Chapter 2 #2
‘Yes!’ replies Ash, enthusiastically. ‘I’m so happy to be here!
It’s been a terribly long day – the flight was delayed, every line seemed grotesquely long and understaffed …
just awful, really. But then we drove into the neighbourhood, and it’s so pretty, and it feels like a film set!
What a sight to start off my adventure here in Lisbon! ’
The woman doesn’t look up, simply taps away, faint frown on a face that would be quite pretty if she didn’t look like she’d just smelt the inside of a badger’s arse.
Ash takes in the three people clicking away at laptops around them, another two in a kitchen area playing table football.
She waits for the woman – who hasn’t introduced herself, nor has any sort of lanyard or badge with her name on, not that Ash wants to know it in case the manager asks about her check-in experience, it’s just an idle observation – to acknowledge her.
She’s in cut-off denim shorts and old-looking sandals, no make-up, jumper artfully rolled up at the sleeves and hanging off one shoulder.
She’s terrifying, the sort of woman that unnerves Ash deeply.
A cool girl. Badass vibe, one-of-the-boys aura, like a bar owner who knows how to pour strong drinks and takes no shit, probably smokes roll-ups and doesn’t use a glass for her beer.
The kind of woman that makes Ash feel like a priss, simply for daring to have a manicure.
‘You’re supposed to be here for three months?
’ the woman says, and when she finally glances in Ash’s direction Ash can’t help but notice her eyes.
The woman’s pupils quickly dilate, growing large like planets, a flicker of something – knowingness, familiarity – lightning-quick across her features.
Ash thinks, oh! A friend! And then just as suddenly the look changes, hardens, and it is gone.
A stone sinks in the pit of Ash’s stomach, a feeling she is familiar with: disillusionment.
Disappointment. Disenchantment. All the dis-es. The woman presses, ‘Right?’
‘Not supposed to be,’ Ash clarifies. She feels stupid for wanting this woman to be friendlier, for wanting her to set the tone of Ash’s stay better.
Hourly employees who do things like this as a second or third job seldom actually care about what they do, Ash knows this.
The woman probably works here whilst trying to get her tattoo studio off the ground.
Her attitude isn’t to be taken personally.
And yet. ‘I am here for three months,’ Ash states, overtaken with a petty desire to win.
Win what, she can’t articulate, but there is definitely an invitation to a pissing contest happening, and Ash is just annoyed enough by this woman’s unfriendly demeanour to accept.
‘I’ll be here through till July first.’ It comes out uppity, but the distinction matters.
This woman makes it sound as if Ash might not last that long, somehow, like although she’s supposed to be here for an extended stay perhaps she won’t stick it out.
Fuck her, Ash thinks. I think I will report her to her manager, after all.
‘Sure, fine,’ the woman says.
Ash can see that the woman isn’t wearing a bra. Urgh. She probably gets mad when men perv on her chest, but knows full well she’s inviting the attention. Ash hopes this woman doesn’t work here a lot, not if this is the attitude she’ll have to brush up against daily.
‘Big suite at the end of the hall, next flight up,’ the woman tells her, pointing to another set of marble stairs. ‘Here’s your key.’
She doesn’t even wish her a good stay. Wow.
‘And my other bags?’ Ash asks, gearing up for a fight when this woman dares to act like she doesn’t even know about the cases she sent on ahead.
Ash is met with an impassive stare. The woman blinks.
Looks Ash up and down, takes in her high-rise Citizens of Humanity jeans, her Khaite jacket and gold jewellery, her swishy blonde ponytail.
Ash reaches a self-conscious hand up to her neck, wiping at an invisible nothing, mad to be giving a point away.
‘Already up there,’ the woman replies, taking a beat before adding, the word dripping in mockery, ‘ma’am.’ It sounds sarcastic to Ash’s ear, but she couldn’t prove it was meant that way in a court of law.
‘Oh.’ It’s the first semblance of professional courtesy Ash has had since crossing the threshold, her bags being in her quarters already.
She wasn’t expecting that, not after the whole climbing-the-stairs-with-her-hold-luggage-herself start.
‘Great.’ She remembers her pledge for better manners and adds, ‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome,’ the woman says, like Ash is anything but.
Ash nods. ‘And just for reference your name is …?’
‘CJ,’ the woman replies.
‘Thanks, CJ.’
‘You’re welcome, Ashley.’
Again, it sounds sarcastic.
‘Well,’ Ash says, picking up her key and heading in the direction she’s been told. ‘You have a good night.’
‘And the same to you, ma’am,’ CJ insists, and this time she is definitely taking the piss.