The tip he left on the bar two nights ago slips out. I place four of the notes, making up eighty Euros, on the bedside table beside him. Twenty euros was more than enough for a generous tip.
“Goodbye, my handsome Adonis,” I whisper, stealing one final stare. He told me he was leaving for Athens this morning. With his ship sailing, so too is ours. Ours sailed the moment I let a guy I met twenty-four hours before finger me on a beach. You do that and you lose any hope of something more meaningful.
If I sneak out now, it won’t be awkward.
I creep into the bathroom to wash my face. In daylight I see just how lavish this hotel is. An extensive selection of expensive toiletries is arranged across the sink and a remote control sits on top of the bath. I spot more knobs and levers on the bath than a plane. Can that thing fly?
Pity I don’t get to enjoy the five-star treatment.
Scanning the room, I do what any normal backpacker would do. I open my bag and sneak in a few mini shampoo and shower gels. He’s leaving today, he’ll never notice. It would be a shame to waste them.
Then I tip toe towards the main door and close it behind me. Who knew I was so good at being a hussy and a thief?
5
Elly
“I didn’t think you had it in you,” Megan sniggers as she hands me an apron. “Although I’m mad at you for not texting me to say where you were.”
I take it, irritated. I’m exhausted, and the last thing I want to do is clean yacht toilets. “I’m sorry, I’m a terrible friend. I didn’t mean to make you worry.” I tie the apron at the back. “Tell me how these aprons help? They don’t cover our clothes.”
She shrugs. “Dimitris wants us to look like professional cleaners.”
I roll my eyes. “He didn’t exactly look at our cleaning credentials. At least we don’t have to sell anything,” I muse. “Cleaning toilets might actually be better than trying to coax people onto boats.” Boy, was I wrong.
One hour later, I’m stuck cleaning a massive pretentious yacht owned by the biggest pain in the ass on the Greek islands. That title is fact.
It’s obvious she expects me to clean the yacht without being present as she entertains a small group of equally irritating friends. I try to clean around them as they get progressively drunker. They opened a bottle of champagne, forgot, then opened another one. Meanwhile, a nanny is entertaining the annoying lady’s child in the bedroom. The kid seems to spend most of his time on his phone, a phone way more expensive than mine. He must be no older than six or seven.
The woman is exquisite, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen such a beautiful creature in the flesh. The kind of woman who looks incapable of farting and is annoyingly dainty and willowy. I imagine her to be a rich ballerina who does lots of fund raising. Despite the island heat, her long blond hair isn’t frizzy, her sweat glands don’t seem to function, and her face is sculpted and contoured to perfection. It’s like she’s applied a real-life Instagram filter.
I spotted her husband on my way in. He must have a tiny dick to need a boat this big.
“Excuse me, sweetie,” she says loudly and slowly, looking at me like I’ve got the IQ of a scarecrow. She beckons me, showcasing the most obnoxious engagement ring I’ve ever seen. The ring looks like a weapon. Maybe she’s mafia?
“Yes?”
“I need you.” She points at herself then me for the avoidance of doubt. “To pair the underwear and socks. Do you understand?” She rolls her eyes at her friends. “The dry cleaners are appalling.” “No.” She wants me to match up her underwear? I’m a cleaner, not her mother.
Exhaling heavily, as though talking to me was draining her, she snaps open the dry-cleaning bag. Taking out a racy red lingerie set, she turns to me, “This,” she says loudly, enunciating every syllable and pointing to the bra. “And this.” She points to the thong. “Do you see? In these drawers.”
If she complains, I might not get this week’s pay. I’m not exactly part of a trade union so the risk is high. I remove my jaw from the floor and smile as sweetly as possible at the waif-like beauty. “I’d be honoured to match your underwear.”
Her eyes narrow, and she glances at me suspiciously, then nods, flicking her hair over her shoulder, and returns to her friends.
I get down to the critical business of matching the underwear and the socks from the dry-cleaning bag. I’m tempted to fluff her pants with the toilet brush, but I resist, being the bigger woman. Metaphorically and physically.
Not even five minutes later, she emerges. “Hi sweetie. I need you to pop out to the shop.” She’s talking very slowly to get me to understand.
“I’m Welsh,” I explain for the umpteenth time. Surely she can detect English is my mother tongue?
“We’ve ran out of bottled water. Oh, and we need limes. Key limes.” She thinks. “Also some more pomegranate and mint. So that’s bottled water, key limes, pomegranate, mint,” she repeats slowly. “Cash is on the table. I can make a list if it’s easier for you?” she says kindly as if she’s doing me a favour.
Does this woman understand the job description of a cleaner? I don’t think it extends into personal assistance.
“Sorry, I don’t have time. My shift is ending now.”
My pushback leaves her affronted. We are interrupted by her son, with the nanny trailing. I suspect she’s been told to keep him away from the party.
“Daniel, Mummy is entertaining her guests. Is everything okay?” “When are we going home?” He sounds bored. “We’ll sail when Daddy’s ready.” Good riddance to you all, I say.
***
“That’s twelve euros,” I tell the guy communicating with my tits. He doesn’t answer. “Did you hear me?”
He hands me a twenty euro note. “Take one for yourself, sexy.”
“Thanks.” Does this guy even realise I have a face with two big fucking eyes glaring at him? I take a generous one for myself.
“Ass,” a man yells at me across the bar. “I need ass.”
“What did you say?” I bark back. How dare he! Just because I’m wearing provocative clothing as part of my uniform, does this man think that he can objectify and sexualise me? That he can talk to me as if I’m lacking mental capacity just because I’m wearing a bikini?
“He wants ice.” Megan bumps me out of the way to get to the ice dispenser.
Oh.
Perhaps I’m extra ratty tonight because I know the man of my dreams has departed the island. How is it that in the space of forty-eight hours you can meet your dream guy, have mind-blowing chemistry with him, then poof! That’s it, your time’s up.
I regret not leaving my number. I thought I was keeping my dignity intact by creeping out before we had the awkward morning after the one-night stand. Instead, I should have stayed, waited until he woke up and begged to have his babies.
Megan shoves me to the side as she leans over to get the sambuca.
“Watch it, Megan,” I snap as sticky liquid hits my arms.
“Stop being so grouchy, or you’ll get us fired.” She tuts as she pours the sambuca into shots. “You’ve got a face like a slapped ass tonight. I’m already walking a fine line after the suspicious, contagious, twenty-four hour bug bullshit you made up.”
She’s right. I didn’t know I could experience both ecstasy and pain at the same time. The pain part is winning right now.
“What you need to do is get back on the horse.” “The horse has bolted,” I mutter.
“Not that horse. A different horse. There’s a whole flock of horses on this island waiting to be straddled, ridden, and fed.”
“A stud,” I correct her. “Not a flock.”
I move out of the way as she passes over a tray of shots to some teenagers. She still manages to spray me with sambuca. It’s irrelevant. By the end of the night, it’ll be stuck to me like Teflon.
She takes the money then turns to me. “Now saddle up, girl, and get ready to rodeo.”
“Are you done? You must have exhausted your horse innuendos by now. Although kudos for not using the stallion cliche.”