The Chosen

^{CHAPTER FOUR}

Sunlight blared in her slitted eyes. Vera awoke shivering in the back of the parking lot at Mr. Donut. She’d slept in the car all night, in the bitter cold. Her lips felt like pieces of coral, her fingernails were blue. Frigid air circulated through the car: she’d left the motor running, to keep on the heat, but had run out of gas.

She stared into the sky.

No, she thought.

Several cars crawled by to the drive-in window. Faces peered at her. The sunlight felt like a mainline of memory, rekindling to her brain the disgusting scene she’d witnessed last night on her own bed.

No. No. No.

But it was no dream. It was all true, she knew it was. She could deny it forever and it would still be there. How many times had Paul promised his fidelity to her? How many times had he said I love you? None of that mattered now. Lies never mattered, did they? All his love, all that he’d said to her and promised her, was a lie. This truth terrified her: how you could love someone, live with someone that long, and then in a single, jagged moment realize that you never ever really knew that person at all?

Tears had dried to crust on her face. She leaned up.

How long had Paul been living this demented double life behind her back?

My God, she fully realized now. She brought her nearly frozen hands to her face, staring. How long had he been doing those things?

Drugs. Bondage. Transexuality.

He hadn’t even been using condoms, nor had that hideous redheaded she-male. Double life aside, how could Paul have been so thoughtless as to engage in such practices, with such people, and not even consider the risk to Vera’s health?

“Ma’am?”

Tap-tap-tap-tap.

“Ma’am?”

A face hovered in the glass—a city cop. It seemed to warp before her in the curved glass. He tapped his nightstick against the window incessantly as a bamboo drum.

“Are you all right?”

Vera got out of the car. She could imagine how she looked, nearly blue-lipped, shivering, and eyeliner streaked down her face. “I’m fine,” she said.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!”

She began to stomp away, toward West Street, her heels rapidly clicking against asphalt.

“Wait up, miss. You sure you’re—”

“Yes!” she almost screamed at him. “Is it against the law to run out of gas in a fucking donut-store parking lot!”

She hurried off, leaving the cop to scowl. She didn’t even know where she was going. Where could she go? She couldn’t go home. I don’t have a home, she said to herself. She couldn’t even fathom returning to that apartment. A glance to her watch showed her the time: 10 a.m.

In an hour The Emerald Room would open for lunch.

Dan B., Donna. She’d make some arrangement to stay with them for a few days, until she could figure out what she wanted to do. The bank account was joint; after being caught, Paul was probably at the teller’s now, cleaning it out. She’d just have to scrape by until payday, get a place, restart her life.

Then she stopped.

Her mouth opened. The cold wind burned her eyes.

Feldspar.

Vera ran, suddenly a sleek maniac in a Burberry overcoat and high heels. Feldspar had told her he was staying at the Radisson. Checkout time was eleven!

On the off chance that you should change your mind, please contact me.

She ran on, stopped again, hopping, took off her shoes, and continued. Pedestrians gaped after her. A Yellow screeched to a halt when she dashed through a don’t walk crossing. Her feet pounded the stone-cold sidewalk, the air whipped against her face. Just as she turned into the hotel court, the gleaming red Lamborghini idled up to the light, which then turned green.

“Wait!” she screamed.

The car turned away, accelerated down West Street.

“Oh, no, oh, shit, wait!”

She scampered through pedestrians. The bottoms of her stockings wore out as she shouldered through clusters of business suits on their way to work. The Lamborghini had stopped before the red light at Cathedral Street. Vera’s lungs felt fit to explode:

“Wait!”

The light blinked green just as Vera trampled up. Feldspar’s goateed face looked astonished in the window. He leaned over.

The passenger door raised.

“Ms. Abbot—what’s wrong?”

“I—” Vera sunk into the plush leather seat. The door lowered closed automatically, sealing in the heat “I wanted to catch you before you left.”

Concern lined Feldspar’s broad face. “Something’s quite wrong, I can tell. What is it?”

Vera let the heat sink into her skin. How could she explain herself without sounding daft? The way she looked now, shivering, stocking-footed, must already have reduced her former credibility to the lowest ebb. So she would make no excuses.

“Mr. Feldspar, is that job still open?”

««—»»

He turned around and drove straight back to the Radisson, booked another room, and took her up. “What changed your mind?” he asked, and opened the door.

He’d rented a conference room. Vera took off her overcoat, for the first time since last night. Feldspar set an alligator-skin briefcase on the meeting table.

“Your fiancé turned out to be open to the idea?” he ventured when she didn’t answer.

He’s open to ideas, all right. “No. I never discussed it with him. We’re not together anymore.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Feldspar sat down, lit a Sobraine. “I do hope that it wasn’t the job offer that caused your separation.”

“It wasn’t,” Vera said. “It had nothing to do with it.”

“Well, it’s none of my business—your private life is your own. It’s distressing to see you like this, though. You’re obviously repressing a trauma.”

Am I? Of course she was. How could he not sense that, how could anyone? “If it’s all the same to you, sir, I’d rather not talk about that right now. Let’s talk business instead.”

“Ah, yes.”

Vera felt ludicrous. She’d lost her shoes on a mad dash through rush hour. Her vermilion dress was so crumpled it looked slept in, which in fact it was. Her lips were parched, and she could feel her makeup flaking on her face. Yet here she was, with a stoic business man, accepting a job for nearly four times her current salary.

First, Feldspar gave her back the bank check. Then he slipped her a sheet of paper. “This is our employment contract. It guarantees terms upon your signature. Before you sign, though, I must explain that the work won’t be easy. Expect to put in ten to twelve hours a day, six days per week.”

So what else is new? Vera signed the contract, the back copy of which Feldspar gave her to keep. “I’d like to elaborate now on some of the specifics,” he went on. The sweet cigarette smoke dispersed before his face. “As I informed you last night, we’re opening an exclusive resort; it’s a country-inn type of establishment.”

“Is the restaurant in the same building?”

“Oh, yes, and it’s quite well done. I can’t wait for you to see it.”

Neither could she, though she wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. “I’ll need to know what kind of staff you’re giving me.”

“There is none yet. As the restaurant’s manager, you will be expected to hire the restaurant’s staff. And do it quickly—we’d like to open in two weeks.”

“Two weeks?” That was no time at all. “And what about the menu, the wine list, who are your distributors, your delivery agencies?”

“That, too, will be up to you.”

“Mr. Feldspar, I think it’s great that you want a state-of-the-art restaurant, but that’s dependent on a whole lot more than an R.M. I could be the best manager in the world, and the restaurant would fail if I don’t have the right people. The first thing you absolutely must have is a great chef—”

“Hire one.”

“A skilled chef doesn’t come cheap. The guy we have at The Emerald Room gets paid forty thousand a year.”

“Pay him eighty,” Feldspar bluntly told her. “You know this business, Ms. Abbot; that’s why we’ve hired you, and we know that good staff won’t leave their current jobs for a pittance. Simply solicit the people you need. I should think that if you offer them twice their current salaries they’ll be most willing, especially considering the free room and board.”

Vera had forgotten about that. Feldspar had said he was reserving some of the hotel’s rooms for staff. She could hire people here, and get them to move.

Feldspar passed her another bank check, but the amount space was blank. Next he gave her a thin stack of employment contracts. “Pay them each, say, a thousand dollars for moving expenses, and give them their first week’s salary as a bonus. Waitresses and busboys might be a problem, since many are students and hence unable to leave the localities of their schools. Room service should be able to provide some people if that’s the case. Keep it light at first, you can always hire more staff as business picks up. But a good chef is essential, and whomever else you feel necessary to start-up operations.”

He just gave me a blank check, Vera realized in disbelief. He’s dead serious. These guys must have more money than King Tut.

“All right, Mr. Feldspar. I can do that.”

“And as far as distributors and inventory sources go, I’m sure you’re familiar with all the proper channels. Make the arrangements.”

That said it all. Feldspar wasn’t fooling around. Here’s the job. Don’t bother me with details, just do it. Period.

Yeah, she thought. I can do that.

“When can you be at the estate?”

Waynesville, she remembered. Staff. “I’ll need a few days to get the essential staff together. ”

“A few days, fine. But no more than that. We want things under way in—”

“Two weeks,” she recalled. “No problem.” Of course, it really was a problem, but she’d simply have to solve it. She realized the tremendous job ahead of her, yet in spite of that she felt anticipatory. She felt excited.

“What’s the name of the inn, by the way?” she asked.

“We’re simply going to call it The Inn.”

Original, Vera thought. It’s his place, he can call it whatever he wants. “How about the restaurant?”

Feldspar shrugged and crushed out his cigarette. “You choose the name. Something continental, I should think. Again, we’ll leave it to you.”

Vera joked to herself over the possibilities. Vera’s Hash House. Good Eats. The Boondocks Room. “How does this sound?” She paused for effect. “The Carriage House.”

Feldspar’s eyes widened slightly in a sudden approval. “An excellent choice, I must say.”

Easy to please, Vera thought. But now that I’ve got the name, I better get on with the job.

A knock tapped at the door. Feldspar let in a young and very beautiful blonde pushing a room service carriage. Truffles, Baci Chocolates, and Dniva Caviar. A bottle of Kruge sat wedged in a bucket of ice.

Feldspar poured two glasses of the fine champagne. He passed one to Vera, curtly smiling down. “A toast,” he proposed.

Vera raised the sparkling glass.

“To The Carriage House.”

Their glasses clinked.

««—»»

Feldspar parked the Lamborghini in The Emerald Room’s valet cul-de-sac. The large, cut amethyst on his pinky ring shined as he withdrew a final piece of paper. “Directions,” he said.

“I’ll see you in a few days,” Vera promised.

An equal promise, at least in a way, seemed to highlight the otherwise dark voice. “I believe that wonderful things await us in this venture, and tremendous success. I’m looking very forward to working with you, Ms. Abbot.”

“Likewise.” Vera shook the stubby hand. She felt—what? She looked once more at Feldspar’s features: the broad face, the goatee, the ink-black hair pulled back in a short ponytail—an absolute clash to the fine clothes and jewelry. Twelve hours ago, he was merely a weird-looking squat stranger; now he was her boss. She felt she could even consider him a friend. “Thank you for giving me this chance, Mr. Feldspar. I won’t let you down.”

“I’m quite certain that you won’t. But before you go, might I make one very trifle suggestion?’’

“Sure.”

“Get some shoes. Soon.”

Feldspar actually laughed as she got out of the sleek car. Vera laughed too, waving as he pulled onto West Street and drove away. Yes, she’d have to get some shoes—she’d have to get a lot of things. But far more important was what she already had—or in fact had been given: a chance at something big.

She stood before The Emerald Room, looking out into the busy thoroughfare. Passersby paused to gape at her, this tousled woman standing in freezing weather with no shoes and mussed hair. The wind slipped around her, but now she felt warm.

A second chance, she mused. That’s what this was, really. She had a good job here but no longer a life to go with it. It hurt to think of Paul, and of love in general. Love was supposed to be ultimate emotion between two people, the ultimate truth. Where was her truth now? It was all gone, it was all a lie and always had been. How could she live with that?

I know.

Very slowly, her left hand raised in the cold. The big engagement ring gave a crisp glitter in the sun. She slipped the ring off her finger and threw it into the middle of West Street.

Eventually a mail truck ran it over.

Time to move on, she thought.

— | — | —