Montreal, on the cusp of 1930
The Bonne Nuit Hotel was the place to be, and tonight was no different. On this New Year’s Eve, all the energy was emanating from the lavish dining room where a party was in full swing. A jazz band was playing all the latest tunes and the guests crowded the dance floor with their glittering outfits, overflowing drinks in hand without a care in the world.
Having only officially opened its doors to the public five years ago, word of mouth was everything, and the staff didn’t hold back when it came down to catering to their guests. No demand was too outrageous at the Bonne Nuit Hotel, where accommodating their guests’ every whim was priority number one.
And so, as the staff had been briefed prior to the start of the party, it was of the utmost importance to remain in the shadows of the grand dining room, being on guard for when a guest would be in need of assistance.
Even though most of the guests were now doing the Charleston on the black-and-white marbled dance floor, the rest of the staff went about their duties with the same attention to detail. The bellboys stood like statues by the front doors in their fitted black blazers and their matching round caps, letting guests in and out as if their lives depended on it; the front desk attendant sat behind an ornate counter to the left of the main entrance while answering the phone and taking down copious notes; the cooks and waiters scurried from the dining room to the spacious white kitchen, frantically plating room service requests with an elegant touch.
If you asked all these employees how their shifts were going, they’d scoff and say time was flying by. The same couldn’t be said for Beatriz, the maid in charge of the turndown service on this fateful night. The 12 floors were dead quiet—who would want to lounge around in their rooms on New Year’s Eve? So Beatriz was assigned the tedious task of readying the beds for when the partiers stumbled back in during the wee hours of the morning, their spirits satiated by booze and music as they crashed into their rooms.
Beatriz took her time riding the elevator to each floor, getting her cart out of the supply closet, and stocking it up with essentials such as towels, shampoo, and toilet paper. Rolling out into the red-carpeted hallway armed with her list, she entered the rooms of the guests who had requested the turndown service.
She still remembered the first time she laid eyes on these extravagant art deco rooms, how awestruck she was. The sitting room with a polished dresser and luxurious couch, the bathroom with the exquisite bathtub and matching vanity with double sinks, and the bedroom beyond the French doors, complete with a king-size bed and gold draping. She remembered telling her parents the second she rushed home from her first shift. Her family emigrated from Northern Italy when she was young, and the idea of such extravagant taste was foreign to them.
But Beatriz could still dream that one day she’d be able to indulge in such things instead of simply being a bystander.
She didn’t mind working these quiet night shifts. In fact, she preferred them. Although she’d gotten used to the regulars who approached her, it was hard to push through her deep-rooted shyness. She was not one to attract attention, and she was often described by her colleagues as “the mouse”.
“Gee, with looks like that, you don’t need to stay in the shadows sweetheart!” a blunt guest, a rich heir passing through, had blurted out one time when he passed her rolling her cart down the hallway.
Yes, if Beatriz was being honest with herself, she knew her long black hair and rich brown eyes were enviable. Heck, the maid uniform, a fitted black dress that hit just below the knee with a matching white collar and apron, almost made her look like a starlet auditioning for a role. But she didn’t bother herself with such frivolous superficiality.
Although the wheels of the movie business had been set in motion over a decade ago, conservative people such as her parents still viewed it as a disgraceful profession, so much so that Beatriz would have to sneak out to go see a picture show. The two things she valued most in life were her family and her work ethic, and that’s how she found herself at the Bonne Nuit Hotel.
Despite the fact that Beatriz was only 20 years old, she had quickly gained respect for her no-nonsense attitude and her quick attention to detail, and as such the staff trusted her. But it was during these turndown shifts that she could indulge in something she quite enjoyed: snooping.
During these nighttime hours when she was the least likely to get caught, Beatriz enjoyed going through people’s things. Granted, she never opened luggage to rummage through it; she would simply observe everything that was out on display for the world to see. It was surprising how often guests left personal belongings strewn about in their room as if in the comfort of their own homes.
When opening the room to such an inclined guest, she would touch all the clothes, makeup, and other items left out in the open, imagining this was all hers for the taking. For all she knew, these items belonged to celebrities such as Mary Pickford or Norma Shearer, guests who had been known to spend a night at the Bonne Nuit Hotel. A girl could dream.
After prepping the last bed and putting away her cart back into the storage closet, Beatriz rode the elevator down to the lobby with a trolley full of dirty sheets. As she made her way from one end of the building to the other, she could feel the floor thumping with music under her feet, music that poured out of the dining room as two ladies staggered out into the lobby.
“Quick Ruby, we need to powder our noses before the countdown begins,” one lady slurred as she pulled her friend in the direction of the bathroom.
Beatriz’s heart ached for a split second, wishing she could be so carefree. But instead, she was in her maid’s uniform, pushing a trolley full of dirty sheets down the hallway leading to the laundry room.
She pushed the door with her trolley, and it flung open without making a sound. Normally during a day shift, there would be two maids working the laundry room, each sharing the task of operating the new electric washing machine (which was still somewhat of a mystery to Beatriz) as well as hanging and folding all the sheets and towels. Not a small feat when you took into account the number of rooms that comprised the 12 floors of this hotel.
It was always eerily quiet in the laundry room when no one else was around. Beatriz decided not to dwell on it, instead focusing on depositing the dirty laundry in its designated spot and then stacking up towels and sheets so they’d be ready for the following day. She always got tired at the end of her shifts and her mind started to wander, something her mother often reprimanded her for.
What did the year 1930 have in store for Beatriz? That was a good question. She wasn’t one to think too far ahead, but she was an eternal optimist, only allowing herself to think on the bright side.
With her back to the door, she started absentmindedly stacking towels on a shelf, not even realizing someone had discreetly opened the door. The tower of towels stumbled to the floor as someone shoved a bed sheet over Beatriz’s head and yanked her down. A scream coursed through her throat as she struggled against her assailant, her arms flailing about wildly.
The last thing Beatriz remembered hearing was the countdown: “5…4…3…2…1…HAPPY NEW YEAR!”
Cheers and whistles rang out as she slowly slipped away.
