Before I even get my clothes on and teeth brushed, my phone rings.
“Hello.”
“Miss Carys, I hate to bother you,” George says, concern evident in his tone. “But these computers are on the fritz again.”
I sigh, tucking in my shirt. “Sorry, George,” I tell him, knowing he isn’t incredibly tech savvy, so when things don’t work the way they’re supposed to, he gets flustered easily. “I’ll be right there.”
Tossing my hair up in a messy bun on top of my head, I run out the door and across the courtyard. In my world, problems concerning customers trump personal appearance any day. Without customers, I don’t have an income. Without an income, I can’t keep the lights on...or food in the pantry or pay George and Mary.
And let’s face it, I’d be living in a van down by the river if it weren’t for the two of them. Shit, I might not even have a van, more like a cardboard box, if I was lucky.
When I took over the daily operations of the hotel eighteen months ago, I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but I had no clue exactly how difficult it would be to keep this place afloat. My mom, and grandparents before her, made it look simple. The hotel business was second nature to them and they ran this place like a well-oiled machine. But it’s becoming apparent that the business-running gene skipped me entirely.
“Take a deep breath, baby,” Mary urges when I come jogging in the back door. “This too shall pass.”
“Ugh,” I groan, but it sounds more like a cry. A cry for help. Because it’s mornings like this when I ask myself if I’m really cut out for this job. Can I run a hotel? Can I keep it open?
One look at the desk in my grandfather’s old office has me following Mary’s advice and taking deep breaths… lots of them, as I talk myself off the ledge.
Come on, Carys. Pull it together.
The surface of the desk is hidden with piles of papers awaiting my attention and causing me anxiety. All of this on top of today’s computer failure might be what finally plunges me into eternal darkness.
Okay, that’s a bit dramatic, even for me.
“I know you’re letting that head of yours get the best of you this morning, but a little computer problem never stopped nobody.”
“Right,” I mumble, biting my lip while I try to get a grip.
“Your grandfather never used a computer.”
“Nobody did back then,” I add, rubbing my forehead as a slight headache begins.
“Well, still. He got by just fine without one.” Mary walks up behind me and places a comforting hand on my shoulder that I quickly lean into.
“And he had a lot more people come through those doors than I ever have,” I add with a sigh, not sure if that should make me feel better or worse.
“He did,” she pauses, with a hint of hesitation. “But those were different times. People brought their families to the city, and they didn’t need fancy pools and bars,” she says in her deep Louisiana drawl. “They just wanted a nice room and a soft bed and familiar faces.”
She sounds like I feel: nostalgic, sentimental, and on the edge of tears.
“I’m not sure if this is helping, Mar.” I look to the ceiling, saying a silent prayer to keep the hotel running, even if just for another day.
“You’re right.” Mary brushes her hands down the front of her white apron, the same type of apron she’s worn every day of my life. Literally. Mary has always been here. She worked for my grandfather and then later for my mother. She helped me learn to ride a bike and sewed my Halloween costumes. “I’m gonna find a ledger and the manual credit card machine. Those will get us by until we get this computer problem figured out.”
“Thank goodness we didn’t give into the keyless entry system that pushy guy tried to sell us last month.”
“See, modern amenities aren’t all they’re cracked up to be,” she says smiling at me from over her shoulder as she digs through a file cabinet in search of the old credit card machine that works on elbow grease and carbon paper.
“Tell that to all those travel websites and adventure bloggers.”
Sitting down at the desk, I try to take a page from Mary’s book and make a dent in the papers and bills while I wait to hear back from the computer guy. Before I can even get started, my attention is caught by a picture sitting on the corner. With the frame in my hand, I trace my finger over the faces of my grandfather and grandmother, then my mom’s, and finally, my own. I was only a kid when this photo was taken, but it’s always been a favorite of mine. My grandfather would show it off to anyone who’d give him a moment of their time, declaring he was the “luckiest man on earth to be surrounded by such beauty.”
Anticipating the tears I’ve been trying to avoid, I put the picture back in its place and try to focus on the task in front of me. They didn’t raise me to fail. If they didn’t believe I could run the Blue Bayou, they wouldn’t have left her to me. At least that’s what I have to tell myself, and for the most part, it makes me feel better. So much so, I make it through the sales tax form and a few other important tasks in just a couple hours.
When I can’t stand being cooped up in the office any longer, I walk into the lobby to stretch my legs and check on how things are going, hoping there are no new catastrophes waiting for me.
I find George sitting behind the front desk, working on the daily crossword puzzle.
“Hey, George. Everything okay up here?”
“Well, hello there, Miss Carys.” He puts his newspaper and pencil down and stands, greeting me with the same broad smile he’s had since I was a kid. Along with Mary, George has practically been here since the beginning of the hotel, and I can count on one hand how many times I’ve seen him without his trademark smile. Nothing gets him down and I love that about him.
“Don’t stand on my account. I’m just taking a break from the office and wanted to see how you’re doing.” I motion for him to sit back down before pouring us each a glass of water from a pitcher I keep on top of a nearby antique table. We always have ice cold water for guests as they come inside or to anyone who needs it, really. It’s always so hot and humid here in New Orleans that it’s more of a necessity than anything. Plus, I just think it’s a nice thing to do.
It’s what my grandmother did. She started so many wonderful traditions here, some I continue, like the fruit infused water, and some that have fallen to the wayside.
“We’ve had two guests check out so far and that computer guy you spoke with yesterday called to say he’ll be here after lunch.”
“Oh, good. I was afraid he was gonna cancel on me. Was it a big pain to check out the guests by hand?”
“Oh, no,” he says, grinning. “Miss Mary helped me with the first one, but it didn’t take much for me to remember how we used to do it.”
George is the resident jack of all trades, and even though he’s in his seventies, he’s still as sharp as a tack. But I have no doubt he enjoyed Mary reminding him how to manually check the guests out. Those two have always had eyes for each other and a sweet, flirty relationship. When I was a little girl, I used to daydream about being the flower girl in their wedding, even though they’re both old enough to be my second set of grandparents.