Lola, in the wake of her breakup with Chip, had decided to take the opportunity to go a little insane. Not fun insane, where you talk to your imaginary friends and put food on your head. Annoying insane. The single, unemployed Lola was evangelical about work, to a painful degree.

“Why not?” Scarlett asked, dragging herself off the floor. “I have a few hours.”

Lola seemed thrilled to be able to share some of her new rituals with her little sister. She and Scarlett frosted juice glasses, ground fresh coffee, made napkin sculptures, and ironed linens. All in all, a lot of work to do for two guests who just grabbed pastries and left. Then, they moved on to cleaning.

“The trick,” Lola was saying, as she huddled over the toilet-paper roll in the Metro Suite, coaxing the last square into a point, “is to get it even, because if it’s not even, what’s the point? Then you just look like you’re trying and failing. It’s almost better to leave it alone. There…”

She completed the fold to her satisfaction.

“Press it flat, so it sort of looks like a little round envelope. And then, the secret touch…”

She pulled something from her apron and squirted it on the roll carefully.

“Lavender water,” she said. “It’s important to buy a very pure extract. That’s the difference between conjuring up thoughts of Provence, or smelling like an old lady’s house.”

Scarlett watched this from the empty clawfoot tub, where she was lounging, her feet carefully dangling outside so as not to get it dirty.

“Have you considered medication?” she asked politely.

“You laugh,” Lola said, “but you want to know something? It’s not the big things that people remember about service…it’s the little ones. People don’t remember what street the hotel was on—but put a Maison du Chocolat truffle and a tiny bottle of Evian next to their bed when you turn it down, and they’ll remember that they liked it.”

It was hard to tell if Lola was suffering or if she was just really like this and had simply been too busy with Chip in the last year to let her freak flag fly.

“What’s going on with you and Spencer?” Lola said, polishing the tap with some vinegar on a Q-tip. “You two usually share a brain. Or, at least, he normally borrows part of yours. Something seems weird.”

“He’s just busy with the play,” Scarlett replied. Which was true, if irrelevant to the question.

“Don’t you work on that play?”

“Yeah…well…he has to concentrate. Be all actory.”

“Scarlett,” Lola said, turning around, “Spencer has been in plays since he was twelve. His brand of actory intensity isn’t exactly quiet and brooding, and he can’t go fifteen seconds without talking to you. So what’s up?”

“I don’t know,” she lied.

“I doubt that. Whatever it is, you two have to work it out. The silence between you is creepy. Dad was asking me about it yesterday, and I had no idea what to say. And Spencer looks miserable. Talk to him. Now, do you want to see my new technique for vacuuming the curtains? It’s amazing. You should see what I get off them.”