Maid for the Rock Star

Part 4

FOUR

Audra tucked her dusting cloth into the hamper for dirty linen as the door clicked closed behind her, muffling the robotic vacuum cleaner's whirring as it scooted around the floors of Villa Pinctada. She had one last villa left – Maxima, the inhabited one. Deciding to leave her trolley at the bottom of the steps beside Pinctada, Audra trotted up to the grand front entrance of the hotel's most expensive accommodation.

Her wristband triggered the door as she approached, but still she hesitated. "Hello, Housekeeping," she called, crossing her fingers in the hope of receiving no reply. She repeated the call twice, before cheering inwardly that the residents weren't home. Her first day of dealing with VIPs was a success – because she hadn't seen a single one.

The dirty glasses lined up on the sink marked this villa as occupied. Audra loaded them into the dishwasher and a few swipes of the cleaning cloth later, she crossed the kitchen off her list of rooms to clean. A peep into the bedrooms revealed untouched beds and a single suitcase in the master bedroom – only one VIP, then, or a couple who packed light. Better than spoilt, snobby children who liked to smear food into the furniture. The laundry hamper was empty, as was the dry-cleaning one. That left only the bathroom.

For the second time, she crossed her fingers as she entered the sparkling white porcelain cave that was bigger than her bedroom in the staff accommodation. Toiletries, tiles...even the toilet paper was untouched, still folded into its arrow point from the last time Jackie had cleaned the villa. The only splash of colour in the room was a tiny green frog statue on the edge of the spa. It was a perfect replica of the ones that plagued the staff toilets. Good thing it wasn't real or she'd have to –

The statue hopped onto the soap dish. Of all the villas for a frog to pick, it had to choose the inhabited one. Audra spread out her dusting cloth and threw it, covering the frog and its perch. She hastily bundled the whole thing up, hoping to carry the frog outside, but it squirmed out and dropped into the tub. Where it had three fat friends. Audra swore.

She knew the hotel rules. All the wildlife on the island reserve was protected. She'd be fined if she deliberately hurt a frog. So she could either take them outside or shoo them down the drain they'd climbed up in the first place. The grating on the spa drain sat beside the hole it was supposed to be guarding, gaping a welcome to her amphibian antagonists.

Game on. Audra climbed over the edge and slid to the bottom of the two-person tub. She grabbed the stack of fresh towels she'd brought with her and rolled a couple into a temporary fence around the frogs. She unfolded a third and spread it over the top of the enclosure. All she had to do was nudge them into the drain. Slowly, carefully...a muffled plop sounded from under the towel. One down, three to go.

Steadily, Audra tightened the enclosure, hearing another satisfying plop. She continued pushing the towels together until there wasn't space for a frog between them. Cautiously, she lifted them up. No more frogs, to her delight. That left only the escape hatch to secure. The drain grille was easily replaced, but there was nothing holding it in place to prevent the frogs from jumping right back up again. Pulling her multi-tool out, Audra unfolded the pliers and went to work on the metal, bending the edges so it wedged tightly into the top of the drain hole. Satisfied, she sat up and tucked the multi-tool back into her pocket.

The sound of running water made her freeze. The spa tap wasn't turned on and neither was the shower. The flow was too strong for the basin tap, so Audra stared in horror at the man relieving himself into the toilet bowl. Expensive designer jeans clung to what she had to admit was a very peachy bum – so shapely that it took her a moment to register that the guy was wearing jeans in a tropical climate. Her VIP was a foreign tourist, definitely. A foreigner with a fire hose.

In a tiny house like her parents', privacy was a precious commodity and soundproofing was non-existent. So with three brothers and her dad using the toilet beside the bedroom she shared with her younger sister, Samantha, the two girls had categorised the noises they heard as they lay giggling in their bunk beds at night.

There were the tinklers – usually little boys and old men who tinkled in a tiny trickle for eternity like a leaky tap. Then there were the sprayers – who didn't aim for the bottom of the toilet bowl but liked the sound of liquid falling on porcelain, or so it seemed. And the gushers – those who'd built up a whole head of pressure and were going at it like a fire hose. As both she and her brothers had grown up, she'd added a fourth category to the list – the beaters. These took advantage of the privacy of the toilet to j******f, and their tell-tale moans and groans had always made her laugh.

Mr VIP Peach-Bum – or should that be Plum-Bum, given his dark jeans? – most certainly wasn't a beater: he was the sort of high-pressure gusher you got from a three-hour drive down unsealed roads from town, then a rough boat trip through changing tides to the island. Or a bender involving a carton or two of cheap beer, a bottle of bourbon and a football match on TV so riveting they couldn't leave it until the final whistle blew. No, foreign tourists didn't understand Aussie rules football.

She considered climbing out of the bath and sneaking out while his back was turned, but it made more sense to stay where she was. At least then she had the excuse of dealing with the frogs – she could say she hadn't seen or heard a thing. And she hadn't – until the man shook himself and turned slightly to reach for the toilet paper. Then she saw what she had to admit was quite a sizeable piece of equipment before he tucked his fire hose back into his pants and zipped everything safely inside. Maybe he was a p**n star.

Well. There was some excitement for a morning. A free show. Audra felt a touch of dampness on her thigh. Oh, b****y hell. Was the frog grinning at her? Little bastard. She grabbed a towel and used it to push it off her leg and closer to the plughole. s**t. She'd sealed it. Audra threw the towel over the top of the cheeky beast and bundled it up, hoping this time she had the frog inside. Now Plum-Bum just had to get the hell out so she could make a dash for the French doors to the veranda.

Water hissed and pattered into the basin, followed by the sound of someone pressing the liquid soap dispenser. She'd never hated good hygiene this much. Why couldn't Plum-Bum forget to wash his hands? The frog was already squirming its way out in another escape attempt.

Footsteps crossed the tiles and she heard a distinctly Aussie voice say, "s**t, I need a beer. What's in the mini-bar today?"

"What do I look like, your maid? Go look for yourself, lazy-arse." The woman sounded like she was in the kitchen.

"I have it on good authority that it's a fine arse, not that you'd notice, sis. I've had a couple of magazines ask to do centrefolds devoted to this perfection." Plum-Bum's voice faded as he padded off to join the woman that Audra realised was his sister in the kitchen.

Audra breathed again and lifted her head above the lip of the tub. The coast was clear. She vaulted over and sprinted for the outside door. The lock clicked and the doors swung open as she waved her wristband frantically at the scanner. Clutching the bundled towel in her arms, she bumped her certainly-not-centrefold-worthy bottom against the door to shut it. A second click of the lock told her she was safe.

She shook the frog out under the veranda and carried the crumpled towel to her trolley at Pinctada. So much for an uneventful first day in the Pearls. Could this one have been worse?

Yes, she decided. He could have seen her. He could have been doing more than pissing. The frog could have entered her underwear. Or hopped out of the bath and alerted him. Or both. Or it could've been the sister in the bathroom...

Hmm, a brother and sister who could afford Maxima. Were they some mining or media tycoon's grown-up kids? That was almost worse than the younger sort – these would deliberately pour chocolate sauce on the rug and snigger as they watched her clean it up. The sort of people who'd never had to work a day in their lives. She wouldn't let it worry her, but she wouldn't take any s**t from them, either.

Audra slung a laundry bag over her shoulder and seized a fresh stack of towels. Lifting her chin, she marched back to the villa.