The Chosen

was dead quiet, and the reception desk remained untended. She went in through the back way, down the cramped corridor, passing several maids pushing carts. None of them spoke to her. The first thing she saw when she entered the room-service kitchen was the same pasty, stooped woman she’d seen her first day on the job, who was wheeling a full twenty-shelf Metro transport cabinet into the room-service elevator. The door slid shut in Vera’s face. Beyond, the RS kitchen extended as a warren of hustling figures which weaved this way and that, loading dirty plates into the dish-racks, or covering the orders to go up. They were all more staff Vera had never seen before; none acknowledged her.

“Hi, Vera,” a voice called out.

Kyle stood before a long Wolf Range grill, tunicked, with spatula in hand, tending to a half-dozen ribeyes. The steaks sizzled.

“How come you locked the door between the kitchens?” she immediately asked, glaring at him.

Kyle shrugged. “No reason for it to be unlocked.”

“No reason?” Vera rolled her eyes. “What if the restaurant needs something over here?’’

Kyle gave a hearty laugh. “Looks to me like the only thing the restaurant needs that we got is business. What did you pull tonight, about five dinners?”

“No, Kyle, we did fifteen—”

“Hey, fifteen, that’s really socking them in.”

You DICK! She wanted to kick him. “And that’s not the point, Kyle. You might need something from us, too—”

“Not likely, and what the point really is, Vera,” he said, “is I’m in charge over here, you’re in charge over there. There shouldn’t be any cross-mingling of staff.”

Vera stood hand on hips, tapping her foot. “Why?”

“Ever heard of pilfering? Ever heard of theft?”

“What, you think my people are going to sneak over here to steal your ribeyes?” she close to yelled. “Which, by the way, you’re overcooking.”

Kyle flipped a few steaks with his spatula. “As managers, it’s our responsibility to keep our own areas secure. Room service is separate from the restaurant. It’s supposed to be. How do you know one of my people won’t go over to your end and pinch something? You don’t even lock your walk-ins during the day. ”

“Nobody ever gave me any locks, but I couldn’t help but notice that you have all you need.”

“If you need locks, go get some. You’re on the account. You need somebody to tell you everything?”

Vera was getting pissed in increments. You got balls, was all she could think, saying something like that to me. The kitchen clamor shredded her nerves, along with Kyle’s subdued-egomanic, self-centered grin. “But you can send the fat kid over here if you want,” he next had the gall to suggest. “Seeing how we’re so slammed over here, my dishwasher could use a hand…”

“Sorry, Kyle. No cross-mingling of staff, remember?”

Kyle chuckled as he flipped the top row of steaks.

“Jealousy isn’t what I’d call the sign of a good restaurant manager.’’

“What do I have to be jealous of?” she objected.