The Chosen

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