The Chosen

The waitress giggled. “Almost. His check came to one-eighty. He left me a hundred dollar tip!”

“I must be on the wrong end of this business.”

“And Vera. He wants to talk to you now.”

“Go get him, killer,” Dan B. chuckled.

Lee guffawed behind the dishwash conveyor. “Maybe he’s a pimp, Vera. Wants some new stuff for his stable.”

Assholes, she thought. Dan B. and Lee’s laughter followed her through the kitchen swingdoors. She felt foolish yet enthused. Outside, dinner was winding down. A Corelli violin sonata whispered beneath subtle dining room chatter and clinking coffee cups. In the window wing, a bulky shadow rose in silence.

“Ms. Abbot?” The voice was darkly genteel. A thick hand extended in greeting.

Vera smiled curtly, shook his hand. “You must be—”

“Feldspar,” Feldspar verified. “Please. Join me.”

Vera took a seat across from him. The table was clear now; a cup of coffee steamed between them. The candlelight seemed to blur her guest’s face.

“I apologize for the inconvenience,” the figure said. “I realize the hour, and how short time must be for you as the manager of this fine establishment. You are the manager, correct?”

“That’s right, Mr. Feldspar.” Behind him she could see the city’s late-night glitter through the window. Moonlight floated shard-like on the bay. It distracted her, making her avert her eyes from the man across the table.

Some manager, she caught herself. Managers were at least supposed to be interested in the satisfaction of their patrons. “How was your meal?” she asked.

“Preeminent.”

Now Vera could see him. He looked…odd, she evaluated. He seemed wide without being fat. He wore a black pinstripe suit—which looked like very good material—and a black silk shirt. No tie. The large pale face defied calculation as to age; he was old and young at once. His hair, as black as Vera’s, appeared oddly pulled back; an eloquently trimmed black goatee rimmed his mouth.

“Indeed,” he continued to compliment. “The finest meal I’ve had in some time.”

“That’s very nice of you to say. I’m glad you liked it. Would you like anything else? We have a wonderful assortment of homemade desserts.”

“Oh, no. No thank you. I’m not much of a sweets person.”

The moment held in check. Suddenly Vera felt childlike, looking at him in some kind of canted wonder.

“There’s something I’d like to discuss with you,” he finally went on. ”A matter of—”

“Utmost exigency.”

“Yes, yes. A…business proposition.”

Maybe Lee’s right, she wanted to laugh. Maybe he is a pimp. Several big rings glittered on his squab hands. A gold cuff link glittered F in tiny diamonds, and about his wrist she unmistakably noted the Rolex.