Edward Lee - The Chosen

Provided he fell for the lie…

“Yes, Mr. McGowen, my name’s Kevin Sullivan,” Paul said, “and I was wondering if you could help me. I work for a collection agency. Of course I realize that you might not want to help me at all, since a general manager might feel a sense of loyalty towards an employee.”

McGowen smirked, corpulent behind his cluttered office desk. Unconsciously, he picked his nose. “Which employee are we talking about?”

“A Vera Abbot.”

McGowen’s eyes thinned like those of a cat spying fresh prey. Then he smiled. “Well you can bet I don’t have a whole lot of loyalty for Vera Abbot. The bitch quit without even putting in proper notice, and she conned three of my best employees to quit too. She left the place in a shambles, we’re still recovering.”

And it’s a good thing you don’t know who I am, Mr. McGowen, Paul thought, ’cause I’m the reason she quit. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

An unnoticed booger seemed to dangle from McGowen’s sandy mustache. “Sullivan, huh? A collection agency? What, Abbot owes money?”

“Indeed she does, Mr. McGowen, quite a bit of money,” Paul lied further. “She owes thousands and thousands of dollars on her credit cards.”

“Anything I can do to help you burn that bitch, just ask.”

Ahhhhh, Paul thought. It worked! Finally I’m getting somewhere. “She’s been ignoring our calls and notices for quite some time, and when I paid a visit to the address on her credit application, the landlord told me she no longer lived there. And she left no forwarding address. Did she by chance leave one with you?”

“Not a residential address. But she did leave her new employer’s address with me for her tax forms and W-2. Would that help you out?”

Paul had to consciously resist shouting out with glee.

“Yes, Mr. McGowen. That would help me out more than you can imagine.”

««—»»

When the night wound down, Vera retreated to her office to tabulated receipts. Forty-seven dinners tonight! she nearly rejoiced. An all-time high! At least it was something. After all, The Carriage House hadn’t been open that long, and though these numbers were nothing to rave about compared to The Emerald Room’s typical receipts, it was a clear indication that business was looking up. Vera even felt inclined to scoot over to room service and brag, but then she remembered that even the restaurant’s all-time high would be significantly less than the nightly RS receipts. Why give Kyle an excuse to rub my nose in poop? she reasoned.

“Can you believe it?” Donna remarked, suddenly sauntering in. “It’s the third night this week that the mayor came, and tonight he brought a bunch of town council members!”

“Tip City, huh?” Vera said.

“I did great.” Donna seemed calmly elated. “Didn’t I tell you things would start to get better?”

Yeah. But Vera’s mood flattened, as Donna counted out her tips. She looks fine, Vera observed. The same old Donna. Vera thought again of what she’d seen last night: Donna sleepwalking past her door, reeking of alcohol. But if Donna had relapsed, wouldn’t it be obvious, wouldn’t the telltale signs have reemerged? The dull listlessness, the facial pallor and anguish lines, the overall crushed features of the alcoholic? Vera noticed none of that, so again she had to conclude that she must have dreamed the whole thing. It made sense, given the stress of the new job combined with fitful, dream-laden sleep…

“You okay?”

Vera looked up from her ponderings. “Yeah, why do you ask?”

“Well…” Donna hesitated. “You’re acting a little weird lately, a little depressed.”

Dan B. had said the same thing. “I don’t know, I guess I—”

“You’re still letting Paul get to you,” Donna said. It wasn’t even a suggestion—it was a statement. “If you want my opinion, you need to confront him. It won’t be easy, but it’s something you need to do. You need to go and tell him off, give him a piece of your mind, tell him to his face that he’s a piece of shit for what he did to you.”

Vera supposed she knew this all along but was deliberately avoiding the issue. And she had avoided it, hadn’t she? For weeks she’d been telling herself that eventually she would return to the apartment to pick up some of her things, but she always found some excuse not to. That’s all I’m doing with my life right now — making ex cuses.

“Don’t make excuses,” Donna said, ever the psychic. “You’re pretty easy to read, Vera. Why not just get it over with?”

“I know you’re right.” Vera fingered a paperweight. “I’ll go soon.”

“No, you’ll go tomorrow. There’s no reason to put it off anymore. You’ll feel a lot better once you get it over with, believe me. Tomorrow. No more excuses. If you run late, we can handle things in the restaurant till you get back.”

Vera nodded. She’s right. It’s time. “All right, I’ll go tomorrow—”

“You’ll see. If you don’t let it out, it’ll simmer inside you forever. Go tell that scumbag off.”

“I will,” Vera agreed. “Tomorrow. I promise.”

“And, besides, once you’ve got Paul out of your system, you can start thinking about getting laid again!” Donna was kind enough to add, laughing at Vera’s quick smirk. “Anyway, I’m off to bed; I’m absolutely exhausted.”

“Goodnight.”

“Oh, and remember, my offer’s always good. Anytime you want to borrow my doctor, just let me know.”

“Your doctor? ” Vera queried.

“Yeah…Doc Johnson!” Donna finished, and left the office before a trial of more laughter.

Laugh it up, Vera thought. She was weary of everyone implying she was a cranky, sex-starved bitch—

Even though it’s true…

It annoyed her, that her thoughts so often roved to sex. It made her feel inadequate. Whenever she saw Kyle, or even heard his name, she thought of her dream, the fantasy of The Hands, a dream she now admitted she looked forward to. And lately, she’d caught herself appraising male restaurant customers in secret—checking them out, envisioning their bodies minus clothes, wondering what they’d be like in bed.

And then there was always Feldspar…

I wonder what he’d be like—

She grit her teeth, shook her head. What is WRONG with you! You’re fantasizing about sleeping with your boss!

But the image behind the question lingered, as much as she tried to banish it.

She poured herself a little wine, to relax. She hated to think of Feldspar’s reaction were he to know that such things crossed her mind. She could not deny it, though: Feldspar attracted her, in some odd, incalculable way. It was the man’s mystery, she supposed.

Kyle, on the other hand, she was attracted to only in the roughest sense. Purely physical, she told herself. It couldn’t be anything more than physical, she knew, because she couldn’t stand him as a person. Snide, egotis tical, smartass. But…

So good-looking.

She began to feel sluggishly excited. She was tired-it had been a long day—yet she knew the root of her excitement. Soon, she’d go to sleep and dream. She only wished she could exchange the sponsor of the fantasy—Kyle—with someone she liked, or just anyone, anyone other than the rude room-service manager. Chief Mulligan? she thought and laughed to herself. An obese redneck twenty years her senior? No thanks. But that reminded her of the bizarre call she’d gotten today, the police sergeant reporting that Mulligan hadn’t been seen since yesterday. Probably passed out at Elks Lodge. And then she remembered that other man, the accounting hawk, Taylor. To think she’d actually believed he was really a mob lieutenant! But he was definitely good-looking, her sex-muse continued. Handsome, fit.