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The second sign that things were changing was the letter from the bank. Dwayne decided then that he really did not like post.
Unable to pay the monthly mortgage on his house, it was going to be repossessed-he had until the twentieth to either pay off what he owed, or do nothing and get forcibly removed from his home.
He had no money to pay the bank, no valuables or savings-any inheritance been lost to his father’s debts, and his father would never have given him any, anyways. He could work a few more night shifts at the hotel to earn extra money, but then he would be depriving someone else of needed pay. Even so, he needed it himself. He would have to speak to Mr. Hargreaves to see if he could get a few more shifts. Dwayne knew that where Mr. Hargreaves was concerned, a raise was not likely. A few shifts would have to do.
He went to the hotel early the next day, and Mr. Hargreaves agreed to see him. Mr. Hargreaves was a stout, pudgy man, wider out than he was up. A cigar was clamped between his lips as he received Dwayne in his office. “What can I do for you?”
Dwayne cleared his throat. “Mr. Hargreaves, I’m extremely grateful for your giving me employment here at the Riolta, extremely grateful and thankful. I was hoping, sir, that I could take a few overnight shifts to earn some extra money.”
Mr. Hargreaves leaned over his desk, studying his employee for a moment. “Are you in the red?”
Dwayne stiffened. “Is that really necessary to know, sir?”
“No, I suppose not.” Mr. Hargreaves had moved to lean back in his chair, pondering Dwayne’s request for a moment. “You better work diligently for the shifts, Mathers. If I hear from the overnight supervisor that you aren’t doing satisfactory work, I will fire you.”
“Thank you very much, sir.” Dwayne replied. He shook hands with his boss, saying, “I won’t let you down.”
Mr. Hargreaves waved him out of his office. “You better not.”
That cheered Dwayne up a little. The extra shifts would help to pay the mortgage, so maybe he wouldn’t be evicted that month. If he was lucky. The again, had he ever be lucky? The only really lucky thing he could count in his life was Isabelle’s birth, the fact that he had a younger sister who became a beautiful woman.
A bitter smile briefly crossed his lips as he vaguely remembered looking into the newborn’s bassinet as a two year old. She had been so small, but her eyes were bright and stared at him, a baby gurgle sounding like a laugh. A head covered in wispy black hair had been covered by a tiny bonnet. And his heart had been warmed to her forever after that. His mother had not long after, and life had changed. There had been a picture, somewhere, of the two of them, not long after her birth-but before the fire.
Dwayne stared into a mirror. The staff room had only one washroom facility, and he liked ensuring his appearance stood to standards. The less he did to displease Mr. Hargreaves, the better. His black hair was getting a little on the long side-soon, he would have to find the money to visit the barber, or cut it himself. He didn’t really trust himself to cutting it, though.
Almost black eyes blinked and continued to stare back at him. Isabelle’s eyes had looked almost exactly like his, the shape nearly identical. There were few differences. Her eyes had more roundness to them. Her eyelashes had been full and curling, framing her eyes with an almost doll-like innocence. She had shared his somewhat darker skin, as well-it was in the frame of the average gentleman, but still slightly on the darker end of the spectrum. Dwayne was thankful it was no darker, otherwise he’d be fielding questions of his parentage-did he have Mexican blood? Indian? Those of Indian or Mexican were rarely given jobs, unless they were low paid.
Truth was, Dwayne had no idea. His father’s skin had been as pale as a gutted fish belly, and his mother had died before he was old enough to remember what she looked like. If her skin had been darker, like his, perhaps he wasn’t of noble, fully Brit descended blood-like his father insisted. When he had been sober enough to say so.
With a small sigh, Dwayne opened the door to the facilities and left for his shift. The day was overcast, thankfully. It, along with the promise of more shifts, made the day just a little better.
He was working the main desk. It handled almost everything related to guests, from check in and outs to guest amenities. If someone wanted something done in their room-more pillows, fresher towels-then they requested it at the desk in the lobby. If they wanted to reserve the tennis courts or request something special, then the clerk at the main desk was the one to see. Mornings were the busiest, declining partway through the afternoons. That was the check in and out time, so it meant rush. Still, it paid well, considering the worker sat on the chair going over files half the time.
Dwayne sat in the chair, going over the guest list for the previous day. A guest had been supposed to check out, but hadn’t done so. He wasn’t in his room, which-according to a maid-hadn’t been touched since she cleaned it the day before. Odd. He had been about to make a note of it when there was a feminine voice speaking to him.
“Excuse me, sir?”
He looked up. The daughter of Mr. Hargreaves friend-the lady Willows-stood before him. “May I make a request?”
He nodded his head politely. “Of course. What may I do for you, Miss?”
“I would greatly appreciate getting some flowers placed in my room. If it’s possible, please, sir.”
Respect friends of the boss. They got what they wanted-including what their families wanted. Dwayne nodded his head. “I will do that, Miss. Is there a specific type of flower?”
“Lilies, please. Dried if it can be done.” She slipped several bills across the desk to him, which he took without a word. Money for the flowers.
“And to which room?”
“Number one-twelve.”
Dwayne lowered his head and wrote a note. She had a remarkably attentive voice, speaking in a manner that said she would listen if she so desired, but demanded attention if that suited her. Interesting combination. “Of course, Miss. I can get that to your room by tomorrow. Sooner, hopefully.”
She flashed a genuine smile at him. “Thank you very kindly, sir.”
As she turned and left, he rang a small bell, summoning a bellhop from a doorway. The door led to a room behind the main desk, kept for a couple files and an area for the bellhops to wait for the ring of the bell. Dwayne bent over the note in his hands, adding a last line. “Miss Willows requested dried lilies for her room. Her father a friend of Mr. Hargreaves.” He informed the bellhop, who nodded in immediate understanding.
“Did she leave money for the flowers?”
“Yes, she did.” Dwayne confirmed. “Are you able to go and get them now?”
The Bellhop checked his pocket watch. “I have a break in an hour, and I’ll be able to stop in to the florist and get them.”
“Perfect,” Dwayne responded, sitting down in his chair. “They can be delivered before they day is up.”
With a nod, the Bellhop left, and Dwayne resumed working.
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