The Chosen

^{CHAPTER SEVENTEEN}

Business didn’t pick up much over the next week. One night The Carriage House did seven dinners; Vera could have keeled over. Another night they did thirty-seven—a record—but still nothing compared to the hundred-plus they’d done on weeknights at The Emerald Room.

Vera, generally the most stable of the bunch, had become suddenly the least tolerant of the start-up drag. Dan B., Donna, and Lee, took it all in stride. Why couldn’t she? The others actually were taking to The Carriage House quite well. Dan B. whipped up specials of unheard of standards, multistage souffles, intricate flaming beef entrees, and many other dishes that The Emerald Room’s big crowds never gave him time to attempt. And since Donna was the only waitress, her tips were good most nights. Even Lee, paid the least of all, seemed more content here than Vera had ever seen him back in the city.

She’d felt distracted throughout the entire week. Her very libidinous dreams had not abated; instead, they’d intensified, leaving her to wonder further about herself. She slept in fits. Feldspar was scarcely seen at all; the few times she’d gone looking for him, she instead found Kyle, who persistently made snide comments about The Carriage House’s trickling turn-out. “Yeah, we’re slammed every night over at room service,” he’d say. Then he’d grin. “How about you?” Asshole, she’d always answer in thought. Then he’d always ask, “When are you and me going to go for a dip? Oh, that’s right, I keep forgetting, you don’t have a swimsuit.” That’s right, Kyle, and I’II never have one as long as you’re around.

Their second weekend, Vera was surprised to book a few guests into the small wing of second-floor rooms that she’d been put in charge of. The mayor had some relatives in town, and there were a few others. Vera made sure that their rooms were in pristine shape, and that anything they’d order from upstairs was of the highest quality. It infuriated her, though, to discover that Kyle’s room-service elevators bypassed the second floor, which meant that her food orders had to be carried through the atrium and up the stairs. Afterward, she’d received some odd comments, however. “I hope you enjoyed your stay,” she remarked to one couple. “Oh, your accommodations are superb,” the wife had replied, “but it’s a bit loud, isn’t it?” Loud? Vera thought. “We kept hearing this thunking noise—” The doors on the room-service elevators, Vera suspected; she’d heard them too, opening and closing. “We had a very nice time,” another couple cited to her, “but your housemaids aren’t very friendly.” Shit! Vera thought. Yet another couple had actually submitted a complaint card about similar noises and smirking housemaids. She felt it her responsibility to report the complaints, but when she mentioned them to Feldspar, he didn’t seem to care at all. Instead, as usual, he commended her on the job she was doing, and claimed that the upper suites were booked solid. “Business couldn’t be better,” he’d said, and then invited her to sample a glass of Montrachet ’83.

She’d hotly wanted to point out to him the foolishness of maintaining such a large inventory account for the restaurant. A million dollars? It was ludicrous. Less than a hundred thousand would be more then ample; the rest could be put into a higher-yield CD and at least be earning interest for the company till. But she never brought it up, far too used now to the man’s lackadaisical attitude toward financial management.

And all the while, her distraction deepened. Paul, she thought. That final night, and its obscene imagery, had never ceased to churn through her memory. She hoped she never saw him again, but that was a false hope. Sooner or later, she’d have to see him. There were still a few things back at the apartment that she needed to retrieve.

Sooner or later, she knew, she’d have to go back to the city. She’d have to face him one last time.

««—»»

Dinner wound down. The third night of their second week. Twenty-two dinners tonight, she thought. Not bad. Breaking twenty dinners per night was their new goal, akin to breaking one hundred in golf. Not too good, but better than shooting sevens on every hole.

The last of the diners complimented her as they left. “A simply lovely meal,” an elderly, perfumed woman gushed, donning a mink stole. “I’m glad you liked it,” Vera replied. “Please come again.” “We will,” promised the younger man with her. He looked like Dapper on The Three Stooges. While the rest cleaned up, Vera meandered to her office in the west wing. She cashed out, wrote up the night’s receipts, and logged in the payroll hours. All the while, though, her mind wandered, never stopping on a single thought, image, or notion. Paul. Feldspar. The Carriage House. Paul. She poured herself a Cordial of DeKuyper Cinnamon Schnapps and felt even more remote. Paul. Sleep. The dream. Feldspar. Kyle…sex.

“There I go again,” she muttered to herself, and locked up her files. Poor little oversexed Vera.

The Inn was quiet; her office felt unoccupied even with her sitting in it. Then she noticed the package.

What is this?

It looked like a present—a thin, wide box in white gift-wrap. A cryptic notecard unfolded to read, simply, midnight in tight felt-tip. Midnight? she wondered. She opened the package.

You dick, she thought.

It was beautiful, a Bill Blass corselet-tank swimsuit, in a gorgeous bright-fuchsia. A half-front lace up. Her size, too: 7. Her lips drew to a tight, exasperated seam. I am not going to go swimming with that presumptuous prick, she told herself. But it can’t hurt to try it on.

Suddenly she felt giddily enthused and could name no reason. Was she so bored that trying on a swimsuit, which she had no intention of swimming in, seemed like a paramount event? Yes, she answered herself, quickly locked the office, and scurried up the stairs.

Minutes later she was stepping into the swimsuit before the mirrored bathroom wall. She laced up the front in a big, pretty bow. Her amethyst flashed. She turned in the reflection. This looks great, she assayed, turning again for a side view. Too bad I’m not going to…

She strayed to the bedroom. The mantel clock ticked, luring her eyes. It was midnight.

No, she thought. You’re not.

She poured herself a dab of Grand Marnier, thought about it. You’re a big girl, Vera. Why should you not do something you want to do because of some guy? It was a flawed rationalization—never mind that Kyle had invited her, and had given her the swimsuit—but Vera let that pass. What the hell, she dismissed. She put on her robe, grabbed a big terry towel, and went downstairs.

She peeked around the bottom of the landing. What if someone saw her? What if Feldspar saw her? The atrium stood empty, dimly lit by the chandelier and embers in the great stone fireplace. She could hear the cleanup clatter from the restaurant, but no one could be seen in the dining room. She whisked around the reception desk, slipped through the door, and traipsed down the dark hall to the pool.

This is a mistake, she told herself when she entered. A kaleidoscope of multicolored light floated amid the pool’s long column. The top of its T remained dark, and all the skirting lights were out. But there was no sign of Kyle. Good, she thought. But was that how she really felt? The silence sounded hollow, like an empty auditorium. Falteringly, she folded her robe and towel over the first of a row of strapped chaise lounges. She stood still a moment, biting her lower lip. Part of me wishes he was here, it occurred to her. But why? Perhaps those two drinks had hit her harder than usual.

She dipped the tip of her foot into the languid water. It felt deliciously warm. Then she dove in.

This is nice, came the slow, lulling thought. The warm water caressed her as she glided out. It was like rolling through a pleasant, idle dream. She slowly backstroked further across the pool. Gradually the warm water erased out some of the day’s aches and knots. Worst thing about her job was being on her feet most of the shift, then hunching over her desk with the nightly paperwork mess. Back in the city, Paul would give her fabulous back rubs when she got home, kneading all the stress out of her at once. I could sure use one of those right now, she dreamily thought, floating toward the dark end.

From below, the hand grabbed her ankle—

Vera screamed.

—and jerked her down. She flailed beneath the surface, bubbles erupting with her terror. She madly kicked away, gasping as she resurfaced.

Kyle was leaning against the pool edge, laughing.

“You are such an asshole, Kyle!” Vera yelled.

He continued to chuckle, slicking back his long wet hair. “Asshole? Me?” His laughter echoed. “That sure got a charge out of you. You think I was the creature of the black lagoon?”

“You’re a creature, all right,” Vera replied, and let her heart resume a normal beat. She lay her arms along the ledge, paddling her feet. He better be wearing trunks, she thought and tried not to be obvious about squinting. The low merging lights made it impossible to tell.

Kyle treaded water toward the deep end. “I don’t know about you, but room service was slammed tonight.”

Vera minutely smirked, still rowing her feet.

“Well, come on. How many dinners you do?”

“We did all right, Kyle. You don’t need to concern yourself with the restaurant.”

Kyle’s grin flared. “I get the message—you didn’t do squat for dinners tonight. Don’t worry, business’ll pick up for you.” He laughed again, harder. “Hey, maybe the ghost is scaring your customers away.’’

She watched him cockily levitate himself in the water. Horse’s ass, she thought. “Okay, Kyle, tell me about the ghost. You’ve been dying to for weeks.”

Kyle was a snide talking head atop the water. “The Inn’s got a bad history. Used to be a—”

“I know what it used to be, Kyle. Don’t bother trying to freak me out. Just tell me—have you ever seen it?”

“Sure,” he said. “The night before you and your gang arrived.”

Bullshit. “Okay, Kyle. What did it look like?”

“Just a big pale shape. Kind of hunched over, naked. Could hear its feet thumping as it walked. I only saw it for a second, stuck my head out the door, saw it moving down the second-floor hall toward the stairs.”

Now Vera laughed. “It was probably one of your maids going downstairs to snitch booze.”

“That’s what I thought,” Kyle said. “So I called out to it.”

“And?”

Kyle’s brash grin faded. “It turned around and looked at me.” Suddenly he seemed restrained, even distressed. “Looked like it…well, its face…”

Vera smiled, nodding. “Yeah? What about its face?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,’’ he said. “You wouldn’t believe me anyway.’’

“Kyle, it’s not that I wouldn’t believe you. I already don’t believe you.”

“That’s cool.” He treaded closer, his head bobbing. “Just ask Mr. Feldspar about the wall contractors.”

“The what?”

“Three, four months ago, construction was getting a little behind, so we hired an extra contractor to hang all the Sheetrock and paneling. Had ’em work at night, to save time.”

“So what.”

Kyle’s brow rose. “Couldn’t find a crew that’d stay more than a week. They all quit. Said there was…something here.”

“Oh, Kyle, I’m shaking with fright.” She expected more from him, more than trifling attempts to scare her. He quickly changed topics. “This is great, though, ain’t it?”

“What?”

“Relaxing in the pool after a long shift?”

“It is nice,” she admitted. Now her head tilted back, her eyes closed. The warm water line roved at her breasts. “I hate being on my feet all day, it wears me out.” It had been a long time since she’d felt so relaxed, so dreamy. The drinks, on top of her fatigue, unwound all her springs at once. Then Kyle was saying, “I know what you need.”

Vera opened her eyes, startled. Kyle quickly climbed out of the pool next to her. She half-gasped, as first thinking he was naked, but then she noted that he wore tan trunks. “What are you doing?” she said, looking at him upside-down.

“Come on.” He leaned over, extending his hand. “Out. What you need is one of Dr. Kyle’s famous back rubs.”

This age-old con did not surprise her. It did seem odd, though, that she’d been thinking of back rubs just minutes ago. “No way, Kyle. That’s the oldest guy’s trick in the book.”

His hand remained extended. “Come on, don’t you trust me?”

“No, Kyle, I don’t trust you for a minute. You’re looking for an excuse—”

“What, you think I’m gonna try to diddle you?”

Vera laughed. He was so crude. “Kyle, I wouldn’t put anything past you.”

“Come on,” he insisted. “Out. Try trusting a guy for a change.”

This comment left her distantly pissed. What did he mean? That she didn’t trust men? Don’t do it, Vera, she warned herself. Nevertheless, she eased her back off the ledge, paused, and turned. Don’t… Next, she thrust her hand out. Don’t…

Kyle grabbed her hand. His muscles flexed in the wavering, floating light. Effortlessly, she was lifted out of the warm water onto the skid-proof skirting. She stood for a moment, unsure, reluctant. She was dripping…

“Over here,” he said.

His big hands gently touched her shoulders. The contact stunned her. It was the first time she’d been touched by a man in what seemed ages, and it felt weird, shivery.

His hands urged her down the deck, into grainy darkness and half-formed shapes of lounge chairs and tables. “Boy, that’s one cute swimsuit,” he remarked. “Musta been a guy with some real good taste who bought it for ya.”

“Thank you for the swimsuit, Kyle,” she said, leaving a trail of drips as her bare feet carried her forward.

Then: “Here,” he said. “Lie down right here.”

What are you getting yourself into? she asked, not expecting an answer. She had a pretty good idea by now. He lowered the back of a lounge chair to a flat position; Vera lay down on it, on her stomach, thinking, I cannot believe I’m doing this.

Kyle straddled her at once, plopping his rump down right on hers. The sudden wet weight on her hips felt…lewd. Every muscle in her body stiffened. Then his hands splayed on her back.

“If you don’t mind me saying so, Vera,” he began—

“I probably will.”

“—you’re a pretty hot-lookin’ babe.” Then he laughed.

Hot-looking babe. Jesus. “Thank you, Kyle. I’ve never been complimented with such sophistication.”

His hands pushed slow hard circles down over her shoulder blades. “Could use some sun, though. You’re kinda white.”

“It’s the middle of winter, Kyle. What am I supposed to do? Lie out on the back deck in this? I’d be a Bill Blass fuchsia popsicle in about two minutes.”

Now his thumbs teased along her ribs. “I mean the tanning booths. You ought to try ’em out. Get some color.” His thumbs rubbed into the pause. “You really are a beautiful woman.”

Vera tried to frown. Did he think he need only toss a few compliments to have his way? It sounded sincere, though. It sounded nice, simply the way he’d said that. You really are a beautiful woman…

Am I? she thought.

His hands continued in their preliminaries, slowly breaking out her stiffness. The muscles in her back felt constricted, twisted up in their fatigue. But it wasn’t only fatigue; some of it was nervousness. Of course I’m nervous, she realized. There’s a guy I barely know sitting on my ass.

Yes, Vera felt very nervous.

“Relax,” he whispered.

His fingers gently dug into her shoulders and neck, tensing in and out. She stared ahead, her chin propped under her hands. All she could see was darkness. Kyle’s fingers briskly kneaded her, loosening the stiff muscles.

“You’re all knotted up.” His fingers worked lower. “Is that better?”

“Yes,” she murmured.

It felt gorgeous, luxurious. Each probing touch unwound another knot. In moments she felt like warm putty stretched out across the slatted chair.

His voice was so quiet, a distant whisper. “Does that feel better?”

“Yes,” she sighed again.

His long wet hair dripped water onto her back. His fingers kneaded her tense flesh all the way down her spine. Then his palms pushed all the way up in a sensation that seemed to squeeze her remaining tensions out of her like paste from a tube. This is a mistake, she thought. She’d let herself walk right into his trap. A few more minutes of this and he’d be making his move, and right now—relaxed, stretched out, and warmly aroused—she knew she would not resist. She knew she would let him have sex with her.

The swimsuit had no back. Now his fingers worked expertly into the flesh just above her rump.

“See, Dr. Kyle always comes prepared,” he was saying next. “Every convenience for his patients.”

From somewhere he produced a bottle of massage lotion. Vera felt the drops slide down her back. His hands continued then, rubbing the slick oil into her skin. The oil felt warm at first, then hot. Then he hitched down.

The weight rose. She wanted to protest. He was kneeling now at the base of the chair, between her feet. He dribbled a line of the lotion down each of her legs.

This is too good, she thought. This is getting me too hot.

It was just like the fantasy, and the dream. The Hands…

The hands rubbed the oil up and down her legs, drawing stunning heat into her skin. First, he massaged each of her feet, flexing the toes back and forth. Then each hand slowly squeezed up her calves. The oil made her feel deliciously inflamed, and there was no denying her arousal now. Her loins wanted to fidget against the slow succor of his fingers. Thank God it’s dark, was all she could think. The dampness between her legs would surely be soaking through the swimsuit by now.

“Is that good?” the ever-soft voice inquired. “Do you like that?”

“Yes,” she breathed.

She opened her eyes again, peering into the dark. The dark, like the warm, silent dark of the dream. The dream of The Hands— She gave in then. She let herself fall into the scape of the fantasy…

The Hands raised her leg. The Fingers of one kneaded her calf. The Mouth sucked her toes, nibbled them. Then the process was repeated on the other foot.

Vera was moaning, not for real but in the fantasy.

This was only a fantasy she was playing out in her mind. Fantasizing was healthy, normal…

The fantasy drew on, The Hands inching now up her thighs, then plying her buttocks. The Fingers slipped underneath the suit.

She was cringing, she was squirming now. She felt primordial and horny. She looked at herself in the fantasy. She saw herself slip out of her shoulder straps, then she saw The Hands peel the damp suit off of her, leaving it to dangle limp off one of her feet. She saw more drops of the lotion dribble onto her buttocks, The Hands sliding up. The oil ran down the cleft, drawing its delicious heat over her rectum and then collecting into the bottom of her sex.

The Hands were rubbing tight circles now. Her own hand slipped down, touching herself, urging the approach of her orgasm. The Hands, next, embraced her, encircling her belly. The Mouth of the fantasy, then, descended…

Warm tremors threatened to burst as The Mouth sucked her lower back. This sucking sensation alone made her want to come. The Mouth lovingly devoured her. She whined in the next moment, when The Mouth slid brazenly down the cleft of her rump, lingered over the button of her anus, then licked lower, lower…

She needed more. She needed to be filled. Almost panting, she rose to her hands and knees atop the chair. Do it to me now, she pleaded in the fantasy, reaching back with a desperate hand. She felt it, closed her fingers around its warm, turgid girth. It’s swollen tip teased her, bulging the wet entry of her sex. Her mind felt divided and subdivided, each piece separately transfixed on the gush of desires and smoldering sensation. She thrust her hips back in one fast, unhesitant motion, and was penetrated…

“Vera?” A nudge. “Vera?”

The voice seemed to pull her out of a well. Her eyes eased open. My God, she thought.

“You fell asleep.” Kyle climbed off her. She turned groggily onto her side. No, none of it had really happened, none of it was real. Kyle grinned down at her, still in his tan cut-offs, and Vera still in the bright fuchsia swimsuit.

“I…fell asleep?”

“You sure did. Out like a light.” He casually grabbed his towel and slung it across his shoulder. Vera, still prone, paused to look at him, the pool lights shifting on his skin: the long, damp swept-back hair; the sculptured muscles of his chest, shoulders, arms; the tapered frame. What am I thinking? she thought.

“It’s late,” he said. “I’m turning in.”

Vera bottled up the slow burn of angst. After all the accusations she’d made to herself, all the times she’d condemned him as a conman and womanizer, here was the truth. He’d had every opportunity to seduce her, yet he hadn’t.

And, Vera, as a result, was now disappointed, irritated.

“So how do I rate as a back-rubber?” he inquired, grinning.

“I believe the word is masseur, Kyle, and I’ll give you a high rating.”

“Just a high rating? Not the highest?”

Vera reflected, still lounging on her side. It had been good, hadn’t it? No, it had been better than good. “Now that I think of it, Kyle, yes, you get the highest rating. Five stars.”

“I thought so. And seeing how all’s fair, maybe next time I’ll get to rate you.”

“Possibly,” Vera said.

“See you tomorrow.”

Kyle turned and strode off. Vera watched after him.

These notions weren’t like her at all, these desires. I wanted him to do it. Indeed. For the first time in her life, she’d wanted no-strings, fast-and-furious, rough-and-tumble…sex.

She slowly rose, still aroused by the fantasy. Her nipples poked against the suit’s bright cups, the contact of the wet fabric titillating her. Diffuse chunks of light wobbled on the ceiling. She grabbed her towel, picked up the bottle of lotion Kyle had forgotten, and walked out.

Notions seemed to lag behind her down the hall. The Mouth nibbling her toes. The Hands kneading her ass. The images boggled her. It’s just stress, she convinced herself. New job, new place, new people. And: no sex life anymore. They’d added up, that was all. The frustrations would abate once she had time to get used to things.

She stepped into the darkened atrium, then instantly stepped back. A figure had turned around the corner, as if walking from the fireplace. The fireplace? Vera wondered.

The fire had died to ash. It must have been one of the maids or maintenance people checking on it. But—this late? It just didn’t feel right, though Vera couldn’t name a reason. She didn’t dare call out. What if it was Feldspar? He might be a bit curious as to why his restaurant manager, whom he was paying a hundred and fifteen thousand dollars a year, was traipsing about The Inn going on two in the morning, clad only in a damp swimsuit.

Still, she waited a moment, peeking back and forth. When she felt certain the figure was gone, she skipped out across the plush wool carpets to the fireplace. Only a trace warmth lingered. Its fieldstone maw was nearly large enough to stand in. Chopped logs filled a black-iron rack to the left. She peered down, noticing something else, the vaguest scent…

Ah, ha. The glint caught her eye. On its side behind the stacked logs lay a bottle. Scotch, she noted. A rail brand. That explained it. One of the maintenance staff was snitching a nip. She supposed it was her duty as a manager to report it, or to at least confiscate the bottle, but she let it go.

Something else was on her mind.

She scurried up the stairs as fast as her bare feet would carry her. Down the hall. To her bedroom.

Where the fantasy of The Hands awaited her.

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