by David Horne
Duncan Chambers had a reservation scheduled for Monday evening but had arrived a day early. The subtle nuances of the guest ledger made bookkeeping easier. Ashley managed the hotel as the unseen corporate mouthpiece. But it was George who made sure the ledgers and daily operations were smooth and error free.
It was standard practice to host long-term guests on the third floor. Ashley liked using the bathroom on the second floor because there were minimal short-term guests. A long, quiet hallway, with privacy; even George could appreciate the tranquility and Chambers meandered along the corridor.
“Evening, Mr. Chamber,” George greeted the man who slowly moved down the hallway. He appeared lost in thought. He had his smartphone out and had been in the middle of a text when George entered the hall.
“Hello,” Chambers said. “I was admiring the artwork on this floor.”
“It’s authentic.” George made his way to where the man stood looking at a framed photograph. “The logging industry in this town was a rich business at one time.”
Chambers nodded. The man was a few years older than George. Based on the gray highlights along the temple and sideburns of his otherwise, brown hair, George guessed Chambers was forty. He wore a navy Henley and blue jeans. The angular face, straight nose, and thin lips were the kind of attributes that George liked in men. Chambers was attractive and polite.
“I’m actually glad those days are over,” George added. “Deforestation in the area was a real crime.”
“It killed the industry around here, I guess.” Chambers was attentive. He was slightly taller than George. Standing side by side looking at a historic photograph of the old sawmill, the man’s profile was angular and handsome. Chambers wore an intoxicating aftershave and George drew in deep quiet breaths.
“The town survived.” George maintained optimism. Not because he had to for the sake of the hotel, but he honestly believed Vergennes, Vermont would flourish again. “We just need something to draw tourists.”
“You’ve lived here a while?” Chambers asked. He turned around, folded his arms casually and leaned against the wall near the large photograph.
“Ten years.” A life-long resident of Vermont, the town of Vergennes had grown on him in a way that made him feel like he’d been there since birth.
“You been at the hotel a while?”
I’ve been the night auditor for five years.” The obligations of the hotel, returning to the front desk within a short amount of time, made George feel like he’d spent too long admiring Duncan Chambers.
George began taking tentative steps toward room 212. Chambers stood up straight and moved with him.
“That’s a long time.” He smiled at George. “You must like the place.”
George nodded. “I think the hotel has a lot of potential.”
“How so?” Chambers asked.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Chambers,” George told him when he used the master key on the door. Room 212 opened. There was a hint of lingering sewage in the air from a clogged toilet. “I don’t have a lot of time. I have to take care of this little problem and get back to the front desk. Management doesn’t like the front doors locked until after midnight.”
“Just you tonight?” Chambers asked.
“Just me every night,” George replied.
“Don’t you get any days off?” Chambers asked with a frown.
“Sundays and Thursdays,” he replied. “Those are the only nights we’re not open to the public.”
“Interesting.”
“Have a good night, Mr. Chambers,” George started to close the door.
“George,” Chambers said, grinning. “My name’s Duncan—I plan to be around a while. I’ll catch up with you later.”
In the bathroom, George waited a long moment before switching on the light. He sighed and put on the thick rubber gloves. Ashley’s bowel movements were notoriously tricky to unclog. It would take several minutes to deal with and another several minutes to sanitize the bathroom again.
George felt his talents suspiciously squandered as the night auditor. He had more commonsense than Ashley when it came to the needs of the guests. He knew how to do anything and everything to make sure the hotel ran smoothly. But Ashley and her education made him sometimes feel less of a person. He had a job to do, and George believed integrity was free, and he had plenty to give.
Chapter Four
Angel Mendoza was a thoughtful and intelligent woman. She was Filipino and had been hired as head of the cleaning crew before Ashley had taken over as manager. While the team consisted of four people, including her, they managed to maintain a pristine environment without a lot of supplies and very little pay. She arrived promptly at three in the morning every day except her one day off. Over the last five years, George and Angel had grown close in friendship. He felt they were a united front against the tyranny of Ashley, but neither pushed back when she made demands.
“Morning Angel,” George acknowledged. He handed her a cup of coffee. Guest coffee packets forbidden for staff, George had his supplies and coffee maker in the storage room behind the front desk. The hospitality storage room had massive shelves and leftover amenities that the Comfort Hill Hotel no longer gave away. Shrinking guests meant shrinking staff, which equaled decreased available hospitality.
“Good morning, George.” She accepted the coffee. “You hear the new owner is supposed to arrive on Wednesday?”
“I have suite 214 ready for him.” George smiled at Angel “Ashley added the gentleman to the ledger.”
“Ashley told me to expect him before we end our shift on Wednesday. She wants us to change out the sheets before he gets here to make sure they’re fresh.”
“Sounds like her.”
Angel gave a worried look. “I’m not sure if the dryers are going to get the sheets fresh enough.”
“I’ll take home a set tonight and drop them off at the cleaners.”
“Really? Thank you.”
“I’m hoping it makes a difference.” George sipped at his coffee. He looked to the mountain bike thinking about where he’d store it now it wasn’t allowed inside the building.
“Did you hear Mr. Langbein said he’s missing a watch from his room?” Angel spoke over her shoulder as she prepared the cleaning carts for the day. Her crew received a rigid amount of supplies. The inventory regulated by Ashley had surprise inspections and counts. She threatened to dock pay for missing supplies.
“Ashley didn’t tell me,” George said. The gentleman from room 303 rarely spoke to anyone. If something was missing from his room, it meant Ashley was going to use it to make an example on the staff.
“I’m worried she’s going to blame one of us.”
“I’ll have a conversation with Mr. Langbein. Maybe I can help him find it. It’s possible it’s still in the apartment somewhere.”
George rubbed the back of his neck, another missing item? The growing list of lost or absent things within the hotel had people talking. It concerned George because it felt as if someone on the staff was untrustworthy. While it had happened from time to time over the years, something seemed to invigorate the thief. Minor theft was unacceptable. Trust built better relations between guests and staff. Lately, more and more guests complained of missing items from their apartments.
Ashley had commented on the thefts, always asserting it was one of the cleaning crew. Since there were ten employees total, subtracting Ashley and Georg it left eight people to throw blame at until it eventually stuck.
The rest of the cleaning staff arrived at their schedule time. Martese del Rosario was the eldest of the group. She had several years of hospitality service under her belt and never questioned any service request. It took her the longest to turn over a room once hotel guests checked out, but her standards were still highest of the crew.
“Hello George,” she said when she shuffled through the lobby.
“Good morning,” he responded. This happened two more times with the arrival of Nicole Reyes and Andrada. He
never asked Andrada’s last name. No one ever offered it. If he believed the rumors, she was a former guerrilla resistance fighter from Bolivia. She had a temper, and George stepped lightly around her.
When the hospitality crew moved off to their assigned areas, George had an hour to himself at the front desk. The longest hours of the night happened between four and five in the morning. Ashley arrived usually late around seven in the morning. Most of the long-term guests left for work around six in the morning. That morning was the first day someone came downstairs at five in the morning.
“Excuse me, George?” a calm male voice called from the front desk. George leaned through the doorway of the storage room where he had finished checking inventory. At the desk, a tall, handsome man wearing a tank top smiled at George.
“Good morning, Duncan.” He stepped to the front desk and straightened his vest. “What can I do for you, sir?”
“I noticed you ride your bike every day and I thought you’d know a good place I can start my morning run. I can wing it, but I’m open to suggestions.”
George produced a brochure with a small map of the city from under the desk. He used a marker to trace a line away from the hotel and stopped. “How far do you usually run?”
“Anywhere from three to five miles,” Duncan said. He began his pre-run dynamic stretches. Since there were no other guests in the lobby, performing hamstring sweeps, leg sweeps, and glute and piriformis activation wasn’t a nuisance.
Since Duncan wore essential running shorts, George averted his eyes when the leg holes of the shorts opened to reveal black boxer briefs. He finished outlining the map and folded the brochure. It was difficult to concentrate on the map when a lean gentleman at the counter wasn’t shy about warming up before his run.
“That is about five miles. You can see the majority of the run will take you down Otter Creek and you’ll cross over a wooden bridge to circle back around to the hotel.”
The lingering image of Duncan’s muscular bare thighs made George sigh. Duncan was a trim male with defined arms and strong hands. Seeing Duncan’s hand free of a wedding band when he reached for the brochure warmed George inside.
“If that doesn’t work for you,” he added, “I can find a route that takes you through the city.”
Duncan looked at the brochure. He wanted a long moment across from George and grinned. “This will be great.”
“I like that path along the river in the summer and autumn here,” George added.
“Maybe I’ll get to see fall around here.”
George brightened and boasted, “Vermont is known for the purest of maple syrup. We have a fall festival where local farmers compete for the best in the city.”
Duncan gave George a sideways smile. “I always thought the best maple syrup came from Canada.”
In mock horror, George pointed to the foyer. “How dare you, sir! That is blasphemy in these parts.” He finished with a smile. “I have to argue the Canadians have some good qualities, but Vermont makes the best syrup.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
He returned the healthy grin and added, “Maybe you’ll be around long enough to enjoy some of the local festivities.”
Duncan regarded George a moment longer and replied, “Maybe.”
He passed through the front entrance. He gave a last wave to George.
Ashley waddled inside the hotel a little after seven in the morning. Ashley had a disapproving scowl. She carried an enormous purse. The large and costly hobo bag over her shoulder. A set of black ringed notebooks in her arms, and a large coffee in her mitt made it difficult for Ashley to coordinate her stroll to the desk.
George opened the small swinging door at the side of the front desk. “Good morning, Ashley.” He felt invigorated by his recent interaction with Duncan. Before she arrived and dampened his mood.
Ashley dropped the black binders on the desk next to the tall coffee she spilled when it rested on the counter. She fished for the office keys in the cavernous purse and said, “You saw me coming into the hotel. You could have helped me, you know?”
George said nothing. He returned to the completed task list she gave him the day before. When she retrieved the coffee, the puddle remained. George quickly cleaned the front desk.
It was impossible to feel good about something when someone carried misery around like an accessory in a handbag. She wasn’t a morning person and for as long as George knew her, Ashley didn’t find any time of the day pleasant.
He finished the end of day tasks and left the hotel. Duncan was on a path that didn’t intersect with George’s way home. He'd have to wait another day to see the man in running shorts and a tank top over his hairless chest.
Chapter Five
Wednesday arrived without any notice of the new buyer. George checked the computer guest ledger for new arrivals for the day. He quietly moved around his manager. Ashley was in her usual state of misery and pouring that wretchedness on a local farmer.
“No, I’m sorry,” Ashley told the old man. He had a cardboard box on the front desk. A small glass bottle of amber liquid rested on the counter between the farmer and the manager. “We’re not allowed to sell or display any products not authorized outside the hotel chain.”
George remained quiet. The familiar scab on the inside of his mouth felt new impressions from his clenching teeth. The Comfort Hill Hotel wasn’t part of a franchise. But Ashley made people think the hotel had some prestige and wasn’t part of the community. She openly suggested the corporation that owned the hotel had some policies in place that weighed against local businesses advertising within the hotel. However, George never saw any documentation she spoke about.
Duncan Chambers strolled through the lobby and hesitated by the foyer listening to Ashley speak to the old man.
“Our owners don’t want to advertise local goods and services. They feel it doesn’t reflect the best interest of the hotel.” She picked up the small glass bottle to examine it closely. “If we displayed your brand in our lobby, we’d have to allow other local farmers to display their products as well.” She put down the bottle.
George noticed the bottle was closer to her than the farmer at that point. He went through to the men’s room to change into the night auditor uniform. Before the door closed, he heard Ashley say, “Just leave this bottle here, and I’ll run it by the owners, anyway.” He knew she had no intention of saying anything about the syrup. Her hotel guidelines came from somewhere that allowed hypocrisy and managerial gratuities.
When he returned to the front desk, George wore a pressed shirt, black vest, creased black slacks. He never failed to dress as if the hotel was a five-star, superior rated establishment. However, in the years George had maintained the auditor position, no one from the hotel classification board ever stayed at the Comfort Hill Hotel.
“Mr. Dunlop, so good to finally meet you,” Ashley’s delivery dripped with hospitality. When George turned the corner from the hallway, he saw a man in a short sleeve button-down, floral print shirt. He had sunglasses and sandals. There was a paunch hiding under the shirt.
“We expected you to check in earlier today.”
“I’m sorry. I meant to get here sooner. Traffic was awful coming out of New York.”
He had a city accent, reflecting one of the five boroughs. George felt the man had some thoroughbred in him, an east coast manner made apparent with wealth, but the man had gone soft with age and wealth.
George made eye contact with the middle-aged man and smiled reflexively. He put the backpack in the storage room and returned to stand quietly behind Ashley as she checked the prospective new owner of the hotel into the largest suite available.
Dunlop gave George a look that suggested he expected part of the hotel amenities to include George as part of a late-night snack.
“George will help take your bags to your room, Mr. Dunlop. We have the best accommodations for you.” The hotel had lost the last of the bellhops sometime before George started worki
ng at the Comfort Hill Hotel. It wasn’t beneath him in any respect to help a guest with their luggage. But Ashley’s commands made him sound less of a person.
“Well, that’s very nice.” Dunlop appeared surprised by the special treatment. George ventured from behind the front desk to collect a large suitcase and a smaller leather-bound briefcase. It was the kind of attaché expected of a businessperson.
In the elevator, George put forth an effort to make Dunlop feel at ease. “We’re available any time you need something, Mr. Dunlop.” He collected the man’s luggage and escorted him to room 214. The room was unsullied and had a hint of clean linen smell.
“This is great,” Dunlop said. He shed the sandals and wandered into the room. The blackout currents across the large bay windows slid open easily when he pulled on the cord.
“The view of the river is spectacular at sunset,” George said. He placed the attaché on the bed, set the large suitcase on the end, and slowly backed out of the room. “If there isn’t anything else right away, Mr. Dunlop, I will be going.”
Dunlop fished into the pocket of his plaid shorts for a tip. George had made it to the safety of the doorway before he put up a hand. “There’s no need to tip me, sir. It was my pleasure.”
“Will you be around a while young man?” Dunlop appeared to be the kind of man who had no inhibition. He strolled toward George. He had dark-rimmed glasses and hazel eyes. The hand extended to George was soft to the touch. A hand not used to heavy manual labor. It had a buoyant grip. The man passed something to George in the soft grip.
“My name is George Maxwell,” he added. Make a good impression, despite feeling undermined by Ashley. “I’m the night auditor for the Comfort Hill Hotel. I will be here all night.”
“Thank you, George.”
When George closed the door and made his way back to the elevator, he waited until the doors slid closed before opening his fist. There was a crumbled $100 in the palm of his hand.
He pocketed the money and then made his way to the front desk.