Edward Lee - The Chosen

“No, it’s not.”

Vera and Dan B. turned at the remark.

A young man stood immediately to their rear: tall, trim, wavy longish light-brown hair. Vera found him instantly attractive in a lackadaisical sort of way. He wore tight, faded jeans, a white kitchen tunic halfway unbuttoned, and old clunky line boots. He smiled, almost cockily, and extended his hand to Vera.

“You’re Ms. Abbot, right?”

“Vera,” she said.

“I’m Kyle, the room-service manager. And you’re…Don?”

“Dan B.,” Dan B. corrected, and shook hands. “The chef.”

“I heard what you were saying just now,” Kyle went on, “and I can understand where you’re coming from. I felt the same way when Mr. Feldspar first took me on. But I can tell you, Magwyth Enterprises has inns just like this all over the place, and not one of them has lost money yet. In fact they’ve all jumped into the black right off. So don’t worry about the location, or the fact that Mr. Feldspar’s spent so much money up front. The guy knows what he’s doing.”

“We didn’t mean to imply that he didn’t,” Vera hastened to say. First day on the job she didn’t need this guy running to Feldspar with negative implications. Immediately she viewed Kyle as her personal competition: room service would have an instant edge in gross receipts. Make friends with him fast, she warned herself. She’d been in the business too long to play hoity-toity.

“And I can tell you something else,” Kyle added, and flipped a lock of hair back off his brow. “You do good work for Mr. Feldspar and the sky’s the limit. But you have to prove yourself first. You have to show him what you’re made of.”

Vera repressed a sarcastic face. Kyle was showing his true colors right off the bat. It was the same as him saying: I’m the one to beat around here, and I’m not going to give you an inch of slack. “We appreciate the input, Kyle,” Vera eventually said.

Kyle glanced to Dan B., nodding. “I hear you’re pretty good behind the line. I’m looking forward to trying out some of your grub.”

“My ‘grub’ will knock your socks off,” Dan B. promised.

“Me, I do all the cooking for room service. I always have a standing bet with the restaurant chef, quarterly evaluation. Whoever comes out on top takes a C-note from the loser. Interested?”

“Sure,” Dan B. said. “I’ll take your money, no problem.”

Kyle laughed. “Okay, man, you’re on. It’ll be fun, you’ll see. Mr. Feldspar wants me to show you to your rooms whenever you all are ready. I’ll be over here in my gig.”

“Thanks, Kyle,” Vera said.

“See you all later.”

Kyle went into the room-service kitchen and closed the door behind him.

“What an asshole,” Dan B. concluded at once.

“Yeah, but at least he’s a good-natured asshole,” Vera said.

“And I didn’t like the way he was scoping your rib-melons.”

Vera squinted at him. “Whating my whats?”

“The way he was looking at your t-…your breasts.”

Vera nearly blushed. “He was not—”

“Of course he was, Vera. Christ, I thought the guy’s eyeballs were gonna pop out and land in your blouse. Talk about low-class. And how do you like that shit he was spouting about a quarterly evaluation? That snide punk probably can’t even cook microwave tater-tots. I’ll bet he thinks mahi-mahi is an island in Hawaii. If I ever lose a cook-off to him I’ll turn in my gear and jack fries at Hardee’s for the rest of my life. The punk.”

Chef rivalry, Vera realized. It was worse than the Redskins and the Cowboys. “Don’t get your dander up,” she advised. “Try and get along with him for now; we don’t need any personality conflicts before we even open.”

“And I’ll tell you something else.” Dan B. lowered his voice, as if Kyle might hear him through the steel doors. “Me and Lee saw a couple of really freaky types wandering around the place earlier. Maids or something. Looked to us like they were stoned on ’ludes. We tried talking to them, but they just walked away.”

“Yeah,” Vera acknowledged. She remembered the odd woman she’d seen pushing the cart of vases back in the dining room. She hadn’t spoken a word. “So what?” she allayed. “What do we care about the maintenance staff? They’re probably people Feldspar grabbed from some other inns, foreigners probably. They don’t talk to us because they probably can’t even speak English. Ten to one a lot of them don’t have green cards, so don’t make a stink about it. If Feldspar wants to run illegal labor in the background, that’s his business.”

“Really ugly too,” Dan B. articulated. “These two chicks looked like cave women in maid uniforms.”

“Be nice,” Vera scolded. “I don’t know which one of you is more sexist and insolent, you or Lee.”

“Me,” Dan B. asserted.

“You’re probably right. I’m going to check out my room now, and see what else this Kyle character has to say. Meantime, I want you, Donna, and Lee to go over every single piece of equipment in the kitchen. Make sure everything’s hooked up and wired properly, and keep a list of anything that doesn’t work. Also check out the dry stocks, see what Feldspar’s already got. We don’t want to find out on opening night that we don’t have any salt.”

“Got’cha.”

Dan B. went back down the line. Vera opened the big room service door and found Kyle marking things off on a clipboard. He looked phony, like an act. Vera had the notion that he’d been waiting for her all along, and wanted to appear busy when she came through.

“I’m pretty much done for now,” she announced. “Can you show me my room?”

“I’d be happy to.” Kyle put down the clipboard and grinned. “I don’t know about you, but I’m really excited. We’re gonna crank in some business. Did Mr. Feldspar tell you? The Inn’s already got its first four weekends booked in advance.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“Nope. Hundred percent occupancy. All ninety rooms.”

Vera doubted this. “He told me there were a hundred rooms.”

“Total to let, sure. The other ten are for the local room reservations, the ones on the second floor. Those are the ones you’re in charge of. Didn’t Mr. Feldspar tell you?”

“He told me,” Vera answered. You run ninety rooms and I run ten, but I’ve still got the restaurant. This was getting absurdly complicated. If Kyle was the room service manager, why shouldn’t he be in charge of all the rooms? “How many of my rooms are booked in advance?”

“None,” Kyle said.

Vera frowned.

She followed him to the opposite end of the RS kitchen. It infuriated her: if anything, Kyle’s kitchen was even more elaborate than hers, with more walk-ins and equipment. She stopped cold at the next sight. “Hey,” she said. “How come you’ve got four lobster tanks and I’ve only got two?’’

Kyle held back a laugh. “Look, Ms. Abbot—Vera— don’t get hot under the collar. Just because I have a bigger facility than you doesn’t mean that Mr. Feldspar thinks I’m any better than you. It’s business.”

“Business?” Vera objected. “What’s business got to do with you having two more lobster tanks than me?’’

Now Kyle did laugh, openly. “I don’t believe it. We’re having an argument over lobster tanks…

“And you’ve got more ranges, more ovens more convection steamers, more—”

“Stop and think a minute at what you’re saying. You run the restaurant, I run room service. I’ve got ninety rooms to handle, all you’ve got to worry about are the separate dinner orders.”