The Chosen

just wash dishes, you cleaned everything in the kitchen so it was spic ’n span for tomorrow. Of course, he wasn’t exactly busting his ass tonight. A kitchen didn’t get that dirty after only serving fifteen dinners. All he had left was the floor to mop, and he could call it a night.

Lee was enthused; he was making righteous money now, and he wasn’t discouraged by opening night’s low draw. Things would pick up, he was sure. With Dan B. at the range and Vera running the show, word would get around fast that the best place in town to eat was The Carriage House. He didn’t understand why Vera was so bent out of shape tonight, though. She knew these things. In fact, she’d been acting funny for a while. Frazzled, off-the-mark, and a little bitchy. That made sense though, what with Paul Whatshisface cheating on her. What a scumbag. Vera was a nice lady, she didn’t deserve to be duped like that. For all that time she’d had her hopes up for marrying the guy, and then the guy puts her through the wringer. I wish he was here right now, Lee thought and polished off the first Maibock. I’d run his dog ass through the Hobart a few times, see if that doesn’t clean up his act a bit. Poor Vera. No wonder she hadn’t been herself lately.

That and that Kyle motherfucker giving her the extra headache. That’s the last thing she needed on top of the shit she had to take from Paul. One thing Lee knew from the word go: that Kyle motherfucker was bad news. He’d been on all their asses.

Speaking of motherfuckers…

Suddenly the door to the room-service kitchen was unlocked and open. Standing within, and sneering big-time, was Kyle. “Hey, fatboy,” he said.

Lee shot the dude a scowl. “You talkin’ to me?”

“No, I’m talking to the ten other fat shits standing behind you. Who do you think I’m talking to?”

“What do you want, man?”

“I want you to get your fat can over here and finish up the RS dishes. We got slammed tonight, and my dish-man’s ragged out.”

Lee, at once, was tempted to suggest that Kyle dine on his Fruit of the Looms. Instead, he said, “I don’t take orders from you. Vera’s my boss.”

“Bullshit. We’re both your bosses, and right now I’m telling you to do something, so how come you’re not doing it, fatboy?”

Lee sputtered. Sure, he knew he was fat, but he didn’t need to be reminded of that fact, especially from a cocksure, snide motherfucker like Kyle. This was a tough call. Kyle, after all, was staff management. Lee didn’t revel in the idea of cleaning up room service’s mess. But there was another thing he didn’t revel in the idea of: a reprimand.

“What’s that there?” Now Kyle was squinting, his grin sharpening. “Is that beer you’re drinking?”

Fuck! Lee thought. The second bottle of Maibock was sitting there big as day next to the dressing mixer. “Uh, yeah,” he answered up. What could he say? No, it’s milk, it just looks like beer.

“Drinkin’ on the job’ll get you fired around here, fatboy. Dump it out.”

“Aw, come on, man. It’s just a beer, it’s not a federal fucking offense.”

Kyle cocked his head. “You got a hearing problem to go along with the weight problem, fatboy? I said dump it out. Pick up the fuckin’ bottle in your fat little hand, walk over to the sink, and dump it the fuck out. That, or you can pack your bags and head back to Fatboy City right this second.”

Lee dumped the beer out, his lips pursed as the precious pale liquid bubbled down the drain.