The Hotel Nantucket (12)
She sends him a text: You have the job!
Zeke texts back: Kk.
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 on the 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 says RESERVED FOR GENERAL MANAGER and throws back what’s left of her double espresso. She’s livid about 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 be a 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 paté 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 ma?ana.”