Turning to her locker, Scout quickl

Turning to her locker, Scout quickly stowed her belongings without making eye contact with any of the other employees. Down here, in the bowels of the hotel, they were all janitorial staff. Good thing, too, because the lobby employees with their fancy blazers and ticked, tuxedo-style pants intimidated the crap out of her.
The maids all wore the same poly-blend shapeless dove gray dress with white Peter Pan collar and cuffed sleeves. They didn’t intimidate her one bit. She simply didn’t meet their gazes so as not to inadvertently suggest she was interested in making acquaintances. She wasn’t. She was there to do a job.
Once her dainty, completely ornamental white apron was tied at her waist, she pinned the small accordion cap in front of her bun. Hoisting the last of her items into the tight metal locker, she tucked the bulge back and forced the door closed, moving her fingers just in time for the latch to catch before her cumbersome belongings could be regurgitated onto the floor. Looking left, then right, she spun the built-in combination lock several times until convinced her possessions were secure. Everything she owned was in that locker.
By the time Scout made it to Tamara’s office, other maids were already on the move with their carts. Behind her, some employees were just arriving. Quickening her pace she turned into the office labeled Housekeeping General Manager and greeted her GM with a smile.
“Good morning, Tamara.”
“Good morning, Scout.” She smiled, her teeth clean and perfectly straight.
Scout had an odd obsession with hygiene and frequently noticed people’s teeth and fingernails as some sort of personal grading system.
“Here’s your list for the day. Bridget’s out so I put you on the penthouse suites if that’s okay,” Tamara said.
Like she’d admit if it wasn’t. “That’s fine. I’m happy to help.”
“Good and while I have you here, your paperwork was sent back from Human Resources. You forgot to fill in your social when you did it. They’re going to need that in order to process your paycheck this afternoon.”
Crap. Parker had done her paperwork. Tamara’s curvy frame twisted in her fancy leather chair as she reached into a paper tray. She slid the familiar paperwork across the desk and Scout forced her hand to remain steady as she picked it up.
There was nothing condescending about Tamara. She was in her midthirties and seemed to be one of those pleasantly chubby women who chronically dieted and would never truly recognize the beauty they held within. Scout appreciated her easy pleasantness and genuine candor.
Her eyes raked over the application. Parker’s penmanship was neat and bold. Scout admired the confident way his letters stroked in tidy order across the small blank spaces.
“What did you say was missing?”
“Your social security number. See, there, on the top right. Just fill that in and you’ll be good to go and I’ll have it sent back before payroll cuts the checks this afternoon.”
Tamara wore a floral-scented perfume and Scout couldn’t help breathing in the bouquet without a touch of envy. It mixed nicely with the fragrance of her hair and skin.
She found the blank spot she was referring to. Nine little blank lines needing to be filled.
“Why do they need this?”
“For tax purposes mostly.” Her fingernails were painted red. Scout self-consciously tucked her clipped nails into the shelter of her palm.
She didn’t have a social security number or if she did she’d never been told what it was. She could’ve been honest, but honesty in this situation would only delay and complicate things. The key to fitting in was being as low-maintenance as possible.
“Do you have a pen I could use?”
Tamara handed her a pen and Scout squatted low at the corner of the desk. Her fingers deliberately formed the numbers. Scout was very aware of how unpracticed they appeared next to Parker’s well-developed words. Quickly, she made up three groups of numbers she could remember in case she had to recall them for something in the future. One-three-six, because it was the number of her locker. Twenty-two for her age. And nineteen hundred because it was the address printed on the awning out back of Patras. If they checked it and realized she made it up, she’d act like it was an honest mistake and figure out what to do when and if that time came.
“Here you go.” She slid the paper back to Tamara.
“Great.” She grinned, slipped the paper back in the tray she pulled it from and handed Scout her assignments for the day.
“You’ll need to use your badge to access the penthouse floors. Level thirty’s all individual entry, so once you get off the elevator your normal house key will work, but from there you’ll have to use the private bank of elevators located just outside of the private ballroom on thirty-one. There’re four master penthouses on the thirty-second floor. Three of them are vacant this week so you’ll only need to attend Suite C. Each has its own elevator that will deposit you directly in the room. I usually have the girls take only what they need with them. The master suites have a supply closet your general house key will open, where you’ll find a sweeper and basic supplies to replenish the amenities. Here’s the keycard for Suite C. Make sure you deactivate them at the end of the day.”
It had taken the first week to lose the knot in her stomach over starting a new job. By the second week Scout found her rhythm and acquired a keen understanding for how long a room took to clean and freshen. She’d never done a penthouse before, let alone a master suite. Scout wasn’t even sure what a master suite was. Forcing a calming breath into her tightening lungs, she maintained an expression of capable confidence and took the list and keys from Tamara.
The idea that she had no clue about the pace she’d need to keep that day terrified her. Scout needed this job and she’d have to hustle her ass off in order to get everything done before the end of her shift. She usually sat on a bench down the street for her lunch break, being that she never packed a lunch, but today she’d work straight through her entire shift in order to make sure she finished in time.
Not until ten o’clock did she breathe relatively normally again. She completed her first circuit of common-area maintenance. The upper floors were much like the lower ones. There were more seating areas and therefore more furniture to dust, but for the most part they took the same amount of time. Although the suites were larger than the typical rooms, they were pricier too. That meant fewer guests. Tamara must have realized that when she made the schedule for the day.
By Scout’s third suite she had herself timed at twenty-two minutes per room, but there were only fifteen rooms she was responsible for on level thirty. That would leave her with two hours to complete the penthouse master suite C.
By one o’clock she was left waiting for one guest to get the hell out of his room so she could clean it and then she’d be finished with the thirtieth floor. Scout hovered for a few moments and decided it would be better to come back after she finished the master suites.
She rolled her cart to the service elevator and returned it to the lower level with the rest. Collecting a small basket from the shelf, she quickly packed it with shampoo, conditioner, soaps, and anything else she might need while up there.
Scout’s anxiety returned as she found the private elevators on the thirty-first floor. Unlike the other guest elevators, these were quite lovely. There were four of them, simply numbered with the letter dedicated to each individual master suite. Each one was made of glass and lined with delicate brass bars. As she stepped into the one labeled C, she felt like that bird in a gilded cage from one of the stories Parker had read to her.
The ride was only a few seconds to the thirty-second floor. The gilded cage opened with practiced ease and Scout stepped across the threshold to a frosted glass-paned set of French doors.
She knocked lightly.
“Housekeeping.”
When no one answered, Scout slid the private keycard through the lock and slowly turned the knob. The level of luxury the room announced at first sight was sweltering. She found it difficult to breathe among the thickly papered walls, richly upholstered furniture, and heavily padded carpet.
Silently, she walked down the long, private corridor.
“Hello? Housekeeping . . .”
No one was there, but she found comfort in her own familiar voice. Looking down at her shabby shoes, her self-esteem faltered for a moment. Such opulence. Such contrast.
Chandeliers dripped from beveled fixtures on the twelve-foot ceilings. Antique settees and decorative side tables created various sitting rooms. There was an enormous private bar, somehow dwarfed by the mammoth window facing the east.
Approaching the window slowly, the effect was dizzying. It felt as though she were an angel spying on mortals below. It was a powerful and jarring vantage point to hold. She was on top of the world. Well, on top of Folsom, but still . . . this was the highest she had ever been.
There was an identical window facing the north. A unique executive desk was the centerfold of that backdrop. She wasn’t quite sure what to do with the personal items she noticed scattered on the floor around the grand desk so she let them be.
Moving to a pair of double doors, Scout discovered a bedroom. It wasn’t as extraordinary as she’d expected. The bedding was of a finer quality than the typical guest rooms at the hotel, but a slight wave of disappointment washed over her because it was somewhat ordinary in comparison to the rest of the penthouse.
Then she discovered another set of doors.
Pressing them open, she gasped at the audacious splendor that was obviously the master bedroom. It was a palace. A king-size bed shaped like a sleigh was the central piece of the room.