“Me and you are on the sixteenth floor,” I say, guiding Bianca away from Deirdre. “Here’s our trolley.”
Deirdre gives a little sniff, hearing that, and I can’t blame her. She works on the first floor, so she never rides the elevator. She’s also paid less than me: $5.25 every week, as opposed to my $7. I know that because she told me so. Sure, and I don’t see her getting better than that soon, because she spends too much time complaining and not enough trying to figure out a way. One time I heard her outside of Mrs. Evans’s office, and her words froze me in my tracks.
“Rosie’s nothing special, Mrs. Evans, but you treat her like a princess,” she said. “I’m working, too, in case you hadn’t noticed. I work hard. Maybe you’d notice me if I dropped dead.”
I’m telling you, I felt sick to my stomach and embarrassed for Deirdre. But I never let on.
Mrs. Evans’s response was soft, but from what I heard, and from Deirdre’s furious glare on her way past, Mrs. Evans might have warned her she’d be making a lot less than $5.25 a day if she didn’t learn to mind herself.
And now Deirdre hears me tell Bianca, the girl that never stops talking, that she’s on the sixteenth floor. I lift a brow at her sour expression, and she wheels away, out of my sight.
“We get to ride the elevator?” Bianca asks me.
“Every morning,” I say, trying not to let on that I still find it thrilling to be pulled up sixteen storeys in a box. “And here’s your uniform.”
She’s wearing it in a heartbeat, then she spins to show me. “How do I look?”
“Grand,” I tell her, and it’s true. Her little white cap sits bright and cheery on her shiny black hair, just like it does with mine. Unlike us, Deirdre has long fair hair, so the cap doesn’t show up quite as nice. “You’ll have to roll your hair up.”
“Girls?” ’Tis Mrs. Evans, clip-clopping across the floor toward us. “Welcome, Miss Fiore. I need the two of you to come with me, please. It will be quick.”
We follow on her heels, and I am surprised to see the other chambermaids gathered in the lobby, all of them as confused as I feel. They stand quietly against a wall, and six chairs are set out in front of them.
“All together, please,” Mrs. Evans says, moving her arms. “Six of you stand, the other six sit.”
We eye each other, sorting out who wants to sit and who wants to stand, until we settle into two rows, our key rings jingling quietly as we draw in close against one another. Bianca stands tight against me, as if for protection. Then I notice a man coming our way with a camera.
“I’ve arranged for a photograph to be taken of us,” Mrs. Evans explains, “to commemorate the first group of chambermaids at the Dominion Hotel.”
Before we can ask anything, Mrs. Evans takes her place at the side of the group, next to me. “Stand completely still,” she orders, “and look at the camera.”
I’ve never had my photograph taken before, and I’m nervous. I do as I’m told, blink when the flash goes off, then we are sent on our way. As we collect our trolleys, Mrs. Evans mentions that we will each be given a copy of the photograph for our memories. What a treasure that will be.
“Now get to work,” she says brightly.
Bianca’s staring impatiently at the elevator door, fit to burst. The moment it opens, she leaps over the gap, and the machine bounces a little. She spins around to help me roll the trolley in.
“You can’t jump in here,” I scold. “You must walk gently or the whole elevator will break, and I’ve no wish to fall to the basement.”
As the elevator starts to rise, she’s so filled with wonder she’s like a child. “Feels funny in my stomach.”
“Tell you what. When we get to the top, bend your knees and see what it feels like then.”
She grins with anticipation.
I take the opportunity to talk serious with her. “Did Mrs. Evans speak with you about how to behave?”
She tilts her head back so she’s studying the ceiling. “Sì, sì. Capisco.No talking to or about the guests. Be invisible.” She drops her chin. “It’s a lot to ask of me.”
“You’ll be out on your ear if you don’t follow the rules. And mind me, I won’t get painted with the same brush.”
“All right, all right. I’ll be a good girl.” She winks. “I’ll do my best, anyway.”
We near the sixteenth floor, and we both crouch slightly. The elevator lurches to a stop, confusing our knees and stomachs in a pleasant way, then the heavy metal door slides open.
“When we’re in the rooms,” I say, pulling out the trolley, “we are only there to tidy and clean. We put things where they belong, we cleaneverything well, but we never mess with the guests’ personal things. Don’t go into closets or drawers. Those are not for us. If you’ve questions, ask me. In this first room, I want you to watch what I do. There’s a system we’ve been taught. You should have learned it, but I suppose Mrs. Evans was in a rush.”
I knock on the first door, explaining to Bianca how important it is to do that. “You don’t want to walk in on a guest.”
