Confessions of a Hollywood Star (13 page)

It’s important to be trusted by your employer of course, so I shook my head in an honest, forthright manner. “Not in this large an establishment,” I admitted. “But my mother used to have a bed and breakfast when we lived in Connecticut, and naturally I helped her out.”

Ella made a sound that was somewhere between choking and gurgling but Mrs Seiser was umming approvingly and didn’t hear her. “You don’t say… Well that counts as experience in my book.” She glanced over at Ella. “And what about you?”

Ella did her impersonation of a rabbit caught in headlights.

“Ella’s mother has very exacting standards of neatness and cleanliness,” I explained, “so though she has no professional experience as such you would have to consider her trained.”

Desperation is a very powerful incentive, and if anyone was desperate it was Mrs Seiser. “Well,” she said, “I don’t suppose there’s any harm in giving you a try.” She laughed, a sound as close to happiness as hell is. “At least you speak English.” She opened a drawer and took out two sheets of paper. “Why don’t you take these application forms with you and fill them out tonight. If you come around eight tomorrow morning after the Hollywood mafia’s left for the day, we’ll get you started straight away.”

“Thank you,” I said. “You won’t regret this.”

Mrs Seiser gave another sad laugh. “Let’s hope you don’t.”

It wasn’t until we were back in the car that Ella finally spoke.

“Crazy,” she said. “You are definitely, absolutely and without any qualifications, one hundred and fifty per cent certifiably insane.”

And people think
I
exaggerate. I’m strictly an amateur next to Ella. “Well, I think I’m pretty brilliant.”

“Oh, do you?” Ella jabbed the key into the ignition as if it was a knife. “And what do you think is so brilliant? Getting us jobs as maids without even consulting me? Is that your definition of brilliance?”

“Oh, come on, El. This is our golden opportunity. It’s way better than just waltzing in and asking to see him. We’ll be there every day. Which means we’re bound to run into him in a casual, non-threatening way. It’ll be like taking candy from a sleeping baby. We’ll say ‘hi’, and he’ll say ‘hi’. We’ll exchange pleasantries about the weather. He’ll ask us for extra towels, and we’ll ask him if we can be extras. If you ask me, it’s like a present from the gods.”

One Gerard eyebrow rose in disdain. “Oh, really? You don’t think that maybe you’re overlooking one or two things? Like my mother? What’s my mother going to say when I tell her what we’re doing? Do you think she’s going to race to the phone to tell all her friends? ‘Oh! Guess what! My daughter’s got a job as a maid!’?”

“They wouldn’t believe her. Your mom’s friends think all maids are Hispanic.”

“Hahaha. Answer my question.”

“Oh for Pete’s sake.” It never ceases to amaze me how people like Ella always have to create problems where none exist. “So don’t tell her.”

“What do you mean, ‘don’t tell her’? You don’t think she might notice that I’m out of the house before she gets up and don’t come home all day?”

Even I could see that this was ridiculous. Unlike Karen Kapok, Mrs Gerard has a very hands-on attitude to motherhood. But once you’re firmly set on the path of brilliance you just keep going, don’t you? “OK.” I nodded towards the building next to Bergstrom’s. “Tell her we’re working in the diner. It’s so close it’s not really a lie.” Mrs Gerard is a woman who makes her own pasta. She was more likely to become a chambermaid herself than drop by the diner to check.

Ella groaned. I had her cornered. “All right. Let’s say she buys that, what about the other little things you’ve so conveniently forgotten? Like the fact that you already have a job? And the fact that we don’t know what our hours or responsibilities are or even what they’re paying us?”

I considered these to be tediously trivial details. “Who cares what they’re paying us or anything like that? We’re not in it for the money, El. And as far as my other job goes, it’s not a big deal. I’ll just tell Mrs Magnolia that Karen’s having cash-flow problems and I need to get something that pays more. I’ll tell Karen that Mrs Magnolia had to lay me off because business is so bad.” I could work on an assembly line for all my mother cared, as long as I got paid.

I’ve heard Ella’s mother sigh in exactly the same way when the cream sauce curdled.

“You can’t actually be a pathological liar,” said Ella, “because I don’t think a pathological liar knows that she’s lying.”

“And as for the other stuff,” I went on, “what does it matter?”

“What does it matter?” parroted Ella. “I’ll tell you what it matters. For one thing, I’m not sure I’m up to hard manual labour. I read this book about low-wage workers and—”

“Ella, we’re not building the pyramids here.” I laughed. “We’re just making a few beds and putting fresh towels and soap in the bathrooms. What could be easier than that? And anyway, it’s not like it’s a career move. It’s a temporary measure. As soon as we get our parts, we quit. And there’s no way we won’t get parts now. We’re practically living with the crew.”

“So is Carla,” said Ella, “but she doesn’t have to clean their toilets.”

Somehow, I hadn’t thought about cleaning toilets being involved. I shoved the thought aside.

“You’re being negative. It’s not like you’ll have to even look. They’ll have the latest toxic chemical to do the work for you. And besides, you have to view this from the right perspective. This is an important rite of passage for us.”

Ella looked over as she put the car in reverse. “Being maids?”

“Only in a general sense. I mean joining the real workforce. Let’s face it, you and I have led sheltered lives, Ella. You especially. But now we’re officially no longer children – and, as the poet said, it’s time to put away childish things. If you think about it, this is a much bigger step than just going to college. School is not reality, Ella. This is our chance to see what adult life is really like.”

“You’re already part of the workforce,” Ella reminded me.

“But not one where the rest of the staff speaks Spanish.”

As Rites Of Passage Go, This One Isn’t As Good As A Wedding

M
y confidence in dealing with the first group of minor details wasn’t misplaced.

When I told Mrs Magnolia that there were hard times in the world of handmade dinnerware that made it imperative for me to make more money than she was giving me, she was as philosophical as you might expect of someone who is plagued by migraines and who works in used clothes.

“The small business is an endangered species in this country,” she said. “Tell your mother she has my sympathy.”

I said I knew my mother would appreciate that.

When I told Karen I had a job as a chambermaid she said, “You? The girl who thinks the floor is an extension of her closet?”

I told her I’d heard of many professional gourmet chefs who eat baked beans and frozen dinners at home. “A job is different to life,” I said.

“That’s what you think,” said my mother.

Ella picked me up at seven-thirty the next morning. We were silent all the way to the travel lodge because Ella wasn’t capable of speech yet and wasn’t willing to listen to mine.

A maroon people carrier was pulling out of the parking lot as we pulled in.

“Look!” I cried. “It’s Charley Hottle! We just missed him!”

“Don’t scream like that,” Ella ordered. “I nearly went into shock.”

At last, the wall of hostility that Fate had constructed around me was starting to crumble. “Oh, this is so definitely the break we needed. I wonder how long our shift is? Maybe we’ll still be here when he gets back.”

Ella pulled into a space that said Employee Parking. “If we are I hope we’re getting overtime,” she grumbled.

It was barely eight o’clock and already Mrs Seiser looked like she’d had a long, hard day. She sounded like it too.

“It’s one thing after another with these movie people,” she informed us as soon as we stepped into the lobby. “They never stop. Where’s this? Where’s that? Why can’t you? Why didn’t you? What happened to? Yadayadayada morning, noon and night. They must all have servants.” Mrs Seiser sniffed. “Servants or slaves. And of course Gracia’s cousin Paloma’s supposed to be helping us out, but she didn’t turn up at all today.” She lowered her voice to a confidential level. “Those people are so unreliable. They have no sense of loyalty and commitment.” She gave another disapproving sniff. “And of course they don’t really like to work. You have to keep on them every minute.”

I wasn’t sure which people she was talking about – maids? People who are helping you out? Women named Paloma? – but I stood up tall and smiled confidently so that she’d know I wasn’t to be counted among their number. “We can’t wait to get started,” I assured her. “We’re both imbued with a very strong work ethic.”

“It’s nice to know someone is,” said Mrs Seiser. “And thank God you’ve got some experience, I don’t have even a few seconds this morning for a heavy training session. I’ve got to go and see what happened to the laundry. Come on, I’ll go through the formalities and then Gracia will show you where everything is. If you have any questions, ask her.”

The formalities included giving us algae-green housecoats, plastic nametags, yellow rubber gloves, and ticking off our duties on her fingers – twice.

Up until the moment Mrs Seiser handed me my nametag it had never occurred to me that it was possible to misspell “Lola”.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Mrs Seiser. “We know who we mean.”

Then she gave us each a photocopy of her own original composition: RULES FOR CLEANERS. Mrs Seiser has more rules than the Old Testament. Don’t do this … don’t do that … don’t even think about doing
that
… Just about the only thing a cleaner was allowed to do besides work was breathe.

“Any questions?” asked Mrs Seiser when she was done.

I cleared my throat. “I was just wondering… What about our breaks?”

Mrs Seiser’s employees’ smile wasn’t as welcoming as her possible-guest smile. “Excuse me?”

I repeated my statement. “Isn’t it a law that we get at least two breaks a shift?”

“Oh, of course.” Mrs Seiser looked down at the sheet of paper in her hand. “Isn’t it there?”

I shook my head. “I don’t see it.”

“Well it should be there.” She made it sound like it was my fault that it wasn’t. “Two fifteen-minute breaks and a half hour for lunch.”

“We got an hour for lunch at school.”

Mrs Seiser allowed her lips to part very slightly so I’d think she was smiling. “This isn’t school.”

“Well, that should make you happy,” muttered Ella.

Mrs Seiser got up from her desk. “If there aren’t any more questions, it’s time you two— Lola? You’ve got
another
question?”

“Where’s the staff room?”

“Excuse me?” I’d never really realized before how threatening politeness can be.

“The staff room.” I smiled an eager, good-employee kind of smile. “You know … where we take our breaks? Rule 12 says we’re not allowed to loiter on the premises. And Rule 11 says we’re not allowed to eat, drink or smoke on the premises either.”

“You can go to the diner next door.”

I opened my mouth. “But—”

Mrs Seiser gave me a stern look. “I hope you’re not going to be a trouble-maker, Lola. I gave you this job out of the goodness of my heart. Gracia does have other relatives, you know.”

I think I may have seen too many movies featuring señoritas with dark, flashing eyes, long black hair, rustling skirts and shawls because Gracia didn’t look anything like I expected. She was in her forties, her hair was short and blonde, her eyes were blue, her glasses were thick, and she wore jeans, a faded Lakers sweatshirt and trainers from somewhere like Shoe City.

“Not Mexico,” she corrected me. “From Colombia.”

Gracia’s husband had been killed by paramilitaries.

“What was he, some kind of guerrilla?” asked Ella.

Gracia said no, he worked for Coca-Cola and was active in the union. After he was murdered she took the children and fled.

Gracia showed us where the supplies were kept and instructed us on the most efficient way to do our tasks (bathroom, bedroom, vacuum the hall when you’ve done all the rooms).

“Don’t you worry,” said Gracia. “Once you get accustomed to the things, you’ll be swimming like ducks.”

“Do you really take your break in the diner?” I asked her.

“If you break it, you buy it,” said Gracia.

“No, no, I didn’t mean that.” That was rule 17. “I meant a break from work. You know, a rest.”

“No rests,” Gracia informed me. “There is no time.”

Although, technically, we were paid by the hour, you didn’t leave until your allotted tasks were done.

“But then you get overtime,” said Ella.

“Exacto,” said Gracia. “That’s when your time is over.”

Because we were new, Gracia suggested that Ella and I do the rooms together until we’d had some practice.

“You do the ground and I’ll do arriba,” she said, and disappeared up the stairs.

It took me three attempts to open the first room with my electronic key, and when I did it wasn’t worth all the trouble.

“Good God!” gasped Ella as we stepped inside. “Look at this place! It looks like a pigsty!”

My eyes went slowly around the room. It wasn’t a big room, but it was full. The token chair was piled with clothes, most of the bedding was on the floor, and there were dirty glasses, food containers and empty beer bottles on every available surface, including the floor.

“I think you’re doing a grave injustice to the pigs of this world. They don’t usually leave their condom wrappers lying around.” I picked up the wrapper with my gloved hand. God knew where the contents of the wrapper was, but I for one was not going to look under the bed.

“It’s unbelievable.” Ella seemed to be frozen by the door with horror. “I mean, these are intelligent, professional people – not a bunch of kids who were raised by wolves. It’s a good thing my mother never had to do this job. It would’ve killed her.”

There was something disgusting floating in half a glass of beer.

“This job may not kill me,” I said, “but I think it’s definitely going to make me sick.”