Approaching the docking station, she breathed a sigh of relief as she slid her badge through the mechanism clocking her in for the day at 5:58. Perfect.
Turning to her locker, Scout quickly stowed her belongings without making eye contact with any of the other employees. Down here, in the bowels of the hotel, they were all janitorial staff. Good thing, too, because the lobby employees with their fancy blazers and ticked, tuxedo-style pants intimidated the crap out of her.
The maids all wore the same poly-blend shapeless dove gray dress with white Peter Pan collar and cuffed sleeves. They didn’t intimidate her one bit. She simply didn’t meet their gazes so as not to inadvertently suggest she was interested in making acquaintances. She wasn’t. She was there to do a job.
Once her dainty, completely ornamental white apron was tied at her waist, she pinned the small accordion cap in front of her bun. Hoisting the last of her items into the tight metal locker, she tucked the bulge back and forced the door closed, moving her fingers just in time for the latch to catch before her cumbersome belongings could be regurgitated onto the floor. Looking left, then right, she spun the built-in combination lock several times until convinced her possessions were secure. Everything she owned was in that locker.
By the time Scout made it to Tamara’s office, other maids were already on the move with their carts. Behind her, some employees were just arriving. Quickening her pace she turned into the office labeled Housekeeping General Manager and greeted her GM with a smile.
“Good morning, Tamara.”
“Good morning, Scout.” She smiled, her teeth clean and perfectly straight.
Scout had an odd obsession with hygiene and frequently noticed people’s teeth and fingernails as some sort of personal grading system.
“Here’s your list for the day. Bridget’s out so I put you on the penthouse suites if that’s okay,” Tamara said.
Like she’d admit if it wasn’t. “That’s fine. I’m happy to help.”
“Good and while I have you here, your paperwork was sent back from Human Resources. You forgot to fill in your social when you did it. They’re going to need that in order to process your paycheck this afternoon.”
Crap. Parker had done her paperwork. Tamara’s curvy frame twisted in her fancy leather chair as she reached into a paper tray. She slid the familiar paperwork across the desk and Scout forced her hand to remain steady as she picked it up.
There was nothing condescending about Tamara. She was in her midthirties and seemed to be one of those pleasantly chubby women who chronically dieted and would never truly recognize the beauty they held within. Scout appreciated her easy pleasantness and genuine candor.
Her eyes raked over the application. Parker’s penmanship was neat and bold. Scout admired the confident way his letters stroked in tidy order across the small blank spaces.
“What did you say was missing?”
“Your social security number. See, there, on the top right. Just fill that in and you’ll be good to go and I’ll have it sent back before payroll cuts the checks this afternoon.”
Tamara wore a floral-scented perfume and Scout couldn’t help breathing in the bouquet without a touch of envy. It mixed nicely with the fragrance of her hair and skin.
She found the blank spot she was referring to. Nine little blank lines needing to be filled.
“Why do they need this?”
“For tax purposes mostly.” Her fingernails were painted red. Scout self-consciously tucked her clipped nails into the shelter of her palm.
She didn’t have a social security number or if she did she’d never been told what it was. She could’ve been honest, but honesty in this situation would only delay and complicate things. The key to fitting in was being as low-maintenance as possible.
“Do you have a pen I could use?”
Tamara handed her a pen and Scout squatted low at the corner of the desk. Her fingers deliberately formed the numbers. Scout was very aware of how unpracticed they appeared next to Parker’s well-developed words. Quickly, she made up three groups of numbers she could remember in case she had to recall them for something in the future. One-three-six, because it was the number of her locker. Twenty-two for her age. And nineteen hundred because it was the address printed on the awning out back of Patras. If they checked it and realized she made it up, she’d act like it was an honest mistake and figure out what to do when and if that time came.
“Here you go.” She slid the paper back to Tamara.
“Great.” She grinned, slipped the paper back in the tray she pulled it from and handed Scout her assignments for the day.
“You’ll need to use your badge to access the penthouse floors. Level thirty’s all individual entry, so once you get off the elevator your normal house key will work, but from there you’ll have to use the private bank of elevators located just outside of the private ballroom on thirty-one. There’re four master penthouses on the thirty-second floor. Three of them are vacant this week so you’ll only need to attend Suite C. Each has its own elevator that will deposit you directly in the room. I usually have the girls take only what they need with them. The master suites have a supply closet your general house key will open, where you’ll find a sweeper and basic supplies to replenish the amenities. Here’s the keycard for Suite C. Make sure you deactivate them at the end of the day.”