Being in one of the travel guides had been a huge help in getting business but he was still fighting with the Chamber and the town council about the weak promotion of the town's businesses. It seemed most of the people in charge wanted to keep everything under their control and manageable, which meant no change. No boat rocking. Several proposals sat gathering dust at the Chamber offices and Gordon was resigned to the fact that it would take too much of his time to fight the fight.

"Who's, Mindy?" Deborah wandered in and studied the register.

"Next Friday's occupant in number eight for three nights."

"Single?"

"Yeah-- great, eh?" Another attempted swat.

"We're having steak for dinner and salad."

"Great. Want me to pick up some wine?"

"I bought the wine this time." She gave him a smug look, spun on her heels and flounced off. Gordon stretched his teeth.

Nita slogged across the patio with her cleaning supplies, nodding politely to the sisters knitting in the shade, and entered the recently vacated room where the last of the laundry resided.

The switchboard flashed and Gordon looked down to number seven. He answered and listened as Nita recommended he come and see the room. Sighing, Gordon called to Deborah that he would be in number seven and could she watch the board. She mumbled something and he left the office, pushing through the glass doors to the patio. A pleasant wave to the sisters and a detour around the palm trees to number seven and the latest of his experiences with the inexplicable behaviour of seemingly nice people.

"I don't like havin' to put my hands into a mess like that, Mister Hardy."

Gordon looked into the toilet bowl and winced. The rest of the small room looked like a deadly struggle had taken place. Towels were scattered about the furniture and the bed sheets were bunched into wrinkled piles on the settee. Pictures were crooked and ashtrays overflowed. He opened the sliding doors and pulled back the drapes to let in some fresh air then returned to his reluctant maid.

"You have those long rubber gloves, Nita." He said with a cautionary pleading.

"It's not the kind of cleaning I hired on to do." Pouty.

"These things happen from time to time, Nita, you've worked in other hotels; this isn't something you've never seen before." Gordon slid his eyes over to the mess in the bowl.

"I never said that. I said I don't like to do this kind of cleaning, Mr. Hardy." She jammed her fists onto her hips and he saw the flat, Mexican face set with finality.

"Okay." He sighed. "You take the linen and get the laundry going. I'll do this."

With a curt nod and a trace of a smile that told Gordon he'd been scammed, she tossed him the gloves and began stripping the rest of the covers from the bed, humming a tune, no doubt from some traditional tale about susceptible gringos, he thought.

He lugged the plastic garbage bag around the back of the hotel and into the dumpster, happy that pickup was the following morning, and made his way back to the office.

"Lunch is ready."

"Not hungry," he said, passing through the kitchen to the bathroom.

"I made you a sandwich, Gordon and you are going to eat it." Deborah pointedly banged the plates on the table.

"You wouldn't be hungry either if you just did what I had to do." He came into the kitchen wiping his hands, looked past her to the open-air laundry outside the window, and saw Nita laughing to herself. "I want to make a note in the reservation book about those people; they won't be staying here again soon. And I want you to talk to Nita about her duties around here."

"Sit and eat your sandwich first." She pulled out a chair and sat, waiting until Gordon joined her.

"So what's the problem with Nita?"

"She won't do all the necessary cleaning. I know it's not always pleasant but we pay her to do the work."

"Why didn't Nita do the cleaning?" Deborah picked a piece of lettuce from her sandwich and scraped it on the side of the plate.

"Aah, it was a mess in number seven. The Toilet. I can't believe how some people can be such pigs. There's no respect for property. No concern for respect for themselves."

She wouldn't clean the toilet."

"No. I had to do it."

"Gordon, you are the boss. Tell her to do the work or find work elsewhere."

"Oh right, and wind up doing it all myself." He bit into the sandwich and chewed thoughtfully.

"You did before she was hired."

"Yes and that is precisely why I did hire her."

"So then are you going to tell her?" He took another larger bite and pointed to his mouth, avoiding an answer.

Deborah smiled to herself. "I see the Bobbsy Twins are holding court again today."

"It's guaranteed business, Deb, don't knock it." He took a drink of the milk she'd poured for him.

"How long have they all been coming now?"

She was referring to the group now gathered about the patio swing, the sisters, an ancient married couple from Seattle, a single man with a lap dog and another couple from New York. They were winter renters, six months each and had become an impenetrable clique, covertly rating all the new arrivals with a jaundiced eye.

"According to the files, about fifteen years. They know more about the place than I do and it's a careful dance I have to do when I'm making changes."

"How does next week look?"

"Nine empty after tomorrow."

"Nothing coming in?"

"Not yet. Next weekend looks good again though." He finished the sandwich and wiped his hands on his pants.

"That's lovely. I'm sure your complaints about the guests are due to the fact that your own manners are so impeccable."

"These are old pants."

"Oh, sorry. Whatever gave me the idea that you wore something good?"

"Charming, Deb." He stood and took his dishes to the sink.

"Rinse those please."

Gordon hung his head but did as he was told.

There was a rap on the back door and he opened it to listen to Nita bemoan the fact that the drier had quit.

"What happened?" He followed her outside and closed the door.

"I don't know. I put the sheets in, turned it on and it just stopped."

He tried the switch and got nothing so he checked the breaker panel. Nothing. He opened the door and saw that there was so many sheets inside a jet engine couldn't have turned the drum.

"Nita, I've told you time and again you can't put that much stuff in all at once."

"I'd never get done if I didn't." She whined.

"Well, we're not getting it done now are we? If you started it earlier, you would." He dragged the knotted mess out and sorted it into three smaller piles.

"I have other chores too, Mr. Hardy."

"Yes, I noticed. The front door is gleaming but the washrooms aren't."

She frowned and plucked at the ties on her smock as he loaded one pile and turned on the machine.

"Aaah, look, Nita, a miracle." He pointed to the other piles as examples of the maximum size and went back inside.

"What's wrong?" Deborah was filling the dishwasher and he automatically checked the load.

"Nita tried to dry everything at once just so she could leave early." He shook his head. "This is why I want you to talk to her."

"Man to man you mean."

Gordon made a face. "Why can't people just do the job they are paid to do and do it properly? Why the constant hunt for shortcuts on things with fixed directions? Just follow the bloody rules!"

"Have you tested the pool yet?"

"It'll be okay, nobody's swimming today." He went back out to the office and the mail. She rolled her eyes to the ceiling.