As soon as she entered the main door of the hotel she wished she had somewhere else to go. Maisie was in the lobby complaining to the manager again.

"Don't you ever clean your sheets right?" Maisie said, "and why do I have to live right next to George Hodges?"

Maisie never ran out of things to complain about and Cilla wondered why the manager didn't throw her out on the streets.

Cilla rushed to get to the staircase, hoping Maisie wouldn't notice her. But too late.

"Cilla, I need to talk to you," she said before Cilla could get half-way to the first landing.

Cilla slowly turned to look at the older woman. "What is it, Maisie?" she asked.

"I've got to talk to you in private," the woman said.

Cilla sighed. That was the last thing she wanted.

"Hey, what's in your bag?" Maisie asked. Cilla didn't want everyone to know her business.

"I'll tell you later," she said. "I'll be in my room if you want to talk."

"No, I want to talk to you now."

"Well then, come along," Cilla said, and led the way to her room, a small hole-in-the-wall at the back of the hotel. She unlocked it and put the bag on her bed. The sheets were plain white and the walls were plain blue. She saw the maid had been in to change sheets and left two wool blankets folded neatly on top of the pillow. It wasn't much of a home but it would have to do for now.

"I went to visit a friend," she told Maisie, who stood in her doorway.

"Looks like you don't have much here," Maisie said, looking around.

"Not much," Cilla agreed. "What did you want?"

"I need some help getting food this week," Maisie said.

Cilla thought about it. She didn't have much food herself. "I noticed a sign in a restaurant down the street," she said. "They need a kitchen maid."

"What's that supposed to mean," Maisie asked.

"You could work and probably eat there too."

"You think I'm no better than a maid?" Maisie asked.

"Well, don't you need a job?"

"Not there!" Maisie said. "Why I used to dance down on Montgomery Street until the police forced the saloon to close. I don't suppose you know about places like that though."

"I probably would know," Cilla said, "but I've never had to work. I'm thinking now that an honorable job as a kitchen maid might do me fine."

"Then you go do it," Maisie said. "Work your pretty fingers to the bone. And bring me home something to eat, would you?" she laughed, then turned and left.

Cilla was grateful to see her go. She was especially glad that Maisie forgot to ask what was in the bag.