Chapter 74


    Three Years Ago


    The hotel manager works down a form on a clipboard, ticking off boxes and checking annotations.


    “I have to say Charlotte, that I’m very happy to offer you the job, but perhaps you’re a bit wasted on


    room cleaning? We have a position on the reception desk and I’d be more than happy to give you a


    trial on it, a well turned out girl like you.”


    The red-haired girl with the intense green eyes looks down. “I’d rather not. The chambermaid’s job is


    fine. I’m…. I’m not very good with people. I wouldn’t be at my best on a front desk. I’d rather be in the


    background, where I don’t have to meet people.”


    The manager nods sympathetically. “Shy eh? Well, if you’re happy that way…. You’ll be assigned the


    third floor. It will be your job to work your way through the guest rooms and public areas of that floor….”


    *****


    The woman is tall, elegant and immactely turned out.


    Her make-up, whilst apparently demure, hosts smoking eyes and well-defined lips, shaded to produce


    an apparent pout. Her fingernails are long, exquisitely manicured and painted in a shade to match her


    lips, a shade just shy of fuck-me red. Trim ankles and calves end in four-inch heels, and a slim line


    traces up the back of her stockings.


    Her skirt, whilst ending at an inch above the knee, is slit to reveal a hint of shapely, toned thigh and her


    blouse, while merely suggestive of a cleavage, would unbutton rather easily. And the wide belt she


    wears emphasises her narrow waist and generous breasts.


    She sits at the bar, legs elegantly crossed at the ankle, drinking what appear to be cocktails, but which


    ‘Charlotte’ has noticed are all ‘virgin’. By her side is a collection of bags, each bearing the logo of some


    expensive clothier or designer.


    Charlotte’s work takes her all around this floor of the hotel; cleaning rooms and guest suites,


    vacuuming carpets in corridors, mopping and polishing floors, polishing brass and ss.


    It is a constant cycle of work and allows her to regrly pass through or by the bar area.


    A man in a suit takes a seat at the far end of the bar. Waving the barman down, he orders a drink,


    takes a newspaper from his briefcase and settles to read.


    Charlotte dusts the bookshelves, taking her time over cheap paperbacks left by guests and cheaper


    hardbacks bought by the yard.


    They need cleaning, don’t they?


    Each one is taken down and meticulously wiped. It’s a time-consuming task that keeps her in the


    lounge longer than might be expected. The duty-manager passes through, nodding approvingly as he


    notes her meticulous attention to detail.


    After a while, the man at the bar, ncing over the top of his paper notices that the woman is watching


    him. He nces down, then up again.


    After a minute, he raises a finger to the barman, nodding towards the woman. The barman mixes a


    drink identical to her first, sliding it across the bar to her. She smiles, epts the ss and tilts it


    towards the businessman. Smiling back, he folds away his newspaper, straightens his tie and moves to


    take the barstool next to the woman.


    She shifts on her stool to face him, recrossing her legs in a graceful, leisurely movement, incidentally


    disying a little more smoothly muscled thigh.


    They talk for a while. Too quietly for Charlotte to pick out the words, but after only a few minutes, they


    rise and leave the room together, heading in the direction of the elevators.


    Jenny rearranges magazines on the low tables beside overstuffed armchairs, clears away the remains


    of dishes of olives and peanuts, polishes the brass te of the tall mahogany doors. But neither


    woman nor businessman return….


    …. Until, the following evening….


    Charlotte works her way through the public bathrooms on the third floor.


    Wheeling her trolley of cloths and wipes and cleaners into the men’s washroom, she wipes and


    polishes the basins, sprays, disinfects and polishes WC’s and urinals.


    The door from the corridor swings open, a man stepping into.


    “Oh, excuse me.” Charlotte makes to leave.


    He waves her off. “Oh, don’t worry, Honey. It doesn’t bother me.” And he proceeds to unzip and use the


    nearest urinal.


    Face ming, Charlotte steps out.


    It bothers me….


    And as she waits in the corridor, she sees the woman again, entering the bar. She slips something to


    the barman….


    Money?


    …. then takes her seat again.


    ‘Urinal man’ exits the washroom and saunters off, and Charlotte resumes her cleaning.


    When shees out again, the woman is still there, smoothing back her hair and delivering a skilled


    eye-fucking to a fat, elderly man wearing a chunky gold chain at his neck and a trendy designer jacket


    too young, and for that matter, too small for him.


    He doesn’t seem to know what to do, and this time the woman moves to sit next to him. As she


    sashays across, her gaze sweeps the room, resting briefly on Charlotte in her overalls and rubber


    gloves, before fixing once more on her target.


    Charlotte flushes and retreats to the safety of the corridor and her trolley of polish and rags.


    *****


    “So, are you going to just keeping standing there and watching, or are you going to introduce yourself?”


    The woman’s voice is smooth as silk and sultry as a summer’s evening.


    Blushing, Charlotte backs away. And now the woman turns to face her properly. “You’ve been watching


    me for thest week. What can I do for you?” She looks the girl up and down. “You can’t afford me, if


    N?vel(D)ra/ma.Org exclusive ? material.


    that’s what you’re thinking.”


    “Errr… no. You must think me awfully rude.”


    “No, but I’d like to know what you want. I don’t think it’s simply casual interest. That would have worn


    off after the first night or two.”


    “I was wondering…. How much do you earn? Doing what you do?”


    The woman narrows eyes at her. “Well, we are the forward little thing, aren’t we? And what’s it to do


    with you what I earn?”


    “I…. I want to earn some money to go to college. I have a friend. She said I should…. But, I know


    she’s…. She works on the streets. She has to…. Well, there’s a lot of them. You only have one man


    each night. And you look as if you earn a lot. And…. And….” The red-headed chambermaid dries up,


    speechless with embarrassment.


    The woman gives her a long, long, slow look, then abruptly, holds out her hand. “Barbara.”


    The girl stares at the hand and Barbara wriggles her fingers before she takes the hand and gives it a


    nervous shake. “Charlotte.”


    “Of course,” sniffs Barbara, “That’s not the name I give out professionally. To them….” She tosses her


    head at the barman and a couple of men taking their seats, “…. I’m Vivienne.” She nces back


    across the bar. “Look, this is um…. peak time for me. If you want a chat, I’m happy to do it, but not here


    and not now. What time do you get off-shift?”


    “Six am.”


    Barbara/Vivienne huffs augh. “’Bout the same for me too. I always go for a coffee when I’m done, to


    the Cafe Au Lait over the road. If you’re in there when I arrive, we can have a talk and some breakfast.”


    *****