The Chosen

“I mean, look at you, you’re pissed. It’s not my fault your restaurant only does fifteen dinners all night while I do fifteen per half-hour.”

Vera stormed out. Kyle even had the further audacity to laugh after her. She wanted to shriek.

“What’s the matter?” Dan B. asked when she came back to her own kitchen.

“Nothing,” she snapped. Her heels clicked hotly straight to the service bar, where she poured herself a shot of Crown Royal. She could barely hold the little glass steady enough to pour the liquor. Donna stared at her, setting down a bus bin. One thing Vera never did was drink during hours.

“Listen, Vera,” Dan B. offered. “It’s only our first night. We can’t expect to do business like The Emerald Room right off. Gotta give people time to find out about us.”

Vera knew this, she even anticipated it. So why was she shaking?

“Business’ll pick up,” Donna added.

Vera leaned back and sighed. “Sorry, gang,” she apologized. She’d felt close to bugging out; it didn’t make sense. A slow night was nothing to get bent about, nor was the scrap with Kyle. Competition between managers was a reality in this business, and one she’d dealt with often. Her sudden fervor had nothing to do with any of that. So what was it? For a moment, she felt like she was going to fall to pieces. And how would that look in front of her staff? Vera was their boss, their leader. She was the one who’d convinced them to come here in the first place.

Look at me now, she reflected.

Donna put her arm around her, steered her away.

“Why don’t you just go upstairs and get to bed? You need some rest, that’s all.”

“Yeah, Vera,” Dan B. said. “Hit the sack. We’ll finish up down here. Don’t worry about a thing.”

“Okay,” Vera said. She was tired, as a matter of fact. Maybe it was all just too much commotion, fretting over every little detail before the opening. “I’ll see you all in the morning.”

Vera could imagine the looks they exchanged as she left. One thing she couldn’t afford was to lose the confidence of her employees. They’d been such a great team together at The Emerald Room; if they thought she was flipping out, they’d fall apart. Get your shit together, girl, she thought, and crossed the atrium for the stairs. She frowned yet again at the untenanted reception desk. She doubted that she’d seen a single guest sign in today, yet all the suites were booked. Select clientele, she remembered both Feldspar and Kyle saying. Then it dawned on her. The VIP entrance behind the east wing—that’s where the guests were coming in from. It seemed almost as though Feldspar was ashamed of the atrium, that he was deliberately keeping this “select clientele” of his from seeing it. But the atrium was beautiful, as was the rest of The Inn. Why hide it?

She could hear the room-service elevators running full tilt behind the walls. She trudged up the stairs, toward her bedroom, taking each step as if in dread. And it was dread. Though she could admit that to no one else, she easily admitted it to herself.

It was sleep that she dreaded.

She closed her door, poured herself a Grand Marnier, and ran a bubble bath—her nightly ritual. A glance in the mirror affirmed Donna’s observation. Vera was run down, tired out. She assessed her reflection as she took off her clothes. The dark circles under her eyes told all.

Not enough sleep. And it was more than