workaday world.
Half a dozen white yachts were anchored at the concrete dock on a branch of the New River, protected by an open metal-roofed shed. Helen saw uniformed staffers polishing brightwork and carrying cases and crates aboard. She thought the sleek Belted Earl made the other yachts look tubby.
“Hello? Anybody home?” she tried again.
The deck doors burst open and a slim blonde in white shorts and a polo shirt waved and said, “Hi! Are you Helen?”
She flashed a cheerleader’s smile, ran lightly down the gangplank and held out her hand. “I’m Mira, chief stewardess of the Belted Earl . I’ll show you where you’ll be working and sleeping—if you get anytime to sleep. We cruise at nine tomorrow night and the captain will see you at seven thirty.”
Mira had small, doll-like features and a muscular, compact body. Her blond hair was pulled back with a two-toned silver barrette. Helen followed her along the narrow teak deck until Mira opened a door. Helen stepped over the raised threshold into a kitchen bigger than her own.
“The galley is the chef’s domain,” Mira said. “Suzanne cooks for the owners and crew. We eat well.”
“She must have a terrific view from this window when you’re at sea,” Helen said.
“She’s so busy, I doubt if Suzanne has much time to admire the view,” Mira said. “When we’re in port, you can see the crew washing the boat next door. They’re pretty scenic.” She winked. “And single.”
“I’ve got one, thanks.” Helen had removed her wedding ring for this assignment. Her finger felt naked without it.
“Just because you’re on a diet doesn’t mean you can’t look at the menu,” Mira said.
She giggled, then turned serious. “This is the dining room and wet bar. The main salon is beyond the oak divider.”
Helen liked this floating mansion better than the gloomy barrel-tiled monstrosity on Hendin Island. The yacht’s rooms were comfortably roomy, not dark, intimidating caves. They were brightened by big windows and warm honey-colored wood.
“Beautiful wood,” she said.
“Custom-carved oak,” Mira said. “You’ll dust and polish it twice a day.”
Now Helen noticed the room was unnaturally dust free. “I guess I’ll vacuum this carpet, too,” she said.
“The captain said you’ve worked as a hotel maid, so you’re an experienced cleaner,” Mira said. “You know to stay in the tracks.”
“Tracks?”
“We don’t run a vacuum over the carpet every which way,” Mira said. “We vacuum the way you mow a lawn, so there aren’t random tracks.”
Mira opened a door off the main salon. “This is the on-deck head,” she said. “We have ten heads for the guests, including their stateroom baths.” This one made the Coronado bathrooms look like outhouses. The commode was a beige sculpture. The granite sink had gold fixtures. Two fluffy hand towels embroidered with THE BELTED EARL hung on a brass rack.
“The heads are cleaned after each use,” Mira said. “That will be mainly your job.”
“Every time?” Helen tried to hide her disbelief.
“Yes,” Mira said. “I’m sure you cleaned toilets at the hotel.”
“Yes,” Helen said. She doubted the men on the yacht had better aim than the hotel guests. If they missed on land, how steady would they be on a shifting ship?
“You’ll also clean the sink, the counter, the mirror, and empty the wastebasket. The toilet paper has to be folded into points after every use. It’s stowed under the sink.”
She opened the carved oak cabinet doors to show stacks of TP, towels and bars of deliciously fragrant Bvlgari soap.
“The labels on the toilet paper rolls should face out on the shelves,” Mira said. “Towels are changed every time. They’re kept folded with their labels facing the same way. Most guests use the liquid soap, but if a bar is used, we put out a fresh one.”
“Bvlgari is twenty dollars a bar,” Helen said.
“Fifteen,” Mira corrected.
“What happens to
Half a dozen white yachts were anchored at the concrete dock on a branch of the New River, protected by an open metal-roofed shed. Helen saw uniformed staffers polishing brightwork and carrying cases and crates aboard. She thought the sleek Belted Earl made the other yachts look tubby.
“Hello? Anybody home?” she tried again.
The deck doors burst open and a slim blonde in white shorts and a polo shirt waved and said, “Hi! Are you Helen?”
She flashed a cheerleader’s smile, ran lightly down the gangplank and held out her hand. “I’m Mira, chief stewardess of the Belted Earl . I’ll show you where you’ll be working and sleeping—if you get anytime to sleep. We cruise at nine tomorrow night and the captain will see you at seven thirty.”
Mira had small, doll-like features and a muscular, compact body. Her blond hair was pulled back with a two-toned silver barrette. Helen followed her along the narrow teak deck until Mira opened a door. Helen stepped over the raised threshold into a kitchen bigger than her own.
“The galley is the chef’s domain,” Mira said. “Suzanne cooks for the owners and crew. We eat well.”
“She must have a terrific view from this window when you’re at sea,” Helen said.
“She’s so busy, I doubt if Suzanne has much time to admire the view,” Mira said. “When we’re in port, you can see the crew washing the boat next door. They’re pretty scenic.” She winked. “And single.”
“I’ve got one, thanks.” Helen had removed her wedding ring for this assignment. Her finger felt naked without it.
“Just because you’re on a diet doesn’t mean you can’t look at the menu,” Mira said.
She giggled, then turned serious. “This is the dining room and wet bar. The main salon is beyond the oak divider.”
Helen liked this floating mansion better than the gloomy barrel-tiled monstrosity on Hendin Island. The yacht’s rooms were comfortably roomy, not dark, intimidating caves. They were brightened by big windows and warm honey-colored wood.
“Beautiful wood,” she said.
“Custom-carved oak,” Mira said. “You’ll dust and polish it twice a day.”
Now Helen noticed the room was unnaturally dust free. “I guess I’ll vacuum this carpet, too,” she said.
“The captain said you’ve worked as a hotel maid, so you’re an experienced cleaner,” Mira said. “You know to stay in the tracks.”
“Tracks?”
“We don’t run a vacuum over the carpet every which way,” Mira said. “We vacuum the way you mow a lawn, so there aren’t random tracks.”
Mira opened a door off the main salon. “This is the on-deck head,” she said. “We have ten heads for the guests, including their stateroom baths.” This one made the Coronado bathrooms look like outhouses. The commode was a beige sculpture. The granite sink had gold fixtures. Two fluffy hand towels embroidered with THE BELTED EARL hung on a brass rack.
“The heads are cleaned after each use,” Mira said. “That will be mainly your job.”
“Every time?” Helen tried to hide her disbelief.
“Yes,” Mira said. “I’m sure you cleaned toilets at the hotel.”
“Yes,” Helen said. She doubted the men on the yacht had better aim than the hotel guests. If they missed on land, how steady would they be on a shifting ship?
“You’ll also clean the sink, the counter, the mirror, and empty the wastebasket. The toilet paper has to be folded into points after every use. It’s stowed under the sink.”
She opened the carved oak cabinet doors to show stacks of TP, towels and bars of deliciously fragrant Bvlgari soap.
“The labels on the toilet paper rolls should face out on the shelves,” Mira said. “Towels are changed every time. They’re kept folded with their labels facing the same way. Most guests use the liquid soap, but if a bar is used, we put out a fresh one.”
“Bvlgari is twenty dollars a bar,” Helen said.
“Fifteen,” Mira corrected.
“What happens to
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