Crestmont (6 page)

Lovingly lifting the yellow jewelry box out of her suitcase, Gracie set it on the newly starched dresser scarf, mouthing the words of the poem. She fluffed her new bobbed curls in the mirror and felt more cheerful. Opening the window, she leaned out and drew in the scent of the pine trees. Yeasty, cinnamon smells from the kitchen met her nose. Isaiah must be making rolls for tomorrow’s breakfast. Glad to have met some people during the drive, she decided she liked Isaiah immediately and wished she had been able to get to know his wife, Olivia, the dressmaker.

She emptied her purse onto the bed. Carefully unfolding the bills she had stashed in her coin purse, she counted. Six dollars. When she added to that the salary spelled out in the contract she had just signed, her shoulders rounded with worry. She needed really good tips to afford a decent dress and travel expenses to
Buffalo
.

Her sister’s face kept appearing in her mind. She tried to erase it, only to see Rev.
Herbst
, hat in hand, explaining to her family the circumstances of her disappearance. The old feelings burned in Gracie’s throat. She couldn’t help her attraction to George, and she couldn’t stop being jealous of Lily for having him. At the same time, she felt sorry for Lily, the innocent one, who had no idea of the complexity of the situation. What recourse did Gracie have but to leave? She told herself she should write so Lily wouldn’t wonder why her sister had vanished for no good reason.

Instead, Gracie pulled around her a protective wall and put off writing the letter for another day. She needed to feel good about herself. Here at the
Crestmont
, she felt hopeful that might happen.

Pulling a writing tablet out of the dresser, she figured she should write down things to work on to better herself. She listed “Clothes, Singing, and Vocabulary” and left spaces to fill in details later. After much consideration, she added, “Save money” and “Read.”

Books always brought her solace, so she dove into
Sister Carrie
. She couldn’t get past the first page without writing down words she didn’t know. Tearing a small piece of paper off her tablet, she wrote “waif,” and “susceptible.” Maybe she could work up her courage to make a perusal of the
Crestmont
library and sneak a peek at a dictionary sometime after her shift.

Gracie padded down the hall, wanting to wash up before bed. When she opened the bathroom door, she bumped into the waitress who had brought up her dinner. They smiled at each other and the girl left. A needling voice from behind a screen gave Gracie an uneasy welcome.

“Yep, first week check in with the Rude
Regals
has to be the best entertainment of the summer. Don’t
ya
agree, girlie? Did
ya
see Mrs. Pennington
wipin
’ her eyes while her poor husband’s
draggin
’ her through the main lobby? She wants the whole world to know she’s miserable. It was the spider bite last summer, right? And sunstroke the one before? This summer she’ll probably claim some jellyfish bit her, like she was
swimmin
’ in the sea or
somethin
’. Don’t know how her husband takes all that
mopin
’ and
moanin
’. And those other two…. All I can remember is Sweaty and Miss Drama. Never actually get their names till I hear Mrs. Woods greet ‘
em
. They have to be three of the….Whew, it’s
gettin
’ hot in this bath!
Slammin
’ Jack, am I glad Mrs. W didn’t give me their rooms, although I hear the tips are great, them
havin
’ all that money and all. Do
ya
know who has ‘
em
this summer?”

Gracie, unsure of who this girl was talking to or about, washed up quietly. Behind the screen, water sucked noisily down the tub drain. Out stepped a naked, compact woman, maybe eighteen or so. She lovingly toweled her curly red hair, while water dripped from her freckled body. The shiny gold bracelet around her right ankle caught Gracie’s eye.

Tipping her foot out to display it, the redhead giggled. “Like it, huh? It’s the bee’s knees all right.”

A pool of water around the girl’s feet began snaking toward Gracie.

“You must be the new one. I heard you were older. Listen, girlie, don’t think just because you’re new Mrs.
W’ll
cut you any slack,” she carped. “She expects perfection from all of us; it’s just that those of us who are experienced know how to deliver. This is my third summer,
ya
know. I started when I was sixteen.”

There was a split second to slip in “My name’s Gracie.”

“Bessie.”

Later on, two loud raps startled her out of her reading. Padding tentatively to open the door, Gracie was greeted with a towel in her face. After she took it, she got a better look at the curly red bob and thin nose. Pouty lips snapped, “It’s called a communal bath, which means
ya
leave there what was there when
ya
went in, and take with
ya
what wasn’t. That means this towel of yours goes with
ya
when
ya
go. Got it?”

“Oh, sorry.” A hot flush crept up Gracie’s neck at the angry outburst.

“See
ya
on the floor.” And with that, Bessie was gone.

The girl’s abrupt exit stirred feelings in Gracie she couldn’t identify. Hopes of making new friends dwindled as she climbed into bed, carefully set her new alarm clock and tried to sleep. The last two days ran over and over in her head. She had walked out of Lily’s life as quickly as Bessie had stamped down the hall. How must Lily feel? Turning that over in her mind, she decided she couldn’t settle it for herself right now. She had a new job and she needed to focus on not making any mistakes with that.

****

The next morning, Gracie awoke to the smell of bacon drifting up from the kitchen. She stuck her head out and realized her view was the parking lot, but no matter, the morning sky was gloriously clear. She was halfway done dressing when her new alarm clock clanged. Shutting it off, she dressed and hastened down to meet Mrs. Woods who explained that, as the newest housemaid, Gracie would be cleaning Rooms 62 through 73 and the four bathrooms in the west wing of the second sleeping floor.

“Gracie, these rooms are around the corner from your staff rooms. They are occupied by servants of the more well-to-do guests.”

Feeling more centered now that she understood her duties, Gracie stepped into the staff lounge for breakfast. There were two long tables, one completely filled with younger people laughing and chatting, totally oblivious to her. She timidly went to the buffet and poured herself coffee, then filled her plate with scrambled eggs and a cinnamon bun. At the other table, Bessie was stuffing bacon into her mouth, jabbering to three men. Gracie recognized Dorothy, the lady from the car, but she was deep in conversation with a stern-looking woman in her forties. There was no sign of PT. The only empty seat was next to Isaiah, the chef, but he was bobbing his head emphatically while he talked to Olivia and another dark-skinned man at the end of the table. Gracie didn’t want to bother them, so she sat down and ate alone.

A handsome man with pomaded black hair and a moustache yelled from the buffet. “What happened to that last cinnamon bun, Isaiah? It’s been driving my smeller bonkers.”

Gracie assumed she should apologize for taking it, but before she could work up her courage, Isaiah piped up, “Only one for each staffer, Otto. The main dining room gets the rest. I don’t care if you are a crackerjack mechanic; you still only get one of my fabulous cinnamon buns.”

She got a whiff of Ashes of Roses as she stuffed the last of her cinnamon bun into her mouth. She craned her head around to see Dorothy standing behind her.

“Good morning. Have you gotten yourself all together and ready for your first day?” Gracie nodded, trying to think of something nice to say when Dorothy patted her shoulder and said, “Well, I’m off to fill fifty cream pitchers.”

People seemed to take that as a signal to get up. They carried their dishes to a wooden cart on wheels, scraped their plates clean into a trash can, and deposited their silverware into a big bowl of water. Gracie did the same and bumped into Bessie.

“No, don’t dump it all into one. Food scraps go in this can and napkins in that one. Hey, name’s Gracie, right? A little advice, girlie, make sure
ya
finish your
stayin
’ guest’s rooms before ten.”

“Yes, Mrs. Woods explained how the cleaning schedule is different for guests who are staying and those checking out,” Gracie said, trying to be civil to the freckle-faced spitfire. “But people don’t check out until Saturday, right?”
        

Bessie rolled her eyes as if to say “What an idiot,” stuffed
Tutti
Frutti
gum into her mouth, and turned on her heel.

II

Zeke breezed around the driveway on Saturday, blue and white
streamers flying from the handlebars of his bike. With one deft move he hopped off and stashed the bike under the back of the hotel porch. Smoothing his unruly black hair, he brushed off his maroon bellhop jacket. “Afternoon, Mrs. Woods. Here in
lickety
split time for 3 p.m. check in.”

“Zeke, it appears that black cat followed you to work again. I don’t want to see it inside. Mr. Woods finds it upsetting. Do you hear my words?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, with a deferential nod. As soon as she was gone, he picked up Shadow, giving the cat a scratch between the ears and a gentle nudge. “Off with you, then. See you in the lounge.” Shadow yawned, and set out down the lawn.

Gracie opened a window to shake out her feather duster. A young man with a head full of curly black locks grinned up at her.

“Hey there kiddo, Zeke’s the name, bellhop’s my game.
Betcha
you’re new. Know where the staff hangs out?” She shook her head as dust balls floated down toward him.

He wagged his thumb. “Above the garage, behind the big house, after dinner. We jazz it up good on Saturday nights.” Waving goodbye, he dashed into the big house with a straight back and an important air.

Well that was it. She would have to go if they were playing jazz. Maybe she could sing something.

****

Singing helped pass the time while Gracie cleaned, but she hated scouring the shared baths.
Solvo
, the toilet bowl cleaner that boasted eradicating all stains, stung her eyes until they watered. No matter. All the house maids probably had to put up with that. She flowed from singing hymns to some popular songs to keep herself company. Working alone was a relief because she didn’t have to worry about coming up with something interesting to say. By the fourth day she found the cleaning fairly easy. The servants were probably so tired of doing for their bosses, Gracie assumed they kept their own quarters neat just for their own sanity. She eagerly checked the tip envelope in each room but was disappointed to find only five nickels when she dipped into her apron pocket at the end of the shift.

Peeling off her uniform and slipping into her comfy pink shrug, she dove into her book. “Taciturn, acquiesced.” More words to motivate her to find the
Crestmont
library, which she had heard was well stocked with good literature. The more she read, the more she realized that Carrie had never intended to become an actress, but had gone to
Chicago
to improve her station in life by allowing men to take care of her. She had subsequently merely fallen into the acting profession. Gracie could see that Carrie was no role model for her.

Her own desire to be self-sufficient meant that she had not only to prove herself at work, but also needed to make friends. Her “you should” button beeped repeatedly the more she thought about Zeke’s offer to stop by the staff lounge. Nervousness clung to her like chains.

Oh, honestly, just go. You don’t have to stay.

She munched on the apple she had taken from lunch and argued with herself that she could postpone her decision until after she was dressed. Considering the invitation was one thing. Actually going over to the staff lounge was quite a different matter.

She pulled the skirt and blouse out of her wardrobe and laid them on her bed, contemplating them. Finally, she tore off the pink shrug and dressed. Scrutinizing herself in the mirror, she lifted her right eyebrow and asked herself why she paid good money for a new bob she wasn’t willing to show off. She tucked some blonde curls behind her right ear, liked that effect better, and headed down the back stairs. As she crossed the parking lot, she squinted back toward her room, wondering why she had never bothered to see where it was from the outside of the
Crestmont
.

“Staff Lounge” was burned into a wooden sign mounted next to an outside staircase on the wooded side of the garage. Gracie could see that this space gave the staff more privacy than if it was on the big house side of the structure
.
She relaxed a bit when she heard “Has Anybody Seen My Girl?”
A tune she knew! She climbed the stairs.

Once inside, she was pleasantly surprised to see PT at the piano. He hadn’t mentioned that he played. Zeke tipped his index finger in her direction in greeting, but he was the only one who seemed to notice her. An odd assortment of old boxes presumably used for chairs surrounded two tables for playing games. Dorothy sat alone at one, fiddling with the barrette at the nape of her neck as she frowned over a crossword puzzle. Electric fixtures on the walls brightened the room. Gracie wondered why the garage building had electricity when the upper floor rooms in the big house did not.

Bessie sat on a faded couch, her arms folded tightly across her chest and her ankles crossed on the scratched coffee table. Her left foot wagged crossly, the ankle bracelet catching the light from a dilapidated table lamp. Her lips were skewed in an angry pout and her cheeks were so brightly rouged that Gracie hardly recognized her.