by Edward Lee
Taylor was ruggedly handsome, with dark hair combed straight back. He wore an elegant dark suit, a rich steel-blue, and he seemed fit, like a city yuppie. “Your facility is very nice,” he went on, “very well appointed. And my suite on the second floor was charming.”
Second floor! Vera thought. That’s not one of Kyle’s suites, that’s one of mine! He checked someone in and didn’t even tell me! But before Vera’s mental rage could go on, Taylor added, “A bit noisy, if you don’t mind an objective grievance, but still, a very nice accommodation. Anyway, we heard about your recent opening, so my bosses sent me up here to have a look around and to see if you’d be interested in our services.”
Vera let her previous anger tick down. “Well, uh,” she stammered, “we’re not having any accounting problems to my knowledge, and even if we were, I’m afraid I wouldn’t be the person to talk to about that.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I was told you were the manager.”
“The restaurant manager,” Vera corrected. “You’d want to talk to Mr. Feldspar.” She immediately regretted saying this; Feldspar obviously wasn’t interested in contracting an accounting firm. “But I’m afraid he’s just left for a business convention, and he won’t be in for several days.”
“He’s in,” Kyle announced, appearing at once in her doorway. The little creep, Vera thought. I’ll bet he’s been standing out there the whole time, eavesdropping. Her phony smile fluttered. “Oh, well in that case, would you please take this gentleman to Mr. Feldspar’s office. He’s an accounting contractor.”
“Sure,” Kyle said. “Right this way, sir.”
“Nice meeting you, Ms. Abbot,” Taylor bid and got up. “Before I leave, I’ll be sure to have dinner at your restaurant.”
“Please do,” Vera said. “Oh, and Kyle? When you’re done showing Mr. Taylor to Mr. Feldspar’s office, could I have a word with you, please?”
“Sure, Ver.”
Sure, Ver, she mimicked. Kyle showed Taylor out, and Vera’s irritation trickled further. The little prick! And what of this Taylor fellow? A mafia thug? He was obviously just an errand boy for an accounting firm, looking for business. Some thug, she thought. Some mob boss.
“What’s up, Ver?” Kyle had returned, loping back into her office. Vera immediately got up, closed the door, and yelled, “Who the hell do you think you are checking a guest into one of my suites without even telling me!”
Kyle stepped back, sporting an amused grin. “Simmer down, will ya? What’s the big deal?”
“The big deal is that guy was one of my customers, and therefore it was my job to have him taken care of.’’
“Hey, my people took care of him. Relax.”
“Bullshit, Kyle! The second-floor suites are mine, and you know it! Don’t you ever do that to me again!”
“Jesus, Vera,” Kyle said, still not wiping off his grin. “The guy checked in late, you weren’t around, so I—”
“That’s a bunch of shit! I was right there in the restaurant! You should have come in and gotten me!”
Kyle shrugged, but the smartass grin never waned. “I didn’t want to interrupt your dinner with Mr. Feldspar.”
How did he know about that? And who had told him? Was it Feldspar? And if so, what did he say? The flood of insecure questions clogged in her head all at once. She couldn’t think of anything sensible to say. “And what about the convention?”
“What about it?”
“Feldspar told me last night he was going to a convention in Maryland today.”
“You mean Mr. Feldspar,” Kyle snidely corrected. “And what are you all bent out of shape about? He was going to go to the convention, and then he changed his mind. So what?”
Vera steamed. “He changed his mind? Without telling me?”
“Why should he tell you?” Kyle laughed. “You’re just the restaurant manager.”
Vera’s rage swamped her. “Just…get out of here.”
“Sure, but hey—” Kyle’s grin flared over his shoulder. “How about you and me going for another swim tonight—”
“Get out!”
She heard him laughing in the hall, which made her even more angry. Punk! she thought. She tapped her pen on her invoices. Just as she was beginning to settle down, Dan B. walked in, his chef’s apron tight around his considerable midsection. “Hey, Vera, we’re about out of Frangelico, so I won’t be able to run the Mushrooms Cracow with Hazelnut sauce for the special.”
Vera felt weary. “Do the Morels and Pheasant Mousse then.”
“Okay,” he said. “And we’re fresh out of avocado butter.”
Fine! I’ll order more goddamn avocados! she wanted to yell. “Just try to make do without for tonight. I doubt anyone’ll order it anyway.” But with my luck, everyone will. She felt frazzled, but why? Kyle? she wondered. She hadn’t slept well, and the dreams had returned, the seamy yet titillating dreams of The Hands…
And then she remembered something else.
Who she’d seen, or thought she’d seen, in the hall.
“Dan B.? Has, uh…”
“Has, uh, what?” Dan B. asked, looking at her a bit funny.
Vera squinted. “Has Donna been acting—you know—a little weird lately?’’
“No, not at all. Why?”
Why? she asked herself. I must have dreamed that stuff last night. What, Donna sleepwalking downstairs in crotchless panties, nipping at hidden booze? It seemed too absurd now to even bring up. That’s it, I must’ve dreamed it.
“You are, though,” Dan B. volunteered.
“I am?”
“Acting a little weird lately.”
Vera considered this. She guessed it was true. “Yeah, I confess. Kyle’s ticking me off again.”
“Still scoping your milk wagons, huh?”
Vera winced. Male lexicon seemed at no loss for sexist references to female physiology. “I thought it was rib melons, Dan B.”
“Rib melons, milk wagons—same thing,” Dan B. defined. “Just let me know when you want me to lock the asshole in my walk-in for a few days. See ya.”
Dan B. was about to leave, then turned back. “One thing, though. Lee’s been acting a little weird too.”
“How so?”
“I don’t know.” Dan B. fingered his chin. “But I can tell something’s bugging him.”
“Maybe he’s just homesick,” Vera offered.
”Nah, no way—he hated the city. He just seems down, you know, distracted or something. And he acts even weirder whenever that maid is around. You know, the one with her hair in a bun?’’
Yeah, the one I saw last night at three in the morning, walking away from—
Vera felt a little jolt.
Lee’s room…
“I don’t know,” Dan B. went on. “It’s probably nothing. Anyway, I’ll see you at dinner.”
”’Bye.”
Vera’s perplexity sat on her shoulder like a bothersome parrot; weird things seemed to be amassing, none of which she could even begin to figure. Dan B.’s departure made her feel sullen in the office, and bored now that she’d finished the daily paperwork. When the phone rang, she snapped it up, grateful for anything to get her mind off her confusion.
“Is this The Inn?” a rough, rusty voice asked.
“Yes, it is, and I’m Vera Abbot. Can I help you?”
“Yeah, ma’am, well maybe you can. This is Sergeant
Greg Valentine, Waynesville Police. Our dispatcher’s 10-6 log has Chief Mulligan dropping by your inn yesterday. That true?”
“Yes,” Vera said, though she had no idea what a 10-6 log could be. “It was yesterday morning; I talked to him myself.”
“How long was he there, ma’am?”
“Only a short time. Twenty minutes maybe.”
“Then he left?”
What an odd question. No, you moron, he pitched a tent in the atrium. Right now he’s roasting marshmallows in the fireplace. “He left immediately after talking to me, Sergeant,” she eventually answe
red. “Is there a problem?”
“Well…yeah ma’am there is.” A pause wavered on the line. “No one’s heard hide nor hair of Chief Mulligan since.”
««—»»
Such wonders, the Factotum mused.
Everything in the nave seemed to be shimmering in sizzling candlelight, even the dull rock walls. Zyra was off tending to the women, while Lemi commenced with the usual preparations.
Yes, every night a new and separate wonder!
Mosaics of light seemed to swarm atop his bald head, as dazzling as his visions and his thoughts. Could there be a greater honor than this, or a greater blessing?
Oh, my most resplendent lord, I am bound to serve you…
Under his cassock, his hairless chest tingled with the beat of his heart. His blood felt hot in his veins, hot with duty, hot with joy. That’s all he could remember, for as long as he’d lived: the delicious, sultry joy of giving this bounden service, this homage, this witness.…
Rending the fat one had been noisy; the Factotum smiled as Lemi, as always, expertly slit the bulging belly from groin to sternum. The organs within swelled forward through the crack as if by pressure. Arms red to the elbows, then, Lemi extracted the dead heart, held it high much like an offering to a god—
—then laughed and tossed it in the trash.
Sacrifice? the Factotum thought in jest. But in a way it was. Everything they did, and had always done, was in a sense a sacrifice to greater things.
“There’s one dead fat cop,” Lemi remarked.
“Yes, poor Chief Mulligan,” the Factotum added. “He won’t be bothering us anymore…”
And with that, Lemi raised the hatchet and cut off the police chief’s head.
— | — | —
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
It was Paul’s good fortune that he’d never actually met McGowen, though Vera had griped about him endlessly: an obnoxious, ill-mannered slob who had a knack for sexually harassing the waitresses. McGowen, nevertheless, was The Emerald Room’s general manager, and Vera’s boss when she’d worked there. Vera’s sudden departure had left the Emerald in managerial chaos, so it stood to reason that McGowen would be all too eager to help Paul out.
Provided he fell for the lie…
“Yes, Mr. McGowen, my name’s Kevin Sullivan,” Paul said, “and I was wondering if you could help me. I work for a collection agency. Of course I realize that you might not want to help me at all, since a general manager might feel a sense of loyalty towards an employee.”
McGowen smirked, corpulent behind his cluttered office desk. Unconsciously, he picked his nose. “Which employee are we talking about?”
“A Vera Abbot.”
McGowen’s eyes thinned like those of a cat spying fresh prey. Then he smiled. “Well you can bet I don’t have a whole lot of loyalty for Vera Abbot. The bitch quit without even putting in proper notice, and she conned three of my best employees to quit too. She left the place in a shambles, we’re still recovering.”
And it’s a good thing you don’t know who I am, Mr. McGowen, Paul thought, ’cause I’m the reason she quit. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”
An unnoticed booger seemed to dangle from McGowen’s sandy mustache. “Sullivan, huh? A collection agency? What, Abbot owes money?”
“Indeed she does, Mr. McGowen, quite a bit of money,” Paul lied further. “She owes thousands and thousands of dollars on her credit cards.”
“Anything I can do to help you burn that bitch, just ask.”
Ahhhhh, Paul thought. It worked! Finally I’m getting somewhere. “She’s been ignoring our calls and notices for quite some time, and when I paid a visit to the address on her credit application, the landlord told me she no longer lived there. And she left no forwarding address. Did she by chance leave one with you?”
“Not a residential address. But she did leave her new employer’s address with me for her tax forms and W-2. Would that help you out?”
Paul had to consciously resist shouting out with glee.
“Yes, Mr. McGowen. That would help me out more than you can imagine.”
««—»»
When the night wound down, Vera retreated to her office to tabulated receipts. Forty-seven dinners tonight! she nearly rejoiced. An all-time high! At least it was something. After all, The Carriage House hadn’t been open that long, and though these numbers were nothing to rave about compared to The Emerald Room’s typical receipts, it was a clear indication that business was looking up. Vera even felt inclined to scoot over to room service and brag, but then she remembered that even the restaurant’s all-time high would be significantly less than the nightly RS receipts. Why give Kyle an excuse to rub my nose in poop? she reasoned.
“Can you believe it?” Donna remarked, suddenly sauntering in. “It’s the third night this week that the mayor came, and tonight he brought a bunch of town council members!”
“Tip City, huh?” Vera said.
“I did great.” Donna seemed calmly elated. “Didn’t I tell you things would start to get better?”
Yeah. But Vera’s mood flattened, as Donna counted out her tips. She looks fine, Vera observed. The same old Donna. Vera thought again of what she’d seen last night: Donna sleepwalking past her door, reeking of alcohol. But if Donna had relapsed, wouldn’t it be obvious, wouldn’t the telltale signs have reemerged? The dull listlessness, the facial pallor and anguish lines, the overall crushed features of the alcoholic? Vera noticed none of that, so again she had to conclude that she must have dreamed the whole thing. It made sense, given the stress of the new job combined with fitful, dream-laden sleep…
“You okay?”
Vera looked up from her ponderings. “Yeah, why do you ask?”
“Well…” Donna hesitated. “You’re acting a little weird lately, a little depressed.”
Dan B. had said the same thing. “I don’t know, I guess I—”
“You’re still letting Paul get to you,” Donna said. It wasn’t even a suggestion—it was a statement. “If you want my opinion, you need to confront him. It won’t be easy, but it’s something you need to do. You need to go and tell him off, give him a piece of your mind, tell him to his face that he’s a piece of shit for what he did to you.”
Vera supposed she knew this all along but was deliberately avoiding the issue. And she had avoided it, hadn’t she? For weeks she’d been telling herself that eventually she would return to the apartment to pick up some of her things, but she always found some excuse not to. That’s all I’m doing with my life right now—making excuses.
“Don’t make excuses,” Donna said, ever the psychic. “You’re pretty easy to read, Vera. Why not just get it over with?”
“I know you’re right.” Vera fingered a paperweight. “I’ll go soon.”
“No, you’ll go tomorrow. There’s no reason to put it off anymore. You’ll feel a lot better once you get it over with, believe me. Tomorrow. No more excuses. If you run late, we can handle things in the restaurant till you get back.”
Vera nodded. She’s right. It’s time. “All right, I’ll go tomorrow—”
“You’ll see. If you don’t let it out, it’ll simmer inside you forever. Go tell that scumbag off.”
“I will,” Vera agreed. “Tomorrow. I promise.”
“And, besides, once you’ve got Paul out of your system, you can start thinking about getting laid again!” Donna was kind enough to add, laughing at Vera’s quick smirk. “Anyway, I’m off to bed; I’m absolutely exhausted.”
“Goodnight.”
“Oh, and remember, my offer’s always good. Anytime you want to borrow my doctor, just let me know.”
“Your doctor?” Vera queried.
“Yeah…Doc Johnson!” Donna finished, and left the office before a trial of more laughter.
Laugh it up, Vera thought. She was weary of everyone implying she was a cranky, sex-starved bitch—
Even though it’s true…
It annoyed her, that her thoughts so oft
en roved to sex. It made her feel inadequate. Whenever she saw Kyle, or even heard his name, she thought of her dream, the fantasy of The Hands, a dream she now admitted she looked forward to. And lately, she’d caught herself appraising male restaurant customers in secret—checking them out, envisioning their bodies minus clothes, wondering what they’d be like in bed.
And then there was always Feldspar…
I wonder what he’d be like—
She grit her teeth, shook her head. What is WRONG with you! You’re fantasizing about sleeping with your boss!
But the image behind the question lingered, as much as she tried to banish it.
She poured herself a little wine, to relax. She hated to think of Feldspar’s reaction were he to know that such things crossed her mind. She could not deny it, though: Feldspar attracted her, in some odd, incalculable way. It was the man’s mystery, she supposed.
Kyle, on the other hand, she was attracted to only in the roughest sense. Purely physical, she told herself. It couldn’t be anything more than physical, she knew, because she couldn’t stand him as a person. Snide, egotistical, smartass. But…
So good-looking.
She began to feel sluggishly excited. She was tired-it had been a long day—yet she knew the root of her excitement. Soon, she’d go to sleep and dream. She only wished she could exchange the sponsor of the fantasy—Kyle—with someone she liked, or just anyone, anyone other than the rude room-service manager. Chief Mulligan? she thought and laughed to herself. An obese redneck twenty years her senior? No thanks. But that reminded her of the bizarre call she’d gotten today, the police sergeant reporting that Mulligan hadn’t been seen since yesterday. Probably passed out at Elks Lodge. And then she remembered that other man, the accounting hawk, Taylor. To think she’d actually believed he was really a mob lieutenant! But he was definitely good-looking, her sex-muse continued. Handsome, fit.
Evidently, Feldspar had sent him packing. Taylor had said he’d be dining at the restaurant, but Vera hadn’t seen him all night. What are you thinking now? she questioned herself. What, you were going to make a play for him? Have sex with him in his suite? For all intents, a perfect stranger? Preposterous.