Edward Lee - The Chosen

First, Feldspar gave her back the bank check. Then he slipped her a sheet of paper. “This is our employment contract. It guarantees terms upon your signature. Before you sign, though, I must explain that the work won’t be easy. Expect to put in ten to twelve hours a day, six days per week.”

So what else is new? Vera signed the contract, the back copy of which Feldspar gave her to keep. “I’d like to elaborate now on some of the specifics,” he went on. The sweet cigarette smoke dispersed before his face. “As I informed you last night, we’re opening an exclusive resort; it’s a country-inn type of establishment.”

“Is the restaurant in the same building?”

“Oh, yes, and it’s quite well done. I can’t wait for you to see it.”

Neither could she, though she wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. “I’ll need to know what kind of staff you’re giving me.”

“There is none yet. As the restaurant’s manager, you will be expected to hire the restaurant’s staff. And do it quickly—we’d like to open in two weeks.”

“Two weeks?” That was no time at all. “And what about the menu, the wine list, who are your distributors, your delivery agencies?”

“That, too, will be up to you.”

“Mr. Feldspar, I think it’s great that you want a state-of-the-art restaurant, but that’s dependent on a whole lot more than an R.M. I could be the best manager in the world, and the restaurant would fail if I don’t have the right people. The first thing you absolutely must have is a great chef—”

“Hire one.”

“A skilled chef doesn’t come cheap. The guy we have at The Emerald Room gets paid forty thousand a year.”

“Pay him eighty,” Feldspar bluntly told her. “You know this business, Ms. Abbot; that’s why we’ve hired you, and we know that good staff won’t leave their current jobs for a pittance. Simply solicit the people you need. I should think that if you offer them twice their current salaries they’ll be most willing, especially considering the free room and board.”

Vera had forgotten about that. Feldspar had said he was reserving some of the hotel’s rooms for staff. She could hire people here, and get them to move.

Feldspar passed her another bank check, but the amount space was blank. Next he gave her a thin stack of employment contracts. “Pay them each, say, a thousand dollars for moving expenses, and give them their first week’s salary as a bonus. Waitresses and busboys might be a problem, since many are students and hence unable to leave the localities of their schools. Room service should be able to provide some people if that’s the case. Keep it light at first, you can always hire more staff as business picks up. But a good chef is essential, and whomever else you feel necessary to start-up operations.”

He just gave me a blank check, Vera realized in disbelief. He’s dead serious. These guys must have more money than King Tut.

“All right, Mr. Feldspar. I can do that.”

“And as far as distributors and inventory sources go, I’m sure you’re familiar with all the proper channels. Make the arrangements.”

That said it all. Feldspar wasn’t fooling around. Here’s the job. Don’t bother me with details, just do it. Period.

Yeah, she thought. I can do that.

“When can you be at the estate?”

Waynesville, she remembered. Staff. “I’ll need a few days to get the essential staff together. ”

“A few days, fine. But no more than that. We want things under way in—”

“Two weeks,” she recalled. “No problem.” Of course, it really was a problem, but she’d simply have to solve it. She realized the tremendous job ahead of her, yet in spite of that she felt anticipatory. She felt excited.

“What’s the name of the inn, by the way?” she asked.

“We’re simply going to call it The Inn.”

Original, Vera thought. It’s his place, he can call it whatever he wants. “How about the restaurant?”

Feldspar shrugged and crushed out his cigarette. “You choose the name. Something continental, I should think. Again, we’ll leave it to you.”

Vera joked to herself over the possibilities. Vera’s Hash House. Good Eats. The Boondocks Room. “How does this sound?” She paused for effect. “The Carriage House.”

Feldspar’s eyes widened slightly in a sudden approval. “An excellent choice, I must say.”

Easy to please, Vera thought. But now that I’ve got the name, I better get on with the job.

A knock tapped at the door. Feldspar let in a young and very beautiful blonde pushing a room service carriage. Truffles, Baci Chocolates, and Dniva Caviar. A bottle of Kruge sat wedged in a bucket of ice.

Feldspar poured two glasses of the fine champagne. He passed one to Vera, curtly smiling down. “A toast,” he proposed.

Vera raised the sparkling glass.

“To The Carriage House.”

Their glasses clinked.

««—»»

Feldspar parked the Lamborghini in The Emerald Room’s valet cul-de-sac. The large, cut amethyst on his pinky ring shined as he withdrew a final piece of paper. “Directions,” he said.

“I’ll see you in a few days,” Vera promised.

An equal promise, at least in a way, seemed to highlight the otherwise dark voice. “I believe that wonderful things await us in this venture, and tremendous success. I’m looking very forward to working with you, Ms. Abbot.”

“Likewise.” Vera shook the stubby hand. She felt—what? She looked once more at Feldspar’s features: the broad face, the goatee, the ink-black hair pulled back in a short ponytail—an absolute clash to the fine clothes and jewelry. Twelve hours ago, he was merely a weird-looking squat stranger; now he was her boss. She felt she could even consider him a friend. “Thank you for giving me this chance, Mr. Feldspar. I won’t let you down.”

“I’m quite certain that you won’t. But before you go, might I make one very trifle suggestion?’’

“Sure.”

“Get some shoes. Soon.”

Feldspar actually laughed as she got out of the sleek car. Vera laughed too, waving as he pulled onto West Street and drove away. Yes, she’d have to get some shoes—she’d have to get a lot of things. But far more important was what she already had—or in fact had been given: a chance at something big.

She stood before The Emerald Room, looking out into the busy thoroughfare. Passersby paused to gape at her, this tousled woman standing in freezing weather with no shoes and mussed hair. The wind slipped around her, but now she felt warm.

A second chance, she mused. That’s what this was, really. She had a good job here but no longer a life to go with it. It hurt to think of Paul, and of love in general. Love was supposed to be ultimate emotion between two people, the ultimate truth. Where was her truth now? It was all gone, it was all a lie and always had been. How could she live with that?

I know.

Very slowly, her left hand raised in the cold. The big engagement ring gave a crisp glitter in the sun. She slipped the ring off her finger and threw it into the middle of West Street.

Eventually a mail truck ran it over.

Time to move on, she thought.

— | — | —

CHAPTER FIVE

“Hey, Jor! Split-tail at twelve o’clock!”

The Blazer slowed. It was one of those big four-runners, souped up, with Binno Mags, Bell Tech springs, and tires that looked about a yard high. All the rednecks drove them; it was status. Jorrie Slade’s eyes thinned at his friend’s announcement—or, to be more accurate, his eye thinned, since the left one was glass. He’d lost it one night when he and Mike-Man were rucking it up fierce with some Crick City fellas out behind Duffy’s Pool Hall. Didn’t matter all that much to Jorrie, though; the right eye worked just fine, and that backwoods peter-licker who’d poked out the left one had wound up losing a lot more than an eye. Try his ears, his lips, and his balls. Jorrie was good with a knife.