Thursday, 9:30 a.m., Mr. Justin
The glass tumbled through the air, glinted against a spare ray of sun, and shattered onto the carpet.
Justin sighed. The only good news was that nothing had been in the tumbler. He had just been polishing it, over and over, with a white rag. Any smudges had long ago disappeared.
“Meredith! Can you get the broom out?”
“In a minute!” Meredith yelled back. She sat at the piano, tinkling her way through the keys. Every so often she would hit on an actual melody.
The lanky, brown-haired man left the narrow aisle behind the bar and walked through his tiny pub. It had three tables, none of them occupied, and a piano. A mahogany polished bar had four dusty stools tucked underneath. The light shone on them through a line of unwashed windows.
Meredith crashed her way through what just might’ve been Pachelbel.
He picked up a broom from a back closet. It was stuffed with half-full cleaning supplies from the golden days of the 1970s.
Meredith was a few years older then he was. Her body was a uniform pale white, with dotted freckles.
He knew very little about her, despite their months working together, except that she was trying to learn the piano, and that she was a miserable waitress. Meredith wore a plain grey blouse with blue jeans, her only concession to work a faded white apron. Broken notes smacked the air.
“Meredith, give it a rest! I’m on the phone!” Danni said. She was on the far side of the lobby.
sA newcomer to the Orang Hotel would open the door to a spacious lobby with reception on the right, and Justin’s bar on the left. Faded paper flowers crowned a table in the middle.
Justin abandoned his post and walked over to Danni.
“You’re always on the phone,” he reminded her. She rolled her eyes.
He wasn’t quite sure of her background, which was a tangle of ethnicities. But if he ever met her grandparents and parents, he would have to congratulate them on a job well done.
Danni had smooth tan skin and exotic black-rimmed oval eyes. Her hair was brown-black, and elaborately pinned back with a network of barrettes. She was dressed for the heat in tattered khakis and a tanktop, probably left over from college.
She was the oldest person in the entire hotel, although she hardly looked like she was nearly 30.
Or acted like it.
Danni’s body was a slim highway of matched curves, the kind of slender, trim form that looked great in anything. She didn’t try hard to show it off, but her pert boobs usually poked a line of cleavage out to the rest of the world.
She liked to chew on pens.
She hung up as Justin approached.
“Well, yeah, I’m on the phone. Patricia is turning 30 next week,” she said, as if Justin had any idea who that was. “and I need to get everything set up at the minigolf place, and then that means I have thirty people to invite.”
Justin put up a hand. “I know that you have your reasons. But watch out for Jessica.”
He perked up an ear. The Boss herself was getting close.
It was always easy to hear Jessica before you saw her. The hotel manager wore thick, chunky black heels, ugly clodhoppers that scuffed the carpets and scared birds. The long-haired blonde clomped to the front of the hotel, and pushed a pair of horn-rimmed glasses up her nose.
She stared out the revolving door as if more guests would magically appear.
“Danni!” she said. The willowy brunette was a favorite target, near the entrance. “What are you wearing?”
“A tanktop?” Danni said, and made a face. She bit at a nail. Justin winced.
The overall ambiance wasn’t the Four Seasons.
“I wouldn’t call it… professional, would you?” Jessica wore nearly the same outfit every day. A close-tailored dark suit, matched with something primary color.
“I can’t afford a suit,” Danni said. “And we’re a resort hotel. Not a business hotel.”
“I didn’t say you should wear a suit,” Jessica said, defensively. She clutched a clipboard to her chest. “Just… not that.”
Danni started to get heated. She snatched up a pen and bit on it, viciously. “Are you worried someone will see a woman with pants on and faint?”
Jessica didn’t know how to cope with outright defiance.
Instead she careened over to her hotel bar. Danni smiled, winked at Justin with those dark brown eyes, and picked up the phone receiver once more.
Meredith gave up on the piano playing as Jessica stomped over to them. The redhead pulled a rag out of nowhere and appeared to shine the keyboard.
She was no older then he was. Hotel rumor said that Daddy owned the Orang Hotel, and that Jessica’s stewardship was her Big Chance to prove herself.
The blonde made an effort. She was the first one there in the morning, striding down halls with her omnipresent clipboard. Justin had once gotten in early, only to find her on hands and knees behind the bar, counting sodas. She had also counted every single towel, bathrobe, and soap dish in the ten-room boutique. When a guest left with a pillow, it sent her into a rage that lasted half of a week.
Justin was happy to stipulate that his boss was excellent with numbers, devoted to the Hotel, and eager for success.
On the other hand, she was petty, terrible with people, and obviously in a panic over her failing business.
There was a pretty good chance that a stacked blonde was hidden somewhere behind the clipboard and business suit, but no one could be sure.
“We should have two rooms full tonight,” she said. Her voice caught. Justin kept his expression neutral. Two was a new low, for a weekend. “Keep an eye out for a Mr. Wren. I want him to get the best possible service.”
She turned and looked at all of them. “You all get that? Best! Possible! Service!”
Then she stalked off, Justin figured, to count the drapes.
Thursday, 10:06 a.m., Mr. Justin
Mr. Wren arrived a half-hour later.
Danni had spent the entire period on the phone. Justin caught snatches of conversation—a litany of old High School and College friends. She often sounded like she was reciting a Facebook feed.
Meredith had hauled out a paperback, some trashy romance novel, but was once again involved in her musical exploration of the piano.
Justin spent much of the time staring out the window. His stand looked out onto the pool.
Their lifeguard was a recent High School graduate named Caitlyn.
She was the only lifeguard Justin had ever heard of that sat by the pool in jeans. It wasn’t clear if she even knew how to swim.
Instead, she spent much of her time on a pool chair, blanketed by summer school materials and college prep books. She seemed convinced that Freshman year would be a failure unless she arrived with a thorough understanding of Tolstoy.
The first sign of Wren was a bonk against the revolving door. Then a dimly-seen figure in a tan suit rapped, twice, on the glass. Justin put down his pencil and dropped the pad of paper in his secret hiding spot. Phil, the bellboy, was supposed to be out front, in his chair, in order to help with arriving guests.
Instead, Phil arrived from the direction of the men’s bathroom at the exact same moment the struggling man managed to get two heavy leather suitcases through the small revolving door.
The man’s face was beet-red. He was stout, and his tie hung limply on his shirt. The man struggled for breath. He had dark black hair, not much of it, plastered to the top of his head. Justin guessed he was early 50s, maybe older.
Phil was another recent High School grad, and the too-short bellboy outfit showed off his wrists and ankles. He had leftover teenage acne and an expression that alternated between woeful and frightened.
“Can I, uh, take your bags?” he said. The man stopped, slowly turned his head, and stared.
“Yes! You can!” he snapped. Then he pointed out the door. “If you were out there!”
Phil’s mouth hung open. “I’ll just… take these then?” he said, and picked both up. They were as ungainly as he was, and Justin started his internal timer for the inevitable sound of something breaking.
“Where?” The man said. He slowly regained his composure. His voice had a trace of an accent, something half-British, maybe an old colonial. He wore a tan, summer suit, the pits dark with sweat stains. “Just wait here until I know which room I’m in,” he said.
Danni was still on the phone. “Yeah, yeah, just hang on, I’ve got to get off the phone, I’ve got a guy here, yeah, at my job, you know what that is, right? What a job is? Yeah, you would say that!” She giggled.
The man deliberately cleared his throat. Justin couldn’t see his face, but his posture grew increasingly rigid. Danni finally, reluctantly, hung up. “Can I help you?” she said, with a vague, annoyed expression. Her pen floated up and between her lips.
“Here to check in,” the man snapped. “My name is Mr. Wren.”
“Okey-dokey,” Danni said. She chewed on her pen cap. Justin could hear it from way over next to the bar. Danni took her time, considering that they only had ten rooms.
“Here it is. Room Ten. The ensuite. And we already have your credit card.”
“Thank heavens,” Mr. Wren said. He scratched the hairs on the back of his neck. “I could use a lie down.”
“Oh, the room isn’t ready yet,” Danni said.
“Not ready. I was promised that… Young miss—“
“It should be just another fifteen minutes or so,” Danni interrupted. She chomped on the pen tip.
“Get that disgusting pen out of your mouth while you address me!” Mr. Wren thundered.
There was a moment of shocked silence. The pen fell limply from Danni’s fingers.
Jessica skittered into view. “What is the—Mr. Wren! You’ve arrived! Good to see you, welcome to the Orang…” she extended a hand. Mr. Wren didn’t take it.
“I’ve been informed by your chatty receptionist with the casual attire that my room is not yet ready,” he growled.
“He yelled at me,” Danni said, hurt. She picked up the pen once more and chewed on it defiantly.
Jessica stared at the guest. She wilted before his furious aura. Justin had never seen her so cowed. “I’ll—just go check on the room,” she sputtered. “Please have a drink while you wait. On the house. Anything you like.”
She disappeared into the back.
Justin and Mr. Wren both watched her go. Justin could’ve told her the room wouldn’t be ready. Maid service was performed by Tara and Nicole, two ill-trained girls barely able to hold a feather-duster. They hated each other. That tended to mean that room service didn’t get done until they finished bickering over who would do which room.
Wren stalked over to the bar area and sat at a table. He looked out the window. Caitlyn sat there, underneath the shade of a massive umbrella, deep within an aged yellow book. Meredith continued her musical exploration of the 20th century. She kept her back to Mr. Wren.
He tried the same throat-clearing technique without obvious success. The girl was either lost to the music, or more likely, unwilling to deal with a customer that liked to yell.
Justin pulled out a notepad and left the bar. Someone had to do it.
“Why don’t you pull up to the counter?” he said. The glowering man fixed his stare in his direction. Justin quailed. It was no wonder Jessica had so abruptly given in. He had the thunder and lightning glare of a predator, someone used to getting his way. Not the type of man who got angry. The type who became displeased. After a moment his gaze softened.
“Yes. Well. Up to the bar it is,” Mr. Wren said. He pulled his body up and into a chair Justin pulled out for him.
“Do you make a decent gin and tonic?” the man said.
“Why don’t I make you a martini?” Justin suggested. He had lied about his bartending experience. He didn’t have any.
“Do you make a decent martini?”
“No, sir.”
“Par for the course then,” Mr. Wren said. He lowered his head into his hands. “I’m just here to relax.”
“I make a superb martini,” Justin declared. They had been his Dad’s drink of choice, and he had passed the family recipe onwards.
He concentrated on ingredients, keeping his hand below the top of the bar. When he finished, he pushed a crisp clean glass over to the red-faced man. Mr. Wren took a tentative sip.
“This is an excellent martini,” he conceded. The man took another drink. “Yes. I may even declare this to be one of the better I have tasted in a long and misspent life. What’s the secret? Martinis are not the most complex of mixes.”
“Family secret, sir,” Justin said.
Meredith hit a particularly sour note, and they both shuddered.
“What brings you to our hotel? Business? Pleasure?” Wren sucked down the remainder of the glass. Justin already had a second ready.
“After thirty years, I am attempting retirement,” the man announced. “It has been a busy and active career, and a relaxing stay in the middle of nowhere is supposed to put much of that behind a man late in life.”
“I see,” Justin said.
He didn’t see. The man obviously had money—his watch dripped with gold. Jessica had clearly recognized him as more then a simple guest.
So why head out into the forest to visit a fading small-time inn?
The man leaned across the table. The two martinis had redistributed the red from his cheeks to his nose. “I have not been impressed with the level of service. Your receptionist should learn to reserve her chattering little mouth for business. She’s dressed like a teenager. And that business with a pen was disgraceful.”
“I’m sure we all have our bad habits,” Justin said, politely.
The man snorted. “Perhaps, perhaps. And perhaps I would forgive, if your waitress wasn’t assaulting my ears instead of filling my drink orders, and your lifeguard wasn’t wearing blue jeans.”
He looked dolefully around the lobby. Phil still waited, next to the two heavy bags. “I think that some changes will have to be made for this place to thrive. Oh yes. Very much so.”
He tossed down a third martini. Then Mr. Wren looked inside his wallet. There was a collection of platinum credit cards, and no cash. “Your tip will have to be some solid advice, then,” Wren said, faintly embarrassed.
“It’s fine,” Justin said. “They were on the house.”
“Yes, they were. But if I haven’t learned anything useful to impart after thirty years in business around the world, I would be a poor observer of life as well as a poor businessman. So: politeness and agreeableness will get you extremely far. Not all the way, but very far.”
“Sound advice,” Justin said. Although, given his recent outburst, this was obviously one of those as-I-say-not-do pieces of advice.
“I think so,” Mr. Wren said, nodding. “I do think so.”
Jessica reappeared a few minutes later. From the dirt on her knees it was fairly obvious she had been checking underneath beds. Mr. Wren had just finished his fourth martini, and showed no signs whatsoever of slowing down.
“Your room is ready, Mr. Wren,” she said, breathless. “I’ve personally inspected it.”
“You did,” he said. The accent was stronger, now that Mr. Wren was drunk. But still impossible to place. “Very well. Lets get this train moving. I’ll be glad to walk away from this two-bit piano player you have on staff. Pachelbel must be rolling around in his grave.”
“Scuse me?” Meredith said. The pale redhead turned away from her dedicated piano. She glared at Mr. Wren with bleary eyes, stood up unsteadily, and walked towards the stout man.
Behind her Justin saw the remnants of a pilfered bottle of tequila. At least that explained most of the terrible playing.
“I’ll have you know—I’ll have YOU know—“ she said, fighting to put an insult together. Jessica stood stock-still in utter horror. Even Danni, who had once again found the phone, left off on her conversation.
“Ms. Jessica. I have a question for you,” Mr. Wren said, ignoring Meredith. Any trace of the liquor was suddenly gone, evaporated into the dry hotel air. “Why are your employees dressed so shabbily?”
“W-what?” Jessica said. She looked reflexively down at herself.
“Not to impugn your bartender, who at least has on a collared shirt. But your receptionist looks like she’s doing her dorm laundry, your bellboy is an extra-large wearing a medium, and your piano-playing waitress here hasn’t even bothered to wear a bra!” He extended an accusing finger right at Meredith.
She winced, and every eye in the room fixated on her chest. The grey blouse was just thin and light enough that if someone stared, very hard, it was fairly obvious that Meredith had not bothered with a bra. It was also very clear that, given her surfboard, straight-vertical reality, it hardly mattered.
Phil dropped the suitcase right on cue. Something inside tinkled and broke.
“Meredith,” Jessica said. “Please do pick up your things. You’re fired. Fired.” She was the very model of control, excepting only a brand new tic just outside of her eye.
Meredith looked shocked.
Mr. Wren surprised everyone. He whirled and stared Jessica right in the eye. Where before he simmered with barely constrained irritation, now the older man was in an absolute fury.
“No!” he roared. “You do not fire your staff when they disappoint! You lead! You set an example! If there is a problem here, Ms. Jessica, I strongly suggest that the solution must start with you!”
A fleck of spittle landed on Jessica’s suit jacket. She did not wipe it off.
“Phil, please show Mr. Wren to his room,” she said, trembling, avoiding the heaving man’s gaze. “The rest of you, please wait here. Including Ms. Meredith. I wish to have a word with you. All of you.”
Thursday, 10:40 a.m., Mr. Justin
“I hope she does fire me,” Meredith said. She was still fairly drunk. “I wanted her to fire me! I knew what she’d do if I went after a customer.”
She sat on the high chair. Justin had poured her a glass of ice water. She smoothed down the front of her blouse and sighed. She affixed Justin with two mournful eyes.
“Do you think I should wear a bra, Justin?” she said. “I never wear a bra. I’ve never needed a bra. They’re for support. I don’t need support. It’s not like I’m Tits McGee over there,” she nodded at Danni. Justin tactfully avoided looking in her direction. Danni really didn’t have big boobs. They were just pleasant.
“Uh, bras do seem to be pretty standard regardless,” Justin said. Meredith seemed to be waiting for more. “Not that it excuses Mr. Wren acting like a dick towards you.”
Whatever she had been looking for, she apparently didn’t get.
“Ow!” Danni said. She hung up the phone, and her hand flew to her lips. Then she stepped out from behind the glass desk and walked over to the two of them.
“Something stung me! Right on the lips!”
Danni had a thin pair of light brown lips. It was strange to see them closed. The girl held one hand up to them and touched gingerly at her face. “It really hurts!”
“Here, let me see,” Justin said. Danni slid between him and Meredith. The redhead tossed back her ice water like it was a stiff double. Justin peered at Danni’s lips and told himself not to look down into her cleavage.
“I don’t see anything,” he said, puzzled. “Everything looks normal.”
“Yeah, well, it hurts when I talk,” Danni said. “Like now. And now. And now.”
“Stop talking then!” Meredith said, slamming down her glass. Danni gave her a confused look. Meredith snorted. “Don’t mind the girl with no boobs,” she snapped, and headed back to her piano.
“What’s with her?” Danni said, quietly. Justin hastily removed his eyes from the swell of her cleavage.
“I honestly can’t see what’s wrong with your lips. Try just resting them,” he said.
“I can’t do that,” Danni said. She made a face. “Ow, ow, ow! I have a party to plan!”
Justin put a finger to his lips. The tan girl huffed back to her table.
The other employees slowly filtered into the main lobby. It was a ragtag group. Phil towered above them all, and looked even bigger in his ill-fitting outfit. Tara and Nicole stood on opposite sides of the tile floor. Tara was Latina, second-generation Texan, and wore a dowdy pair of sweats. Nicole was Korean, second-generation Texan, and overdressed in black pants with a white blouse.
The only thing Justin knew that they had in common was that they hated cleaning and despised the word “maid.” They preferred the term “temps,” although both had been at the hotel for at least six months.
Caitlyn quietly padded in a moment later. The group waited in sullen silence for Jessica’s arrival. When she clomped around the corner, every disgruntled face in the room was already turned towards her. The blonde had to stop, take a deep breath, and put on a fake smile.
“Hello everyone!” she said. No one said anything. She flushed.
Justin realized that she was chewing on something.
“Uh, as you might know,” Jessica said, “It’s time for some adjustments to the way we run our business. As part of that, I’m afraid I’m going to have to start insisting on a dress code. Effective starting tomorrow.”
Everyone started to complain at once. Jessica nervously chewed, and slowly began to blow a bright pink bubble of bubblegum. It was sticky and wet, and had the odd effect of quieting the complaining girls. They all fell silent, watching the blonde blow more and more air into the growing globe.
It popped. Sticky gum covered Jessica’s red lips. She sucked it back in. Her glasses were smeared.
“Where are we supposed to get the money for this?” Danni said. Her hand flew to her lips once more, and she winced.
“Oh, yeah, about that,” Jessica said. A cloud passed over her eyes. “Um, the Hotel will be giving each of you sufficient money for the purchases.”
That was a surprise. Jessica was known to dock pennies for forgetting mints on pillows. She pulled out a bulging envelope from behind her back. Justin suddenly noticed that the top button on her bright green blouse was undone. There was just a hint of breasts underneath.
The employees didn’t have to be told twice. They all got into single file, hands out, as Jessica counted out bills into their hands.
“I will be, um, requiring receipts, of course,” she told them. When Meredith reached the front of the line she counted, stopped, then counted another twenty out. “For a brassiere,” she whispered.
Everyone heard.
“One more thing,” Jessica announced, before everyone sped off. “Your outfits must be appropriate to your position. If you are a maid, please look like it. And Caitlyn, you will need to wear a swimsuit from now on.”
“A swimsuit?” Caitlyn said, surprised. She was a mousy brunette with carelessly tousled hair, petite, and she wore thick glasses.
“Yes, because you’re a lifeguard,” Jessica said.
“All day?”
“Okey-dokey,” Jessica said, ignoring her. “You all know what to do. How about a cheer, huh? Go Team Orang!”
The muffled murmuring appeared to satisfy her.
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