Chapter 7 Hannah
Hannah
Mr. Fishman had a rebellion on his hands, and Hannah Murray was reluctant to take part in it.
She was silent as she sat next to her housemate Andrei in a hotel conference room, along with two dozen other anxious Cod Cove employees.
Some of these people had worked at the resort for decades, had raised their families on the salaries and tips earned from catering to wealthy summer tourists, but even the long-timers seemed ready to walk off the job, frightened by the ambulances and the invasion of Tyvek-garbed medical personnel.
“They’re saying this place is a hot zone,” said one of the restaurant cooks. “I’ve got grandkids. I don’t want to bring home some fatal virus!”
“That is merely a rumor,” said Mr. Fishman. “No one has confirmed anything.”
“Not yet, anyway.” The cook turned to Hannah. “You saw the sick man. How bad was he?”
“Honestly, I thought he was dead. And the smell . . .” Hannah shuddered. “Thank God I didn’t go in his room. But that lady did. And they took her to the hospital too.”
“See?” The cook looked at Fishman. “That’s how contagious they think this is.”
“Again,” said Fishman, “it was just a precaution. Maine CDC hasn’t said a word to me yet. In the meantime, we have three hundred paying guests we have to look after. They need to be our first priority.”
“Bullshit,” muttered the cook.
One of the housekeepers raised her hand.
“We’re scared, Mr. Fishman,” she said. “And some of us . . .” She looked around the conference room at her fellow employees, at the cooks and the waitstaff, the front desk clerks and the housekeepers in their sky blue Cod Cove uniforms, like the one Hannah was wearing.
“Some of us would rather quit than stay on the job right now. Especially in housekeeping. I mean, we’re the ones who clean the toilets and scrub the sinks.
If there are germs in there, we’re going to catch them. ”
Fishman sighed. “Okay, how about this? You only have to clean the rooms on the first and third floors. And the cottages as well. Our guests expect clean rooms. They paid for it. Let’s try to keep them happy.”
“What about keeping us happy?” said the cook.
“You’ll be perfectly safe in the restaurant. How’re you going to catch any germs?”
“Uh, sick people bringing their germs into the dining room?”
“That guest is now in the hospital. He’s not going to be eating in the restaurant.”
“But he did,” a voice said quietly.
Hannah frowned at her housemate Andrei, who had just arrived for his shift to find the hotel in an uproar. “What?”
“This guest, Dr. Maslov, he is in restaurant yesterday,” said Andrei. “I serve him.”
“So we’ve been exposed too?” said the cook. “Oh, that’s just wonderful.”
“You work in the kitchen,” said Fishman. “How could you be exposed?”
“It’s only a few yards from the dining room.” The cook stood up. “I’ve got grandkids to think about. I’m going home.” He looked at his colleagues. “Anyone else?”
As half a dozen restaurant employees rose to their feet, Fishman held up his hands. “Fine! We temporarily close the restaurant, just until we get guidance from Maine CDC. Kitchen and waitstaff, you can take the rest of the day off.”
“And housekeeping?” said Hannah’s colleague. “Can we go home too?”
Hannah thought the question was perfectly reasonable, but she remained silent. She had been working at the resort for only a few months, and she didn’t want to bring any trouble down on her head.
“Our guests pay for top-notch service,” said Fishman. “It’s what sets us apart from other hotels. You can stay off the second floor, but clean the other rooms. Now, let’s get back to work.” He looked around at the unhappy faces. “I’m going to do my job. You do yours.”
But your job doesn’t include scrubbing toilets, thought Hannah.
Fishman’s job didn’t involve picking up sopping towels or stripping sex-stained sheets from beds.
She had worked as a housekeeper in five-star New York and Boston hotels, and she’d learned that whether the guests were bankers or diplomats or high-priced call girls, most people were basically pigs.
Not to disparage pigs, who had no choice but to wallow in mud.
But some people chose to make her job harder.
They crumbled potato chips in bed and left toilets unflushed, as if to say Fuck you to the help and assert dominance over the nameless, faceless people who scrubbed and mopped their hotel rooms.
There were also thoughtful guests, of course, for which she was grateful. The ones who left a ten- or twenty-dollar tip on the nightstand. Once, on Christmas Eve, she’d even received a fifty-dollar tip. Too often, though, they forgot to tip at all.
The events of this morning were still fresh on Hannah’s mind as she rode the service elevator to the third floor. She wheeled her cart to #301 and knocked, wondering: What will I find in this room? “Housekeeping,” she called out, and slipped her master key card into the lock.
The room smelled of booze and stale pizza, and she saw two empty champagne bottles and scattered wineglasses.
There was no tip in sight. Of course not.
She gathered up the trash and dirty glasses and replaced the empty water bottles with two fresh ones.
In the bathroom, she found towels smeared with makeup that would never come out in the laundry.
Long blond hairs littered the sink, and on the countertop were creams and lotions and prescription bottles.
Women were no neater than men; they just had better-smelling facial products.
In an open velvet case was a pair of glittering earrings.
The sapphires looked real, and were probably worth a few thousand dollars.
Not a fortune, but enough to remind Hannah of the eternal gulf between haves and have-nots.
The haves, like the guest staying in this room, didn’t even know Hannah existed, but Hannah had learned a great deal about the guest. She knew this woman took Ambien to sleep, Ozempic to keep herself trim, and Xanax for anxiety.
So much information could be gleaned by just a glance at a guest’s toiletries, the items in their trash can, and the documents they left on the desk.
Hannah now knew this guest’s legal name and email, that she’d booked the resort through , and that she’d flown first class from Houston, where she’d purchased a leather jacket from an airport clothing shop for $825.
00. None of this information was of any consequence to Hannah, but she automatically took note of it anyway.
And then there were these sapphire earrings. Hannah picked up one of the earrings and held it to her earlobe. When she was young and smooth skinned, these sparkly gems would have flattered her. Now, they just made her look like a desperate middle-aged woman.
She set the earring back in its case. As she scrubbed the toilet and shower stall, she felt growing resentment against this guest who’d carelessly left expensive jewelry in plain sight. As a temptation, a test? For Hannah, every day felt like a test.
The whine of sirens drew her out of the bathroom.
She crossed the bedroom to the window and looked out to see three police cars in the employee parking lot.
Curious onlookers were already converging at the edge of the lot, drawn by the flashing lights of the cruisers.
She was sorely tempted to go out and join the crowd, to watch what would happen next.
Then she looked down at the carpet, where the woman staying in this room had thoughtlessly tracked in beach sand.
You’re here to do a job. Now finish it, she thought, and she turned on the vacuum cleaner.