Chapter Seventeen
First of all, I take Bianca to the room in the subbasement where us chambermaids ready ourselves for the day.
She brightens when she sees Deirdre, and she’s fair bursting to show that she’s got a job here, too.
Deirdre shoots me a look of surprise over Bianca’s head, and I shrug.
The three of us grew up near each other, and Deirdre knows Bianca cannot hold her whisht.
Everyone at home knows that. But there’s nothing I can do. ’Twasn’t me who hired her.
“Me and you are on the sixteenth floor,” I say, guiding Bianca away from Deirdre. “Here’s our trolley.”
“Rosie’s nothing special, Mrs. Evans, but you treat her like a princess,” she said. “I’m working, too, in case you hadn’t noticed. I work hard. Maybe you’d notice me if I dropped dead.”
I’m telling you, I felt sick to my stomach and embarrassed for Deirdre. But I never let on.
Mrs. Evans’s response was soft, but from what I heard, and from Deirdre’s furious glare on her way past, Mrs. Evans might have warned her she’d be making a lot less than $5.25 a day if she didn’t learn to mind herself.
And now Deirdre hears me tell Bianca, the girl that never stops talking, that she’s on the sixteenth floor. I lift a brow at her sour expression, and she wheels away, out of my sight.
“We get to ride the elevator?” Bianca asks me.
“Every morning,” I say, trying not to let on that I still find it thrilling to be pulled up sixteen storeys in a box. “And here’s your uniform.”
She’s wearing it in a heartbeat, then she spins to show me. “How do I look?”
“Grand,” I tell her, and it’s true. Her little white cap sits bright and cheery on her shiny black hair, just like it does with mine. Unlike us, Deirdre has long fair hair, so the cap doesn’t show up quite as nice. “You’ll have to roll your hair up.”
“Girls?” ’Tis Mrs. Evans, clip-clopping across the floor toward us. “Welcome, Miss Fiore. I need the two of you to come with me, please. It will be quick.”
We follow on her heels, and I am surprised to see the other chambermaids gathered in the lobby, all of them as confused as I feel. They stand quietly against a wall, and six chairs are set out in front of them.
“All together, please,” Mrs. Evans says, moving her arms. “Six of you stand, the other six sit.”
We eye each other, sorting out who wants to sit and who wants to stand, until we settle into two rows, our key rings jingling quietly as we draw in close against one another. Bianca stands tight against me, as if for protection. Then I notice a man coming our way with a camera.
“I’ve arranged for a photograph to be taken of us,” Mrs. Evans explains, “to commemorate the first group of chambermaids at the Dominion Hotel.”
Before we can ask anything, Mrs. Evans takes her place at the side of the group, next to me. “Stand completely still,” she orders, “and look at the camera.”
I’ve never had my photograph taken before, and I’m nervous. I do as I’m told, blink when the flash goes off, then we are sent on our way. As we collect our trolleys, Mrs. Evans mentions that we will each be given a copy of the photograph for our memories. What a treasure that will be.
“Now get to work,” she says brightly.
Bianca’s staring impatiently at the elevator door, fit to burst. The moment it opens, she leaps over the gap, and the machine bounces a little. She spins around to help me roll the trolley in.
“You can’t jump in here,” I scold. “You must walk gently or the whole elevator will break, and I’ve no wish to fall to the basement.”
As the elevator starts to rise, she’s so filled with wonder she’s like a child. “Feels funny in my stomach.”
“Tell you what. When we get to the top, bend your knees and see what it feels like then.”
She grins with anticipation.
I take the opportunity to talk serious with her. “Did Mrs. Evans speak with you about how to behave?”
She tilts her head back so she’s studying the ceiling. “Sì, sì. Capisco. No talking to or about the guests. Be invisible.” She drops her chin. “It’s a lot to ask of me.”
“You’ll be out on your ear if you don’t follow the rules. And mind me, I won’t get painted with the same brush.”
“All right, all right. I’ll be a good girl.” She winks. “I’ll do my best, anyway.”
We near the sixteenth floor, and we both crouch slightly. The elevator lurches to a stop, confusing our knees and stomachs in a pleasant way, then the heavy metal door slides open.
“When we’re in the rooms,” I say, pulling out the trolley, “we are only there to tidy and clean. We put things where they belong, we clean everything well, but we never mess with the guests’ personal things.
Don’t go into closets or drawers. Those are not for us.
If you’ve questions, ask me. In this first room, I want you to watch what I do.
There’s a system we’ve been taught. You should have learned it, but I suppose Mrs. Evans was in a rush. ”
I knock on the first door, explaining to Bianca how important it is to do that. “You don’t want to walk in on a guest.”
She laughs. “Especially if they’re still in bed, doing who knows what!”
I’m tempted to laugh as well, but I hold on to my sober face. “After you knock, announce yourself, clear and respectful. Chambermaid!” I knock, then call, my mouth close to the door. There’s no response, so I do both again. “Do it twice, see? Knock, then call. Knock again, then call.”
When there is still no reply, I open the door an inch and give the guests one more warning. Still no answer, so we walk in.
I hear a blissful sigh behind me and turn to see Bianca’s delighted expression. “What a magnificent room!” she exclaims.
I see it as she does, sure and I remember the astonishment I felt the first time, then almost every time since. ’Tis all grand, and she hasn’t even seen the view from the window yet.
“They are all lovely,” I agree. “Now pay attention. Everything must be clean and orderly, but the one thing that everyone notices is the bed, since it’s the biggest thing in the room.
Watch me.” I strip the bed and leave everything on the floor for now, then I pull a folded sheet from my trolley and open it onto the mattress, lining up the corners of the sheet with the corners of the bed.
“Each corner gets tucked neatly under, you see? When all four corners are in place, you tuck all the sides in as deep as you can under the mattress. The sheet must be tight and have no wrinkles at all,” I say, bringing out the next folded sheet.
I hug the bundle to my face and inhale. They’re smooth and fresh.
“This is the top sheet. It goes over the first and under the blanket. Then we add the pillows. Everything will be under the coverlet.”
She’s frowning, a hand on one hip. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why so many pieces? I sleep just fine with a blanket and pillow. Why do they need so much?”
“Ah, now, I’m not going to answer that, because ’tis a stupid question.
These people don’t sleep like me and you.
Watch. The top sheet lies over the first, so that it hangs evenly on both sides, see?
Tuck the bottom side under the mattress like before.
This is called a ‘hospital corner.’ ” I show her how to pull up the sheet at its corner and make a little triangle, then I make a neat crease so it lies flat.
“See how the other side of the sheet is still hanging? Tuck that in first, and when ’tis tight you fold in this triangle part. Understand?”
She’s still perplexed. She opens her mouth to say something, but I shake my head. “Close your mouth, Bianca, for I’ll not answer any more stupid questions. We do it this way because ’tis how we do our job. That’s all.”
It takes a couple of tries, but she gets the corners eventually, and I’m satisfied that she makes a neat bed. We clean the room together, then we move to the washroom. I notice right away that the bathtub tap is dripping. I try to tighten it, but the dripping keeps on.
“When something like this happens,” I tell Bianca, “we tell Mrs. Evans. She will call Leo, the handyman.”
“Leo? Battaglia?” She is pleased that she already knows the answer. “I heard he was working here. My uncle’s friend.”
That saves me the trouble of going against Mrs. Evans’s rules and sharing a bit of gossip.
If Bianca didn’t know Leo, I might have told her that Mrs. Evans has accused him in the past of stealing supplies.
She even told the police, but nothing was done.
Since Bianca knows him, I don’t want to start any rumours.
Mind you, I shouldn’t gossip whether I know the person or not.
Trust Bianca to be rubbing off on me already, and not in a good way.
At the next room, I have Bianca do the knocking and calling.
She’s a little too fast—maybe it’s her nerves—but she seems glad to do it.
All at once the door whooshes open, and we are confronted by an enraged, red-faced guest tying his robe over a large belly.
His grey hair is sticking out all over the place, and his round glasses are not only crooked but in need of a thorough polishing. Bianca and I step back, alarmed.
I could kick myself for bringing Bianca here. It’s Mr. Lipstick-on-the-Collar himself. Seeing Mr. Hargrove is not the best way to start Bianca’s day.
“What the devil is all this noise? For the amount of money I pay for this room, I deserve to get at least a little sleep!”
“I’m truly sorry, Mr. Hargrove,” I say meekly.
Bianca’s closer to the door, so he glares fiercely at her. “Was that you with your infernal knocking and shouting?”
“It was hardly a shout,” she replies, indignant.
That only stokes his fire. We stand there for what feels like forever while he rants about the noise: people talking or laughing in the hallway, car horns beyond his window, and whatever else he can think of.