Page 11 of The Hotel Nantucket
Lizbet closes her eyes.Kk?
A second text comes in:Thank you very much for the opportunity. I won’t let you down!
Lizbet exhales. She can work with that.
The last person Lizbet has to hire is a night auditor, but the only application she’s received for the job is from some guy named Victor Valerio (real name?) who sent a picture of himself wearing white face makeup, glow-in-the-dark fangs, and a long flowing black cape. When you ask for people to work the graveyard shift, Lizbet supposes, you end up with vampires.
Perfect company for their ghost, she thinks, laughing to herself. She’ll have to handle the night auditing until someone suitable applies.
She sends Xavier an e-mail.
Dear Xavier—
I hired our core staff today. Onward toward the fifth key!
All best, Lizbet
5. Opening Day
June 6, 2022
From: Xavier Darling ([email protected])
To: Employees of the Hotel Nantucket
The day has come! We’re finally opening our doors to the public to show them our living work of art. The thing that makes it “living” is all of you. What do hammered-silver basins in the bathroom matter if the staff is harried and distracted when you check in? What does the Swedish sauna in the wellness center matter if the bellman delivers the wrong bags to your room? Hotels are only as good as their staff.
I will be personally reading every review of our hotel onthe TravelTattler website, and based on the content of that feedback, I’ll be awarding a cash prize of one thousand dollars to the most outstanding employee each week. I hope each one of you wins, though be warned, this isn’t a participation trophy. It’s entirely possible, for example, that the same employee will win all eighteen weeks of the season.
It’s my goal to make the Hotel Nantucket the undisputed best in the world. But I can’t do it without you.
Thank you for your dedication and hard work.
XD
Lizbet pulls her cherry-red Mini Cooper into the space that saysRESERVED FOR GENERAL MANAGERand throws back what’s left of her double espresso. She’slividabout the e-mail that Xavier sent out that morning. Xavier is going to award weekly cash prizes to her staff as though they’re contestants on a reality show. Lizbet has spent the past two weeks training the front of the house, and she was crystal clear that putting forth one’s best effort every single day should bea matter of personal pride and integrity. She also stressed teamwork, a concept that awarding individual cash prizes will unravel.
Two days ago, Lizbet stayed at the hotel as a guest. The staff was instructed to use Lizbet’s visit as a full dress rehearsal. Front-desk manager Alessandra checked Lizbet in, and Alessandra presented her with the Blue Book, a compilation of Nantucket’s best beaches, outings, museums, sights, restaurants, galleries, shopping, bars, and nightlife that Lizbet herself had spent countless hours curating, writing, and refining. Alessandra asked if she could make Lizbet any dinner reservations. No, thank you, Lizbet said, though she would like a Reuben from Walter’s delivered to her room between seven fifteen and seven thirty. Alessandra said she’d take care of it, no problem. A few moments after Lizbet stepped into the room—only long enough for her to admire the view of Easton Street from the picture window—Zeke arrived with Lizbet’s luggage.
Lizbet flung herself across the emperor-size bed. She wasn’t at the Deck anymore, and she certainly wasn’t at the Rising Sun Retirement Community in Minnetonka. She was the general manager of the new and improved Hotel Nantucket. The sheets were soft under Lizbet’s cheek and they smelled vaguely, though not overwhelmingly, floral. The mattress was so comfortable that Lizbet closed her eyes and took one of the most delightful naps of her life.
The secret of change is to focus all your energy not on fighting the old, but on building the new.
She left a few tests for the housekeeping crew—a crumpled tissue kicked to the far back corner under the bed, a cake of the Nantucket Looms wildflower soap tucked incongruously behind the (complimentary) smoked bluefish pâté in the minibar. She even went so far as to empty the matches from the box by the bathtub into her suitcase. Would Magda’s crew actually use their hundred-point checklist?
Yes, they would. When Lizbet investigated the room the following day, everything had been cleaned, replaced, refilled.
She had been eager to see what was happening down at the hotel bar—it was subcontracted out, so Lizbet had no say in how it was run—but she found the door locked and the glass front papered over. She could hear voices and movement inside but when she knocked, nobody answered. Lizbet had repeatedly asked Xavier who would be running the bar and he said he wanted it to be a “grand surprise.” Apparently, he’d signed a “swoon-worthy” chef to prepare the bar menu, but he was keeping the announcement under wraps until opening day, which felt very cloak-and-dagger to Lizbet. She sneaked around to the outside door and noticed that orders had been delivered. A young woman popped out, startling Lizbet. She said her name was Beatriz, and when Lizbet asked who she worked for, Beatriz said, “Chef.” And when Lizbet said, “Chef who?” Beatriz shook her head and said,“No puedo decirte hasta mañana.”
Lizbet took a yoga class with Yolanda in the Balinese-inspired studio, and although it sounded trite, she emerged feeling centered and at peace…or as centered and at peace as she could feel with the hotel opening the next day.
When Lizbet checked out of her room, Zeke tucked her suitcase into the back of her Mini for the long drive home to her cottage on Bear Street, which was 1.2 miles away. Along with her bill, Lizbet was presented with a parting gift: a very cold bar of Nantucket Looms wildflower soap.
Lizbet knew it sounded ridiculous, but she wished she could stay. It had been luxurious, even though she was technically working. And she was pleased to report that there had been no scary noises, no cold blasts, no ethereal visions, no signs of any ghost.
The hotel sparkles in the June sun with its fresh cedar shingles and crisp white trim. The hotel’s landscaper, Anastasia, placed lavish pots overflowing with snapdragons, bluebells, lavender, and ivy on each step of the staircase leading up to the hotel entrance. The wide front porch of the hotel is set up with wide rockers with cushions in hydrangea blue and cocktail tables that can be turned into firepits. (The front desk sells a s’mores kit for eight dollars.) The porch will also be the site of the complimentary wine-and-cheese hour each evening. Lizbet has seen to it that they will serve excellent wine and a selection of imported cheeses garnished with ripe berries and plump, glistening olives.
Lizbet checks for mascara on her eyelids and lipstick on her teeth. She stayed up way too late last night trying on outfits. It’s a new job and she wants a new style. At the Deck, she always wore muumuus because they were forgiving (she averaged eight glasses of rosé and fourteen pieces of bacondaily). Now her closet is filled with things that are fitted and a bit more professional. Today she’s wearing a navy halter dress, nude stiletto sandals, and a Minnesota Golden Gophers charm on a chain around her neck.
