Page 16 of Love Marks
“The penthouse?” I repeat back to her.
“I have no idea why. They usually save the cushy jobs like that for experienced team members.”
There’s a little bite in her tone, like she’s the experienced team member that should have gotten the job. I don’t say anything else because the last thing I need is the person who got me this job hating me on day one.
“Here’s your special key-card for access to the private elevator. Your hours might need to change now that you’re only cleaning the top floor. This position is a step up in a lot of ways. Do you know how to cook?”
Cook? What the hell?
“Yes.”
“Well?”
“What?”
“Do you cook well?”
“Yes. I actually…food is my passion. I want to open my own restaurant one day.”
She stares at me like I’m an idiot. What am I thinking? Food is my passion. This isn’t Zeke’s verse in Stick to the Status Quo. Sure, it’s been my dream to open my own restaurant for as long as I can remember, but it’s not like she cares about that.
Food is a haven for me, an escape. When I realized that food could be more than mom’s favorites, that it could actually be a whole experience, that’s when I knew I wanted to open my own restaurant. I’m still trying to figure out exactly what the vision is, but my idea is an elevated restaurant that mixes fine dining with mom’s classic recipes.
I shake off the High School Musical playing in my head and look at Marguerite.
“I don’t understand. Why are you asking about my cooking skills?”
“The penthouse position is usually reserved for a single individual who cooks, cleans, and acts as a sort of liaison between the guest and the staff at large. It’s kind of a combination of concierge and housekeeping.”
I wish she’d stop using fancy words to say simple things. I also still don’t understand why I’m not just working with Eva on the regular floors.
“So, I’ll have to cook and clean?” I clarify.
“There’s a pay increase. 24 an hour.”
Sign me up! Give me the frying pan and I’ll whip something up right now, Marguerite.
“Okay. What else do I need to know?”
“I’ll set you up for a meeting with Sharon from front-of-house staff to explain everything on their end of things. For me, you’re good to go. All your cleaning stuff is in the closet, you’ll clock in and out the same way.”
I nod, overwhelmed. Why does it feel like I’m being thrown to the wolves somehow? This is a good thing, right? Marguerite gives me the special keycard for the penthouse private elevator, which I find after some searching. It’s tucked behind the restaurant like a speakeasy entrance. I’m clutching my mop and rolling cart to my side like it’s a life raft as the elevator rises to the top floor.
When the doors open, my jaw drops. I’m looking across at the skyline and can even see Central Park further off. With the floor-to-ceiling windows, it feels like I’m floating on top of the world. It’s a little disorienting so I step all the way out and look around the suite.
It’s huge. Suddenly, three hours isn’t nearly long enough to get through this. How many bedrooms are there? I rush through the whole place, scanning it up and down and calculating what needs to be done. I go back into the living room and see a small note on the kitchen island.
Hello,
Welcome to your new position as caretaker of the penthouse suite at the Hyatt Estates. Each day you’ll sweep, mop, clean down all surfaces, and prepare dinner for the guest. Laundry on Mondays and Fridays. Usually, you’d come in and replace for each new guest, but the current guest will be staying long term. You can discuss any specific preferences directly with him.
Sincerely,
Sharon Jackson, Head of Concierge
Hyatt Estates
I read the note twice over. Seems easy enough. I realize today is Monday — supposedly laundry day. I wonder if his hamper will be gold plated. My eyes catch on the last sentence.