“It’s yours now,” her father said. “Take good care of it.”
At age fifteen, each Martin was “given” a room in the hotel to care for. This was not an ancient tradition—it had started with Spencer four years earlier. He had gotten the rough-and-ready Sterling Suite. Lola had the attractive but small Metro Suite. The Empire Suite was something else entirely—the showpiece, and the most expensive of the hotel’s twenty-one guest rooms. It was rarely occupied, except for the occasional honeymoon couple or the lost businessman who couldn’t get a room at the W.
So this was either an honor or a “we don’t actually want you to have to deal with any guests” gesture.
Before Scarlett could even react, her mother was on her feet, sweeping away the grim remnants of breakfast. Spencer was still shoving waffle embers into his mouth when his plate vanished from underneath him.
“We’re just going to go over some of the new cleaning routines,” her dad said. “Marlene, if you want to go…”
It would hardly have been possible for Marlene to leave the room more quickly, at least without the aid of some kind of an engine. It was instantly clear to Scarlett that whatever was about to happen had nothing to do with cleaning. That was just the only topic that could instantly drive Marlene away.
“We all need to have a little talk,” her father said, getting up and sliding the dining room doors tightly shut.
SINK, SANK, SUNK
Perhaps it sounds like a wonderful thing to be born and raised in a small hotel in New York City. Lots of things sound fun until they are subjected to closer inspection. If you lived on a cruise ship, for example, you would have to do the Macarena every night of your life. Think about that.
There are always tourists in New York. They come in droves in the fall and winter, cruising in through the tunnels in massive out-of-town coaches. Between Thanksgiving and New Year’s, the city’s population seems to double. There are no tables in restaurants, no seats on the subway, no room on the sidewalks, no beds in the hotels.
But by summer, most of them have gone. The city boils. The subways swelter. Epic thunderstorms break out. Stores have sales to get rid of unwanted goods. Theaters close. Even many of the inhabitants leave. Certainly, most of Scarlett’s friends had. Dakota was at a language immersion program in France. Tabitha was doing volunteer work for the environment in Brazil. Chloe was teaching tennis at a camp in Vermont. Hunter was with his father, helping him run a film festival in San Diego. Mira had gone to India with her grandparents to sweep temples. Josh was doing some kind of unspecified “summer session” in England.
Every single one of them was off doing something to beef up their college applications—and set them apart from everyone else. Even Rachel, who was the only other person she knew who had to work, was doing it at a gourmet beachside delivery shop in the Hamptons. They were off being developed, molded into perfect applicants.
Only Scarlett was in the city for the summer, not doing anything to improve herself. It wasn’t laziness or lack of ability. She was more than willing and able. The question was entirely one of funding. Hotels make money—but they also bleed it. Especially hotels with fragile decorations and plumbing from 1929 that sit empty much of the time.
This was all part of the reason that Scarlett knew that this “little talk” probably wasn’t going to end up being a discussion about going to Paris or bringing a live koala into the lobby to give hugs to all the guests.
“Scarlett,” her father said, sitting back down, “you’re old enough now to be included in these discussions. I’m really sorry we had to do this today—now—but there’s no other time.”
Scarlett looked at Spencer nervously, and he tapped his foot against hers reassuringly. His expression, however, was anything but relaxed. He shifted his jaw back and forth, and kept puffing air into and hollowing out his taut cheeks.
“As you may have guessed,” her mother began, looking to Scarlett first, “things have gotten a little tight recently. I’m afraid Belinda didn’t call out today. We had to let her go.”
Scarlett was too shocked to speak, but Spencer let out a low groan. Belinda was the last regular staff member. The others had gone over the course of the last two years. Marco, who handled all the facilities and repairs. Debbie and Monique, the cleaners. Angelica, the part-time front desk person. And now Belinda…the last remaining draw to the hotel. She of the spicy hot chocolate and cherry bread that people raved about.
“We’ll get by,” her father said, “just like we always have. But we have to get serious about a few things. We’re going to be counting on all of you. Lola, as you two probably know, is taking a year off to work at Bendel’s and to help us out here, especially with Marlene. And we’re really grateful for that.”