’Tis a pity she doesn’t care for him. I truly like Mrs. Evans, and I want her to like him.
“The last time we spoke, I mentioned that he might be involved with criminal activities.” She exhales, clearly uncomfortable, then steadies herself and says what’s on her mind. “In fact, I have been informed that Mr. Walsh is working for Mr. Carboni.”
The idea weaves through my head, and I’m confused by its direction. “I’m sorry, ma’am. Mr. Carboni in 16-115, whose room I’m to clean at five thirty? He is the criminal that Damien works for?”
’Tis plain hard for her to say it to me, isn’t it? She’s no lover of gossip, and yet that’s what this sounds like.
She clears her throat. “Yes. Mr. Carboni is a very powerful man, and he must always be treated as such.” Her cheeks redden. “However, it is imperative that you understand that his business is to do with the less savoury, more criminal aspects of the city. Do you understand what I am telling you?”
’Tis coming together for me, and I’ll say I’m a bit shook over it.
This is heavy news. No surprise that Mrs. Evans knows this, for sure she has eyes and ears all over this hotel, despite not liking gossip.
Now my nerves are at me. The suite I must clean, the one with the cigar ashes and the lacy brassiere, is the suite of a criminal.
I trust Mrs. Evans would never put me in danger, and yet I am troubled.
Now I really do worry about Damien.
“I spoke with Mr. Walsh about my concerns, ma’am,” I tell her, “and he promises that what he is doing is not risky.”
“Perhaps not, but it is illegal.”
Illegal! “Is it, then? What’s he doing?”
“He delivers packages and messages to other men in the same business as Mr. Carboni.”
“Delivering packages is illegal?”
She shifts slightly. “What these men do is illegal, so if Mr. Walsh is apprehended with one of their messages or packages, he will be treated as one of them. Please inform Mr. Walsh that if he continues along this path, the hotel may have to reconsider his position here. Unfortunately, since you are together, we might have to reconsider yours as well.”
I stare wordlessly at her as she walks away. Now I’m caught between a rock and a hard place. I will never do anything to jeopardize my job here, but I cannot imagine not seeing Damien every day. He has become as much a part of my life as waking up and going to work.
I can’t stop my thoughts from running, and when I am in Mr. Carboni’s suite at half five, what she said is the biggest thing on my mind.
Everything in here feels different now. A bit more intriguing, I suppose, now that I know he’s a criminal, and a fierce one at that, according to Mrs. Evans.
I reckon that explains the brassiere. Criminals probably have wild parties with whisky, cigars, and brassieres, and who knows what else.
I’ll never say, but a secret part of me wishes I could get a peep at something like that.
Since I was here this morning, Mr. Carboni has returned with other people, because the ashtrays are full again, and the bed needs making. Other than that, I don’t find anything interesting, and sure, I’m slightly disappointed.
Granny would drop dead to hear I’m nosing after such notions.
Good thing she’ll never know.
On the way home that night, I tell Damien what Mrs. Evans said to me that morning. About how he could lose his job at the hotel out of working for Mr. Carboni, and so could I. He doesn’t like that.
“I’ll be careful, Rosie,” he promises, kissing my brow.
That’s not what I was hoping he would say, but ’tis all I can ask.
Sure, I trust him to be aware of spies all around, but he is quick distracted.
His attention is everywhere when it is not on me.
Mind you, he knows what he wants, and he aims to get it.
He wants to get out of the life we are living so we can live someplace clean and happy.
He wants the same as I. He’ll get there quicker than me, though, since I don’t break rules.
The next morning, I find Damien waiting in his usual spot, listening to Bianca.
Slipped my mind that today was her first day at work, and I feel a flash of annoyance seeing her there.
She’s my best friend, sure, but this time of day is for Damien and me, not for Damien and me and her.
When he spots me approaching, he gives me a sweet wink, and I can tell Bianca is wearing him thin with her chatter.
“Rosie!” Bianca says. She’s bouncing on her toes with excitement. “I thought you’d take all day to get out here. Can we go now?”
I glare at her, though truly, she’s done nothing wrong. “Will you be talking the whole time? You’ll wake the neighbours with your babbling. Granny says that morning is a good time for silence. Listen to the birds, that sort of thing.”
“You ain’t gonna suck the fun out of this day from me, Rosie, so don’t even try.”
“I’m not after doing that. I just—”
Damien curls a hand around my waist, then draws me in. “You’ve eyes to melt stone, Rosie Ryan,” he murmurs, then he pulls closer still for a kiss. I am instantly distracted and calm.
“Would you look at this!” Bianca cries, goggling.
I cannot help smirking at her as we start walking. “Now you know. We’re not telling anyone. Not that it’s secret. It’s just easier this way.”
“For you, maybe,” Damien teases.
“You know ’tis true.”
“I suppose ’tis. I’d never get any work done if I could be with you instead.”
A block from the hotel, we give each other a kiss. Bianca walks ahead, cock of the block for knowing our secret. When Damien turns toward the back door of the hotel, the one that leads to the kitchen, I catch up to her.
“Please don’t tell anyone about us,” I say.
She does that thing where she pretends to lock her lips, then throw away the key, and all I can do is hope she will behave.