The Chosen

touted as the best R.M. in town to “weird guys.” But what was the point?

Donna rambled on, “And a couple of hours ago we ran out of ice, so I drove down to McGuffy’s to get some, and Doug Harris tells me the same thing. The same weird guy went in there for a drink and asked who’s the best R.M. in town.”

Vera’s brow lowered. “What did he say?”

“Same thing Chip said. You.”

At least I’ve got a good rep. Vera asked the next logical question. “Anybody know who this weird guy is?”

“No, no one’s ever seen him before. But Doug got his name. It’s Feldspar. Ever hear of him?”

“Feldspar? No.”

“Doug watched him leave; he parked in front of the Market House.” Donna paused for dramatic effect. “He was driving a brand-new red Lamborghini. Doug said it probably cost two hundred grand.”

Now Vera felt curious to the point of aggravation. Lamborghinis? Weird guy? What was this all about?

Donna raised a soapy finger. She had a way of making a short story long. “But that’s not the best part.”

Vera tapped her foot, waiting.

“Fifteen minutes ago, a nine-thirty reservation comes in. Want to guess what the name was?”

“Feldspar,” Vera ventured.

“Exactly. And he said he wanted an ‘interview’ with the manager.’’

Vera understood none of this. “What do you mean? A job interview?”

Donna laughed. “Vera, I doubt that a guy who drives a new Lamborghini is going to be looking for work as a busser. He said he wanted an interview, of the ‘utmost exigency.’ Those were his exact words. I took the call myself.”

Utmost exigency. No, he probably doesn’t want a job as a busser. “Nine-thirty, you said?”

“That’s right,” Donna verified. “You’ve got about ten minutes. Isn’t it mysterious?”

“Thanks, Donna.’’ Vera scurried off to the ladies room. Yes, it was mysterious, and she enjoyed mysteries. Was Feldspar an eccentric critic? The Emerald Room got them all the time, but even the most renowned critics didn’t drive two hundred thousand dollar cars. Then—

A buyer? she considered. An investor?

She hurried to freshen up. She checked her liner, powdered her nose, checked her coiffed, jet-black hair. Not looking too shabby tonight, she considered to the mirror. She adjusted the bust line of the low-cut evening dress; its vermilion chiffon gave off a warm, silky luster. Against her bosom glittered a brightly polished amethyst on a gold chain, a Valentine’s gift from an old boyfriend. The boyfriend hadn’t been worth a shit, but at least the necklace was nice. The stone’s crisp deep purple sparkled just right with her gold and sapphire earrings. But when she raised her hand to pat her hair back, a greater sparkle flashed in the mirror. Vera smiled automatically. Her engagement ring was beautiful—Paul had given it to her just last week. It reminded her of something more than what it was: the ring was a covenant, a piece of the future. She held it up, turned it in the bright light and watched it flash like a starburst. Yes, for a moment she knew she could see the future in its sharp-cut facets. The ring, and the bright likeness of herself which faced her in the