โIwalk home briskly, full of energy and butterflies from my timeย with Rodney. I think back to Mr. Prestonโs uncharitable comment aboutโ
frogs and princes. It occurs to me how easy it is to misjudge people. Even an upstanding man like Mr. Preston can sometimes get it wrong. Minus the smooth chest, Rodney entirely lacks amphibious qualities. My chiefest hope is that while he is not a frog, Rodney will turn out to be the prince of my very own fairy tale.
I wonder to myself what the etiquette is around wait times before I dial Rodneyโs phone number. Should I call him immediately to thank him for our date or should I wait until tomorrow? Perhaps I should text him instead? My only experience with such matters was with Wilbur, who despised talking on the phone and used text messages for time- or task-related correspondence only: โExpected arrival time: 7:03,โ โBananas on sale: 0.49 cents. Buy while quantities last.โ If Gran were still around, Iโd ask for advice, but that is no longer an option.
As I approach my building, I notice a familiar figure standing outside the front doors. For a moment Iโm sure Iโm hallucinating, but as I get closer, I
see it really is her. Sheโs wearing her large dark sunglasses and carrying her pretty yellow purse.
โGiselle?โ I say as I approach.
โOh, thank God. Molly, Iโm so glad to see you.โ Before I can say anything else, she opens her arms and hugs me tight. Iโm at a loss for words, mostly because I can barely breathe. She releases me, tips her sunglasses back so I can see her red-rimmed eyes. โCan I come in?โ
โOf course,โ I say. โI canโt believe youโre here. IโmโฆIโm so pleased to see you.โ
โNot as pleased as I am to see you,โ she says.
I rummage through my pockets and manage to find my keys. My hands shake a little as I open the door and invite her into my building.
She steps in gingerly and looks around the lobby. Crumpled flyers litter the ground, surrounded by muddy footprints and cigarette buttsโsuch a filthy habit. Her face registers disdain at the mess, so much so that I can read it clearly.
โItโs unfortunate, isnโt it? I do wish every tenant would participate in keeping the entrance clean. I think youโll find Granโsโฆmyย apartment much more sanitary,โ I say.
I guide her through the entrance and toward the stairwell.
She looks up the looming staircase. โWhat floor are you on?โ she asks. โFifth,โ I say.
โCan we take the elevator?โ
โI do apologize. There isnโt one.โ
โWow,โ she says, but she joins me in marching up the stairs even though sheโs wearing impossibly high heels. We make it to the fifth landing and I rush ahead of her to open the broken fire door. It creaks as I pull it. She steps through and we emerge onto my floor. Iโm suddenly aware of the dim lighting and burnt bulbs, the peeling wallpaper and the general tattiness of these corridors. Of course, Mr. Rosso, my landlord, hears us approach and chooses precisely that moment to emerge from his apartment.
โMolly,โ he says. โOn your good Granโs grave, when are you going to pay me whatโs owed?โ
I feel a blast of heat rise to my face. โThis week. Rest assured. Youโll get whatโs coming to you.โ I imagine a big red bucket full of soapy water and pushing his bulbous head into it.
Giselle and I keep walking by him. Once weโre past, she rolls her eyes comically, which to me is a great relief, since I was concerned sheโd think poorly of me for not keeping up with my rent. Clearly, thatโs not what sheโs thinking at all.
I put my key in the lock and shakily open my front door. โAfter you,โ I say.
Giselle walks in and looks around. I step in behind her, not knowing where to stand. I close the door and slide the rusty dead bolt across. She takes in Granโs paintings in the entry, ladies lounging by lazy riversides, eating picnic delicacies from a wicker basket. She spots the old wooden chair by the door with Granโs needlepoint pillow on it. She picks it up in both hands. Her lips move as she reads the Serenity Prayer.
โHuh,โ she says. โInteresting.โ Suddenly, right there in the doorway, her face contorts into a grimace and tears fill her eyes. She hugs the pillow to her chest and begins to sob quietly.
My shaking gets worse. Iโm at a total loss. Why is Giselle at my house?
Why is she crying? And what am I supposed to do?
I put my keys down on the empty chair.
Thereโs nothing you can ever do but your best,ย I hear Gran say in my head.
โGiselle, are you upset because Mr. Black is dead?โ I ask. But then I remember that most people donโt appreciate this kind of direct talk. โSorry,โ I say, correcting myself. โWhat I mean is Iโm sorry for your loss.โ
โYouโre sorry? Why?โ she asks between sobs. โIโm not sorry. Iโm not sorry at all.โ She puts the pillow back in its place, pats it once, then takes a deep breath.
I remove my shoes, wipe the bottoms with the cloth from the closet, and put them away.
She watches me. โOh,โ she says. โI guess I should take these off.โ She removes her glossy black heels with the red bottoms, heels so tall I have no
idea how she made it up those five flights of stairs.
She gestures for me to hand her the cloth.
โNo, no,โ I say. Youโre my guest.โ I take her shoes, which are fine and sleek, a delight to hold, and I tuck them away in the closet. She takes in our cramped quarters, her eyes traveling up to the flaking living-room ceiling, where circular stains bleed through from the apartment above.
โDonโt mind appearances,โ I say. โThereโs not much I can do when it comes to how those above conduct themselves.โ
She nods, then wipes the tears from her cheeks.
I rush to the kitchen, grab a tissue, and bring it to her. โA tissue for your issue,โ I say.
โOh my God, Molly,โ she replies. โYouโve got to stop saying that when people are upset. Theyโll take it the wrong way.โ
โI only meantโโ
โI know what you meant. But other people wonโt.โ
Iโm quiet for a moment as I take this in, storing her lesson in the vault of my mind.
Weโre still in the entranceway. Iโm frozen in my spot, unsure of what to do next, what to say. If only Gran were hereโฆ.
โThis is the part where you invite me into the living room,โ Giselle says. โYou tell me to make myself at home or something like that.โ
I feel the butterflies in my stomach. โIโm sorry,โ I say. โWe donโtโฆIย donโt have company very often. Or ever. Gran used to invite select friends round from time to time, but since she died, itโs been rather quiet here.โ I donโt tell her that sheโs the first guest to pass through the door in nine months, but thatโs the Godโs honest truth. Sheโs also the first guest Iโve ever entertained on my own. Something occurs to me.
โMy gran always said, โA good cup of tea will cure all ills, and if it doesnโt, have another.โ Would you like one?โ
โSure,โ she says. โCanโt remember the last time I had tea.โ
I hurry to the kitchen to put the kettle on. I peek at Giselle from the doorway as she strolls around the living room. Iโm glad that itโs Tuesday, as I just washed the floors last night. At least I know they are clean to
perfection. Giselle walks over to the windows at the far end of the living room. She touches the frilled trim on Granโs flowery curtains, curtains she sewed herself many years ago.
As I place tea in the pot, Giselle moves to Granโs curio cabinet. She crouches to admire the Swarovski menagerie, then takes in the framed photos angled on top. It makes me slightly uncomfortable but also a tad giddy that sheโs here in my home. While Iโm confident that the apartment is clean, itโs not appointed in the manner to which a woman of Giselle Blackโs station would be accustomed. I donโt know what sheโs thinking. Perhaps sheโs horrified by the way I live. It is not like the hotel at all. It is not grand. This has always been fine by me, but perhaps itโs not fine by her. Itโs a discomfiting thought.
I pop my head out of the kitchen. โPlease rest assured that I maintain the highest level of sanitation at all times in this apartment. Unfortunately, on a maidโs salary, Iโm not able to purchase extravagant items or keep up with modern dรฉcor trends. Iโm sure to you this home appears dated and old- fashioned. Perhaps a littleโฆworn?โ
โMolly, you have no idea how things appear to me. You donโt really know much about me. You think Iโve always lived like I do now? Do you know where Iโm from?โ
โMarthaโs Vineyard,โ I say.
โNo, thatโs just what Charles tells everyone. Iโm actually from Detroit. And not the nice side of town. This place actually reminds me of home. I mean, home from long ago. Home before I found myself all alone. Before I ran away and never looked back.โ
I watch from the kitchen doorway as she leans in to inspect a photo of Gran and me taken over fifteen years ago. I was ten years old. Gran enrolled us both in a baking class. In this shot, weโre wearing comically large chef hats. Gran is laughing, though I look very serious. I recall being displeased by the flour dusted on our pantry table. It was all over my hands and apron. Giselle picks up the photo next to it.
โWhoa,โ she says. โIs this your sister?โ
โNo,โ I say. โItโs my mother. It was taken a long time ago.โ
โYou look exactly like her.โ Iโm well aware of our resemblance, especially in that photo. Her hair is shoulder-length and dark, framing her moon face. Gran always loved that photo. She called it her โtwofer,โ because it reminded her of the daughter she lost and the granddaughter she gained.
โWhere does your mom live now?โ
โShe doesnโt,โ I say. โSheโs dead. Along with my grandmother.โ
The water is boiling. I turn off the element and pour the water into a teapot.
โMine are gone too,โ she says. โWhich is why I left Detroit.โ
I place the pot on Granโs best and only silver serving tray alongside two proper porcelain cups and two polished teaspoons; a double-eared, cut- crystal sugar bowl; and a small antique pitcher of milk. All of these items store memoriesโGran and I foraging in secondhand shops or picking through boxes of discarded items left outside the row of austere mansions on the Coldwellsโ street.
โIโm sorry about your mother,โ Giselle says. โAnd your grandmother.โ โYou have no reason to be. You didnโt have anything to do with it.โ
โI know I didnโt, but thatโs just what you say. Like you did with me at the door. You said you were sorry about Charles. You offered your condolences.โ
โBut Mr. Black died yesterday, and my mother died many years ago.โ โIt doesnโt matter,โ Giselle says. โThatโs just what you say.โ
โThank you. For explaining.โ โSure. Anytime.โ
I truly am grateful for her guidance. With Gran gone, much of the time I feel like a blind person in a minefield. Iโm constantly stumbling upon social improprieties hidden under the surface of things. But with Giselle around, I feel like Iโm wearing a breastplate and am flanked by an armed guard. One of the reasons why I love working at the Regency Grand is that thereโs a rule book for conduct. I can rely on Mr. Snowโs training to tell me how to act, what to say when, how, and to whom. I find it relieving to have guidance.
I take the tea tray into the sitting room. It rattles in my hands. Giselle sits down on the worst part of the sofa, where the springs poke through a tad, though Gran has covered them with a crocheted blanket. I sit beside her.
I pour two cups of tea. I pick up mine, the one rimmed with gold and decorated in daisy chains, then realize my error. โSorry. Would you prefer this cup or that one? Iโm used to taking the daisies. Gran would take the English cottage scene. Iโm a bit of a creature of habit.โ
โYou donโt say,โ Giselle says, and picks up Granโs cup. She helps herself to two heaping teaspoons of sugar and some milk. She stirs the contents. Sheโs never done much housework, thatโs for sure. Her hands are smooth and flawless, her manicured nails long and polished blood red.
Giselle takes a sip, swallows. โListen, I know youโre probably wondering why Iโm here.โ
โI was worried for you, and Iโm glad youโre here,โ I say.
โMolly, yesterday was the worst day of my life. The cops were all over me. They took me to the station. They questioned me like Iโm some kind of common criminal.โ
โI was worried that would happen. You donโt deserve that.โ
โI know. But they donโt. They asked me if I got too eager as a potential heir to Charlesโs estate. I told them to talk to my lawyers, not that I have any. Charles handled all of that. God, it was awful, to be accused of such a thing. Then as soon as I got back to the hotel, Charlesโs daughter, Victoria, called me.โ
I feel a tremor jolt me as I pick up my teacup and take a sip. โAh yes, the forty-nine-percent shareholder.โ
โThatโs what she owned before. Now sheโll own over half of everything, which is what her mother always wanted. โWomen and business donโt mix,โ Charles saysโฆsaid. According to him, women canโt handle dirty work.โ
โThatโs preposterous,โ I say. Then I catch myself. โApologies. Itโs rude to talk ill of the dead.โ
โItโs okay. He deserves it. Anyhow, his daughter said way worse things to me on the phone. Do you know what she called me? Her fatherโs Prada parasite, his midlife mistake, not to mention his killer. She was raging so
much, her mother took the phone away from her. Calm as anything, Mrs. Blackโthe first Mrs. Blackโsays, โI apologize for my daughter. We all react to grief in different ways.โ Can you believe it? While her lunatic daughter is yelling in the background, telling me to watch my back.โ
โYou donโt have to worry about Victoria,โ I say.
โOh, Molly, youโre so trusting. You have no idea how vicious it is out there in the real world. Everyone wants to see me go down. It doesnโt matter that Iโm innocent. They hate me. And for what? The police, they suggested thatย Iย was violent against Charles. Unbelievable!โ
I watch Giselle carefully. I remember the day she told me about Mr. Blackโs mistresses, how she was so angry she really did want to kill him. But thought and action are different things. Theyโre different things entirely. If anyone knows this, I do.
โThe police think I killed my own husband,โ she says. โFor what itโs worth, I know you didnโt.โ
โThank you, Molly,โ she says.
Her hands are shaking like mine are. She sets her cup down on the table. โIโll never get how a decent woman like Charlesโs ex-wife could raise such a bitch of a daughter.โ
โPerhaps Victoria takes after her father,โ I say. I remember Giselleโs bruises and how they came to be. My fingers tighten on the delicate handle of my teacup. If I grip it any harder, it will shatter into a million pieces.ย Breathe, Molly. Breathe.
โMr. Black, he wasnโt good to you,โ I say. โHe was, in my estimation, a very bad egg.โ
Giselle looks down at her lap. She smooths out the edges of her satin skirt. She is picture-perfect. Itโs as if a cinema star from the golden age just crawled out of Granโs TV and magically took a seat beside me on the sofa. That thought seems more probable than Giselle being real, a socialite who is actually friends with a lowly maid.
โCharles didnโt always treat me well, but he loved me, in his way. And I loved him in my way. I did.โ Her big green eyes fill with tears.
I think of Wilbur, how he stole the Fabergรฉ. Any fondness I felt for him turned to bitterness in an instant. I would have cooked him in a vat of lye if I could have done so without repercussion. And yet, Giselle, who has just cause to hate Charles, holds on to her love for him. How curious, the way different people react to similar stimuli.
I take a sip of tea. โYour husband was a cheater. And he beat you,โ I say. โWow. Are you sure you donโt want to tell it like it is?โ
โI just did,โ I say.
She nods. โWhen I met Charles, I thought my life was made. I thought Iโd finally found someone who would look after me, who had it all and who adored me. He made me feel special, like I was the only woman in the world. Things were okay for a while. Until they werenโt. And yesterday, we had a huge fight right before you came in to clean the suite. I told him I was sick of our life, sick of going from city to city, hotel to hotel, all for his โbusiness.โ I said, โWhy canโt we just settle down somewhere, like at the villa in the Caymans, and just live and enjoy life like normal people?โ
โPeople donโt know this, but when we got married, he made me sign a prenup so none of his properties or assets belong to me. It hurt, that he didnโt trust me, but like an idiot, I signed it. From that moment on, things were different between us. The second we were married, I wasnโt special anymore. And he was free to give me what he wanted and take it away at any time. Thatโs exactly what heโs done throughout our two years of marriage. If he liked the way I acted, gifts would be showered upon meโ diamonds and designer shoes, exotic tripsโbut he was a jealous man. If I so much as laughed at a guyโs joke at a party, Iโd be punished. And not just by him turning off the money tap.โ One of her hands flits up to her collarbone. โI should have known. Itโs not like I wasnโt warned.โ
Giselle pauses, gets up, and retrieves her purse by the door. She rummages around and her hand emerges with two pills. She sets her purse down on the chair by the door, returns to the sofa, and pops the two pills in her mouth, washing them down with some tea.
โYesterday, I asked Charles if he would consider canceling our prenup or at least putting the Cayman villa in my name. Weโve been married for two
years; he should trust me by now, right? All I wanted was a place to escape to when the pressure gets too much for me. I told him, โYou can keep growing your business, if thatโs what you wantโyour Black empire. But at least give me the deed to the villa. With my name on it. A place to call my own. A home.โ โ
I think back to the itinerary I saw in her purse. If the trip was for her and Mr. Black, why were the flights one-way?
โHe lost it on me when I said the word โhome.โ He said everyone always lies to him, tries to steal his money, takes advantage of him. He was drunk, storming around the room, saying I was just like his ex-wife. He called me a lot of thingsโa money-grabber, a gold diggerโฆa dime-store whore. He got so mad that he pulled off his wedding ring and threw it across the room. He said, โFine, have it your way!โ Then he opened the safe, rooted around in there, stuffed some paper in his suit pocket, then pushed past me and stormed out of the room.โ
I knew what that paper was. Iโd seen it in his pocketโthe deed to the villa in the Caymans.
โMolly, thatโs when you came in the suite, remember?โ
I did rememberโthe way Mr. Black pushed past me, just another aggravating human obstacle in his path.
โSorry I was acting so weird. But now you know why.โ
โThatโs quite all right,โ I say. โMr. Black was far ruder than you were.
And to be honest, I thought you were sad, not mad.โ
She smiles. โYou know what, Molly? You understand more than anyone gives you credit for.โ
โYes,โ I say.
โI donโt care what anyone else thinks. Youโre the best.โ
I can feel my face flush at the compliment. Before I have a chance to ask what other people think about me, a strange transformation washes over Giselle. Whatever is in the pills she just took, the change happens quickly. Itโs like sheโs turning from solid to liquid before my eyes. Her shoulders relax and her face softens. I remember Gran when she was sick, how the medications relieved the pain just like this, for a while at least, how her face
would turn from a tight, stony grimace to a look of peaceful bliss so clear that even I could read it instantly. Those pills worked magic on Gran. Until they didnโt. Until they werenโt enough. Until nothing was enough.
Giselle turns to face me and sits cross-legged on the couch. She wraps Granโs blanket around her legs. โYou found him, right? Charles? It was you who first found him?โ
โIt was me. Yes.โ
โAnd they took you to the station? Thatโs what I heard.โ โCorrect.โ
โSo what did you tell them?โ She brings one hand to her lips and nibbles at the skin by her index finger. I want to tell her that nail-biting is a filthy habit and not to ruin her lovely manicure, but I refrain.
โI told the detective what I saw. How I entered the suite to return it to a state of perfection, how I felt perhaps it was occupied, how I entered the bedroom to find Mr. Black lying on the bed. And when I investigated further, I realized he was dead.โ
โAnd was there anything weird about the suite?โ
โHeโd been drinking,โ I say. โWhich Iโm afraid I donโt consider unusual for Mr. Black.โ
โYou got that right,โ she says.
โButโฆyour pills. Theyโre usually in the bathroom, and they were on the bedside table, open, with some spilled onto the carpet.โ
Her whole body stiffens. โWhat?โ
โYes, and some pills had been stepped on and were ground into the carpet, which is problematic for those of us who have to clean the suite after.โ I wish she wouldnโt nibble her nails like a cob of corn.
โAnything else?โ Giselle asks. โThe safe was open.โ
Giselle nods. โOf course. Normally he kept it locked, never gave me the code. But that day, he took whatever it was he wanted and left it open when he stormed out.โ
She picks up her teacup and takes a polite sip. โMolly, did you tell the police anything about Charles and me? Aboutโฆour relationship?โ
โNo,โ I say.
โDid youโฆdid you tell them anything about me?โ
โI did not hide the truth,โ I say. โBut I also didnโt volunteer it.โ
Giselle stares at me for a second, then leaps forward and hugs me, which catches me off guard. I can smell her expensive perfume. Isnโt it interesting how luxury has an unmistakable scent, as unmistakable as fear or death?
โMolly, youโre a very special person, you know that?โ โYes, I know,โ I say. โIโve been told that before.โ
โYouโre a good person and a good friend. I donโt think I could ever be as good as you, so long as I live. But I want you to know something: whatever happens, donโt you think for a second that I donโt appreciate you.โ
She pulls back from me and springs to her feet. A few minutes ago, she was willowy and relaxed; now sheโs overcharged.
โWhat are you going to do? Now that Mr. Black is dead?โ
โNot much,โ she says. โThe police wonโt let me go anywhere until the toxicology and autopsy reports are complete. Because if some rich guy turns up dead, then obviously his wife offed him, right? Couldnโt be that he died of natural causes, of the stress he caused himself and everyone else around him. Stress that his wife was trying to relieve him from so he wouldnโt drop dead.โ
โIs that what you think happened? He dropped dead, just like that?โ
She sighs. Tears spring to her eyes. โThere are so many reasons a heart can stop beating.โ
I feel a lump in my throat. I think of Gran, of her good heart and how it came to a stop.
โWill you continue to stay at the hotel while you wait for the reports?โ I ask.
โI donโt have much choice. Iโve got nowhere else to go. And I can barely step outside of the hotel without being mobbed by reporters. I donโt own any property. Iโve got nothing thatโs mine and only mine, Molly. Not even a crappy apartment like this.โ She winces. โSorry. See? Youโre not the only one who steps in it from time to time.โ
โThatโs quite all right. I take no offense.โ
She reaches out and puts a hand on my knee. โMolly,โ she says, โI wonโt know what Charlesโs will says for a while. Which means I wonโt know what becomes of me for a while. Until then, Iโll stay at the hotel. At least there, the bill is already paid.โ
She pauses, looks at me. โWill you look after me? At the hotel, I mean. Will you be my maid? Sunitha is nice and all, but itโs not the same. Youโre like a sister to me, you know that? A sister who sometimes says crazy shit and likes dusting way too much, but a sister nonetheless.โ
Iโm flattered that Giselle thinks of me in such a positive light, that she sees past what others donโt, that she sees me asโฆfamily.
โIโd be honored to look after you,โ I say. โIf Mr. Snow is fine with it.โ โGreat. Iโll tell him when I go back.โ She stands, walks to the door, and
grabs her yellow purse. She brings it to the sofa and takes out a stack of billsโa stack that looks all too familiar. She flicks off two crisp hundred- dollar bills and places them on Granโs silver tea tray.
โFor you,โ she says. โYou earned it.โ โWhat? This is a lot of money, Giselle.โ
โI never tipped you yesterday. Consider this your tip.โ โBut I never finished cleaning the suite yesterday.โ
โThatโs not your fault. You just keep that. And letโs pretend this conversation never happened.โ
I, for one, will never be able to forget this conversation, but I donโt say that out loud.
She stands and turns to the door, but then stops and faces me. โOne more thing, Molly. Iโve got a favor to ask of you.โ
I immediately wonder if this will involve ironing or laundry, so Iโm surprised by what comes next.
โDo you think you might be able to get into our suite still? Itโs cordoned off right now. But I left something in there, something I desperately need back. I tucked it up in the bathroom fan.โ
That explains it, the clunky sound I heard yesterday when she was in the bathroom, showering.
โWhat is it you want me to retrieve?โ
โMy gun,โ she says, her voice neutral and calm. โIโm at risk, Molly. Iโm vulnerable now that Mr. Black is gone. Everyone wants a piece of me. I need protection.โ
โI see,โ I reply. But in truth, this request produces raging anxiety. I feel my throat closing. I feel the world tilt around me. I think of Mr. Snowโs adviceโโWhen a guest asks for something above and beyond, consider it a challenge. Donโt dismiss it. Rise to meet it!โ
โIโll do my best,โ I say, but the words catch. โTo retrieve yourโฆitem.โ I stand in front of her, at attention.
โBless your heart, Molly Maid,โ she says, throwing her arms around me again. โDonโt believe what anyone says. Youโre not a freak. Or a robot. And Iโll never forget this as long as I live. Youโll see. I swear, I wonโt forget.โ
She rushes over to the front door, retrieves her glossy high heels from the closet, and slips them on. Sheโs left her teacup behind on the table rather than carrying it to the kitchen as Gran would have. She has not, however, forgotten her yellow purse, which she slings over her shoulder. She opens my front door, blows me a kiss, and waves goodbye.
A thought occurs to me.
โWait,โ I say. Sheโs down the hall, nearly at the stairs. โGiselle, how did you know where to find me? How did you get my home address?โ
She turns around. โOh,โ she says. โSomeone at the hotel gave it to me.โ โWho?โ I ask.
She squints. โHmmโฆ. Canโt quite remember. But donโt worry. I wonโt bug you all the time or anything. And thanks, Molly. For the tea. For the talk. For being you.โ
And with that she flicks her sunglasses down, pulls open the broken fire door, and leaves.