Breakfast at the Beach House Hotel

by Judith Keim

  I made myself remain silent each time Rhonda ran out of the office to take care of his needs. No doubt about it, we’d need extra help.

  Telephone calls came in, responding to the ad I’d placed on the internet and in the newspaper. Over the next couple of days, I eagerly screened callers and started a list of possible candidates. I soon narrowed the list down to two. Rhonda agreed with my choices.

  Preparing for the two interviews, I reviewed the notes I’d made on Tim McFarland. He was young, currently working at a hotel in Sabal as a bellman, and had attended the hotel program at the University of Massachusetts for two-and-a-half years. He seemed promising. I checked my watch. He was due in my office in ten minutes.

  At the appropriate time, Consuela ushered a tall, well-built young man into my office. He smiled at me when I rose and offered my hand, then shook it firmly.

  “Let me guess,” I said. “Football. Right?”

  He laughed. “My freshman year. After that, I gave it up. I didn’t want to miss out on the good times at my fraternity.”

  I liked his honesty. “Sit down, Tim. Let me tell you a bit about The Beach House Hotel and what we need around here.”

  Tim listened carefully as I told him how the business got started, how it was shaping up, and the type of clientele the hotel was attracting. “We need someone who’s willing to work erratic hours, sometimes very long hours, performing an assortment of tasks. And someone who understands the importance of being discreet. No talking to anyone else about guests who might come and go. What do you think?”

  He nodded. “I’m the man for the job. It sounds perfect.”

  I studied him closely as we talked about his schooling and his future. I liked his energy, and when he told me he’d already heard about The Beach House Hotel and wanted to work in a classy place like this, he won me over.

  “I’ll check your references and get back to you,” I said as I walked him to the front door.

  The middle-aged man who arrived for the second interview couldn’t hold a candle to Tim’s enthusiasm and willingness to take on any job we wanted him to do.

  Later, I gave Rhonda a short version of the interviews, and she agreed that as long as his references checked out, Tim was our guy. I made follow-up calls and was pleased to learn the other hotel was sorry to lose him.

  ###

  Tim started immediately as our Assistant Manager, and I couldn’t have been happier. Thanksgiving was approaching, and business was picking up. It was due, in some measure, to the cold, wet weather up north. I found myself racing to catch the national weather reports, cheering inwardly when lousy weather prompted more phone calls.

  As busy as I was handling as much as I could by myself while Rhonda dealt with Sal, I continued thinking of Vaughn. Nell had wanted to return to The Beach House Hotel with her father for Thanksgiving, but we’d heard nothing. Soon the last room was booked for the holiday with no word from either Vaughn or Nell. I hid my disappointment behind the excitement about being fully booked and counted the days until Liz came home.

  I was in the kitchen with Rhonda and Consuela when Liz called.

  “Guess what? Nell Sanders called me a moment ago. She’s invited Angela and me to visit her in Washington over Thanksgiving weekend. She was going to be alone for the holiday and remembered we wanted to come to D.C. and decided to give us a call. Cool, huh?”

  “Nice of her.” I tried not to let my disappointment spoil Liz’s pleasure. “She’s not going to spend Thanksgiving with her father?”

  “Nope. He’s going to see a close friend in London—a woman he’s known for a long time. You won’t be too disappointed if I don’t come down there for the holiday, will you? You said you were going to have a full house, and I thought you’d be busy ...”

  “No, honey, that’s fine.” My voice turned hollow at the thought of Vaughn with another woman. “This is the time when you should take advantage of opportunities like this. Go and have a good time.”

  I hung up the phone, overcome by the emptiness inside me.

  ###

  Thanksgiving Day was clear and cool. Puffy white clouds raced across the bright blue skies, urged on by the cold front to the north. The pool deck, filled with guests soaking up the sun’s rays for most of the morning, emptied in the afternoon as they disappeared to their rooms to prepare for our traditional meal.

  I stood at the sliding doors in the living room watching the Gulf. My mouth watered as I inhaled the aroma of roasting turkeys drifting from the kitchen. Outside, waves caressed the sand with foamy fingers. It was hard for me to believe that one year ago, I’d just met Rhonda. So much had happened since then.

  The new dining area was abuzz with happy conversations as old friends of Rhonda’s gathered with some of our guests before the Thanksgiving meal. At one end of the room, Tim was acting as the bartender. Sal remained seated at one of the tables by the entrance, greeting their old friends as if he were still Rhonda’s husband. Giving me a worried look, Rhonda hovered by the doorway, waiting for Will.

  When he appeared, Rhonda threw herself into his arms. Will’s pleasure at seeing her dissipated when his gaze came to rest on Sal.

  Rhonda grabbed Will’s hand and pulled him toward the table where Sal was sitting. “Will, meet my ex-husband, Sal DelMonte. Sal, this is my fiancé, Will Grayson.”

  They nodded at each other and shook hands, but it was obvious neither man was comfortable.

  “Come have a drink.” Rhonda hurried Will away from Sal.

  I was seated at the table closest to the door, with Sal, Dorothy Stern, and Father Hennessey. During the meal, Dorothy, who’d imbibed more than two glasses of wine, said in a loud whisper, “It’s a shame, isn’t it, Father, that Rhonda and Will had to postpone their wedding. I hope it doesn’t affect their plans permanently.”

  A gloating expression covered Sal’s face, and, surprised, I realized how pleased Sal was with himself.

  I glared at him.

  “What? Why are you looking at me like that?” Sal asked.

  “We’ll talk about it later.” I wanted to wring his scrawny neck.

  Sal picked at his meal with no evident enthusiasm and finally pushed his chair back. “I’m tired. I think I’ll go upstairs for a nap. Rhonda! Rhonda! Come here.”

  Rhonda started to rise from her chair. When I noticed Sal’s smile of satisfaction, I jumped to my feet. “’Never mind, Rhonda. I’ll take care of it. You stay here with our guests.”

  I grasped Sal’s elbow and helped him rise. “Rhonda can help me,” he whined, “not you ...”

  “Yes, me,” I said into his ear. “You and I need to have a little talk. And there’s no better time than now when Rhonda is occupied with our guests.”

  Upstairs, gathering words in my mind, I helped Sal up onto his bed, fluffed his pillow, and spread a light cotton blanket over him.

  “So, what did ya wanna talk about?” He crossed his arms like a defiant schoolboy, leaned back against the pillow, and glowered at me.

  I cleared my throat. “I’ve been watching you. You actually seem pleased Rhonda and Will had to put off their wedding because of your arrival. You’ve been nothing but a whining pest since you came here, and if you think I’m going to let you interfere with Rhonda’s happiness, you’re wrong! I don’t know a more deserving person than Rhonda! She’s warm and kind and loving!”

  Sal gave me a startled look but remained quiet.

  I couldn’t stop myself from saying more. “You made your choice to leave her. Now that you’ve come back, you seem to think you can have her at your beck and call, night and day. That’s not fair, and you know it! You’ve already made her change her wedding plans. What more do you want?” Breathing hard, I stopped, shocked by my outburst.

  A smile spread across Sal’s face. “Ya know what, girlie! I like your style! You’re a real street fighter.”

  My jaw dropped as Sal continued. “Yep! I was mighty worried when I first met you—too pretty by a long shot. All style and no subs
tance, I thought, but you proved me wrong. That’s good. Now leave me alone. I’m tired.”

  I left the room enormously pleased. Never in my whole life would I have dreamed of being called a street fighter and liking it.

  Late that afternoon, Liz called to wish me a happy holiday. When I realized she was calling from a house Vaughn had visited, fresh longing filled me. Pushing away memories of Vaughn, I chatted with Liz, forcing gaiety.

  That night, in my bed, feeling all alone in the world, I cried myself to sleep.

  ###

  My confrontation with Sal was the beginning of an unlikely camaraderie between us. We quickly became fast friends. Perhaps, as Rhonda’s doctor had confirmed, it was because the time he had left to him was so limited.

  I spent some time with him every day so Rhonda wouldn’t feel she had to be with him as much. We either sat on the balcony of his room watching shore birds or reading, or when he felt stronger, we debated issues ranging from politics to business. I discovered that though he was an unpolished man, he was bright and quick-witted. We both enjoyed our free-wheeling, good-natured arguments.

  In too short a time, however, caught up in a race against the cancer that threatened him, Sal grew much weaker. It was a contest no one could stop, and everyone knew the winner.

  Rhonda called hospice in, and she and I took shifts helping to take care of Sal. I wondered if he would live long enough for Angela to see him. She’d resigned herself to the idea of meeting with him at her Christmas break.

  Mid-December approached in a flurry of activity as we prepared for our first holiday season. The bookings were good, with Senator Snyder, the jovial representative from Iowa, leading off the holiday season in style.

  He arrived from Washington, booming hello in a voice that made me wonder if he realized he was in Florida and not in his home state. His many requests turned the hotel upside down. The fax machine seemed to whir endlessly while Rhonda and I worked to turn the library into a small, secure meeting room.

  When Senator Snyder’s well-known opponent on the Senate Foreign Relations Committee arrived under wraps, I began to understand the secrecy that cloaked his visit. A hush-hush meeting in the hotel was scheduled for the next day, away from the curious eyes and long noses of the press.

  Over the next few days, and in between meetings, the senator and his wife were able to enjoy the pool area without being pestered by the other guests, thanks to the privacy policy we’d established.

  With the senator’s visit, the idea was confirmed that The Beach House Hotel was a special location where the powerful could feel at ease and meet their peers to either relax or conduct business in private.

  The Snyders left with the promise that not only would they return, they’d also spread the word among the other members of Congress and their families.

  After the limousine carrying them pulled out of the circular driveway, Rhonda gave me a high five. “We’re on our way, kid! We’re gonna be bigger and better than we ever imagined! You watch and see.”

  I laughed. Things were taking on an entirely different shape. The thought both exhilarated and frightened me. If we wanted to handle more than one small group at once, we’d have to redo some of the downstairs rooms into meeting rooms. And if we were going to serve upscale, private dinners worthy of world figures, the formal dining room needed some attention.

  That evening, I relieved the evening hospice nurse on duty so I could spend some time with Sal. I had something to discuss with him, something that had been bothering me for days.

  “How are you doing, Sal?” I asked softly, clasping his cold hand in mine.

  “I’m doing fine for a little wop who’s dying,” he mumbled. “How about you?”

  “Good. Senator Snyder and his wife had a wonderful time here. They promised to tell all their friends about us. Things like that will help our business grow.”

  “You girls will do all right.” Sal squeezed my hand slightly.

  “Can I ask you something personal, Sal? Rhonda once told me her father forced you to marry her so you could become part of the family butcher business. Is that true?”

  Sal’s eyes rounded. “Forced me? No! Why would she say that?”

  “She told me she overheard you talking with her father one day, and that’s how she knows. She seemed really sad, talking about it.”

  “But that ain’t true!” Sal struggled to sit up. “I didn’t care what her father said. Rhonda and me, we were together already, just like I wanted.”

  Surprised, I stared at him. “Maybe you should tell her that while you can.”

  It was his turn to be surprised. “Why? It’s water over the dam.”

  I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Sal, you dummy! It would mean the world to Rhonda.”

  His brow creased. “You think it would make a big difference?”

  “It would be a wonderful farewell gift,” I said quietly, fighting tears.

  ###

  That night, I heard a knock on my front door and went to see who it was. Rhonda peered at me through the side window.

  I hurried to let her in. “What’s the matter? You’ve been crying. Is everything all right?

  Rhonda nodded. “I’ve just had the most wonderful talk with Sal. You’ll never guess, Annie, but he says nobody forced him into marrying me, that he loved me all along. Why didn’t he ever tell me that? I could kill him for not telling me!” She let out a shaky laugh. “Oh, well, at least we’re ending up friends. And you know what else he said? He hopes Will and I will be real happy.”

  I gave Rhonda an affectionate hug, “Sal’s a lot nicer than I first thought. I’ll miss him when the time comes.”

  Tears filled Rhonda’s eyes. “I like him a lot better now than I have in years.” She blew her nose on a tissue with a loud, honking sound. “He asked me to call Angela. He wants her to come home now.” She looked at me with round, sad eyes. “Oh, Annie, I don’t think he’s going to wait until Christmas, after all.”

  My heart was heavy as I made my way to Sal’s room the next morning. We’d shared so much in the past weeks.

  Sal appeared to be sleeping soundly when I approached his bed. His breathing was shallow, and his complexion had turned to gray. I lifted his hand and found it colder than usual.

  “That you, girlie?” he whispered, his eyes fluttering open.

  “Yes. I just wanted to say ‘thank you’ for talking to Rhonda. It was a nice thing to do.”

  “Not bad, huh? Is Angela coming?”

  I heard the desperation in his voice and blinked back tears. “She’s on her way. Hold on.”

  It was difficult to see him struggling to cling to life until his daughter could say goodbye. I left him sleeping deeply. I’d come to love the little bantam fighter and could understand why Rhonda had too. I smiled, understanding how important it was for him to leave this life in a place like The Beach House Hotel, which matched his love of nice things.

  While Rhonda picked up Angela at the airport, I sat with Sal. Rhonda had told me earlier that, faced with the thought she might not have the chance to make amends with her father, Angela was now frantic to get back home.

  I heard footsteps on the stairs and rose. Angela stood in the doorway, staring at her father. Her face registered shock.

  “Is he ... is he gone?” she asked tearfully.

  I shook my head. “He’s sleeping. Come over here. It’s all right. Take his hand and talk to him.”

  Rhonda appeared at the door, and though my heart was breaking, I gave her my best smile. “I’m just leaving.”

  Before I could reach the doorway, I heard Angela say, “Daddy? Daddy? I love you, Daddy! It’s me, Angela. I’m here.”

  I gently shut the door behind me. Let the healing begin, I prayed, and swallowed my own tears—tears that burned my throat as they slid past the lump that lingered there.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The day after the small, private funeral for Sal, Rhonda drove Angela to the airport so she could atten
d the last of her classes and prepare for exams.

  The pace of business at the hotel kept the rest of us focused forward instead of lingering on the sadness of Sal’s death. Dealing with all kinds of people became a fascinating and sometimes tiresome task. Some of our guests were easy to please; others were not. And each had a story to tell.

  Wilkins Jones, a free-lance writer, called wanting to do an article on the hotel for the holiday travel section of the New York Times.

  Rhonda and I greeted him as he got out of a rental car. I was surprised by his appearance. He was not the sophisticated man I’d thought he’d be. His suit was rumpled, and he appeared oblivious to the brown stain on his white shirt where his belly extended. The young, tall, blond, curvaceous woman at his side wiggled and giggled and batted her eyes at him in a very unspouse-like fashion. Hands on his hips, he ignored her as he surveyed the façade of the hotel.

  “Senator Snyder wasn’t kidding when he told me about your place. It’s beautiful! Let’s see inside.” He turned to Rhonda. “I hope you have your special cinnamon rolls on the menu for tomorrow. I’ve heard all about Breakfast at The Beach House Hotel.”

  Rhonda’s face flushed with pleasure. “Don’t worry, Mr. Jones. They’ll be warm from the oven whenever you want them.” The popularity of the sweet rolls had already prompted a New York publisher to request the recipe for a new cookbook they were doing.

  “This is definitely my kind of place,” Wilkins Jones said enthusiastically. He bounded up the front stairs on feet surprisingly light for his girth. Trying to keep pace with him, the blonde teetered dangerously on four-inch heels. I glanced at Rhonda. We waited until they were well inside before letting out our laughter.

  That afternoon, Wilkins Jones’ companion lay out beside the pool, wearing the smallest bikini I’d ever seen. Every male eye around the pool remained glued to her figure. In contrast, the overweight writer was a sight of another kind in his Speedo suit. I shook my head, surprised he didn’t seem the least bit embarrassed to be seen like that.