Page 9 of Room Service
“Oh good, you’re ready. Let’s go,” she says, and then I’m following her down the corridor and to the lifts. I know she’s on the first floor, so she’s close enough to the reception area for any problems that may arise with check-ins and customer complaints.
We ride the lift in silence, and when the doors ping open, I scuttle along after her like a good little worker.
She stops outside room number three and unlocks it with her key card, announcing, “Welcome to my humble abode,” as we enter.
Humble abode? Yeah right.
It’s as magnificent as the rest of the hotel rooms, but slightly bigger than the rooms I usually clean, with two doors to the right rather than just one for a bathroom—probably because the room is like a mini apartment, except there’s no kitchen. We’re in the lounge area, and I know the other two doors lead to the bathroom and also a separate bedroom.
“Now, I figure we’re about the same size, so I’ll grab you the appropriate attire for you and then we can get to the penthouse.”
“The penthouse?” I ask, shocked, because I’ve never been to the penthouse before. Shocking, I know, but it’s never been listed on my cleaning duties, and there is no other way I’d ever get to go in there.
“Yes, Elise. The penthouse. That the directors use when the owner allows.” She stares at me pointedly and says, “Please close your mouth, you look like you’re trying to catch flies.”
I promptly shut my mouth and she opens the door to, I presume, the bedroom and waltzes inside, appearing a few moments later with an armful of clothes, and a pair of shoes on top.
She stops in front of me, holding the items out for me to take, and then she ushers me into the bathroom to get changed. I sure hope this shit fits.
Five minutes later, I am surprised that it does, perfectly, so Hayley was spot on about us being the same size. My maid uniform lies on the floor beside my feet as I stare at the difference a nice outfit makes. The white shirt covers my modesty but hugs my curves beautifully, while the skirt with a minimal slit just above the knee pairs nicely with the sheer tights and the black high heels.
“Are you done?” I hear Hayley shout—as patient as always, I see.
“Yeah,” I call back, and the door opens as she walks in and takes in my appearance.
“Better,” she states before she’s behind me and taking my hair out of the clip that keeps it off my face and proceeds to fluff it before grabbing a brush.
“Uh, I can do my own hair, you know,” I tell her as she fusses around me.
“We don’t have much time and I need you to look like you belong,” she tells me, to which I scoff.
“Gee, thanks for the pep talk,” I reply sarcastically.
“This is serious, Elise. The directors are the ones who control everything around here, and if they don’t see everything as being up to scratch, then they have the power to make changes, and I’m sure we all want to keep things the way they are.”
I get the impression she’s talking about the possibility of jobs being lost if they don’t approve, and I sure as shit don’t need the stress of trying to find something else—I’m guessing she doesn’t either.
“Just a touch of make-up and then we can go,” she says as she pulls open some drawers, taking out whatever she intends to put on my face.
“Aren’t there spare waitress uniforms for me to wear?” I question, because it seems strange that she would dress me in her personal clothes.
“There would be if the agency staff returned the items as requested,” she retorts, clearly annoyed, and I decide to keep my mouth shut and not ask anything else. Who am I to question the way she does things? She must be well thought of, because she’s been here as long as I have, and to my knowledge has never been reprimanded for anything.
Ten minutes later, I’m looking at a very different version of me. I haven’t worn make-up in years, not seeing the need to bother anymore, and the result is… I look like the old me again. The one where the light was still in her eyes and she had a zest for life, despite the constant guilt from her parents. That version of me had hope. She had drive. And I know that she still lives inside of me, urging me to be who I want to be and not the shitty version I’ve been moulded into.
“Right, let’s go,” Hayley announces, like I’m not having some sort of fucking epiphany. “Now, Elise,” she shouts from the other room, and I quickly rush out, wobbling a little on the heels as I do, because it’s been a fucking lifetime since I last wore a pair of shoes that weren’t flat. “Sort that out before we get there. The last thing I need is for you to fall flat on your face,” she comments, but I don’t have time to reply as she marches forward, a woman on a mission it seems, whilst I concentrate on not toppling over. “Quick, quick,” she quips.
It's like the next ten minutes are a blur as we get in the lift to go to the penthouse and Hayley fills me in on everything I need to know. No sooner has she finished speaking and the doors of the lift open, and then she walks me down a short hallway and opens a door, which leads straight into a large room, massive actually, already filled with people.
“Don’t screw this up, Elise,” she warns me, before she’s walking into the room and disappears into the crowd.
Right then. Show time, Elise.
Chapter Eight
DORIEN
Business functions bore me, but I have to be here to show my face and smile at all the smug arseholes here that will be hoping for a share of the millions I have stowed away in the bank, and I smirk on the inside knowing that they won’t see a fucking penny more than I deem necessary.
