Caught on Camera

Chapter 11, Scene 2, Part 21

Scene 2

Rachel quickly extracted her hand from Mickey's. Having attracted her attention from a dozen feet away, the General Manager arced a raised arm to indicate that she follow him.

She cringed. Had he noticed her tête à tête with Mickey? With no shortage of things to be guilty about, dread at the reason for the summons set her heart thumping madly. 

Mr. Chauhan can't fire me before the wedding.

He can put you on notice, her irritating conscience piped up.

Announcing that she needed to visit the rest room, Rachel excused herself, slid sore feet into her flip-flops and arms into the ridiculously inadequate cover up, collected her things and crossed the sun-heated stone pool deck to the dining room door the GM held open for her.

Cool conditioned air hit her like an arctic front, pebbling her skin with goose bumps. She folded her arms across her chest to conceal chilled nipples budding through thin fabric, then thought better of it and lowered her arms to protectively palm the phone in one pocket, and the card and silver pen in the other. Guilt had her biting down hard on her bottom lip.

The GM led her on a circuitous path between round tables to the farthest corner from the windows and observation, then halted by the swing door to the kitchen. He wore his usual attire -- a black suit and crisp white shirt -- despite the eighty degree Fahrenheit heat. Only the color of the tie changed from day to day. This morning a gold silk tie richly complimented latte-colored skin.

Rachel willed sun-strained eyes to adjust to the dim interior so as to interpret his expression. Was he furious that she flirted with a guest? Had he spotted her taking photos? Her stomach clenched, pushing the quantities of delicious food she'd enthusiastically scarfed back up her esophagus.

"How is it going, Rachel?" The India-born man spoke in a precise intonation tinged with a slight accent.

"Sir?" The word croaked out of a throat as dry and scratchy as a sand trap on the golf course. Her smartphone contained photos in contravention of his privacy policy, a thousand dollar gift card hung in the balance, an irresistibly hot guest tempted her to violate the no fraternizing policy, and he wanted to know how her day was going? She swallowed with difficulty. "Good," she managed to reply. "I mean, well. It's going well."

From the poolside speakers Ethel Merman belted out the eponymously titled hit from the 1954 film There's no Business Like Show Business. Rachel fingered the card in her pocket, fretted that Wendy's preferred answer might be the 1950 MGM movie Annie Get Your Gun, wherein it was sung by an ensemble. Nah, it had to be Ethel's movie.

"Ms. Lehmann. I cannot hear you over the rousing music."

A sailor walking the plank, she shuffled another foot closer and nervously regarded her boss from under lowered lashes. "Yes, sir. What may I do for you?"

The GM cleared his throat. "I am truly sorry to interrupt your delightful adventure as a bridesmaid in a celebrity wedding." The cynical twist to his smile indicated he didn't appear sorry. "However, in case you have not recently spoken to Angeline, I am taking the opportunity to personally remind you that you must resume your duties early tomorrow morning. Every guest in the hotel is checking out. The room attendants will be hard pressed to turn over every room and suite in time for the three o'clock check-ins Sunday afternoon."

Rachel's chin shot up. "I still have a job?" she squeaked.

His gaze sharpened. He blinked twice. "Why shouldn't you? Is there something I should know?"

At his glacial tone the hair rose on the back of her neck. The GM had a reputation for OCD attention to detail. Under his management, guest service received top priority, and nothing -- no employee, supplier or even the weather -- dared compromise that service. His critical eyes raked her from head to toe.

Rachel followed the GM's sight line south to the triangles of fabric scarcely concealing her nipples. Her cheeks burned. "Angeline said you have an unofficial policy about, ah, not hiring pretty room attendants."

The GM's dark eyes widened in shock. Round cheeks bloomed red as tomatoes.

She hastened to calm him, save her job. "The spa makeover is temporary, sir, I assure you. Tomorrow I'll be my regular self. Except for the hair, of course." She automatically raised the hand concealing the card in order to touch the long blond strands, then thought better of it. "The hair color will take months to grow out."

The GM shifted his weight, clearly uncomfortable. His embarrassed regard drifted up and over her head to finally settle on a crystal chandelier. Drawing his shoulders back and posture erect to a pompous five foot six, he cleared his throat. "There is no such policy. That would constitute discrimination. Angeline misunderstood my approach to risk management. As you know, employees are not allowed to engage in, ah, relationships with guests on the premises. That is the policy."

It hadn't occurred to Rachel that a manager opened himself up to being accused of discrimination by refusing to hire attractive women. He might make it an unofficial practice, but sure didn't want to be accused of it. One threat to her summer job withered and died. Tense shoulder muscles relaxed fractionally. She released the breath she'd been holding.

After sidestepping that trap, Mr. Chauhan continued. "Ms. Lehmann, I assure you that with a full hotel in high season, I need every person on staff, including you. Remember your position, behave yourself and you have nothing to worry about."

"Yes, sir." Behave herself. Ha. There lay the rub. As in how Mickey had rubbed her hand on the pool deck. In public. And her skin in the lake. Their affair mustn't go further, per Mr. Chauhan's warning, or he'd give her something to worry about, all right.

He walked stiffly in the direction of the terrace, paused, swiveled on one leather heel to impart final thoughts. "Rachel, if you are transformed into a beauty, I have only myself to blame. I authorized your complimentary spa treatments." A hint of a smile lifted the corner of his mouth, quickly suppressed. "I'm counting on your contribution to a successful event," he warned. "Celebrities are good business for this hotel. The generous gratuities are no doubt very popular with the employees. That will be all."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

Rachel remained pinned to the floor until he disappeared through the doors to the pool terrace. Then she  stumbled on wobbly legs out of the dining room and down the hall to the nearest rest room.

As she washed her hands and splashed her face with cool water, the full impact of the GM's stinging reminder hit her: if Halden and Candy were made unhappy for any reason, the hotel's celebrity business and tips would certainly suffer.

Angeline's four growing kids needed new clothes for school. Her jogging buddy Derek relied on guest tips to cover expensive college textbooks. Tears of shame pricked the corners of her eyes. 

If I'm doing the right thing for my career by taking the photos, why do I feel like such a horrible, selfish person?