Page 69 of Summers at the Saint
“Thank you, sweetheart,” Mrs. Dahlberg said.
Gigi smiled at the guest. “Can I pour you a little prosecco while you wait?”
“Oh, I shouldn’t. But then again, it’s not as though I’m driving, so I believe I will.”
Twenty minutes later, Livvy removed the hot rollers from the wig, which she’d placed on a wig form on the counter of the station, and began attacking it with a brush and hairspray, styling the short silver curls into a loose, feathery coiffure.
“What do you think?”
“It’s wonderful,” Mrs. Dahlberg said. She began to unfasten the scarf, but then stopped.
“Now, close your eyes, please, Olivia. I hate for anyone to see this ugly old bald head of mine.”
“I will,” Livvy said, obeying the guest’s request. “But I don’t believe you could ever be anything other than beautiful, Mrs. Dahlberg.”
“All right, you can look now,” Mrs. Dahlberg said a moment later.
Livvy opened her eyes. “You look amazing,” she said. “Gorgeous, even!”
The old woman batted her pale eyelashes. “I do, don’t I? And it’s all thanks to you.” She reached for her pocketbook, opened it, and brought out her billfold.
“Oh no,” Livvy protested. “I’m not allowed to accept gratuities.”
“It’s not a gratuity,” Mrs. Dahlberg said. “It’s payment. I’m sure you should have gone home by now, but you stayed to do me a huge favor, and it’s only right that you are paid.”
“Seeing you happy is enough payment for me,” Livvy said. “And I can’t wait to hear all about the party tomorrow.”
It was nearly six by the time Livvy returned to the guest relations desk.
“Shit,” she murmured. “I still gotta go look at the Colonel’s damn mattress.”
She commandeered one of the golf carts parked near the service entrance, and motored over to the engineering and maintenance warehouse. Only one car was in the gravel parking lot. Livvy tried the door, but it was locked.
She pounded on the heavy metal door. “Hey! Anybody in there? Let me in, okay?” She pounded again, sweat dripping down her back in the hot, humid air.
Finally the door opened and a skinny teenager in a dirty uniform shirt peered out at her. “Hey,” he said warily. “What’s up?”
“I’m Olivia, from guest relations, and Reggie was supposed to leave a mattress here for me to look at, so if you’ll just let me in, I’ll take a look, snap a picture, and get gone.”
He blinked and pushed a strand of sweat-soaked hair from his forehead. “Mattress?”
“Yeah. You know, the flat thing you sleep on? Reggie brought it back from the hotel.”
“I ain’t seen no mattress,” the kid said. “But you can look around for yourself.”
Livvy stepped inside the cavernous metal building. She toured a machine shop, passed pallets of shrink-wrapped goods and toweringrows holding rolls of carpet and cartons of coffee makers, microwaves, and televisions, but there was no sign of a used mattress.
“I don’t understand,” she told the kid. “Reggie promised he’d keep it here for me.”
“Reggie’s gone home,” the kid said. “I gotta go too. You know?”
Her shoulders slumped as she left the warehouse and stepped onto the golf cart. Ugh. Only her first day in guest relations, and she’d somehow managed to screw up the one thing she’d promised Mrs. E she’d attend to.
CHAPTER 36
Livvy was waiting, and when Felice finally returned to the dorm just after ten that night, she pounced.
“Hey,” she greeted her colleague. “How was work?”
