The Maid Audiobook

The Maid audiobook
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The Maid Nita Prose Audiobook

Molly, the maid, is all alone. He’s nothing. She’s used to being invisible in her job at the Regency Grand Hotel, plumping pillows and cleaning away the muck, dust, and secrets of the guests who pass through. Why should anyone be concerned if she is only a maid?
Molly, on the other hand, is thrust into the spotlight when she discovers Mr. Black, a notorious guest, dead in his bed. This isn’t going to be a simple cleanup. Molly discovers a power she didn’t know she had as she becomes engrossed in the hunt for the truth, following the clues whispered in the corridors of the Regency Grand. Although she is only a maid, what does she notice that others do not?

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Once i’m, through the doors i often pause to take in the grandeur of the lobby, it never tarnishes it never grows drab or dusty, it never dulls or fades. It is blessedly the same. Each and every day. There’S the reception and the concierge to the left. With its midnight obsidian counter and smart looking receptionists in black and white, like penguins and there’s, the ample lobby itself laid out in a horseshoe with its fine italian marble floors that radiate pristine white, drawing the eye up up to the second floor.

Terrace there are the ornate art deco features of the terrace and the grand marble staircase. That brings you. There balustrades glowing and opulent serpents twisting up to golden knobs held static in brass jaws guests will often stand at the rails, hands resting on a glowing post as they survey the glorious scene below porters, marching crisscross, dragging suitcases behind them guests lounging in sumptuous, armchairs or Couples tucked into emerald loveseats their secrets, absorbed into the deep plush velvet, but perhaps my favorite part of the lobby is the olfactory sensation that first redolent breath as i take in the scent of the hotel itself at the start of every shift. The melange of ladies fine perfumes, the dark musk of the leather armchairs, the tangy zing of lemon polish, that’s used twice daily on the gleaming marble floors. It is the very scent of animus.

It is the fragrance of life itself. Every day, when i arrive to work at the regency grand, i feel alive again part of the fabric of things, the splendor and the color. I am part of the design, a bright, unique square integral to the tapestry gran used to say if you love your job, you’ll, never work a day in your life and she’s right. Every day of work is a joy to me. I was born to do this job.

I love cleaning. I love my maids trolley and i love my uniform there’s, nothing quite like a perfectly stocked maids trolley early in the morning. It is, in my humble opinion, a cornucopia of bounty and beauty. The crisp little packages of delicately wrapped soaps that smell of orange blossom, the tiny crabtree and evelyn shampoo bottles, the squat tissue boxes. The toilet paper rolls wrapped in hygienic film, the bleached white towels in three sizes bath hand and washcloth, and the stacks of doilies.

For the tea and coffee service tray and last but not least, the cleaning kit, which includes a feather duster, lemon furniture, polish lightly scented antiseptic garbage bags, as well as an impressive array of spray bottles of solvents and disinfectants, all lined up and ready to combat any Stain, be it coffee rings, vomit or even blood. A well-stocked housekeeping trolley is a portable sanitation miracle. It is a clean machine on wheels and, as i said, it is beautiful and my uniform. If i had to choose between my uniform and my trolley, i don’t think i could. My uniform is my freedom.

It is the ultimate invisibility cloak at the regency grand it’s dry cleaned daily in the hotel laundry, which is located in the dank bowels of the hotel down the hall from our housekeeping change rooms. Every day before i arrive at work, my uniform is hooked on my locker door. It comes wrapped in clingy plastic, with a little post-it note that has my name scrawled on it in black marker. What a joy it is to see it there in the morning. My second skin clean disinfected, newly pressed smelling like a mixture of fresh paper, an indoor pool and nothingness, a new beginning.

It’S as though the day before, and the many days before that have all been erased. When i don my maid uniform, not the frumpy, downton, abbey style or even the playboy bunny cliche, but the blinding white starch dress shirt and the slim fit black pencil skirt made from stretchy fabric for easy bending. I am whole once i’m dressed for my work day. I feel more confident, like i know, just what to say and do at least most of the time, and once i take off my uniform at the end of the day, i feel naked, unprotected undone. The truth is, i often have trouble with social situations.

It’S as though everyone is playing an elaborate game with complex rules, they all know that i’m always playing for the first time. I make etiquette mistakes with alarming regularity, offend when i mean to compliment once i’m through the doors i often pause to take in the grandeur of the lobby.


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