Complications

With a slump of her shoulders, Carol Jennifer Hardwin picked up her luggage and started to walk towards the front desk. Today was the day. She was finally going to have a hotel suite all to herself. There was no need for her to work in her processing job. The supervisor, Ida Mae Wahlberg, was a pretentious woman, and Carol did not use that word lightly. Her threatening, forest green, chipped, manicured nails were exhausting to look at; not to mention the fact that Carol was always insecure about how her nail buds hadn’t been done in a salon in seven years.

There are surprises from the Universe, though. Most people love surprises, whereas Carol didn’t want any in her path whatsoever. She preferred everything to be like an instruction manual: precise, legit, and easy to read without an asterisk attached to it. Maybe that was why she wasn’t a fan of signing shady contracts. The hotel suite in the Ritz-Carlton was a divine site to behold. The well-lit rooms were a welcoming touch. And nothing would stand in the way of ruining this enjoyable fantasy that she had concocted herself. No one had even knew that Carol had gone on vacation. She told her uncles and aunts from Mississippi that she was going on a business trip in Florida to be able to work through the navigation of her shipping schedules. The truth was that Carol had been to Florida three months ago and had already accomplished that goal.

Everything had gone according to plan: the flight, checking in at the terminal, and getting a limo driver to take her to the hotel. Her red scarf with blue polka dots was impeccable. She wouldn’t stoop down to Ida’s level and look unattractive to the public eye. She had a reputation to behold. As a Hardwin, she had to adhere to the rules and regulations of social standing. No matter what location she was in, the Hardwin family name would follow her around for generations. Which is why, at that very moment, everything that she had planned was thrown out of the window.

“May I help you, ma’am?” A perky, naïve brunette with red lipstick, crow’s feet, and an obvious wig was standing in front of her.

“Yes, hello.” Carol didn’t even want to bother making eye contact with her. The hotel suite was calling her name. It was called The Bali Ball Hotel Suite. Despite the fact that Bali wasn’t anywhere near Florida, they managed to make the Indonesian culture blend perfectly well with the sunny state of the Floridian natives.

“I called you in for a reservation at the Ritz-Carlton. It’s the Bali Ball Hotel Suite.”

“Yes, we have two people reserved for that suit.”

Suddenly, Carol’s face turned all green.

“Two people? What blasphemy! I deserve a solo vacation!” She whipped the colorful scarf around her neck. Alas, three people were stunned by her outburst, but Carol struggled to maintain a calm, composed posture.

The brunette in front of her started to stutter. Carol hated people that ended up incompetent in any shape or form.

“Ma’am, I can assure that the su-su-su-suite..”

Carol’s nostrils flared up. “Su, su, su! Are you a three year old? Where is your manager?”

That didn’t make the brunette happy. She slammed her hands down on the desk and yelled.

“Excuse me! Who do you think you’re talking to? I’m someone who is trying to help you get into a suite. Now if you would keep quiet for at least five minutes, I can explain to you the situation. By the way, my name is Isla Mary.”

“Isla Mary?”

“That’s my name. Don’t wear it out.”

“Cute. And what would I know about this suite?”

Isla took a deep breath and remembered her professional behavior. Carol wasn’t the first woman to have a complaint and she would not be the last.

“As you know, I am part of the Mary and Webber Accounting Firm, where we take lovely care of our clients through financial means. Now you wouldn’t want to get into legal trouble would you?”

Carol bowed her head down in shame. The last time a Hardwin was in trouble with the law, it was her Uncle Samuel and her Aunt Patty from Lorraineville, Oklahoma. They were the modern, affluent version of Bonnie and Clyde. While those people died robbing others, the incarceration of her family members was so sufferable that Carol had to change boarding schools when she was fourteen years old. It would take three generations before that secret had been hidden in its own Pandora’s Box again. Could she really reopen that scandalous affair all over again?

Taking a deep breath, Carol took off her Prada sunglasses. Once again, she fixed up her scarf.

“Who am I supposed to be in contact with exactly?”

“It’s a woman who has traveled all the way from Haiti with her lovely presence. Her name is very iconic compared to the Marys’ legacy along with the Hardwins.”

Carol started to sweat. Who could possibly be more financially powerful than a Mary or a Hardwin?

“Who?”

“I can’t tell you. She only prefers if you call her merely Jenny Anne.”

After that awkward confrontation, Isla took Carol’s Chase card and was able to check her in. The room that both ladies were about to enter was notorious for being haunted. While that would ruin most hotels’ reputations, it only boosted the Ritz Carlton to international glory.

That explains why we have a Haitian coming to our country, Carol thought pensively.

The room number was 39B. At least the floor was able to become very pristine throughout the many decades of hotel guests wandering the halls. While Carol was not germaphobic, she didn’t love the idea of being raised in a barn.

“Here is your card to slide in and out when you want to leave your hotel suite. I hope you have a wonderful visit at the Ritz-Carlton Hotel Suite, Ms. Hardwin.” Isla walked away in a frantic flurry, her petite hips swaying back and forth.

Shakily opening the 39B door, Carol walked in slowly and discovered a stern-looking Haitian woman. It was a sight to behold. While Jenny Anne was able to be well put together, she also had on a fancy Bulgari necklace, her wrap around her hair was a beautiful fuchsia color. Her dark brown eyes had only glanced at her for a few seconds, and that’s when she finally spoke.

“Are you the blasted lady who has caused this lovely woman so much trouble?”

“How did you even know--”

“Shush, child. I am talking now. I asked you a simple question. Unless you want me to repeat myself.”

Carol continued to fuddle with her Gucci purse. It wasn’t an authentic one, but it was close to it, even if it did cost $6000. She had to answer quickly or Jenny Anne would become more frustrated.

“Yes, I am.”

“What is your problem? These are nice people who are just doing their jobs trying to help you out.”

“You wouldn’t understand, alright? Besides, I barely know you. I wanted a hotel suite all alone to myself.”

“Why?” Jenny Anne spread and shook her hands out in confusion.

“I’ve had a rough time communicating with people ever since my family had a scandal. You see, I’m part of a very influential family called the Hardwins. A long time ago, my uncle and aunt, who went by the names of Samuel and Patricia “Patty” Hardwin, were rebels. They weren’t like countless generations before us. Everyone in the family, myself included, was expected to be a socialite, lawyer, accountant. If you ended up being a doctor, you reached the pinnacle of wealth in family gatherings.”

Luckily, Jenny Anne had calmed down a bit. Both women needed to have this discussion.

“That’s fine, child,” said Jenny Anne. “But I don’t understand why you were rude to Isla Mary. She’s a close friend of mine and she usually has a great smile on her face.”

“I’m getting to that. The thing is, there was a court case involving my uncle and aunt. That’s why I told you they were rebels. They thought being rich was another way of being white trash. So they ended up robbing banks. I think in their minds, they were like the Robin Hoods of giving back to people who were poor in rural Oklahoma. Unfortunately, the courts didn’t see it that way. I ended up having to testify that I knew them. I cannot bear that humiliation all over again.”

Carol started to cry. This was it. Another person was going to use her name against her. The Hardwin name was already in the mud; the person might as well dig deeper to bury it alive, for she was going to drop in her grave at the early age of 36.

To her astonishment, Jenny Anne had put her hand on her shoulder and gave her a hug.

“I’m so sorry that you went through that, Carol.”

Carol was comforted by the hug, but she pulled away from the mention of her name.

“How did you know who I was?”

Jenny Anne smiled with a glimmer in her eye. “Let’s just say I have my ways of getting through certain connections.”

Nothing more needed to be said. The two women from vastly different worlds were able to enjoy a lovely evening of Bali music playing in the background, scrumptious food, and the wounds of a complicated past fluttered into the night sky while lovely memories were able to be never forgotten.