The Chosen

“Yes, Ms. Abbot. Crimes were committed. Nothing serious, mind you, but crimes no less. Several of our best-heeled clients took exception to this, and since my associates were under my supervision, I was quite justifiably held responsible. But I assure you that none of these misgivings were anything remotely similar to the good Chief Mulligan’s accusations. They weren’t so much crimes as they were unauthorized liberties.”

Vera pondered this. Certainly many liberties were taken in the hotel and restaurant business: pilfering, misuse of funds by mid- and upper- management, fraudulent business deductions and record-keeping. These must be examples of what he meant.

“At any rate, my employer was not pleased. I was demoted back to the field, so to speak, to manage a new facility and reprove my worth. It’s a bit like penance.”

Some penance. It sounded more like a slap on the wrist to Vera. Sending Feldspar to the cost-no-object Inn as a demotion was like putting a fat person on a 5,000-calorie-a-day diet. If this is how Magwyth Enterprises punishes its managers for screwing up, I’d hate to think what their idea of a promotion is.

But Feldspar, next, even answered the joke, by repeating something he’d already mentioned many times. “If The Inn continues to succeed—and I suspect it will—then I’ll be back in the good graces of my employer, back to running our very best inns.”

Feldspar made The Inn seem like a highway motor lodge. Vera found it hard to imagine that the company’s other inns could be significantly superior to this one. He must be talking about places in Europe or the Middle East, which catered exclusively to royalty and billionaires.

And Feldspar went on, “In which case I’ll need a preeminent restaurant manager to take with me, Ms. Abbot.”

Another implication he’d been making since she started up here. Part of her felt like a dog being tempted by a distant bone, yet another part of her felt quite flattered. “Well, Mr. Feldspar, I don’t like to count my chickens before they hatch. We haven’t even been open long enough for a full quarterly report. It’s probably not a great idea for either of us to be worrying about promotions until we see exactly how well we’re doing here after the initial numbers are in.”

Feldspar lit a Turkish cigarette with a jeweled lighter. “Ah, so businesslike, a natural predilection toward pessimism. My hunches, however, almost always come true. I hope that you will keep any potential possibility in mind.”

He’s such an odd man, she thought. Was that why she admired him? Was that why she liked him? “Don’t worry. I will.”

Again, he smiled, the fetid smoke blurring his face. “Indeed, Ms. Abbot, I believe with the utmost certainty that you and I will both enjoy a considerable success in the very near future.”

««—»»

What could Lee say? He didn’t even know her name. Excuse me, but have you seen…well, you know, the pudgy housemaid who never talks? That’s right, the one who gives me head every night, and who can’t have sex because some S&M pervert sewed her vagina shut? The one who’s got burn marks and scars all over her body?

Lee was worried.

She hadn’t come to his room in the last three nights. Nor had he seen her working about The Inn. The other housemaids—the ones who seemed equally distant and nontalkative—sure.

But not…her.

Lee didn’t know what he was getting into; he didn’t even know how he felt. He knew one thing though:

Something’s fucked up around here.