I get a shock a week later, and ’tis no surprise that it’s to do with Bianca. We work well together, with her covering fifteen rooms and me cleaning twenty. It’s grand having a friend nearby, and I’m glad that she’s bringing home money for her family. But Lord save us. That girl can talk the hind leg off a donkey. She’s on about nothing be it morning, noon, or night. Sometimes I rush to the elevator ahead of her, just for some peace. Granny would probably skin me for saying this, but I doubt even the saints could stand that much nattering. I miss the quiet, and I miss the time alone with Damien. I know he does, too.
Mind you, Bianca’s a grand chambermaid and she’s getting faster. She’ll finish before I do, then she’ll stand by her trolley, arms crossed, watching me work. I told her we’re not allowed to speak between rooms (a rule I made up myself), and she doesn’t offer to help, which is fine with me.
One day, I finish but I can’t see her anywhere in the hall. Could be she’s done, I think, and she’s taken her trolley down the elevator, but that’s not like her. I go back to work but am still wondering about her when I reach Mr. Carboni’s room. I knock then call as I always do, and I’m startled when a man I haven’t seen before opens the door on my second knock. He’s tall,dark, and stocky, with a thick head of slicked-back hair and a black pin-striped suit.
“Hey, Mr. Carboni,” he announces over his shoulder. “The Dominion’s treating you nice, sending you two chambermaids.”
Mr. Carboni. My gut twists knowing he’s here. I’d hoped not to ever meet him. And what does this man mean by two chambermaids? I’m confused.
“Beg pardon, sir?”
“Who’s there?” A deep voice rumbles like thunder from inside the suite. The big fella at the door stares at me, waiting for an answer.
“Forgive me, sir. I’m sorry to intrude,” I say to him. “I’m here for Mr. Carboni’s five thirty cleaning, but I can come back another time.”
“Let ’er in,” I hear, so I’m shuffled into the office.
I stand there gobsmacked, for there’s Bianca, facing the man behind the desk. God above, isn’t she planted in the one place she must not be, right there in plain sight. The cheek of her! I could wring her neck. I want to rush over and shove her out the door, but that’s not the way things are done here at the Dominion. Instead, I lock onto Bianca’s gaze. She knows she’s in the wrong. She’s scarlet, and sweat beads on her brow.
The man behind the desk is leaning back in his chair, a cigar burning between his fingers, the phone at his ear. I know straightaway who he is, and I link my hands together so he’ll not see them tremble. Mr. Carboni is a large fella, let me tell you. He’s the same warm-coloured skin as Bianca and the rest of her Italian family. In front of him sits the ashtray I empty every day, and I see ’tis spilling over again. All the while he’s talking on the telephone, his dark eyes are fixed on me. My head’s spinning. I’ve seen his face before, but I can’t place where.
“Yeah, yeah,” he says into the telephone. His voice is low and gravelly, making me want to clear my throat to help him out. “Listen to me. I want it all out. All of it.” He pauses to listen, but he’s unimpressed by whatever he hears. “I ain’t arguing with you. It’s my money. Do it. And don’t question me again if you know what’s good for you,capisce?”
He slams the phone down, making me and Bianca jump, then he gives us the once-over. Bold as brass he is.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of having two chambermaids today? Am I being real messy?” he asks, then he inhales his cigar and squints through the smoke. “Or am I getting a special cleaning?”
I want to shake Bianca for getting us into this mess, but I’m a better person than that. I will shake her later.
“I’m truly sorry, sir,” I say, since I’m the senior chambermaid. “There’s been a mistake. We will be on our way now and sort this between ourselves so you won’t be bothered.”
“Irish.”
“Beg pardon, sir?” I squeak.
“I hear an Irish accent. Let me guess. You must be Rosie Ryan.”
My body buzzes with nerves. I still can’t remember where I first saw this man, but I know who he is. Mrs. Evans made sure of that. He’s important, he’s a criminal, and he’s dangerous. And I know something worse: he has a gun in his nightstand. I want nothing to do with Mr. Carboni other than to clean his room and pick up tips.
But he knows my name. How? Then I remember the note I’d left after I pocketed the twenty-five cents.
“Yes, sir, I’m Rosie.”
He stares at Bianca. “And you are?”
“I’m Rosie’s friend, Bianca. I’m new here.”
He puffs on his cigar. “You girls know who I am?”
I say a very quietyes, sir; Bianca says no. The look he gives her is hard, like he’s warning her.
“Marco Carboni,” he says coldly. “Nice to make your acquain-tance.”
Bianca seems to inflate. “It’s an honour to meet you, Mr. Carboni. My father has talked about you. Perhaps you know him? Antonio Fiore?”
I can’t breathe, hearing her talk like this. She’s using that voice she uses on boys in the neighbourhood when she’s trying to wriggle a little closer. Itry to catch her attention, but she’s blinking at Mr. Carboni, not me. Has the girl lost her mind?
“Yeah, I know Antonio. Heard he had an… accident at the site.” He gives the man beside him a sideways look that gives me the willies. Like what he said was funny.
