“There you are,” Lola called. “I was worried you’d be late for dinner.”
Lola had been cleaning. Unlike most people, Lola cleaned while wearing neat and formfitting black pants and shirt, with a little white pocket apron tied around her waist. She carried a little caddy of furniture spray and cloths. Her hair was pulled back in a loose, flattering knot.
Lola was the second-oldest Martin, just three months out of high school. She had taken a “year off” to work at home at the hotel, instead of going to college like all of her friends. Of course, there was no money for college, but that was never mentioned. Lola always acted like her service was completely voluntary. She was unfailingly, sometimes infuriatingly gracious. She was also a strange throwback to some other generation of Martins—white-pale with a fragile build. If she had been a character in an old romance story, she would have been the lovely maiden at court, the one with the terrible wasting disease who had to be married off before she dropped elegantly dead.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about these chairs today,” Lola said, pushing one of the many scattered dining room chairs into a patch of sunlight. There were many styles of chair in the room, but the one Lola had was one of the old ones, part of the fancy original set from when the dining room was decorated in 1929 and all the furniture matched. They were made of deep cherry wood, with backs carved into stylized flowers. Some of them still had the threadbare original cushioned seats, covered in yellow silk with a pattern of silvery birds.
“I’ve been trying to think of a way to get these chairs refinished and reupholstered,” she said, testing one of the legs. “It would probably only cost a few hundred dollars.”
“A few hundred dollars?” Scarlett said, settling herself in one. They creaked, too.
“Maybe a thousand. Or two. But I think it’s important. They’re really good chairs, and I feel like we need to make a good impression right here, on the doorstep. If people come in and see frayed fabric…well, people notice.”
“We could put them in the basement if they look bad,” Scarlett said.
“The solution for everything isn’t ‘put it in the basement,’” Lola said.
This had been the solution for as long as Scarlett could remember, but she didn’t care enough to argue the point.
“That’s true,” Scarlett said, picking at the threads. “It never works in horror movies. The thing always escapes and eats you. Or someone finds it and then you have to kill them. And then you have two secrets in the basement. Basements are bad.”
“I’ve researched this,” Lola said. “After Mrs. Amberson told us about the man who designed this place, J. Allen Raumenberg. We could be sitting on a fortune, literally. He was a really famous designer. The pieces are just in such bad condition. If we could get them fixed…”
“You’re probably right.” Scarlett held up her hands in surrender. “But we can’t afford to.”
Lola sank down in the chair opposite Scarlett.
“I know,” she said. “I just can’t help thinking about it. This place could be a showpiece. A good cleaning, a little fixing…it’s not even that much money in the grand scheme of things.”
“Every amount of money is a lot of money when you have no money.”
“It would be an investment, though.” Lola stared into a thready patch of fabric for a moment and worked her finger into the seat stuffing. “Did I mention I had an interview at Bubble Spa the other day? It went really well. Even though I was fired from Henri Bendel, my old manager still loves me, so I got a really good recommendation. I think I’ve got that one in the bag. I’m hoping they’ll give me twenty hours a week. I could make a ton on commission there. That stuff is easy to sell. Makeup, skin care…I can sell that stuff in my sleep.”
This was true. When it came to selling beauty products, Lola had Jedi powers. She’d only been fired because she took off too many days to go places with her ex-boyfriend, Chip, who didn’t understand that when you had a job, you were supposed to go all of the days you were scheduled to work. But it wasn’t his fault. Lola had done the skipping.
“That’s great,” Scarlett said.
“It’s something. I mean, I like sales. Oh, and you heard we’re going to Lupe’s, right?”
“Yeah,” Scarlett said. “With Marlene. Let the happy fun times begin.”