He walks to 16-115, and dread thuds in my chest. He could be right. There might be nothing at all to worry about. Only, if there isn’t, why do I feel this way?
Damien knocks on Mr. Carboni’s door. It opens, and he walks in like he belongs there. I can’t help fretting. If only he wasn’t in such a rush to get out of The Ward, he wouldn’t chase after money as he does. I’m content to wait, so long as he’s safe. He doesn’t want that, though.
Just before Mr. Carboni’s door latches closed, the big man pokes his head out and looks around. I duck behind my trolley. God help me if he sees me. When I dare peek again, he’s gone inside his suite.
My stomach is in knots. To soothe myself, I’ll clean a room. ’Tis the routine, I think, that calms me.
As I’m dusting the windowsill, I stare outside, baffled. Something has happened, plain as day. Front Street is dead quiet. Where are the car horns? Where are the folks walking about? Across the street, a fella in a trench coat slumps on a bench like a snail. A couple others stand across the street, leaning against the wall of Union Station. Each man is reading a paper. While I watch, one folds his and tucks it under his arm. Then he… he drops his face into his hands. I stare harder, stunned. Is hecrying? What’s the story? There are no newspapers in here, and I think of the pile at the front desk. I’d love to dash down and read one, only I’m stuck here for a bit.
There’s a knock. I stand up straight to welcome a guest, but then I hear Bianca’s voice.
“Chambermaid,” she calls quietly.
I swing the door open. “What are you doing here?”
“Mrs. Evans wants everyone in the chambermaid room right away.”
I scan the room. It’s almost finished. “Now?”
“Yes. She says finish whatever you’re doing, then get down there as soon as possible. She is going to make some kind of announcement.”
“Okay,” I say. “I’m near done. Can you wait?”
She shakes her head. “I gotta go to every floor to get the other girls.”
After I’m done, I roll my trolley to the elevator and press the button. Stella, another chambermaid, is already in there with hers, so it’s a tight fit. I don’t know the girl very well, and she looks shy, so I don’t ask what this is all about. Besides, she probably knows as much as I do.
The chambermaid room is hushed and waiting. For a split second, I’ve the mad fear that Mrs. Evans is about to expose my secret, even though I’ve not told her yet. The guilt is always there, tying me in knots. I fear folks will learn of it and shun me. I can’t hide it forever, but I want to keep this job as long as I can.
Mrs. Evans appears, and all eyes follow her. She stands on a bench, making sure we can see her.
“Girls, something very important happened today, and it directly affects many of our guests.” I listen harder, thinking of the silence on Front Street. “I do not know if any of you are educated in the stock market, but today there was a massive crash, and the entire city—possibly the whole country—is in a tailspin.”
“A crash?” Deirdre exclaims. “Someone crashed?”
“Not a car, dear,” Mrs. Evans says. “I am talking about the stock market. Today is the worst trading day in history. Fortunes have been wiped out. Millionaires have been ruined.”
We stare at her in silence. I had always been under the naive impression that millionaires were above making mistakes.
I ask, “How could that happen?”
“It’s complicated, but the basic idea is that businesses need finances in order to expand, so they sell shares to the public. Those buyers will increase the capital on that investment. In normal times, people buy stocks when the value is low, and they sell them when the value is high. Every time a share is sold, their value is worth less. Today, a lot of people went to sell their stocks so they could turn them into cash. The stocks became so devalued that there was a panic among investors. It turned into an avalancheof people selling, and prices on shares dropped like a stone, until they were worth nothing.”
Everyone is staring, though I’m not sure we completely understand.
“No one saw this coming,” Mrs. Evans continues. “What’s worse, when they went to the bank to turn their stocks into cash, they discovered the banks had run out of money.” She exhaled, watching our expressions. “There is no money for those investors. Many have lost millions of dollars.”
I think of Damien’s friends from the kitchen, Frank and Eddie. Damien said they had invested in the stock market and made a little profit, so he had decided to invest a little as well. Has Damien lost his money? I will worry about him all day now.
“What does this mean for the hotel?” I ask quietly.
Mrs. Evans’s expression is down. “I am not certain if the hotel will feel this to any great extent, but there are many guests and some staff here who will suffer. I am speaking with you now to ensure you are respectful of their troubles and do what you can to make their stay as comfortable as possible.” She winces. “If any of the guests seem particularly out of sorts or in any kind of distress, I would like you to come to me with that information so that the hotel may help them.”
We are dismissed. We blink at each other, still not sure what to do.
The hotel feels like church during a funeral. No one speaks. Once in a while, I hear someone sob. The staff float around the hotel like ghosts, not meeting anyone’s eyes. I’ll tell you, I am right surprised to see Mr. Burke, the hotel manager, sitting behind the reception desk, his head in his hands. What has he lost today?
I knock on Mr. Hargrove’s door, bracing for his fury. Instead, he answers after my first knock and opens it only a bit. He is not wearing a shirt, and wisps of hair cover his pale chest and big stomach like a worn blanket. He has not shaved, and the skin around his eyes is swollen and red. The hand at his side is wrapped around the neck of a whisky bottle.
