Rich Girl, Poor Girl

Lisa wedged the newest set of bags off of the cart and watched as they slipped--gently--onto the wood floor. To her great relief, there was no sound of broken glass or torn silk. She let her head fall back and sighed. It was nine P.M. on a Friday night, well past check-in time, but at a place like Tystalten rules were suggestions rather than hard lines. Even a twenty four hour stay was more expensive than Lisa could afford on a month's salary, and those rates meant that the managers didn't like telling anyone "no." She counted herself lucky that these guests hadn't followed her to the room. They wanted to enjoy the saunas with what time they had left in the evening, allowing her a few minutes' respite to straighten out the room and arrange their bags. That included putting away their clothes in the dressers, straightening the sheets, and generally making it look like the room had never once been slept in, though Tystalten was now approaching its seventieth year of operation.

Within minutes, she had a sheen of sweat on her brow. The snow on the slopes of the Cordon Mountains outside didn't matter much within the well heated walls of the resort. Deathly afraid of rumpling one of the washcloths in the bathroom, she went out to the supply closet in the hallway and cleaned her face with a coarse rag off of the cleaning carts. A quick calculation suggested the Hayneses wouldn't be finished with the sauna until at least nine-thirty. Lisa allowed herself a second to check her phone. There was a message waiting from her. The tiny contact picture beside the notification showed blonde hair so light it could have been silver and a pair of sunglasses so large they would put Lady Gaga to shame. Mina Trivett, another guest of the resort. Like many of the beautiful young women who stayed at the Tystalten, she had no job of her own, or else one that didn't require her to do much or be present much of the time; she stayed on her parents' card, which had no credit limit. Unlike many of those young women, Trivett actually noticed the existence of the help, and had struck up a friendship with Lisa during a snowstorm the New Years' Eve ten months ago.

"What are you doing tonight?" read the message.

Lisa tapped out a response, flicking a look occasionally at the clock on top of her screen. Nine-twenty. She had a little time. "Getting off in a half hour. Then going to bed. Long, long day." She had only been scheduled to eighty-thirty, but a kerfuffle with the Varme suite and then the late arrival of the Hayeses **** her on. Her calves were begging for a rest.

Mina's counterattack buzzed, and Lisa caught a glimpse of it as she stowed the phone to return to the Hayeses' room. "Bzzt. Wrong. You're coming with me to the Engblom tonight." Lisa didn't want to think about that idea right now, or what she would say to convince Mina otherwise. Her friend, never having been denied anything in her life, didn't understand the concept of changing plans. At nine-twenty-nine Anna-Marie and Gregory Hayes returned from the sauna with towels wrapped around their bodies and blissful expressions, taking no notice of the strain hiding just below the surface of their maid's face.

"Wow, they even unpacked the bags!" said the illustrious Mr. Hayes.

They, thought Lisa with a spike of frustration. She said nothing.

"Have a good night, dear," said Mrs. Hayes, drawing a five dollar bill from her wallet and pressing it into Lisa's hand. Her manager Ivan had briefly profiled the couple as the call came in that they would be arriving after all. Anna-Marie Hayes, a fashion editor, had bought a third magazine for her publishing company just a few weeks ago; Gregory Hayes' VC firm made an investment of five hundred million dollars on Monday. Once more, Lisa said nothing. She took it as a dismissal, put both hands on the bell cart, and began the long walk back to the staging room near the lobby. Dreams of her single bed, just big enough for her, and her queen sized duvet, just big enough to wrap herself up in three times over, started to dance in her head. Then she saw someone waiting by the door and chatting with Ivan; a tall woman, silver locks tossed up in a bun, wearing an oversized purple woolen jumper and a pair of sleek leggings. Mina was waiting for her.

"Ms. Trivett would like to talk to you," Ivan said when he saw Lisa, his accent thick. He'd been running much of the Tylstalten for almost twenty years, and could have lost the Belarussian brogue if it weren't for the fact that guests liked him better when he sounded unlike them. He didn't know about their friendship, because the help weren't supposed to make eye contact with the guests unless required.

"There's a problem in my room. Could you give me a hand? She's always so good," said Mina.

Lisa withheld a breath, fearing it would become a sigh if she didn't, and Ivan would have her impaled. “Whatever you need, Ms. Trivett,” she said sweetly. “Ivan, do you mind if I just go home after I handle this? You don’t need to wait up for me.”

Those were the magic words. Ivan's craggy face lit up. He wanted to be out of here as much as she did. “Yeah. I'll clock you out for ten,” he said, taking the cart from her and pushing it into the back area.

Once they were alone, Mina's evil grin grew three sizes. “See? I just got you an extra half hour of pay, and you don't even need to work for it.”

Izzy couldn't help but smile. It didn't make her feel any more energetic, though. “I'm not going to be any fun,” she said.

Mina took her hand. “You never are. It's my job to make you fun,” she said.