The Concierge

As I put key number 427 back on its correct silver-plated hook I smiled knowingly as the couple picked up their bags and walked out. They had been staying in that room on and off now for over 2 years, always requesting it far in advance of the dates they actually wanted, just to ensure it would be available. Truth is, it always would be anyway. The hotel managers dote on Mr and Mrs Devlin and would do all they could to ensure they were kept happy and faithful and with open wallets to aid the ever-increasing profits the hotel was currently making. It seemed unfair that I was paid such a pittance to check in these socialites, knowing full well the extortionate rates they were paying in comparison to my minimum wage salary.

I had been welcoming these guests for over 6 months now, yet they still seemed to look at me through glass eyes. I was unfamiliar to them; I was as instrumental as a door handle, constantly being pushed to and fro allowing them to get to where they were going. They were not the sorts of people to take note of the strangers around them as they were so wrapped up in their own lives to look into my sorrow filled oval brown eyes. They failed to notice the admiration I had for them and my status-less effort to please.

As they glided with grace out of the hotel doors, heads turned and noticed the air around them. The doorman reached for the heavy hung pure maple oak doors fitted with a dazzling spectacle of Swarovski Crystal glass and elegantly swung them open giving them a clear exit back to their suburban life. I looked on wondering what it must be like to live in such contrast, surrounded by the birds singing and beautiful rolling landscapes during the weekend, and then back to the smog filled city during the week. I never understood why regular guests such as these didn’t just buy a home rather than dwindle away millions on a hotel suite; in fact this question lingered in my mind for some time. It gave me an unsettling inkling of a feeling that made me want to push further and try to discover the life behind the façade. There must be more to it than meets the eye.

Friday had come around quickly this week. I was fortunate enough to have weekends off, which is quite unusual in this job, but I savoured my weekends knowing they could be taken from me at any time. Before I left for home on a Friday at around 6pm, I often went and sat up in the staff canteen, hoping for the odd leftover toasted sandwich that were occasionally offered to famished looking staff as the kind old canteen lady began to wind down her shift. It didn’t look like there would be any free food today so I sat glumly stirring my weak milk stained coffee, wondering why I continued to put a pound in the staff cafeteria machine everyday even though I hated the taste of this comforting drink. In truth it had become routine. It wasn’t just Friday evenings but it had become one of my daily comforts that helped the clock hands turn faster around the cheep watch I wore on my wrist. I never quite understood how I got this job. I am of course more than capable in the art of checking guests in, but I don’t walk around with a plum in my mouth and I don’t embrace the designer culture which would make me look like I do this job for fun and fulfilment and not like I really needed the money anyway, which I did. It amused me watching the staff that did actually embrace that arrogant attitude, knowing full well they had bills to pay when they got home just like the rest of us. With this miserable prospect at the forefront of my plans for the weekend I headed off home, another week under my belt.

I grew up on the Peabody council estate. Apparently it’s the largest in London, which often meant residents were commonly referred to as the ‘city rats’. This never really bothered me as I always kept myself to myself and now I am simply referred to as the mute! I find this much more kinder and manageable. I never needed people to know my business and I was careful to ensure that nobody knew where I worked. I went through this daily rigmarole of scurrying off to the familiar McDonalds around the corner from the hotel, and tidying myself up, changing my clothes and preparing for work. The deputy manager has always found me intriguing, I can tell by the way he admires me that it is a joy to his day when I step through the doors and give him my cutest innocent and grateful smile. I see him melt before me, which is hugely convenient considering I had to change my routine once already when the manager at KFC politely asked me out for a drink and I politely refused. Needless to say the toilets were conveniently locked from then onwards. I never did like KFC anyway. I was dreading the day Jim with his 4 shiny ‘McStars’ which he wore proud above his name bade along with his goofy red hat, would pluck up the courage to approach me, maybe he never would, or maybe he could be quite useful too me at some point, in which case a little human kindness and maybe the odd kiss or too wouldn’t hurt, surely. It was the first time a thought like this had entered my head, and had Jim had the insight and ability to read my mind I could just imagine the explosive movement in his pants if he realised such an occasion could be on the cards. He wasn’t the most unattractive guy in the world; in fact I was finding him quite to the contrary. Its funny how most women wouldn’t go for a guy working in a fast food joint, when as it would seem, there were often the most attractive men working there. I knew I was going to ponder over my thoughts during the coming weekend. It had been a considerable amount of time since I had let a man into my bed and my body was calling out for some attention.

The weekend had gone so fast and the week ahead was shaping up to be slightly odd. Everything that I was accustomed to seemed different. The trees were starting to turn that beautiful auburn colour as the autumn gradually approached, and the park benches I walked past everyday had been painted with a fresh coat of green. To any other set of eyes it could well be the same colour, but I noticed the subtle difference and wondered if this was indeed done on purpose to brighten the area as the season changed or if it was in fact a simple error, that would go unnoticed on the grand scheme of things. As I walked past the phone booth I slowed my steps and watched as a young polish looking guy with strong arms used a squeegee inside the booth. I didn’t actually know that someone was responsible for cleaning phone booths, why had I never noticed that before? My attention was suddenly drawn the town hall clock as it struck on the hour. How odd it was chiming for 7am, it was clearly 8am like every other day.
“Oh Shit” I exclaimed much to the surprise of the guy in the booth. I smiled coyly then hurried towards the hotel.

“You’re a bit early today,” Joy giggled at me as I hung my jacket on the coat stand.
“I have just realised that I forgot to change my clocks last night, what an idiot I can be”
“Don’t worry love it happens to the best of us” Joy proclaimed Joyfully. It definitely wasn’t for nothing that her mother granted her that proud name. I often wondered what my mother would have called me had she actually wanted a daughter.

As I started to arrange my paperwork for the day the doors flung open and in scurried Mr and Mrs Devlin. They were an hour earlier than their usual check in time, which was bizarre considering I shouldn’t have even been there and then I noticed it. The stylish shimmering metal suitcase handcuffed to Mr Devlin’s wrist. It was brand new and larger than the normal one he usually brought in and without attention unlike today. It looked somewhat weighty and fierce and it commanded the inquisitive looks of all in its surroundings. I stood tall at reception ready to go through the usual rigmarole but was sharply cut off in the last second by Mr Watts. It was a very rare occasion indeed to see Mr Watts. He was the son of Lord Watts, the founder of Watts Regency, one of the most astute and withstanding Hotels in Kensington in the heart of London’s wealthiest. He greeted Mr and Mrs Devlin with great fondness and quickly marched them off away from all the prying eyes in reception and for what purpose we would be last to know. Joy and I exchanged bewildered glances. From the concierge desk we were privy to seeing everything that went on, however we were never so privy to by informed of what any of what we actually saw meant. Every position within a hotel has an unspoken ranking system. I was disappointed to know that even the cleaners ranked higher than the concierge on the need to know gossip scale, and after all everyone knew that one of the draws to working as a low paid servant in a hotel was down to the unimaginable scandals. Gossip was the life and soul of what would be nothing but a brick building of lifeless walls and décor. Without it this industry would be dead. It was certainly part of the reason I chose to do all that I needed to to get this job, but it wasn’t for that reason entirely.