Flying by the Seat of My Knickers

by Eliza Watson

  “Thanks. It’s nice, but really small.” Rachel closed out of the photos, looking a bit uncomfortable showing off her condo when I lived in my old bedroom with the same pink walls and pink lacy comforter. “I’m glad you’re down early, Caity. Did you receive a gift basket in your room?” She gestured to the basket on Gretchen’s desk, identical to the one I’d raided last night before going to bed. I nodded, and luckily, before I could thank her, she said, “Can you go get it? The hotel screwed up and delivered them to the staff rooms.”

  My stomach took a swan dive.

  “The vendor dropped the baskets off at the bellstand, and I provided a rooming list with our names crossed off, but one of the bellmen spilled tea on it, ran a new list, and never crossed us off. They ended up four baskets short.” She glanced over at Gretchen. “And of course, you-know-who didn’t receive one, so I want to deliver them before she calls me.”

  Declan walked in carrying his gift basket. “I’m guessing I wasn’t supposed to get this?”

  “Thanks. Set it next to Gretchen’s.”

  Maybe the hotel sold the same wine, since it was produced locally. Yeah, for a gazillion euros. I could possibly repackage some of the snacks… I didn’t have money to replace an entire basket! How was I supposed to know we didn’t get the baskets? Even though everyone else had figured it out. I had no choice but to tell Rachel. She could probably still smell the Baileys truffle on my breath I’d eaten before coming down. But I refused to admit my ignorance in front of Declan and Gretchen.

  “You can run up and grab the basket after our team meeting,” Rachel said. “It’ll be quick. Today’s going to be easy. Most of the group is going to the Kildare Sausage plant. I’ll have you load the bus, Declan, and then head over there for the return. Caity, I’ll have you see off the wives’ walking tour and shadow Gretchen.”

  I almost threw up my Baileys truffle.

  “Gretchen has been doing this job as long as me. She can give you some great training.”

  Gretchen smiled sweetly. “I’d be happy to. The BEOs are on my desk.”

  I walked over and scanned her desk, no clue what a BEO was.

  “Oh, sorry. A BEO is a Banquet Event Order. On the left there. But you know what? We can go over those later. I need you to arrange an in-room massage for ten o’clock, and she prefers a male masseuse. The spa opens in a half hour. Pop by there rather than calling. Doing it in person last minute is always a good idea. And she’s going to wig out if they can’t fit her in.”

  Great. So if this woman couldn’t get an appointment, it was my fault.

  Gretchen scribbled a room number and name on a sticky note. She answered her ringing cell phone and walked out for better service. Declan left to work breakfast, and I went over to Rachel and confessed about the basket and apologized.

  Rachel’s jaw tightened, but she shrugged it off. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t know.”

  Yeah, but Gretchen and Declan had known.

  “What snacks do you think need to be replaced?”

  “Ah…probably the whiskey fudge, the Irish cream chocolate, and the cookies. Oh, and I opened the wine.” I could probably retie the bow on the individually wrapped Baileys truffles. “I’ll pay for everything.”

  She raised a questioning brow, like how the hell had I eaten all of that in such a short period of time? “Don’t worry about the money. The hotel will pick up the bill. It was their screwup. Just so you know, staff never receives two-hundred-dollar gift baskets or top-end amenities. If we’re handing out T-shirts or duffel bags, that’s different.”

  That gift basket had cost two hundred freakin’ dollars?

  Desperate to change the subject, I said, “I talked to Mom last night, and she mentioned Grandma Brunetti came from Ireland. Did you know that?” Rachel was five years older than me, so she probably had more vivid memories of Grandma. All I could remember was her house had smelled like garlic, she had cute little teacups lined up on her windowsills, and all her walls were yellow.

  Rachel’s gaze narrowed. “I knew she was Irish. I didn’t know she’d actually come from Ireland.”

  “Remember how she’d serve us hot chocolate in those little floral teacups and let us wear her aprons? I always wore her purple apron, and you wore the yellow one with sunflowers. So it worked out well.”

  Rachel nodded, smiling, relaxing back in her chair for the first time since we’d arrived in Dublin. Her reaction gave me a sense of hope that she had fond childhood memories of us, not merely bad ones, like all her feetless Barbies.

  “She made the best Irish brown bread, smeared with homemade blackberry jam,” Rachel said. “Of course, I didn’t know it was Irish bread back then. We each got a teacup after she died, but I don’t know if I’ve seen mine since I moved.” She brushed a contemplative finger lightly over her red lips.

  My teacup sat on my bedroom dresser.

  “Too bad Mom never made that bread,” I said. “She hates baking, and she and Grandma weren’t that close, so she probably didn’t want to carry on the family traditions. Kind of sad. I wish I could remember her better. She was from County Westmeath, but Mom doesn’t know the town. Grandma never talked about Ireland.” I recounted Mom’s story about finding her aunt’s letters after believing her mom’s entire family had been dead. “Teri has the letters and Grandma’s naturalization papers. Mom’s going to ask her if either mention the town she was from and—”

  “Powerscourt just called about the dinner,” Gretchen said, flying into the room, phone in hand. “I’m not sure how you’re going to feel about the menu change. Do you have a sec?”

  “Sure, I’m not in the middle of anything.”

  Except for discussing our childhood memories and family history. Granted, we were working, but couldn’t a dinner later in the week wait two minutes? Rachel went over to powwow with Gretchen without excusing herself or promising that we’d chat more about Grandma later. They stepped out of the office.

  I seethed with frustration!

  Declan strolled in.

  “Where’d you grow up?” I asked.

  “County Meath, in the Midlands.”

  “Our grandma came from Westmeath.”

  “That’s next to Meath. What town was your granny from?”

  “Not sure. My mom’s going to get back to me.”

  “When was she born?”

  “My mom’s fifty-eight…” I twisted my mouth in contemplation. “And I remember her saying my grandma was almost forty when she was born, so I’d guess my grandma was born 1920ish.”

  “The 1911 census and other records are online. I helped my granny research her dad’s line. You might be able to find her family. What was her name?”

  “Bridget Coffey.”

  “Ah, a lovely Irish name. What were her parents’ names?”

  I shrugged. “I’ll have to ask my mom if she knows.”

  Declan didn’t appear to judge me for knowing so little about Grandma, when he’d sent his grandma postcards from around the world. However, I was judging me.

  “She died when I was only seven.” I attempted to justify my ignorance.

  “Since she wasn’t born yet in the 1911 census, the town and any names would help us find her family.”

  “I know she had an older sister Theresa.”

  I promptly e-mailed Mom, requesting Grandma’s birth year and family members’ names, if she knew any besides Theresa.

  I went to my room to salvage what I could of the gift basket and popped some ibuprofen. I reassembled the basket without the wine and the open food items. At least I’d have snacks if I missed a meal. I was about to walk out the door, and realized I’d left the spa sticky note on the desk. Afraid I’d misplace it, and God forbid have to ask Gretchen for the info again, I typed the room number and name, which looked like Winston, into my phone and tossed the note.

  I ran the basket down to the office. Thankfully, Rachel was the only one there. I apologized again. I headed to the spa and waited outside for it
to open. I eyed my unpolished nails and ragged cuticles. No longer able to afford regular manicures, I needed to at least start polishing them. I’d totally let myself go over the past few months.

  The spa opened, and I stepped inside. A soothing lavender and vanilla scent greeted me, along with a blond receptionist in a seafoam-green dress. I inhaled a deep breath, my shoulders relaxing, a serene feeling washing over me.

  She confirmed a ten o’clock appointment. I took one last deep breath, not wanting to leave. The woman informed me the scent could be mine in the form of a candle or spray for a mere twenty-five euros. I’d pop by and stick my head in the door whenever I needed a free fix. Which would be every five minutes for as long as I was stuck shadowing Gretchen.

  I went down to breakfast to share the great news with Gretchen.

  “Perfect,” she said. “I’ll give her a call and let her know.”

  If I hadn’t been able to secure an appointment, I would have undoubtedly been the one passing along the bad news.

  “Be outside her room fifteen minutes prior to make sure the masseuse shows up, but don’t let him knock until ten. Throws off her Zen if he’s early. And don’t stay when he knocks—that’s awkward.”

  The masseuse arrived ten minutes early, so I had him wait and knock as scheduled, then I bolted. Fifteen minutes later, the office phone rang.

  Rachel answered it. As she listened to the caller, her eyes widened with panic. “So sorry. Let me get right on that.” She hung up, and her gaze darted to me. “I thought you said Lindsey’s masseuse showed up at her room?”

  “He did. Fifteen minutes ago.”

  “That was her. He’s still not there.”

  “No way. I was standing right by her door, room 1024.”

  “Room 1042.” Gretchen’s jaw tightened. Her green eyes darkened.

  I opened my cell phone’s note app. “1024.”

  “You must have typed it in wrong,” Gretchen snapped.

  “No…I didn’t,” I said hesitantly. Had I? No, no way, I’d doubled-checked her note. Hadn’t I? Yes!

  I was right.

  I was strong.

  I was worthy.

  Martha’s mantra.

  “Did you reconfirm her name with the spa?” Rachel asked.

  “I wasn’t sure what the name was. I couldn’t read it.”

  Gretchen rolled her eyes, like I was full of it.

  Rachel phoned the spa and hung up after a brief conversation. “They said they tried calling the cell number you provided.”

  I glanced down at my phone. One new message. “I must have been in a dead zone. I don’t know why my phone didn’t signal a voicemail. Can he run up to her room now?”

  “She leaves on a tour in an hour.”

  “I’m sorry, but I swear I didn’t screw up.”

  Rachel looked skeptical, like she was once again mentally counting to ten. “Don’t worry about it. Nothing we can do now.”

  I would worry about it.

  And now I’d be too embarrassed to pop into the spa for my aromatherapy fix. Which I desperately needed!

  I bolted up to my room to fish the note out of the garbage. My bed had been made, my garbage emptied. I flew out the door, zoning in on the maid cart at the end of the hall. I ran down and knocked on the open guest-room door. The maid poked her head out—an older woman with a pleasant smile in a beige dress with a white apron.

  “Did you clean room 1530?”

  Her forehead crinkled in confusion, and she responded in German or some Eastern European language. I hadn’t known where Budapest was located on a map until two days ago. I certainly couldn’t determine if someone was speaking Hungarian versus Romanian. I grabbed a pad of paper and a pen off her cart and jotted down my room number and pointed down the hallway. She nodded in understanding. I gestured at the garbage bags and then myself, wanting to determine which bag held mine. She pointed to one, and I snatched it off the cart. She took a step back, looking a bit freaked out. I dropped down onto the floor. Garbage flew onto the red plush carpeting as I plowed through the bag.

  “Is everything okay?” a man asked.

  I peered up to find Tom Reynolds and another VIP watching me with curiosity. Seriously? What was the chance of running into Tom Reynolds while digging through the garbage? So much for my plan to avoid the CEO. Another VIP walked out of a room behind me, holding a sparkling water. A sign next to the door read Concierge Lounge. Rachel had mentioned our group had access to the lounge, which offered free snacks and beverages, but I hadn’t realized it was on my floor. Not like I’d had free time to hang out there.

  “Yeah, just accidentally threw away…something.”

  They walked off, Tom glancing back at me sitting there up to my knickers in garbage. Hopefully, he didn’t mention the humiliating incident in front of Rachel, inquiring if I ever found my lost item in the garbage. But what if he did? Rachel had insisted I tell her about every interaction I had with the CEO. This wasn’t as mortifying as my tripping incident but ran a close second. After Rachel’s embarrassed look of me at the castle, no way was I telling her about this.

  I finally found the sticky note, confirming I hadn’t screwed up. Still, my chest tightened. Gretchen was going to make my life a living hell. I knew I was right—maybe that was all that mattered… No way. It mattered that Rachel knew I hadn’t effed up. I’d see Rachel the rest of my life, and I prayed to God I never saw Gretchen again.

  I went down to the office and showed Rachel the note.

  Gretchen gave me the evil eye, her gaze softening when she peered over at Rachel. “I’m so sorry, Rachel.”

  Rachel shrugged it off, looking surprised that her precious Gretchen had messed up rather than me. “These things happen. I think you’re allowed one screwup every five years.”

  What the hell? I’d obviously exceeded my limit of screwups for five years. Or rather my life, as far as Rachel was concerned. She didn’t believe I could do this job. Hell, she didn’t believe I could do any job. And Mom thought I should settle for being an elf!

  Well, I could do this job, and I was going to prove it.

  Or die trying, as Declan had said!

  Chapter Ten

  Women trickled down to the hotel lobby for the walking tour, but I had yet to see Anna, the tour guide. I needed to confirm that she knew the restaurant had changed. She finally arrived ten minutes prior to the tour’s departure, with the correct walking map but not the updated restaurant.

  “Are you sure it was switched to Paddy’s Pub?” she asked.

  Declan was walking through the lobby and made a detour toward us. “Is something wrong?”

  “I had Cafferty’s for lunch,” Anna said.

  “No, it’s Paddy’s,” Declan said.

  I held up the agenda in my hand. “I have the info right—”

  “That’s okay. I’ve got it.” Declan cut me off and escorted Anna to the side for a private discussion.

  I stood there smiling at the women like an idiot while seething on the inside, trembling with anger. Declan reminded me of my ex, stepping in and taking control of a situation as if I was incapable of handling it. Even worse, my ex had made me believe I was incapable of handling it!

  And like Rachel, Declan didn’t believe I could do this job!

  “You lovely ladies ready for some sightseeing?” Declan asked, joining us.

  The ladies nodded, a few flashing flirtatious smiles at the charming Declan. I glared at him, my jaw tightening, my heart thumping wildly in my chest.

  The tour departed, and Declan turned to me, smiling.

  I squared my shoulders. “You just made me look like a total idiot. I had all the info on the new restaurant. I’m capable of giving a tour guide direction. Just because I fell in front of the CEO doesn’t mean I’m completely incompetent. So back off.”

  Declan’s gaze narrowed, and he looked freaked out by my tangent. “Sorry. I thought I’d—”

  “Step in and take over? Take control? You can really be
an ass.” I stormed off.

  * * *

  I sat in a corner booth of the hotel’s pub, perusing the lunch menu. A song about a pretty little girl from Omagh was playing, and more people were entering from the street than the hotel. It appeared to be a popular lunch spot with the locals, so the food should be good. The one day I actually had time for lunch, I wasn’t the least bit hungry after all the upset this morning. A young guy in an emerald-green polo with the pub’s logo brought me a diet soda, and I ordered my first fish and chips since arriving in Dublin.

  I connected to the hotel’s Wi-Fi on my iPad so I could surf the web for free. No e-mail from Mom with info on Grandma. It was only 6:00 a.m. at home, or I’d call her, anxious to know if Aunt Teri had Grandma’s letters. And still no response from my interview or my thirty-one résumés. However, the insurance agent had replied that my policy expired soon, so I was only receiving a refund of $68.43. That would make a minor dent in my gas card.

  I needed to sell my Tiffany diamond stud earrings, a Christmas present from my ex. I was afraid to advertise them online after he’d stalked me on Craigslist. However, a pawnshop had offered me only a quarter of the original cost, which I knew because my ex had bragged about how expensive they were.

  I checked employment sites, fairly certain I’d already applied for all the executive admin assistant jobs listed. I had to stop limiting myself to admin positions, my only real work experience. What other jobs was I qualified to do? Honestly, I hadn’t really been qualified for my admin job. My organizational and computer skills weren’t the best. I was a whiz at word processing programs, but I required an instruction manual for spreadsheet and database software. And being backup for the switchboard operator had sent me into a complete panic. However, I’d enjoyed the few times I’d had to cover for the receptionist, since it got me out of my tiny cubicle and allowed me to interact with people.

  Face it. I’d made a better elf than an admin assistant.