Veiled Threat

by Alice Loweecey

  “Smoking is allowed only on these outside balconies.” Monica closed the door on the weather. “No place else on the grounds, especially not near the childcare area.”

  “Childcare?” Giulia busied herself with the used sheets and towels.

  “Did you know this used to be a family resort?” When Giulia nodded, Monica said, “When Barbara and her partner bought it, they wanted to keep that family-friendly atmosphere. So while they renamed the place and redecorated the hotels, they kept the childcare section as it was.”

  “Do they get a lot of couples with children?”

  Monica rolled the sheets tighter while Giulia wrapped the cord around the vacuum. “In the summer, yes. The kids love the lake and camping out and all that back-to-nature stuff. Hardly any in the winter. They get antsy. Most families do, well, family stuff for the holidays. We run a wild Valentine’s Day week, too—we discourage kids for that week.” She gave the room a last check and closed the door. “Very good. It makes my job so much easier to have someone hit the ground running. I’m going to let you handle 137 on your own. If you run into anything you can’t handle, call the front desk for help. Leave the sheets in the hall. I’ll be back to check in twenty minutes.”

  Giulia set the rolled sheets on the floor outside 133’s door, pushed the cart down the hall, and went back for the vacuum. Room 137’s occupants hadn’t been quite as neat. Wet, crumpled towels littered the bathroom floor. Makeup and lipstick smeared the buttercup-yellow hand towels and washcloths.

  She scrubbed out the toilet with cleanser and tried to flush it. The handle fell off the tank into her hand.

  “Fancy plumbing shouldn’t break.” She scowled at it, then set it on the top of the tank and headed for the phone on the nightstand.

  The desk clerk answered on the second ring. “Maryjane, it’s Regina in Snapdragon room 137. The toilet handle broke.”

  Maryjane huffed. “Again? Give me strength. I’ll send my Phineas over to fix it.”

  Giulia stripped and remade the bed in the meantime, tossing used tissues and an empty tube of—she read it twice to make sure—arousal lubricant into the trash. I guess I missed that issue of Cosmo.

  “Maintenance.” A man’s voice followed by heavy boots clomping into the bathroom.

  Giulia followed. “Good afternoon. You’re Maryjane’s Phineas?”

  “Yep. Married twenty years last June. Wasn’t surprised when she called. This cursed handle breaks every other week.” He worked a wrench with one hand and a pliers with the other. “I know I put in a requisition for a new fixture—” his wrench slipped.

  Giulia waited for him to say something unprintable.

  His nostrils flared, but he said nothing. He gripped the nut and turned the wrench. The handle followed the wrench, rotating till it was parallel to the floor. He jiggled it, then flushed. The toilet made all the correct sounds. He wiped a spot of oil on the tank with a rag. “No machine’s ever beaten a McFarland. Not in the Navy, not at home, not on the job.”

  The wrench and pliers clanked into the toolbox. He looked up at Giulia. “You the new housekeeper?”

  “Yes. Thanks for fixing the toilet.”

  “I could make it a recurring appointment on my calendar.” He stood and spoke over his shoulder as he walked out. “Have to get back to the light display in the gazebo. Got an angel without wings.”

  Giulia scrubbed his bootprints off the floor before cleaning the sink. She slid him into a niche in her mental filing system as she wiped down the mirror. Handy. Middle-aged. Gruff but friendly. Makes sense—resorts wouldn’t hire curmudgeons.

  Monica reappeared as Giulia wound up the vacuum cord. “Let’s see.” She counted the towels, checked the soap and lotion, straightened the duvet, and checked the balcony. “You’re hired forever. I see these two use that new lotion. You’re lucky. The couple in the room I just cleaned had the most interesting trash. And by ‘interesting’ I mean I’m going to check my kids’ Internet usage when I get home. There are websites for everything nowadays.”

  “I don’t think I want to know.” Giulia rolled up the sheets.

  “Do you have kids? No? That’s why there’s no gray in your hair.”

  Two women wearing fluffy blue bathrobes stopped at the doorway and kissed. Then they walked into the room and kissed again.

  “Hi.”

  “Excuse us.”

  “Are you done with the room? We just got out of the spa and need to shower.”

  “We didn’t think we were messy enough to need two people to clean up after us.”

  Giulia had to smile at their giddy happiness. Monica explained about training the new staff.

  “Oh, thanks.”

  “We really love it here. Everyone is so friendly.”

  “We sound silly, don’t we? We have a reason, honest.”

  They kissed again.

  “We’re on our honeymoon.”

  “Congratulations,” Giulia said.

  “Thank you so much.” The honeymooners hugged Giulia, then Monica, then each other again.

  Monica said, “Did you tell Maryjane when you registered that this is your honeymoon? We provide a bottle of champagne for newlyweds.”

  The one on the left squealed. “This is the best vacation ever.”

  The one on the right hugged Monica. “We didn’t know. You are all so awesome.”

  Monica imitated Giulia’s grin. “I’ll let the bartender know. He’ll send it up after supper.”

  She took the vacuum, Giulia the cart. As Giulia closed the door, the newlyweds were kissing again.

  “Someday I’d like to be that happy.”

  “You just gotta find the right man.” Monica stopped dead. “I’m sorry. I mean, if you’re into men.”

  Giulia grinned wider. “No worries. I’m into men.”

  Monica relaxed. “Every so often someone gets all self-righteous

  about presuming someone’s sexuality. It’s like saying ‘Merry Christmas’ and getting a lecture about how the whole country isn’t Christo-centric.”

  “Or the other way around.”

  “Yeah. Spare me the crusading self-righteous. Okay. I’ll take the sheets and you head upstairs. And 212 and 229 just need cleaning too. After that, bring the cart back to the closet and take a break. Fifteen minutes.”

  FOURTEEN

  GOOD HEAVENS, THIS COFFEE is terrible. Giulia sipped it again. More sugar won’t help. I refuse to touch that powdered chemical pretending to be creamer. A good Catholic would offer it up. She set down the cup and put a hand on the small of her back. Working for Frank has made me soft. Cleaning out three rooms wouldn’t have made me this sore in my convent days.

  “I know, I know, we have to be at your mother’s by nine a.m. Christmas morning.” A tall man in an open puffy ski jacket came in from the hallway. His boots clomped on the floor.

  “She’s not that bad. Come on. You got through it last year.” A woman in yoga pants and a loose Wildflower logo sweatshirt followed on his heels.

  “Look, I like your mother. She’s a nice person.” He held his hands over the steam from the coffeepot.

  “But?” the woman said in a dangerous voice.

  He rubbed his hands together. “This sludge is finally good for something. But I swear to you, babe, that if she nags us during another holiday dinner about having children, I will shove every dish off the table, throw you on it, and tell her we’re going to try making one right now.”

  The woman laughed. “You are such an idiot. Mom would die of embarrassment. So would Aunt Louise.”

  “They’d get off our backs then. Christ, my hands are still freezing. I’ve got one last cross-country run to lead today, too.”

  “If my brother hadn’t plowed into a telephone pole blind drunk on his graduation night at ninety miles an hour, they’d have another target to aim their guilt at.” She took his hands between hers and rubbed them. “Stupid kid.”

  “Stop it.” He kissed her forehead. “You know it makes you m
iserable. It’s five years since he did that. And especially don’t bring it up on Christmas.”

  “God, no. You want some of this swamp water before you head out?”

  “Nope. Cleaned the skis already today.” He let her zip up his jacket. “Early night tonight?”

  “Yes, because I’m in at eight tomorrow to get ready for the wedding.”

  “Someday we’ll open up our own wedding business with ski lessons and massages on the side.”

  Giulia snickered under her breath. She took a quick sip of coffee to cover it.

  The ski instructor pulled on fleece-lined gloves. “Right. See you after the lesson.” He went through the door to the outside.

  “Up.”

  Giulia jumped and twisted around in her plastic chair. Now that she didn’t have to pretend not to look, she saw that the masseuse was a taller, darker version of Sidney. Giulia envied the beautiful drape of her white yoga pants and sweatshirt.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Up. Your back is a disgrace.”

  The woman tapped her foot, waiting. Giulia, bemused, stood and the woman’s fingers worked her upper back like a piano.

  “Tsk. You’re carrying way too much tension in your shoulders.” She ran her hands along Giulia’s shoulder blades. “How often do you get headaches? Didn’t anyone ever tell you about the connection between spine alignment and lower back tension and headaches?”

  “No.”

  “My mother used to lecture me all the time about the evils of salt and sugar and red meat.” She pressed her thumbs at several points on Giulia’s spine. “I used to say I’d never turn into her. But I didn’t have my masseuse license two months before I started lecturing people on proper alignment.” She chuckled deep in her throat. “We all turn into our mothers, don’t we?”

  “We do.”

  The masseuse wrapped her arm around Giulia’s collarbone and pushed. Giulia’s back went pop. She stiffened. The masseuse tapped her shoulder. “Stop that. Relax.” She repeated the hold-and-push four more times down Giulia’s spine, generating four more pops. She slid her hand down Giulia’s spine one last time.

  “Much better.” She released her.

  Giulia stretched, her back opening and relaxing in a way she’d never experienced. “I didn’t know anything was wrong till you fixed it.”

  “I popped your adjustment cherry? Love it.” She bent down toward Giulia’s face. “Are you blushing?”

  Giulia rubbed her cheeks.

  The masseuse grinned. “You’re in the wrong resort if you get embarrassed easily. Wait till a few of them get drunk and go skinny-dipping, then call the front desk because they forgot their towels.”

  “Nakedness doesn’t bother me.” Shut up, conscience. That’s not really a lie.

  “That’s good.” She went to the refrigerator and took out a Vitamin Water. “You’re actually drinking that coffee? Brave woman.”

  “I’m headed to a Christmas dinner after this and I need the energy. It’s not that bad … for certain definitions of bad.”

  “I think it’s fine, with sugar and creamer.” Maryjane appeared, took a Nativity scene mug from the dish drainer, and poured coffee.

  The masseuse’s smile was less than genuine. “Happy Solstice, Maryjane. May the Goddess look with favor on your petitions.”

  Maryjane gave her a raised-eyebrow primmed-mouth smile. “May the Good News take hold of your heart and bring it to glory.”

  The masseuse winked at Giulia behind the desk clerk’s back. “I’m always at a disadvantage in these fencing matches because my faith doesn’t have a quotable holy book.”

  Maryjane stirred powdered creamer into her coffee. “Come to our church on Christmas, Penny. I promise you’ll enjoy it.”

  “Only if you can convince my mother that Christmas is about church and not about family dinner, a boatload of presents, and nagging me to give her grandchildren before she’s too old to

  appreciate them.” She turned back to Giulia. “I ought to know the name of my conquest. I’m Penny.”

  Giulia laughed. “Regina. When I woke up today, I never thought I’d check another milestone off my life list.”

  “I’ll tell my husband. He thinks the only people who need my magic are the ones who throw out their backs playing naked Twister.” She capped the Vitamin Water and returned it to the fridge. “Nice to meet you. My hands are at your service whenever hauling that cleaning cart gets to you. Have a nice day, Maryjane.”

  When the masseuse left, the desk clerk sat at the table facing Giulia. “How are you holding up?”

  “I’m getting back into the swing of it.”

  “You’ve done this kind of work before?” She sipped the thin, bitter coffee without a grimace.

  “A few years ago. Laundry and all-around cleaning. My muscles got lazy in the interim.” Giulia looked at the half-cup of coffee in front of her and decided against it.

  “Well, Monica stopped by the desk a few minutes ago to say that you’re perfect, so I think you’ll fit in just fine.”

  “Thank you. I suppose my only disappointment is this beige uniform. I like bright colors.”

  “Neutrals are always a good choice. They match multiple skin tones and blend well. Look how well the lavender resort shirts go with my beige pants.” Maryjane stood and gestured to her outfit.

  Giulia shrugged. “Not my style. You made those pants, didn’t you?”

  Maryjane looked pleased. “I make all my clothes. Trousers today are cut much too low to look professional or modest.”

  Giulia thought of her low-rider jeans and how well they fit her gym-toned hips. Shut up, Falcone. Don’t offend people you’re scoping out. She looked at the clock over the sink. “Yikes. Break’s over. I have to get back to work now.”

  “Did Barbara tell you there’s a wedding here tomorrow?” Maryjane followed her to the sink. “She’ll be sure to ask you to put in extra hours.”

  “I just heard Penny talking about it. I have an early-morning job, too, but it shouldn’t interfere.” She set her cup in the drainer. “Sleep is for the weak, right?”

  FIFTEEN

  THE ENTRANCE LIGHT ON Giulia’s apartment building’s front stoop flickered and snapped. Again? Come on, landlord. I know you’ve got three bucks for a new bulb. This neighborhood’s not as bad as the last place I lived, but only an idiot would think it’s safe to walk here unprepared. She kept her gym bag on her shoulder as she climbed the five steps, looking on all sides to confirm she was alone. It’s a good thing my gym bag is a decent weapon on its own post-workout. The sneakers and combination lock give it some heft.

  She unlocked the door and right away pushed it closed, listening for the click as the lock re-engaged. Her mailbox opened with its usual nails-on-chalkboard screech. Since it was empty again, the screech echoed good and loud in the shoebox-sized vestibule.

  Sometimes I feel like Charlie Brown, opening the mailbox on Christmas and Valentine’s Day with irrepressible hope, and always disappointed. She closed the mailbox. At least there are still a few days left before Christmas.

  Her phone played the first bars of Eine Kleine Nachtmusik. She pulled off her gloves to answer it, her hands registering an instant protest to the unheated vestibule.

  “Yes, Frank?”

  “You’re not dressed yet, are you? I forgot to ask if you have something Christmassy to wear.”

  She opened the inner door and shivered in the sudden warmth. “Yes, I think so …” She mentally paged through her closet and drawers. “Yes, I do.”

  “Great. Can you wear it?”

  She walked down the hall through aromas from different dinners seeping from under various doors. “Sure. I didn’t realize your family was that fancy.”

  “No, no, you don’t have to be intimidated. Mom’s really into Christmas, that’s all.”

  She dropped her gym bag and fit her key into the lock. “I’m just walking into my apartment now. Are you picking me up early or something?”

  �
�No, still seven o’clock.”

  She got an eyeful of the kitchen clock. “That’s only half an hour. Bye.” Her hip bumped the door closed and she threw the deadbolt home. She set the phone on the kitchen table and slid the gym bag into the bathroom. Her snow-damp hair raised goosebumps on her neck as she tossed her coat next to the phone.

  “Heat for fifteen minutes, so I don’t catch pneumonia.” She turned the thermostat dial to sixty-five. A minute later, dust-

  flavored air pushed into the rooms.

  Clothes first. She pushed her work clothes to one side of the closet and pulled out her prized consignment shop discovery: a crimson velvet skirt and faux-silk ivory blouse. Last year the only Christmas activity she’d participated in was the soup kitchen after-hours cake feast, and her party clothes had gathered dust.

  Not this year. She ran into the living room to punch up the soundtrack to A Charlie Brown Christmas. She stripped off her sweater as she ran back; her black trousers followed it onto the bed. Her one pair of not-too-high heels came out of their box still polished—hooray.

  Makeup. She headed for the bathroom, singing along with the CD. Dinner with Frank’s parents required the whole shebang. Before she opened the plastic shoebox that held her going-out makeup, she shook out her gym towel and hung it over the shower curtain rod.

  “Nothing sultry, not to meet Frank’s parents. No eye shadow at all, I think. I’m still not an expert at too much versus not enough.”

  She applied the basics, then added mascara. While that settled, she returned to the less-chilled bedroom and stared at herself in her everyday underwear.

  “Nondescript. That’s what Captain Jimmy said.” The word made her think of gray days, flat landscapes, cafeteria food. But she didn’t want to switch to one of her lacy silk sets to counter the image. Like the eye shadow, they weren’t what to wear to dinner with the parents.

  Frank’s Irish Catholic parents. What if they’re horrified because I’m no longer a nun?

  The digital clock on the nightstand read 6:46.