Harry Flammable

by Frank O'Keeffe

  I guess I looked puzzled. This lady looked a bit old to have kids, and not too many kids I know eat only liver. And why were they making such weird noises in the bathroom?

  As the lady signed the bill, the yowl came again, louder this time. Then I understood. Sammy and Felicity were cats. I wondered how she’d got them into the hotel.

  “I never go anywhere without them. Please don’t say anything.” She winked at me and pressed a five dollar bill into my hand.

  “I hope your, um, children enjoy the liver. Thanks.” I winked back at her as I closed the door.

  When I got back, Mario was looking frenzied. “That party in 1103 is getting wild. They want ten more baked potatoes. And I’ve got two other orders for other rooms. Andrew is having a hard time keeping up in the kitchen. He’s an apprentice, and the only one on. Henry, the other cook, cut himself badly and had to go to the emergency room. He may not be back. Usually things are slowing down by now.”

  Mario went off once more to 1103 and took another order with him for the seventh floor while I delivered one to the eighth. I got back without incident. There were no wild parties or cats in the room where I made the delivery, but when Mario returned a few minutes later, there was potato in his hair.

  He was fuming. “I’m calling security. They were having a food fight. I got pelted and I think they’ve already wrecked the room.”

  He dialed a number and explained the situation. “Now, maybe we’ll have a little peace.” He’d just hung up but the phone rang immediately. He swore under his breath as he picked up the phone and took the order.

  “This one is easy. I’ll take it. There’s only a half hour left until the end of your shift. I go until one, but now that security is sorting things out in 1103, it should be fairly quiet. Just wait until I get back and then you can grab a cab and leave.”

  I relaxed. Mario collected the order from the kitchen and went to deliver it. I watched the clock on the wall. Only a few minutes left before I could go.

  The phone rang. I jumped. I picked it up. “Room service,” I said.

  “Okay. I want a hot, now really hot, roast beef sandwich on whole wheat and fries, sent up to room 2015 right away.”

  I thought I recognized the voice.

  “And I’ll have a bottle of Perrier.”

  I did recognize the voice. It was Johnny Random, and he sounded drunk.

  Nervously, I repeated the order.

  “Yeah, you got it. And hot, none of this cold stuff. Make sure it’s hot.”

  “Yes, sir.” I hung up. I looked at the food list and started punching in the abbreviations as the phone rang again. Hot R/B w/w wt fri I punched in, as I picked up the phone. “Hello. Room service.”

  “Harry, it’s Mario. I’m stuck in the elevator. I can’t get hold of security. I guess they must still be dealing with the party in 1103. I’ll wait a few minutes and try again. Can you manage by yourself?”

  “Yeah, okay.” I hung up.

  The phone rang again.

  “Room service,” I answered.

  “Some service.” It was Johnny Random. “Where’s that hot roast beef sandwich I ordered?”

  “Coming, sir.”

  “Make it snappy.”

  I desperately needed Mario back here. I didn’t want to be the one to deliver Johnny Random’s sandwich. When I hung up, Andrew was on the phone right away to tell me the sandwich was ready.

  There was nothing else I could do. I ran to the kitchen and got the food. “You did say hot, hot,” Andrew said.

  “Yeah, yeah. Mario’s stuck in the elevator. He can’t get hold of security.”

  “It’s okay,” Andrew said. “Relax.”

  Relax, I thought. It was easy for him to say. He hadn’t been the one to almost set Johnny Random on fire the other night.

  I nervously rapped on the door of 2015.

  “Come in,” Johnny Random hollered.

  The door was unlocked. I pushed it open and manoeuvred the cart through the door. Johnny Random was sprawled in an armchair watching TV. A half empty bottle of liquor was on a table beside him.

  He didn’t take his eyes off the TV but waved his arm to indicate I should put the food on the table beside him.

  As I was unloading the cart I recognized the soundtrack on the TV. Johnny Random was watching himself in Man From Magalluf.

  Maybe I can just leave the food and sneak out of here before he notices it’s me. But what about the bill? Could I forge his signature? No. I’d pay for it myself if I didn’t get it signed. No point in even mentioning the bill. Just leave the food and get the heck out of there.

  I had just put the last of the utensils on the table and was about to back out of the room when Johnny Random reached for his glass, took a large swallow, and glanced at me. Then he stared.

  “Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?” He waved his drink and some of it slopped over the edge of the glass. I noticed his eyebrows looked painted on like Ms. Capstone’s.

  “I don’t think so, sir,” I replied shakily. Desperately, I hoped he didn’t remember me. Maybe he was too drunk that night, or maybe he was too drunk now. “The bill, sir.” I held out the bill and a pen.

  “I hope this food is hot.” He kept looking at me like he was searching his memory as he signed the bill. He raised one finger, like he was about to remember, when his elbow slipped off the arm of the chair and he slopped a large quantity of his drink onto his pants. He swore. I grabbed the signed bill and fled.

  When I got back to room service, Mario was there. “What a night!” he complained. “Hey. It’s way past your bedtime. You’d better grab a cab at the front door.”

  As the cab pulled away from the curb an ambulance cut its siren and pulled up to the front door of the hotel. That party in suite 1103 must have really got out of hand, I thought.

  16

  I WAS IN SHOCK. A cold shiver ran through me. I stared at the headline in the Morning Independent — “Johnny Random Hospitalized.”

  I could feel my heart beating, fast. What had happened? Would I be blamed again? Then I calmed down a little. He probably just got really drunk or something.

  I peered through the plastic front of the newspaper box and tried to read the rest of the article. “Oscar award–winning film star Johnny Random was rushed by ambulance to the hospital last night. Random, who is in the city to star in the movie Funeral at Feng-t’ai, was suddenly taken ill. The nature of his illness was …” I couldn’t read anymore because the newspaper was folded in the box. I fumbled in my pockets for some change but all I found was the five dollar bill the little old lady with the cats had given me the night before.

  I was halfway to school and our newspaper was probably still on the steps outside the house. Dad was working night shift and Aunt Phyllis had left to go to the film set long before I got up. Mom was the only one in the house and she didn’t bother with the newspaper. I could run back and get it, but I’d be late for school.

  I didn’t have anything to do with Johnny Random getting sick, I reasoned. All I did was deliver his sandwich. There was nothing to worry about. Right?

  I was wrong.

  “Harry, we need to talk.” Mr. Shamberg was waiting in the hall, a worried look on his face. I followed him to his office.

  “I had a call from a Ms. Capstone at The Ritz early this morning, real early in fact, at six. She didn’t sound too happy to say the least. She wants you to go to her office at The Ritz right away. But first, you’d better fill me in. All I know is that the film star Johnny Random, a guest at The Ritz, has been taken to hospital. What happened?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing! That Ms. Capstone didn’t think it was nothing. I was still half asleep but I know she chewed my ear off. And she told me what she thinks of our work experience program, which, in her words, will never be allowed to darken the door of The Ritz again. She said she should never have agreed to allow the program into the hotel after what happened last year. I didn’t know what she was talkin
g about. I tried to tell her we had nobody from this school at The Ritz last year. She wouldn’t listen. She was screaming at me about how can anyone possibly forget the Ice Sculpture Incident.

  “Then I knew what she was talking about. I’d heard about it from a colleague at Eastridge High. It was one of their students. Apparently, this kid had a bit of a romance with one of the maids at The Ritz and they were fooling around in the freezer. There was a giant ice sculpture in there, which was to be the centrepiece for a big dinner for this delegation from Latin America, including some vice president or other from Paraguay, I think.

  “Anyway, the two lovebirds in the freezer managed to knock over the ice sculpture and a couple of large chunks fell off. They tried sticking it back together somehow, but, just after the dinner started, it came crashing down in bits and just about flattened the Latin-American vice president. He thought it was an assassination attempt.

  “But why am I telling you all this? That Ms. Capstone tore such a strip off me this morning, she has me all shook up. She wouldn’t listen when I tried to explain that it wasn’t a student from this school with the ice sculpture, but it was useless. She was really worked up. So what did you do?”

  “Delivered a sandwich.”

  “What kind of sandwich?”

  “Roast beef. I only delivered it. Honest. Why? What happened?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me,” Mr. Shamberg said. “From what Ms. Capstone said, it sounded like Johnny Random is at death’s door.”

  I gasped. “You mean food poisoning? But I didn’t cook it. I only took it up to his room.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure.”

  “Well, this Ms. Capstone seems to be blaming you for something. I can’t repeat some of the language she used. But she was adamant you get to her office right away. You’d better go now. I’ll clear things with your other teachers. When you get back, come and see me.”

  * * *

  “Hold all my calls, Cynthia,” Ms. Capstone barked at a speakerphone on her desk. She was wearing the same black widow spider dress she’d worn the first time we’d met. She took a deep breath, which made her loom up even larger across the desk as she glared at me, and this time I really felt like her prey.

  She let out her breath, which sounded like a menacing hiss, and knitted her brows. I don’t mean that in the usual sense of just frowning. She was really knitting, or at least her eyebrows were. They jumped and circled and seemed to cross over each other, and I almost expected to see a small black sweater or sock emerge from the bridge of her nose.

  “What … do … you … have … against … Johnny … Random?” Ms. Capstone spoke between gritted teeth and pounded her desk to emphasize each word. Her telephone, daybook, and in and out baskets jumped with each pound. So did I. She stopped pounding but she still gritted her teeth and almost snarled. “First you try to set him on fire and now you try to poison him. What is it with you people today?” I noticed her face matched the bright red of the sash on her dress.

  “At The Ritz you don’t get second chances. You’re fired! Do you understand? Fired!” Her fist crashed once more onto her desk.

  I jumped again.

  “I wanted to tell you that in person so that there can be absolutely no misunderstanding,” she snapped. “Your paycheck will be mailed to you. And I want your identification badge. Now!”

  “It’s in my locker,” I mumbled.

  “At school?” Ms. Capstone glared at me.

  “No, here. At The Ritz.”

  “Turn it in before you leave the building,” she hissed menacingly.

  “But …”

  “But what?” she thundered.

  “Well … what happened?”

  “What happened?!” Ms. Capstone screamed. “You ordered a hot roast beef sandwich with chili peppers. Nobody in their right mind eats chili peppers in a sandwich. Why did you do it? Did you think it was some great practical joke? Mr. Random is allergic to chili peppers and had a severe allergic reaction. Heaven knows what the lawsuit will cost this hotel.”

  “But …” I protested, “I ordered a roast beef sandwich I …”

  “Yes, a Hot, Hot roast beef sandwich. I have it right here. Here’s the order slip.” Ms. Capstone snatched the order slip off her desk, lunged forward and thrust it in front of my face. “You are H. Flanagan. That is your name on the slip.”

  I nodded. I could see Hot Hot on the slip. I don’t know why I’d punched that in twice, and I didn’t know what it meant. I couldn’t recall all the codes on the wall chart. I could only remember punching in the order and answering the phone at the same time. I did remember Andrew asking me, when I went to the kitchen to pick up the sandwich, if I meant Hot Hot, but I didn’t know two Hots meant chili peppers.

  The intercom on Ms. Capstone’s desk buzzed.

  Ms. Capstone pressed a button and yelled, “Cynthia, I thought I told you to hold all calls.”

  “Sorry, Ms. Capstone,” Cynthia’s voice sounded nervous, “but it’s Mr. Rudsnicker. I thought you’d want to take his call.”

  “Very well.” Ms. Capstone looked at me. “You may go. Go!” She pointed to the door for emphasis. “And don’t forget to turn in your identification badge,” she yelled as I retreated.

  Ms. Capstone picked up the phone. “Yes, Mr. Rudsnicker. I’m devastated. I’ve just fired the person responsible.”

  As I rode the bus back to school, I wondered if I’d have to join Joe Straka in the auto wreckers, or, even worse, work on the assembly line at Luxottica Lighting with Dad in order to finish my credits. Maybe Mr. Shamberg wouldn’t be able to get me taken on anywhere, and I’d have to repeat the course next September, which meant I’d finish high school four months after everyone else in my class. It was a real bummer.

  I was trying to explain the whole thing to Mr. Shamberg when the phone on his desk rang. He picked it up.

  “Shamberg.” Mr. Shamberg suddenly tensed. “Yes, Ms. Capstone. Yes, he’s right here.”

  I groaned inwardly. What now? Was I going to be named in Johnny Random’s lawsuit? I almost laughed at the thought. Go ahead and sue me. All I had was my bus pass and the five bucks from the cat lady.

  “Yes, Ms. Capstone, he’ll be there by two. Thanks.” Mr. Shamberg hung up. “That was Ms. Capstone, and she didn’t take my head off. She said that you must be at The Ritz at two o’clock. I’m not sure why, but she said it was important. Don’t do anything to upset her. That lady scares me.”

  “Me too,” I said.

  * * *

  We were face to face again but Ms. Capstone’s face colour had returned to normal and she wasn’t yelling. “You are still fired, but Mr. Rudsnicker of Pocket Money Pictures called me on your behalf.” Ms. Capstone’s eyebrows only flickered. “I told Mr. Rudsnicker that we couldn’t take any more chances with you. The hotel’s reputation is at risk. Anyway, it’s not as if your whole career is ruined or anything, unless, of course, your heart was set on making the hotel industry your career. Is it?”

  “Um, no,” I mumbled.

  “I thought not. We couldn’t possibly give you a reference, anyway. Be that as it may, I asked you to come back because Mr. Rudsnicker asked to speak to you. I’ll telephone his suite and tell him you are on your way up. I’ll have security escort you.” She picked up the phone and dialed.

  “Mr. Rudsnicker, it’s Yolanda Capstone. I have Mr. Flanagan in my office. Shall I send him up? Very well.” She punched a button on the phone and dialed again. “John, I’d like you to escort Mr. Harry Flanagan to Mr. Rudsnicker’s suite. Mr. Flanagan is in my office. And please wait outside Mr. Rudsnicker’s suite to escort Mr. Flanagan off the premises when he leaves. Thanks.” She hung up.

  “You can wait in the outer office. John will take you to Mr. Rudsnicker.”

  “Thanks,” I mumbled as I hurried out.

  I’d only just stepped out of her office when a dark-suited guy with a brass name tag on his lapel that read “John,” appeared.
“Mr. Flanagan?”

  I nodded and followed him.

  We rode silently up in the elevator. I stared at the numbers as they flashed above the door and wondered what Robert Rudsnicker would have to say to me after I’d almost done in his star actor.

  John nodded to the security guy sitting on the chair on the twentieth floor, and knocked on the door of suite 2014. Robert Rudsnicker opened the door almost immediately and waved me in, just as the phone rang behind him. He went to answer it as John pulled the door closed behind me and left me standing in the hallway of the suite. I couldn’t see Robert Rudsnicker but I heard him pick up the phone.

  “Rudsnicker. Oh, Colin. Th-thanks for getting back, back to me so fa-fast. Just a min-minute.” I heard Robert Rudsnicker take a couple of deep breaths. “There, that’s better. Just getting control of my stammer, Colin. Look, you know I talked to your agent. I assume he filled you in on the situation here. Good, good. How soon can you get here? Tonight’s flight? Great! I’ll have my driver pick you up at the airport. You’ll love the script. The part’s made for you and you were always my first choice, but you know that. Great, see you tonight.” I heard him put down the phone.

  “Harry? Harry, where are you?”

  I walked further down the hall to where the suite opened out.

  “Ah, there you are. Robert Rudsnicker.” He held out his hand and I shook it. “Have-haven’t we met before? But of course, I saw you at the reception. Have a seat. Look, I’m sor-sorry about your job. I tried to persuade Yo-Yolanda Capstone to take you ba-back on bu-but I’m afraid there was no-nothing I could do. She was ad-adamant. She’s a bit of a bat-battle-axe. Excuse my stammer. It’s something I’m try-trying to con-control.” He paused and took a few deep breaths. “It’s all in the breathing. I couldn’t save your job, but I wanted to meet you anyway to see if there was anything I could do for you. You see, I don’t know if you realize it or not, but you’ve done me and Pocket Money Pictures, although they don’t realize it yet, a tremendous favour.”