Edward Lee - The Chosen

If I wasn’t in love, she realized. But I am. And that’s more important to me than money.

That simple truth made her smile. She was in love. Suddenly nothing else mattered, nothing else at all.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Feldspar,” she said. “I appreciate your confidence in me, and I’m grateful for your generosity. But I’m afraid I can’t accept your offer.”

She handed the ten thousand dollar bank check back to him.

“Why not sleep on it?” the man suggested. “Think about it. Why not at least consider trying us out? We won’t hold you to a contract. Come and work for us on a probationary basis. If you don’t like it, or if, in fact, it does burden your relationship, then quit.”

A fair proposal, and a logical one. Vera could not deny that the offer excited her. But she knew. Sleeping on it wouldn’t change that, nor would trying the job out. She knew it would distance her from Paul. And she knew she would not risk that, not for anything.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated.

“Your mind’s made up, I can see.” Feldspar didn’t seem angry at all, nor disappointed. He’d made his pitch and he’d lost. He would simply have to find someone else. “It’s regrettable, and I’m certain that you would do wonderful things for our restaurant, as our restaurant would do wonderful things for you. But your priorities are set, and I see that they’re admirable. I must go now, Ms. Abbot—” Feldspar left a one hundred dollar bill on the table. “I thank you for your consideration, and I wish you luck in all your endeavors.”

“I wish you luck in yours,” she returned.

Feldspar awkwardly stood up, pushed his chair in. His jeweled hand glittered like tiny lights, particularly the amethyst in the gold pinky ring. In the odd man’s eyes, Vera saw it all: no, not anger or disappointment. It was sadness.

Feldspar smiled. “I’m leaving tomorrow morning; I’ll be staying at the Radisson tonight. On the off chance that you should change your mind, please contact me.”

“I will, Mr. Feldspar.”

“Good night then. I’m happy to have made your acquaintance.”

He turned and left. Vera’s eyes followed him out. It wasn’t a limp he walked with but a slight slow-step. Vera felt sad herself, seeing him leave. In a moment the short, broad figure had wended through the standing crowd and disappeared.

Vera finished her Grand Marnier. Something seemed to struggle in her psyche, but the notion quelled. Her love was worth more than money. She knew she’d done the right thing.

It was time to go home now, back to her life and to her love.

— | — | —

CHAPTER THREE

His mind seemed to disperse as though his skull had dissolved. Lights ran like smeared neon. Where am I? Who am I? He wasn’t sure. Gradually all that was real to him transposed with a thousand unreal ecstasies. Shapes moved like intent chiffon blobs through the close space of wherever he was.

What’s…happening?

He saw voices and heard tastes. Luxuriant scents touched him palpably as deft hands. From somewhere music played; he could see the notes floating from the speakers, a slow passacaglia by Bach. Each dark note seemed to approach him like an amorphous physical presence.

He felt skewered; he couldn’t move. He felt cosmically heavy and light as air at the same time. He could hear the blood push through the arteries in his brain.

“Watch,” a voice kneaded him.

He opened his eyes. The smeared lights dulled to pasty white, images congealing like lard, squirming.

When he realized what he was looking at, he screamed.

He was looking at his own body sprawled beneath him.

He felt his distant muscles seize, his tendons tighten. He watched his sweat-sheened chest heave in terror.

Wet, syrupy laughter launched about his head like a flock of great black birds.

The old Tercel coughed against the cold, then sputtered to start. Cracks had formed in the dash, the upholstery was peeling, and the brakes squealed as Vera pulled out of the lot and turned onto West Street. Even a company car, the thought drifted. I wonder what kind? An Iroc? A Mustang GT? Maybe a Vette! She knew she was being silly. Even a moped would be better than this clunker.

It was fun to think about, at least.

She knew she’d made the right decision. What other decision was there? To even consider taking Feldspar’s offer was nothing more than a fantasy. Still, she wondered what Paul would say.

The Tercel puttered on, hitching through gears. The heater blared cold air. She rounded Church Circle and veered onto Duke of Glouchester. Spectral blue lights illuminated the great dome of the State House, below the bright moon. Icy street lamps shimmering through the winter air made the streets look frosted. More light weirdly assaulted her at the turn before the bridge: an ambulance roving slowly with its red lights throbbing but no siren.

Her mind strayed as she traversed the bridge. The bay chopped, treacherously black with squirming tails of moonlight. Beyond, myriad sailboats and yachts bobbed in their marina slips. A hundred and fifteen thousand dollars a year, she mused. A higher tax bracket, but so what? With the free car, plus no rent or food expenses, she’d be able to bank fifty a year probably. She’d —

Stop it! she commanded herself, half laughing. A fan tasy is all it’ll ever be.

She and Paul shared a decent two-bedroom apartment off Spa Road. It was nice, not too expensive, and all they needed. Paul used the second bedroom for an office, to write. They’d accepted the commonplace nuisances of apartment living—occasionally squalling babies, footsteps on the ceiling, and the explosive wee-hour arguments from the neighbors—as part of the deal. Soon they’d move to a townhouse, or maybe even a small home when they’d banked enough money for a decent down payment. Like most else in life, a relationship could only proceed one step at a time.

Vera parked. The lot stretched on coldly with dark cars. It wasn’t even midnight yet; she was home earlier than usual, which was a good thing, considering the crush of diners they’d had tonight. She felt seduced by the idea of a good night’s sleep.

The moon rose so brightly she squinted; her high heels tapped along the frigid sidewalk. She whisked herself up the steps, fleeing the bitter cold like muggers, and sighed at the gush of heat when she let herself in.

The living room was dark. Paul must be asleep. Despite her fatigue, the excitement still ticked: she couldn’t wait to tell Paul about the offer, but now it looked as if she’d have to wait till morning.

What will he say? she wondered again, more intensely this time. The question, now, seemed to shimmer, like the cold night, the moonlit bay, and Feldspar’s squat, jeweled hand and silky suit. She stood, suddenly stiff in the dark living room. Why was she thinking these things now? Maybe Paul would want her to take the job. Maybe he wants to move. He often mentioned a desire to write books someday. He could pretty much do that anywhere, couldn’t he? Vera’s new salary, plus the free room and board, would give Paul all the time he needed to write.

Why didn’t I think of that before?

Was she being selfish? Vera wanted the job—just not at the expense of her relationship. She was prejudging the situation. Perhaps Paul would be as enthusiastic about it as she was.

There was only one way to find out.

She went down the warm, dark hall, not even yet having taken off her coat. This was important, and the only way she’d know how he felt was to ask him. She’d wake him up and ask him.