"Help": an excerpt from Operatic Divas and Naked Irishmen

I found my first assistant on the streets of "Old Louisville" She was in front of one of the huge, gorgeous Victorian houses a couple of streets over from me, loading up her car. I almost drove right past, but slammed on the brakes just in time to catch her before she drove away.

“Excuse me” I yelled out the window of my car. She was busy putting her cleaning supplies into the truck of her car and didn’t hear me so I yelled again.

“Excuse me “ She turned , hesitated a minute, then walked over to the window.

“I noticed you putting away your cleaning supplies. You do house keeping?

“ Yes ma'am.” she answered, flashing a broad, friendly smile at me.

“Are working full time?” I asked

“No, just whenever I can pick up a few days here and there.

“Would you be interested in working at a bed and breakfast?”

After the first three years, my businress really increased. I was up to almost 45% occupancy, which is high for a bed and breakfast. I needed a lot more help then. The first year, my occupancy rate was around 17% and I could still do everything on my own. The second year, when it went up to 28%, I could still handle all the cooking and baking, but I needed someone to come in ocassionally to do the cleaning.

“I sure would.”

I pulled the car over to the curb, jumped out and walked up to her. She smiled again and greeted me warmly.

“Hi, I’m Margie.”

“I’m Nancy. I own the Aleksander House Bed and Breakfast over on First Street near Oak.

Margie was a tall, healthy looking redhead with freckles all over her face. Her curly hair was pulled back and fastened at the nape of her neck with a barrette. She was wearing cargo pants, a T-shirt and a dark blue work apron with pockets all across the front.

“When can you start working?” I asked.

“Any time. How many days a week do you need someone?”

I had never had an assistant before, and I needed one badly but I had no idea how many days or hours I needed her. Or, for that matter, how much housekeepers were making here in Louisville. I would have to think about what I could afford and check with Doris about the going rate.

“Can you come tomorrow? You can see what the situation is like and we can discuss days, hours, and salary.”

“Sounds good to me. What time? And, oh, what’s the address?

Margie came the next day and worked for a few hours. She was exceptional at house cleaning. She obviously knew what she was doing. And she brought all her own cleaning supplies, including rags. She knew all about the best cleaning products, how to get spots out of anything and how to iron. I hired her right on the spot without an interview or references. It turned out great for the first year and a half.

After that I started noticing a change in her. For one thing, her behavior became somewhat erratic. She would get mad easily or come to work very moody and complain a lot. Then, she started showing up late, and eventually she started not showing up at all.

One week-end, I left her alone with the Inn for three days, as I had done a few times before. I trusted her completely. When I returned, I was doing a routine review of my checking account when I noticed I was $500 short. I went through my check book and found that the very last check was missing. Margie was the only one with a key to my office. I called my bank and was told that the check had been cashed at the Kroger grocery store near me. The bank sent me a copy and I saw that Margie has forged my signature. The bank took responsibility and put the $500 back into my account immediately. Kroger confronted her and she admitted she forged the check.

I fired Margie and found out later that she had been on crack cocaine for months. She had stolen food and other items from two other Innkeepers, whom she worked for part-time, and eventually ended up in jail. It was such a shame because she was a nice girl who had gotten mixed up with the wrong people. And, even worse, she had two little children,

***
By the time I fired Margie, my occupancy rate was up to 55% and I needed help even more then. I limped along without anyone for a while. Occassionally, one of the other innkeepers would lend me their housekeeper for a few hours at a time, but I really needed someone on a regular basis. I send out emails to everyone I knew in search of more help. After three weeks or so, a friend of mine who lived in Old Louisville not far from me called and said she knew someone who was looking for work.

When the doorbell rang, I rushed to open it. Bryan, a 26-year-old African-American, gay, male, ex Ballet dancer, introduced himself.

“Hi, I’m Bryan. Jean Huxley sent me over. She said you might need some help.”

“I sure do. Come on in Bryan. I’m Nancy.” I led him into the parlor.

We sat across from each other, him on the setee in front of the windows and me on the blue wing-back chair. This time I decided I would do an interview and ask for references.

“Have you ever worked in a hotel or bed and breakfast before?”

“Yes, I worked at the Hilton, the Marriott, and downtown at the Sealbach Hotel.”

“So, what exactly did you do there, Bryan?”

“Mostly large banquets.”

“You waited tables?”

He nodded.

“Did you ever work in house-keeping?”

“No, but I like to clean. I find it therapeutic.”

Bryan passed the interview and had very good references. He had even brought a resume with him. He was articulate, personable, and friendly. And so he got the job. Bryan was with me for the next six years. He didn't cook, but he was very helpful with the guests, especially the ones who were "high maintenance", and he could really clean. He was slightly OCD and would spend hours and hours cleaning toilets and polishing up the handles on everything. He loved doing it and the bathrooms glistened.

***
Although the percentage of high-maintenance, demanding guests we had was pretty low, there were several who required extra special attention. Thankfully Bryan was unusually gifted at dealing with high maintenance (as we call them in the business) guests.

One of the most memorable of my guests was an eccentric opera singer who wore the most flamboyant and outlandish costumes I’ve ever seen. She must have thought she was still on stage because, in addition to her colorful costumes, her daily entrances into the dining room were breath taking. Each morning she would wake and sing a couple of choruses of Musetta’e Waltz, from Guiseppe Verdi’s opera La Traviata, before breakfast.

The day she arrived to stay for an entire week, I opened the door to a barrage of people. I had no idea who they could be, since I was expecting only one more check-in that evening, a single lady.

"I am Madame Rosalina Capriani!" the woman announced "and these are my suitcases".

I scanned the four men accompanying her and, sure enough, each one was carrying a suitcase. She stood still while one of the men walked around her, through the front door, and planted a suitcase at the foot of the stairs. He turned toward Madame Caprini and beckoned her inside. She extended a long, well rounded arm covered in silky, red, purple and green, part of a flowing cape encircled heavily in flouncing magenta fringe. I stood there in awe, as she glided through the doorway, motioning to her other walking suitcases to follow.

"Excuse me a moment" , I said. "Let me get my housekeeper to help you to your room"

I hurried to the kitchen, anxiety reeking havoc in my stomach. I knew I couldn't handle this on my own. I thanked God that Bryan was there that day to save me. I had a suspicion that this was going to be a very "high maintenance" situation, Bryan had been working for me for several years by that time and knew the ropes. He was great with the guests and, if it looked like they were going to be high maintenance, I would turn them over to him.

Madam Capriani's four henchmen left her over-sized suitcases for Bryan to carry up to her guestroom and retreated. I never found out who they were, nor did I ever see them again. As she and Bryan climbed the long staircase together, she was giving him a litany of instructions concerning what she would need during her stay at my Inn. The requests were so over the top that I decided to let Bryan be the one to break the news to her that this was not the New York Hilton hotel. This was a simple little bed and breakfast in Kentucky with no room service and no concierge.

“And when you make my tea," I heard her say, " use a small teapot, make sure the water is boiling. put the teabag in first, then let it steep until it’s the color of mahogony.”

Oh my God...good luck, Bryan.

“And just a touch of milk. Do you have China teacups and silver spoons? and maybe a little tray. And, Bryan, can you bring me an extra pillow? I prefer Down.”

Madam Capriani was a little too much drama even for me. Every negative thing I knew or had ever heard about artistic personalities and divas applied in her case. First of all, she was almost totally helpless.

“ Bryan the TV isn’t working right. Can you come up and fix it for me?”

She would call down to the kitchen and interrupt whatever he was trying to do. It was always an emergency.

“Bryan, I have no idea how to work the VCR or the DVD players. What kind of movies do you have? Can you just sit a while and watch this movie with me?

Bryan was beside himself. He couldn’t get any work done; she kept
calling him all day long.

“Bryan," I said to him, "sorry but you’re the one who agreed to be at her beck and call. And, good thing 'cause I’m afraid I'd end up insulting her,“.

“But she wouldn’t come back then," he said.

“Exactly,” I countered.

A loud crash interrupted our conversation. It came from the direction of Mrs. Capriati’s room.

“Oh my God, what now?”

Bryan jumped up and flew up the stairs. I just sat in the parlor waiting for the bad news.

Minutes later he came back holding the remains of my precious little blue teapot; the one I kept on the shelf in the moonshaped window next to the registration desk.

“Oh no. How did that happen?”

“She said she was trying to fix the phone and her elbow knocked it off of the coffee table.

“What was wrong with the phone?”

“Nothing. It was unplugged from the jack.”

“Why?”.

“She had brought it over to the coffee table and it wouldn’t reach without unplugging it.”

“What? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“ I know. She said she forgot to plug it back in.”

“But....”

“I know,” Bryan shrugged his shoulders and threw his arms in the air slapping his forehead with his palms.

“How much longer is she staying?” he asked.

“Three more days.”

The phone next to where I was sitting rang suddenly, causing me to jump halfway out of my seat.

“Answer that, please Bryan. It might be her.”

“ Hello. Yes, this is Bryan.” Bryan nodded his head to indicate that it was indeed our soon to be named worse nightmare.

“Yes Mrs. Capriani. Yes. The spigot in the shower? Are you in the shower now? No of course not. You’re in your room. In your robe. Yes, of course, I’ll run up to your bathroom right now and try to figure out why it’s not working.”

Bryan handed me the phone.

“She can’t figure out how to take a shower.”

“Oh for God’s sake. What is wrong with this woman?” I slammed down the phone.

“I think she just wants attention,” I went on. “No healthy person could be that helpless. She can’t do anything for herself.”

A loud shriek came from the second floor. Bryan streaked up the stairs again.

In five minutes he was back down in the parlor.

“What the hell happened this time?”

“You won’t believe this,” he said

“She went back to the bathroom to try the shower again. She climbed into the tub and started yanking hard on the shower handle and it came off in her hand” Bryan was trying to catch his breath from running up and down the stairs.

“ A huge gush of water came out strong, like out of a fireman’s hose” he went on. “and threw her to the back of the tub completely engulfing her in ice cold water.” Bryan fell back onto the settee and took a deep breath, trying to suck back in the belly laugh that was dying to get out.

“When I came into the bathroom, she was flat of her back still in her robe gurgling through the heavy stream. She was sopping wet from head to toe.”

“Oh my God. Is she alright now?”

Bryan started laughing. He covered his mouth and bent other to squelch the sounds of his laughter. I couldn’t help myself. I started laughing too. We both ended up reviewing the whole scene, me secretly thinking she deserved it. And Bryan probably thinking the same thing.

"Yeah, she's fine...just sopping wet and befuddled.

As the days went by, I retreated further into my own little world and let Bryan take care of the diva. He brought her tea, fixed her TV and cleaned her room every day. A couple of times I heard her practicing Musetta's Waltz, but for the most part, she was pretty quiet after almost drowning in the tub. As it turned out, I came more and more to depend on Bryan whenever there was a guest who was a little difficult for me to handle. I hate to say this about a guest, but I was never so happy to see anyone leave in my life.