The Maid(27)

I smiled then, as per protocol, and waited for the gentlemen to respond. But neither said a word. There was a navy-blue duffel bag on the bed. One of the giants had been packing away a piece of equipment when I intruded, some kind of machine or scale that he was about to put in the bag. Now, he stood stock-still with the odd apparatus in one hand.

Just when I was feeling slightly uncomfortable with the amount of silence that lingered, two people stepped out of the bathroom behind the two men. One was Rodney, in his crisp, white shirt, with sleeves rolled, revealing his lovely forearms. The other was Juan Manuel, who was holding a brown paper package, his bagged lunch or dinner, perhaps? Rodney’s hands were balled into fists. He and Juan Manuel were clearly surprised to see me, and to be perfectly honest, I, too, was surprised to see them.

“Molly, no. Why are you here?” Juan Manuel asked. “Please, you need to leave right away.”

Rodney turned to Juan Manuel. “What, are you the boss now? You’re suddenly in charge?”

Juan Manuel took two steps backward and became entranced by the position of his feet on the floor.

I decided this was the moment to step in and smooth the rift between them. “Technically speaking,” I said, “Rodney is the bar manager. Which means that in the strictly hierarchical sense, he is the highest-ranking employee among us at the present moment. But let’s remember that we’re all VIPs, every last one of us,” I said.

The two behemoths looked from Rodney and Juan Manuel to me several times in quick succession.

“Molly,” Rodney said. “What are you doing here?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” I answered. “I’m here to clean the room.”

“Yeah, I get that part. But this room wasn’t supposed to be on your roster today. I told them downstairs…”

“Told whom?” I asked.

“Look, it doesn’t matter. That’s not the point.”

Juan Manuel suddenly rushed past Rodney and grabbed my arm. “Molly, don’t worry about me. Run downstairs now and you go tell—”

“Whoa,” said Rodney. “Let go of her, right now.” It wasn’t a suggestion. It was an order.

“Oh, it’s quite all right,” I said. “Juan Manuel and I are acquaintances and I’m not in the least uncomfortable.” It was only then that it dawned on me exactly what was going on. Rodney was jealous of Juan Manuel. This was a masculine display of romantic rivalry. I took this as a very good sign, since it revealed the true extent of Rodney’s feelings for me.

Rodney eyed Juan Manuel in a way that conveyed his clear displeasure, but then he said something entirely surprising. “How’s your mother, Juan Manuel?” he asked. “Your family’s in Mazatlán, right? I’ve got friends in Mexico, you know. Good ones. I’m sure they’d be happy to check in on your family.”

Juan Manuel let go of my arm then. “No need,” he said. “They are fine.”

“Good. Let’s keep it that way,” he replied.

How lovely that Rodney was concerned about the well-being of Juan Manuel’s family, I thought. The more I got to know him, the more his true nature revealed itself to me.

At this moment, the two behemoths spoke up. I was looking forward to being properly introduced so that I could commit their names to memory for future reference, perhaps even make sure they received chocolate turn-down service in the evenings.

“What the hell is going on here?” one of them asked Rodney.

“Who the fuck is she?” the other added.

Rodney stepped forward. “It’s okay. Don’t worry. I’ll fix this.”

“You better. And fuckin’ fast.”

Now, I must say that this repeated use of foul language took me aback, but I have been trained to act as a consummate professional at all times, with all manner of people, be they polite or impolite, clean or slovenly, potty-mouthed or well-spoken.

Rodney got right in front of me. In a low voice, he said, “You weren’t supposed to see any of this.”

“See what?” I asked. “The colossal mess all of you have made in this room?”

One of the behemoths spoke up then. “Lady, we’ve just cleaned everything up good.”

“Well,” I said. “You’ve done a substandard job. As you can see, the carpet needs a vacuum. Your footprints are all over it. See that? How the pile is disturbed by the front door, and then over there, by the bathroom? It looks like a herd of elephants tromped through here. Not to mention this side table. Who ate powdered doughnuts without a plate? And these big, fat fingerprints. No offense, but how could you not notice those? They’re all over the glass top. I’ll have to polish every doorknob too.”

I took a spray bottle and paper towel from my trolley and began spritzing the table. I cleaned up the whole mess in a flash. “See? Isn’t that better?”

The behemoths’ faces mirrored each other—their long mouths agape. Clearly, they were quite impressed with my efficient cleaning techniques. Juan Manuel, meanwhile, was obviously embarrassed. He was still staring at his shoes.

No one spoke for a good, long while. Something was amiss, but I was hard-pressed to say what. It was Rodney who broke the silence. He turned his back on me and addressed his friends. “Molly is…she’s a very special girl. You can see that, right? How she’s…unique.”