Page 5 of Married in Michigan

“Unnngh—” a female voice moans.

The sounds of imminent vomiting can be heard—I leap with alacrity to grab my garbage bag. The woman nearest the edge of the bed is rolling to the side, mascara and eye shadow and lipstick smeared beyond all recognition, making her look like a cartoon clown. She’s groaning, holding her hand over her mouth. I hold the garbage bag under her mouth just in time to catch a long, splattering stream of vomit…, which turns my stomach, but I’ve dealt with worse, so this doesn’t entirely faze me. Babysitting alcohol-poisoned prostitutes isn’t in my job description, but it’s better to catch the hork in a bag rather than have to clean it off the floor.

She blinks at me blearily, clearly still drunk. “Water.”

I restrain the urge to snap, knowing Mrs. deBraun would expect me to go out of my way to care for the hotel’s guests, no matter who they are, no matter the request.

I find a cold bottle of water, and even an industrial-sized bottle of off-brand acetaminophen, and bring both to the bedroom. Upon my return with water and painkillers, I find the rest of the bed’s occupants waking up in various stages of illness. Sighing under my breath, I provide them each with wastepaper can-sized garbage bags and bottles of water.

One of the men—hugely muscled and well-padded with fat, covered in body hair, with a receding hairline and a Rolex still on his wrist—eyes me as he spits bile into the bag. “Paxton sure knows how to party—even provides wake-up drunk services.”

I can’t quite stop myself from glaring at him. “I’m with the hotel housekeeping, actually. Giving you bags to puke in just makes my job of cleaning up after you easier.”

His head wobbles on his neck. “Ohhh.” His bleary eyes go to the naked women in the bed with him. “Oooh—nothin’ better than waking up to hot naked bitches in the bed.”

One of the aforementioned women gives him a death glare. “Our contract was through six this morning.” She glances at the digital clock on the nightstand, which reads well past ten in the morning. “Which means I don’t have to listen to you talk to me that way.”

“How about I hire you for the morning, then?”

“How about you fuck off?”

“How about I talk to your madam about your attitude?”

I huff in disgust as I push my cleaning cart out of the room, leaving them to hash it out. Donning my backpack vacuum, I reenter the room and make quick work of vacuuming, ignoring the bickering. I pile the various items of clothing on the couch under the window.

I scurry through scrubbing the toilet, cleaning the mirror, the floors, and the shower, even as I realize I’ll just have to do the bathroom again since the occupants will likely use the bathroom before leaving. But maybe if I make a nuisance of myself, they’ll leave sooner. I leave the cocaine where it is, cleaning around it.

I finish the bathroom and head for the next bedroom. A quick check in the living room says animal control still hasn’t shown up, as the donkey is still braying noisily and shitting everywhere.

The occupants of the second guest room stay passed out as I clean—once more piling clothing on the couch, vacuuming, cleaning the bathroom and not touching the drugs on the bathroom counter.

Once the guest rooms are clean, I grab the walkie-talkie again. “Tanya?”

“Yes?” she asks, a minute later.

“Two questions.” I hesitate. “Wait, this is a private line, yes? And you’re alone?”

“Hold on—” a silence, and then the walkie crackles. “Okay, go.”

“First, there’s cocaine in both guest bathrooms—bags of it, and lines. I cleaned around it, but I wasn’t about to touch it, and I’m not sure what you want me to do with it. Second, I told Rick to call animal control, but they’re not here yet, and I can’t clean until they come take care of the donkey and the snake.”

A silence. “The what?”

“A live donkey in the living room, and a live boa in one of the tubs.”

“I really don’t want to know,” Tanya says.

“Me either,” I say. “I just want them gone so I can clean up and go home.”

“Adonkey?”

“Yep.”

“What the hell?” Tanya mutters. “Fuckin’ weird-ass rich people.”

“No kidding,” I answer.

“Okay, I’ll call them and see what’s up.”