Page 38 of The Maid's Secret

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Chapter 11

My gran always said, “Be careful what you wish for.” She was wary of excess in all its forms, and her dreams were small and simple. Whenever I’d dream bigger, imagining if we owned a mansion like the Grimthorpes’ or could take a vacation to a far-flung locale, she’d issue her warning—a reminder that fate rarely gives without taking something away.

It’s been a week since the moment I stumbled onto the tearoom stage and learned that the Fabergé was real. My life has changed so dramatically since then and in ways that defy all comprehension. Before my appearance onHidden Treasures,I really was “just a maid,” but since then I’ve become many things, including a meme, a dance, a party costume, and an array of comedy sketches. A quick scroll through social media reveals babies, celebrities, dogs, cats, and one bearded lizard dressed in my maid’s uniform. The dance in my homage is done on a chair and ends with a move now known as “the Fabergé faint.” And yesterday, a late-night comedy sketch aired with a well-known comedian wearing a black wig, sitting on top of a giant goldenegg while clucking, “I’m just a maid!” until the egg exploded into a cloud of fresh bills.

I phoned Angela the second I saw it. “What was that all about?” I asked.

“You haven’t stopped trending,” she said. “ ‘I’m just a maid’ is the country’s top catchphrase. You’re outpacing ‘That’s what she said.’ ”

“Who is she?” I asked. “And what did she say?” But Angela insisted I was missing the point as usual. Honestly, I don’t want to be trending or in the spotlight at all. These past few days, my only stability has been Juan, who is trying to maintain normalcy though there’s nothing remotely normal about our situation.

After I agreed to auction the egg, Juan and I learned via Steve that aHidden Treasuresfilm crew was going to follow us around to shoot something called a “sizzle reel.”

“Is a frying pan required?” I asked.

“You’re punking me, right?” Steve replied, but when I stared at him, confused, he said, “It’s a short documentary. Think of it as ‘a day in the life of Molly.’ It’ll air during the live auction episode ofHidden Treasuresnext week.”

“But what if we don’t want our private lives publicized?” I asked. “It’s already impossible to do our jobs. We’re being followed everywhere.”

“Bit late to back out now,” Steve informed us. “Plus, you signed the waiver, remember? You’re an instant reality TV star, Molly. Aren’t you happy? You’re living the dream.”

Were we living the dream? If we were, neither of us was aware. I glanced over at Juan, who looked as dejected as I felt. Still, how dare we forget to count our blessings. I tried to think positively, to turn my frown upside down. “It’s just another week,” I said to Juan. “We can manage, right?”

“Of course,” he said, grinning along with me. “We’ll make it fun. Like being movie stars.”

“Great,” said Steve as he adjusted his baseball cap. “I’ll get the crew. We’ll start now.”

From that moment on, Steve’s crew became part of our lives, coming and going as they pleased. A few days ago, I was vacuuming a guest room in the hotel when suddenly the crew entered.

“Don’t mind us, Molly,” the assistant director yelled over the high-pitched whir of my vacuum. “Just forget we’re here.”

But it’s hard to forget an entire TV crew when you’re cleaning around their lights and booms and extension cords with hotel guests cheering you on from the doorway. I finished the job only to be told, “We’re going to do another take. Can you do that all again, Molly?”

“I’m going to have to,” I replied, “since you just trampled the perfectly plumped carpet pile.”

Why the crew and lookie-loos laughed at that, I have no idea, but I’m getting used to laughter and baffling comments like “She’s so funny!” and “I just love her!” and “I can’t get enough of Molly the Maid!”

At home, Juan and I have no privacy. On our one day off, when Gran-dad came over for dinner, the three of us had retired to the living room to watch a nature documentary when there was a knock on the door. Juan answered, only to find Steve and the film crew yet again.

“We want to capture a regular day at your apartment,” Steve said. “We’ll be in and out, split.”

Suddenly, the entire crew was in our living room, running cables and setting up cameras.

“Molly, you sit in the middle of the sofa. Mr.Preston, take the spot to her left, Juan to her right. Okay, that’s good. Now, turn on the TV and watchHidden Treasures.Everyone act normal. And, action!”

Packed like sardines on Gran’s old sofa, we were stiff and catatonic. We tried to “act normal,” but there has been no normal since the discovery of the Fabergé’s worth.

But this was not even the worst of it. Yesterday, Juan and Angeladecided to surprise me. “After work,” Juan announced, “you’ve been invited to a very special boutique. Angela’s going with you.”

“A boutique? For what?” I asked.

“Wedding dresses, Molly,” Juan said. “A fancy shop wants to sponsor your dress! Isn’t that amazing?”

“Meaning we don’t have to pay for it?”

“Exactly. You can stop searching charity shops for hand-me-downs.”

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