Something Warmer

"Miss Eldredge?"

Every time someone calls me that way, I can feel the dread circulating through my body as if I'm about to get the world's most brutal talking to in existence. I hate it. My hands get clammy. My heart races. I feel out of breath. Reminds me of when I was six, when reality sat in about my parents' death. I did that then, and here I am, doing it now. PTSD much?

I smooth the white apron out on the standard Dabney-Aparo housekeeper uniform and look up at my kind boss with a warm smile. I know this man. He's my uncle, mom's brother. He didn't take me in when I was younger because it just wasn’t feasible, so his mother, my abuela, did. I have always been close to him and his family, though.

"Yes, Mr. Ortega?" I ask. It's unusual to call him by this name. I want to call him Uncle Kenny.

He holds his professional composure for a moment before he allows it to soften. "You wear the hell out of that uniform, mija."

I chuckle. It's not what I thought of when I thought housekeeper. It's not form-fitting and yet it hugs me comfortably. It's some burgundy cotton-poly blend that looks like they stuck an apron to a nice sheath dress. It's paired with some surprisingly comfortable heels. A month on the job and my feet weren't killing me yet. Thank goodness.

I reach up to feel my hair. I French braided my curly locks into a bun on the back of my head and used what felt like half a can of hairspray to keep everything in place with Bobby pins. 

"Well, thank you, tío. I think I've gotten this down-packed," I reply.

He chuckles, shakes his head, and pulls his tablet from under his arm. "Got an important assignment for you, mija. Can you handle it?"

Could I handle it? Absolutely. Lita taught me everything I needed to know about properly cleaning, and it has come in good use this past month since starting here. I had earned my keep, especially since Kenny wants to give me an important assignment. Even if it's a test, I know I'll ace it.

"Of course," I answer. "What is it?"

"An important VIP has checked into the penthouse. They arrived yesterday afternoon. Before their arrival, the penthouse had been cleaned top to bottom, but as it's been almost twenty-four hours, I need you to go and clean it for me," he explains. "The guest shouldn't be there, but on the off chance they are, call me promptly and we'll get this sorted."

I nod. I can do this. I know from my research of the property that the penthouse is huge, and it will more than likely consume the rest of my shift, but that's okay. I can do this, especially since I know this is a test of my abilities. I had been warned of this moment by the other housekeepers.

"What kind of cleaning? Deep? Simple? Bedding changes?" I ask.

"Use your discretion," he replies. "If a simple one is needed, please. If you notice the prior cleaning crew didn't do the best in some areas, please take care of it. As for the bedding, fresh bedding is in the suite and ready to replace what's there."

I nod again. "Sounds good. I'll head that way now."

I'm starting for my cleaning trolley, but he stops me, chuckles, and hands me the key card for the room. "You need this, mija," he says.

I look at him and then the card. I don't blush easily, but I certainly do when I'm embarrassed, and this is one of those times. I grimace a little as I take it, but before I can really get anywhere, he kisses me on the head and wishes me good luck. I can go for all the luck in the world.

The elevator ride to the top floor is long and boring. It stops a few times to let guests on, but I made sure I stood in the very back and didn't look at anyone as they entered or exited. I'm supposed to be invisible to them. This is the best way that can be achieved. 

When the elevator arrives, I swipe the keycard in the reader, and it grants me access to the penthouse suite. This particular Dabney-Aparo hotel, the Rowan Laurel, is one of the rare few to have a penthouse that occupies an entire floor. Being here is about to make or break my job here.

I wheel my carts just inside and exhale a heavy breath. This isn't my first visit here. Kenny showed me around when I was first hired, and we walked through the penthouse suite. I'm familiar with its layout, which makes it easy to begin my sweep of the suite. 

I start in the living area, checking for stains and dust, making note of those things and anything out of place. I do this for the kitchen, the dining space, and the office just off the kitchen. This penthouse house has three bedrooms plus the master, and I check the three that are not the master suite. Everything seems pretty good, but I make a note to dust, vacuum, and mop the floors that need it.

The last room, which I'm standing outside of, is the master. I don't know who is staying here, but I'm about to intrude on their space, and it feels naughty. I almost can't do it, but the thought of letting Kenny down frightens me, so I turn the knob and open the double doors to the suite. 

It's clean, surprisingly so. Whoever is the guest staying here takes pride in their things, which is a good sign. I make note of the bedding needing to be replaced, and some light dusting and vacuuming. But what catches my eye are the clothes thrown onto the chair in the corner. It unmistakably looks like a suit. Shoes are stashed just underneath. They're slick and black and very expensive. 

The sun reflects off of something in my peripheral and I move toward it. It's cufflinks, a watch, glasses, and a wallet. They're very regal, but also very manly. So this guest, this important VIP, is a man. 

I shrug. It's not surprising. Men generally stay here anyway.

I move toward the bathroom, but I freeze just outside. There is the sound of running water. Someone is in there. He's probably in there. Kenny told me the guest would be out, but he must have been mistaken.

Panicked, I run out of the bedroom, closing the doors quietly behind me, before I make it back to my cart and grab my work-issued phone. I waste zero time dialing Kenny. He answers after one ring.

"What's wrong, mija?"

"He's here," I whisper. "The guest. He's here and I shouldn't be."

"Mija, it's okay. Don't panic. I'm going to place you on a brief hold, okay? I'm going to phone the guest to let him know you're there, okay?"

I nod, but since he doesn't see it, I need to answer vocally. "Okay," I whisper.

"Just hang on a moment."

The line clicks, and I'm left with dead air. With every passing moment, I feel my heart wanting to leap out of my chest. I've never cleaned a room with a guest present before, and I wasn't sure I wanted to start that now and make this habitual.

"Mija?"

I almost tossed the phone when I heard his voice. "Yes?"I whisper.

"Go ahead and clean. It's fine. He okayed you being there."

I nod and look in the direction of the closed doors to the master suite. This doesn't give me much comfort, but I have to do this to prove myself. 

"Do I need to talk to him before I do?" I ask. "So he doesn't startle when he sees me or yells at me?"

"It couldn't hurt," he replies. "Let me know if you need anything, though."

I clear my throat. "Of course."

I end the call and stick the phone in the pocket of my dress. I do the same with the keycard, just to keep it safe. The last thing I need to do is lose it and compromise this man's safety.

I rub my hands together before crossing my arms in front of my chest. Walking back to the master suite is nerve-wracking, but I know I can do it. I exhale a shaky breath as I open just one door this time. I look around, and the room looks as it did when I entered less than five minutes ago. He hasn't come out yet. I breathe a relieved breath. I can do this.

Slowly, I walk toward the cracked bathroom door, and I inhale sharply as I knock on the door. I need to pull the band-aid off. I can't let this just hang over me. I need to get this over with.

"Sir?" I call through the crack. "My name is Cora. I'm the housekeeper cleaning your room. Is there anything I can do for you before I get to cleaning?"

"No, thank you," came his answer. His voice, despite being raised, is velvety smooth and warm and totally British. My stomach is playing host to a wild dance of butterflies. This can't be happening. I can't be feeling things for this person. I don't care who they are. It's unacceptable. I swore off love a long time ago. Men are assholes. This one is someone important. I can't allow myself to get caught up in fantasies with guests. That's in horrible poor taste.

"Should you need anything, I have my work phone on me and I'll leave my card on your dresser," I add.

I half expected a response, but I realize that it's silly to expect a response. I'm just the help. The help hardly receives the respect that they deserve. But I place my card on his dresser next to the other items and leave the master suite. I close the door behind me and head for my cart. 

I start with the other bedrooms. They are relatively untouched, so I leave the bedding alone and side with dusting and vacuuming. When I enter the bathrooms, I check for suspicious residue that might have been missed. Fortunately, the bathrooms are good to go and I move on to the kitchen. 

Quietly humming to myself, I spray down the counters. I use the same spray to wipe down the stainless steel appliances. I notice a small blemish at the bottom of the fridge, and I crouch down to buff it out with the towel in my hand. 

"Cora was it?"

To say I lost my footing and fell on my fat ass is an understatement. At least it doesn't hurt as badly as it could have. Thank you for every glute workout I've done since I was twenty-one. But he scares the fucking shit out of me, and I could feel my ankle throbbing from falling. I must have rolled it somehow. I have to play this off. I can't afford to lose this job. I need to make Kenny proud, and I need to pay my bills.

"Yes," I grit out through my teeth. I have to make myself look better. I know I look fucking stupid, letting him catch me off guard like this. And I'm not saying he's a dick, but he sure doesn't rush over to help me after seeing I clearly need help.

Clearing my throat, I roll onto my side and push off the ground. I grab my towel and slowly stand, using the island in the middle to help me up. I use the towel to wipe where I touch it with my hand. That's when I finally look up at him, which is when my eyes get really big and I look away as fast as I can. This man, this brazen man, waltzed his ass out here in a towel. Just a goddamn towel. The briefest glance at him told me his chest was still damp, but I noted that he's certainly fit. I don't get much of a chance to look otherwise. Frankly, I can't. Me being here like this isn't good. I mean, I'm not supposed to be in the suite if the guest is there, let alone if this guest is male and practically naked.

"My apologies, sir," I say weakly. "I was just finishing up here in the kitchen when you caught me off guard. I'll just leave," I add. I grab my spray bottle and walk in the opposite direction around the island from him. I keep my eyes trained on the ground. I can't look up, nor can I turn and look over my shoulder at him. I can't compromise myself any more than I already have.

"Cora," he sighs.

I shake my head and hit the down button on the elevator. "It's okay, sir. I will send someone else to replace the bedding on your bed should you choose to want that. I think I've overstayed my welcome here the moment I found you were here. I shouldn't have continued cleaning. I should have respected your privacy and left. This isn't a good reflection of the staff here at the Rowan Laurel and you deserve better."

I'm relieved with the elevator dings and then opens. I push my carts onto it and hit the letter B for the basement. I need to get the hell out of this hotel. I suddenly can't breathe and that's not good.

And just as I think I'm clear and the door's closed, this man's hand keeps them from closing. Sighing, I immediately divert my eyes to the floor. This can't be fucking happening. This is the world's worst test and I know I'm failing it.

"Sir, please just let me go," I quietly beg, wringing my hands out in front of me. "I can't apologize enough for this. You deserve better at the Rowan Laurel."

"Who should I talk to, then, about this?" he asks. I swear I hear undertones of anger and frustration. Kenny is going to fucking fire me.

"That would be Kenneth Ortega," I reply. "He is the manager here at the Rowan Laurel. You can address all your concerns with him. He will sort everything out and get down to this gross display of disrespect and overreach."

He backs up then, and the doors close. It's then that I can finally let my head lean back against the wall. I'm on the verge of tears the whole ride down, and I don't care if anyone sees me. I can't be fired. I can't afford that harsh reality.