Edward Lee - The Chosen

“Order them from the bank in town,” he dismissed.

“Well, I can’t. I don’t have an account ID. Kyle said you’d give me an account card.” She didn’t want to sound like she was complaining, but she didn’t have an account number for her own personal account, into which her salary checks were direct-deposited. “I could also use my own account number.”

Feldspar glanced up, flabbergasted. “What a blunder, I do apologize. I’ve been so busy I’d forgotten about it.” He quickly milled around the top desk drawer and gave her both account cards. “And don’t bother showing me your inventory lists. Use your own judgment—that’s what I hired you for.”

Vera nodded. He was pretty much giving her a free rein on her stock orders, but that didn’t really surprise her. By now, she was getting to know this odd man, and how he delegated authority. She wondered if Kyle had the same monetary freedom with room service. Proba bly more, she thought. The prick.

Now that she had her account numbers, she needed a way to get into town, another point she wasn’t quite sure how to bring up. He’s paying me a hundred and fifteen grand, I can’t very well whine about my wheels.

But Feldspar brought it up for her. “And you’re too polite,” he commented, finishing off his Pommard. “As you know, I’m quite a busy man, not that that serves as an excuse. I forget minor details rather often. Please don’t feel reserved to remind me of things.” Again, he was digging in the desk drawer. “After all, part of your employment contract entitles you to a company car. I regret that it took so long, but I thought you’d like something nice, so I put in a special order with our headquarters. An overstock.” A set of keys dangled from his fingers, which he raised to her. “I do hope you like blue.”

“Blue’s just fine,” she said. All she cared about this moment was wheels, not colors. “And thank you. What kind of car is it?’’

“Go and see. It was delivered this morning. Around back.”

Oh, goodie, she thought. She’d only been off the premises once, in Dan B.’s dented station wagon. “I’ll also be picking up some locks for my walk-ins,” she added. “Kyle said—or at least he implied—that there’s a pilfering problem. Is that true?”

“Oh, I’m sure it goes on. Who knows what else goes on behind management’s back?”

Dolts, Vera remembered Kyle’s reference to the staff. What a malicious shithead. One day I’ll dolt him.

“It’s not that I don’t trust the help,” Feldspar said, “but you can’t trust everyone. A fair rule of thumb in this business is to put a lock on everything.”

Then try locking your office door for starters, she felt inclined to advise, but let it go. Instead, she thanked him again and left.

She went up for her coat and purse, not admitting a childish excitement. It’s probably a ’ 65 Corvair, she thought. It’s probably a motor scooter. “Let’s go for a ride,” she invited, when Donna stepped out of her own bedroom. “Feldspar finally got me my company car, and I need to stop by the bank.”

Dan B. could be heard snoring in the background. “I could use a shopping spree,” Donna said, whisking on her coat.

“Don’t count on much of a shopping spree in Waynesville,” Vera reminded. “What’ve they got? A Dart Drug and a Save-On?”

“And a Sinclair station! Dan B. needs some brake fluid, I can hardly wait to get out of here.” They went downstairs, passing the plump, pasty maid dusting on the landing. The woman averted her eyes when Vera said hello, and made no reply.

“What is with these people?” Donna remarked. “They won’t even look at us.”

“I’ve already gotten used to that,” Vera said as they crossed the atrium. “I guess there’s no law that says people have to be friendly.’’

Outside was still and cold. The grounds looked good in spite of the drab winter; the heated fountain gushed. “So what kind of car did the boss get you?” Donna asked as they followed the long path around the side of The Inn.

But before Vera could even answer, she was staring, voiceless, into the parking lot. I do hope you like blue, she remembered him saying. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” Donna squealed. “Feldspar gave you that?”

Parked right alongside of Feldspar’s glossy red Lamborghini Diablo was an identical one, in jet-lacquered deep blue.

««—»»

“I cannot believe this,” Donna said.

“Neither can I.” Vera’s grin felt like a net spread across her face. The blue Lamborghini seemed to soar on air when she turned out of the hotel entrance onto Route 154. Plush ribbed leather and the ergonomic interior enveloped them; it felt like sitting in a space capsule. The suspension laid a cushion over the pocked and broken route to town.

“Make it go,” Donna bid.

Vera was almost afraid to. Her foot barely touched the gas, yet they were doing fifty already. She eased it down a little more, and the sleek car leapt ahead, eating up road. Another moment and they were doing seventy-five. Vera didn’t even want to think about what would happen if she pushed the accelerator all the way to the floor.

Donna grinned ahead, as the open field blurred by. “When he said he was going to give you a car, he wasn’t fooling around.”

“Well, he didn’t give it to me,” Vera corrected. “It belongs to the company. I get to use it.”

“I’ll bet this thing cost more to insure than three normal cars. It’s incredible.”

You better keep the speed down, Vera, she warned herself. The cops probably wouldn’t appreciate an out-of-towner using a public highway for your own personal autobahn. She eased off the gas, and let the car wend through the next bends. “Plus, you can borrow it anytime you want,” she added.

“I’m a station wagon kind of gal, Vera,” Donna replied. “I can’t even relate to this. It looks like something in a science fiction book.”

“Speaking of books,” Vera reminded herself, “loan me that book you have about haunted mansions. I could use a laugh.”

Donna, suddenly, seemed to flinch. “The Wroxton Hall part is pretty scary. And gross.”

Vera laughed. “Come on, it’s bunk, Donna.”

“If it’s bunk, why do you want to read it?”

“For my amusement, that’s all. You should’ve heard Kyle, the prick. He tried to freak me out, saying The Inn’s haunted.”

“He wants to freak you out, all right. Out of your clothes. What did he say?”

“Just the same silly crap about The Inn being haunted. Then the asshole actually had the nerve to try and con me into going skinny dipping. Started taking his shirt off right in front of me. I guess he thought I’d swoon once I saw his chest.”

“Well, he is good-looking.”

Vera winced. “I don’t care if he looks like Hulk Hogan, he’s still an asshole.”

“Be honest now, Vera. You’re attracted to him aren’t you?” Donna smiled coyly. “You fantasize about him, don’t you?”

Vera’s amusement over the topic quickly crashed. Fantasize, she thought. What of her fantasy of The Hands, and the lewd dream that always followed? Was she really fantasizing about Kyle? Then Donna said, “But you know, getting back to the story about The Inn being haunted…”

“What?” Vera asked, frowning.

“Well, I’ve been hearing weird things at night, like footsteps out in the hall, and strange noises from downstairs. A lot of times I’ll wake up and feel like someone’s in the bedroom. And then there’s that damn racket from the room-service elevators, the doors opening and closing all night, but the funny thing is that’s all I hear, just the doors opening and closing. I never seem to hear the elevators coming up.”