Hotel Indigo (6 page)

For some reason I feel as though someone is looking over my shoulder.
 

I feel absurd but turn anyway, just to scratch the itch. I don’t see anyone behind me, of course, but even after glancing back I don’t feel as ridiculous as I should. There’s too much space in here. Too many corners for people to hide behind.
 

Why the hell do I feel this way on vacation?
 

Then I hear that deep voice in the back of my head — the furious man downstairs. For some reason, he’s wormed his way beneath my skin. I have no idea who he is, and don’t want to know.
 

Maybe that’s why I’m so uneasy: I’m unsure of which move might invite this man into my life. What if I order room service, and he’s the one who comes to deliver? What if I go out to the pool and he’s skimming leaves or mopping the deck? What if I need help with my key and he’s Kendall’s relief, there to work the desk when she can’t?

I realize I’ve pulled my phone from my purse. I don’t remember doing so, but now I’m looking right at it, as if my hand has acted on its own.
 

I press the wake button and see my mother’s text message still on the screen, asking about the toaster. Making the first of sure-to-be-many passive-aggressive jabs while I leave her alone, apparently to wither to nothing and die without me.

Is that what it is? Is my mother on my mind? I look around the luxurious suite, the one I just got done deciding was too big and too empty. Is this really how this week is going to be — me too guilty to enjoy the spoils when they come my way, weirded out by finery instead of allowing myself to enjoy it?
 

I mean, shit … I just sat on a couch that cost more than my first car, and my traitorous hand went for my phone. Does that mean my thoughts are still on family and work? Am I really going to spend all my time here worrying about Mom and all the work waiting at GameStorming?
 

Fuck.
 

No.

I’ve got this app on my phone, called Liberty. I installed it a long time ago, when I thought I might need help ignoring the Internet and email. The app basically locks my phone for however long I specify, then renders it useless so there’s nothing I can do to communicate with or learn about the outside world — short of taking the phone to an Apple Store and asking them to reinstall the operating system to circumvent the app.
 

I open the Liberty app. I program a two-hour session and click to start it.
 

Sorry, Mom. Sorry, Caspian. Sorry, email and all my worldly obligations. I can’t peek in on you for two hours now, no matter what I do.
 

I return my now-useless phone to my purse, pick up the house phone, and call down to the front desk. Kendall answers, adorably tripping all over herself to serve without upsetting me in ways that it’s not possible to upset Lucy White.
 

“I’d like to schedule a massage, please.”
 

“Absolutely, Miss White. When? Now? Immediately? We’ll make it happen whenever you want. There’s no need to schedule in advance. Not for you. In fact—”

“Now works, if someone is available.”
 

“Of course!” She settles, then repeats: “Of course. Do you have any special needs or requests?”
 

“Just that it’s a woman, please.”
 

CHAPTER SEVEN

M
ARCO

I’
VE
JUST
DECIDED
THAT
I won’t punch Booth's face through the back of his head when Kendall, the assistant manager, knocks on the door.
 

“Come in,” he says.
 

“I’m sorry to interrupt again.” Kendall’s eyes flick toward me like a frightened bird’s. She’s already come in twice, but not since I nearly grabbed Booth by the neck and threw him through the window.
 

Maybe I should have kept my voice down. But you don’t fuck with me after twisting me into compromising positions and overworking me. Pick one or the other, and try your odds — but never do both, not if you want to keep breathing.
 

“No problem.” I say it partially to soothe Kendall’s nerves (she’s someone I genuinely like) but also to emasculate Booth. This is his office and he’s the boss. Whether Kendall’s interruption is a problem or not is his choice, not mine. Which is exactly why I beat him to the punch.
 

Booth’s eyes tick toward me, but he lets it go. Kendall is watching him, so he repeats what I said, trying on his usual public relations smile after I so recently chased it crying into the corner: “It’s no problem, Kendall. What do you need?”

“Miss White just called down to book a massage.”
 

Booth looks at me.

I shake my head. “No.”
 

“We just agreed, Marco. You’re the only employee in the entire hotel whose tips won’t be split out among the others. Nobody’s going to like that. Kendall, do
you
like it?”
 

“Yes, sir. I mean no, sir.” She seems flustered, unsure which answer is right.

“My forearms need the rest. I haven’t had lunch. I’m not scheduled until two. I’m only human. You want me to perform as a masseur, you need to give me a fucking break sometimes.”
 

“Man up,” Booth says. “Special treatment comes with special duties.”
 

That was a calculated risk. We got past our most contentious points when he agreed not to split out my tips, but right now he wants to challenge my ability to ‘man up’? He’s trying to save face — probably with Kendall, and definitely with me. But I'm still not sure whether or not I’m calmed down enough yet to take that lying down.

Kendall raises the hand she’s not using to grip the doorframe. “Actually,” she says, “she requested a woman.”

“There you go.” I sit back.

“Who’s available?” Booth asks.
 

“Nobody right now.”
 

“Switch one of the other guests. This is Caspian White’s sister we’re talking about.”
 

“They’re literally not available, Mr. Booth. Carly is with Mrs. Trozty, halfway through an hour session.”
 

“What about our second?” he asks. We always have
at least
two men and two women
at all times.
Massages are a constant at the Indigo, and although about half of the women want a hunky piece of man-candy to fondle them (especially when there’s a quiet understanding that said man-candy is there as much for stimulation as for relaxation), the other half feel safer with a woman.
 

“It was Rainfall,” says Kendall.
 

“Fucking hell,” I say. Rainfall is the reason all of this started. Ditz didn’t show up again, but Booth won’t fire her because she’s his cousin.
 

“I can just tell her it’ll be a half hour,” Kendall says.
 

“Carly’s due for lunch after she’s done with Mrs. Trozty.”
 

“Maybe you should tell Carly to man up,” I suggest.

Kendall clears her throat like a tiny little mouse. “Should I ask her?”
 

“No, she needs to run out at lunch,” Booth says. “She already told me. Something with her son, daycare … I don’t know.”
 

“An hour and a half, then,” says Kendall.
 

“That’s too long.”
 

“It’s an
hour and a fucking half,”
I say.
 

“She did say ‘whenever,’ sir,” Kendall says. “It doesn’t seem like she’d mind.”
 

He sighs. “Well …”
 

“Although I did already tell her now was okay.”
 

“Goddammit, Kendall.”
 

“She’s a big girl,” I say, though I have no idea who she is. I’ve heard of Caspian White, of course, but I couldn’t care less.

Booth taps his chin with a pen. “What’s her situation?”
 

I expect Kendall to ask what that means, but apparently this is something she and Booth have already discussed. Then it clicks.
 

I’ve heard rumors of this but have never seen it in action. Apparently the Thomas Booth School of Resort Management calls for stalking clients ahead of time in order to better serve them. A creepy new level of service in the age of Google and Forage.

“According to her LiveLyfe postings, she’s staying with her mother. Her father recently died.”
 

“I knew that,” Booth says, impatient.

“Seems kind of overloaded, based on her activity. Gives me shivers, because her mom sounds a lot like mine.”
 

“Single?”
 

“Yes.”
 

“Not even a boyfriend?”
 

“Jesus,”
I say.
 

“I don’t think so, Mr. Booth.”

He taps his chin another few times. Then he sets the pen down and says to me, “You’re up.”
 

“She requested a woman.”
 

“We don’t have any women available.”
 

“In an hour and a half we do.”
 

“We can’t promise that. You know we can’t. Carly might go long. Who knows? I’m not going to bump her now, then have to bump her again later. How will that make us look?”
 

“Then promise her an appointment in two hours. Two
and a half
hours.”
 

“What if Carly doesn’t come back at all? Like, the babysitter cancels.”
 

“That’s sort of a longshot, don’t you think?”
 

“She could get stuck in traffic.”
 

“Two and a half hours, Thomas. Book her two and a half hours from now. That’s plenty of time for Carly to finish with that old bag—”

“That’s no way to speak of our guests,” Thomas says.
 

“I’m sorry.” I start over. “That’s plenty of time to finish with that bitchy, whining, nothing’s-ever-good-enough-for-her sack of shit—”
 

“Marco —”
 

“—and go out for her kiddie errand, no matter what happens, and get back in time to serve the needs of this sister to some moneybag whose dick you’re so eager to suck.”
 

Booth’s jaw clenches and he stares at me. I sit back with my arms crossed, still wearing the ghost of a smile.
 

“I’m not going to make Caspian White’s sister wait for two hours. Not after Kendall told her she could get her massage now.”
 

“Whose fault is that?” But I don’t look at Kendall, because I know how timid she is. Instead my eyes are on Thomas, as if maybe Kendall’s gaffe is his problem.

“And frankly—” Booth begins.

“No,” I say.
 

“—she probably needs it.”
 

“What?
What
does she need, Thomas?”
 

“You know what I mean.”
 

“Help me out. Say it and I’ll do it. Promise.”
 

Booth’s jaw shifts. He looks at Kendall. “You know you’re popular,” he tells me.

“Curse of my life.”
 

“I’m betting that no matter what may or may not happen, she’ll be pleased to see you.”
 

“Not if she requested a woman.”
 

He’s not budging. I uncross my arms, knowing I can only push so far. It would take a lot for Booth to fire me, but we’re at an impasse. I hate the man, but that doesn’t mean I don’t need him. I can’t afford to lose what I have. Not with thoughts of Mimi so fresh in my head.
 

“I made an exception for you, Marco. I’m going to get a fucking earful from every other person who works for tips in this hotel — plus the people who are tipped out by those people. Basically, everyone in this place is about to crawl up my ass, thanks to the special deal I made with
only you
, as the unique flower you are, to let you keep all of your tips.”