When I get to the first suite, a do not disturb sign is hanging from the doorknob. I’ll have to go back to this room later. I push my cart down the hall to the door of the next suite and knock. No answer.
I run my key card through the magnetic lock and the door clicks open. I push it ajar a few inches.
“Hello?” I call inside. “Housekeeping. Housekeeping coming inside.”
It’s silent. I step out of my shoes and and tuck them on a shelf on the cart. I look ridiculous cleaning with bare feet, but at least I won’t leave wet footprints on the carpet.
The penthouse suites are about three times the size of the apartment I share with my sister, Paige. The first room is a massive living area with a bar, two couches, a big screen TV and a library area stocked with classics and a chaise longue. It looks untouched, other than a couple of empty glass tumblers on the bar.
I walk through to the bedroom to strip the linens from the king-size bed. Before I reach it, I have to bend down and pick up a condom wrapper from the floor. Gross.
When I stand up, I see a naked blonde walk out of the bathroom. My mouth drops open in horror.
Fuck! What should I do? Seeing a guest naked is surely going to get me fired.
I’m standing there in horror when she sees me and lets out a high-pitched squeal.
“Oh, shit,” she says with a deep sigh. “You’re the maid. Sorry, you scared the shit out of me.”
“No, I’m sorry,” I say mournfully. “So sorry. I thought the room was empty.”
“Oh, I was in the shower.” She shrugs. “And I’m leaving anyway.”
She doesn’t even seem to care that she’s naked. From what I saw, she’s got nothing to feel ashamed of, but still…naked. In front of a stranger. I’d be dead right now.
“I’ll go,” I say, staring at the ceiling in an effort to avoid looking at her.
“Sweetie, it’s no biggie,” she says. “I’m a stripper. My goods aren’t exactly a secret.”
She slips a tiny dress on over her head and wiggles it down past her enormous round tits, the silver belly ring on her super flat stomach and then her completely hairless crotch.
“Is Jake still here?” she asks me with a smile.
“Jake? Um…I don’t think there’s anyone here but us.”
Her face falls. “Oh, I was hoping he’d ask for my number. You think I should leave it for him?”
“I don’t know. Maybe?”
She’s so tan and so blond. Her hair is so platinum it’s nearly white. I feel like I’m having a conversation with an actual Barbie doll right now. But she’s not pissed and I’m not getting fired, so that’s something.
“I mean…I think I should, right?” she says. “It’s not every day you hook up with a guy like Jake Birch.”
She scrawls her name on a piece of paper next to the bed and then grabs her bright pink purse from a chair.
“Hopefully he’ll call,” she says with a smile.
“I’m sure he will.”
“Really?” She sounds so thrilled by the prospect. I remember a time when I felt that way about men, and I’m really glad I got over it. The entire male sex is overrated if you ask me.
She puts on her tall, strappy shoes and heads for the door, her grin never wavering.
“See you later!” she calls as she opens the door.
“I…okay,” I say, letting out a deep breath when the door closes.
Well, that was definitely the most awkward encounter I’ve had at the Dupont. I laugh nervously and then strip the linens from the bed, not looking too closely at the sheets, and start cleaning. It goes quickly. I’m guessing this Jake guy and his Barbie date got here very late last night and spent most of their time in bed.
A glance in the bathroom trash can confirms my theory. There are three—I crane my neck for a closer look—no, four used condoms in there.
Impressive, Jake. I see why Barbie hopes you’ll call.
I’ve got the room spotless in an hour, which is great time for a penthouse suite. I just need to replace the decorative pillows on the chairs and then I’ll be done.
There’s a crisp white men’s dress shirt lying over the arm of the wingback chair next to the bed. I lay it on the perfectly made bed and adjust the pillow on the chair so it’s just right. On my way to get the shirt I see a couple specks of dust on the nightstand.
I forgot to dust the nightstands. Shit. It’s almost like I’m unconsciously trying to get fired today. I just can’t stop fucking up.
I look down at the pad of paper as I pick it up from the nightstand. Brandi left her number with a huge heart beneath it. I shake my head as I set the pad and pen on the bed and walk out of the room to grab my feather duster from my cart, which I already moved into the living area.
Table dusted, I reach for the pen and paper again and I actually shrink back in horror. The pen exploded and the white dress shirt has a huge, inky black splotch on it just beneath the collar.
I can’t even. I just stare at it for a few seconds. How will I get out of this one?
I carefully pick up the pen and pad of paper, setting the pad back on the nightstand. When I pick up the shirt, I’m relieved to see that at least the ink didn’t bleed through to the bedspread.
But still. I just ruined a guest’s shirt, and I’m guessing it’s not a cheap one.
Think, Miranda. But the only word I can think of is “fuck.”
I’m fucking dead.
Tony’s going to flip the fuck out.
I’m going to be short on my share of the fucking rent if I get fired.
In a flat-out panic, I do the only thing I can think of. I ball up the shirt and stuff it into the dirty towel bag on my cart. I’ll dump it in the trash.
Sorry, Jake. If you can afford this room, I know you can afford another shirt more than I can afford to lose my job.
I put the pillow back on the wingback chair and push my cart to the room’s door. The cart is so big it’s all I can do to get it in and out of rooms and I bump it against the doorframe a couple times, muttering a few choice words. Finally I make it through the doorway, and put on my shoes.
This day just can’t end soon enough.
Chapter 2
Jake
I shoot the puck and it flies toward the net, missing it by a couple inches.