“Really ugly too,” Dan B. articulated. “These two chicks looked like cave women in maid uniforms.”
“Be nice,” Vera scolded. “I don’t know which one of you is more sexist and insolent, you or Lee.”
“Me,” Dan B. asserted.
“You’re probably right. I’m going to check out my room now, and see what else this Kyle character has to say. Meantime, I want you, Donna, and Lee to go over every single piece of equipment in the kitchen. Make sure everything’s hooked up and wired properly, and keep a list of anything that doesn’t work. Also check out the dry stocks, see what Feldspar’s already got. We don’t want to find out on opening night that we don’t have any salt.”
“Got’cha.”
Dan B. went back down the line. Vera opened the big room service door and found Kyle marking things off on a clipboard. He looked phony, like an act. Vera had the notion that he’d been waiting for her all along, and wanted to appear busy when she came through.
“I’m pretty much done for now,” she announced. “Can you show me my room?”
“I’d be happy to.” Kyle put down the clipboard and grinned. “I don’t know about you, but I’m really excited. We’re gonna crank in some business. Did Mr. Feldspar tell you? The Inn’s already got its first four weekends booked in advance.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“Nope. Hundred percent occupancy. All ninety rooms.”
Vera doubted this. “He told me there were a hundred rooms.”
“Total to let, sure. The other ten are for the local room reservations, the ones on the second floor. Those are the ones you’re in charge of. Didn’t Mr. Feldspar tell you?”
“He told me,” Vera answered. You run ninety rooms and I run ten, but I’ve still got the restaurant. This was getting absurdly complicated. If Kyle was the room service manager, why shouldn’t he be in charge of all the rooms? “How many of my rooms are booked in advance?”
“None,” Kyle said.
Vera frowned.
She followed him to the opposite end of the RS kitchen. It infuriated her: if anything, Kyle’s kitchen was even more elaborate than hers, with more walk-ins and equipment. She stopped cold at the next sight. “Hey,” she said. “How come you’ve got four lobster tanks and I’ve only got two?’’
Kyle held back a laugh. “Look, Ms. Abbot—Vera— don’t get hot under the collar. Just because I have a bigger facility than you doesn’t mean that Mr. Feldspar thinks I’m any better than you. It’s business.”
“Business?” Vera objected. “What’s business got to do with you having two more lobster tanks than me?’’
Now Kyle did laugh, openly. “I don’t believe it. We’re having an argument over lobster tanks…
“And you’ve got more ranges, more ovens more convection steamers, more—”
“Stop and think a minute at what you’re saying. You run the restaurant, I run room service. I’ve got ninety rooms to handle, all you’ve got to worry about are the separate dinner orders.”
“Oh, and that instantly means you’re going to be doing more business than me?”
“Of course it does.”
“Back in the city I used to run a hundred and fifty dinners a night—that’s a lot more than ninety.”
“No it isn’t, not really. I’ve got ninety rooms, sure, but the average room books two people, and that’s three meals a day, not just one.”
Vera paused. He had a point… sort of. Perhaps she was letting a petty jealousy cloud her ability to see facts. “Well,” she attempted, “some of those people will be coming in to The Carriage House to eat.”
“Maybe, but I doubt it,” Kyle baldly told her. “Mr. Feldspar figures that most of your business will be from the locals.”
“Is that so?” she huffed.
“Like it or not, the majority of The Inn’s business will be from wealthy out-of-towners, a select clientele. That’s why he needs me running the RS.”
“Oh? And why is that? You’re saying that my people aren’t good enough to serve your ‘select clientele’?”
“Hey, you said it, I didn’t. I’m more experienced in this gig. I’m sure your man over there is a great chef, but there’s a difference between a great chef and a great room-service chef. It’s a different job.”
All right, all right, Vera tried to settle herself down. She was falling right into Kyle’s trap, fighting already for higher ground—and losing. “I see what you mean.”
“We’re a team, Ms. Abbot—Vera.” His grin remained subtly sly. “Let’s be friends. I’m not out to compete with you.”
Bullshit, she thought for sure. She’d run into plenty of Kyles in her career, people who come on as nice guys, yet they’re stabbing you in the back whenever they get the chance. Everything Kyle said made objective sense; nevertheless, she didn’t trust him for a minute.
At least he’s cute, she thought next. A moment later, though, when she considered the thought, she felt shocked. Vera was not a libidinous woman. Her sex life with Paul had been good, but that was over now. It didn’t seem part of her character to suddenly acknowledge her attraction, however remote, to some kid she’d met fifteen minutes ago.
Be a good girl, Vera. Forget about this guy’s tight ass and start acting like an adult.
“Come on,” he prodded. “You’re gonna love it. Mr. Feldspar says you have your choice of suites.”
Nearing the end of the RS line, they passed two elevators, rs staff only, one read, and room service delivery read the other. But suddenly he was taking her through a door which opened up behind the reception desk in the atrium, between the twin winding stairwells.
“I still can’t believe how beautiful the atrium is,” she commented. Once again, her gaze strayed out over the array of plush carpet and furniture, and the gorgeous artwork, statues, and flower arrangements. Kyle, however, seemed to take it all for granted, turning up the left stairs without a second glance.
“Let me grab my bags,” Vera said. “I didn’t bring much in the way of personal effects.”
“Forget it.” Kyle waved her up. “I’ll have the dolts bring it up later.”
“The what?”
“The dolts, you know. The housekeeping staff,” Kyle designated. “That’s what we call them. They’re good workers but not much in the smarts department.’’
Vera’s lip pursed. Dolts, she thought. “I don’t know what school of management you come from, Kyle, but tagging your manual labor with derogatory nicknames doesn’t exactly do wonders for employee morale.”
“Jesus, you’re touchy. I hate to think what kind of nicknames they have for us.”
Vera grabbed two of her suitcases, which the movers had left in the foyer. “At least let me take them,” Kyle insisted.
“I can handle it,” Vera replied.
Kyle grinned. “You’re pissed off, aren’t you?”
“No, Kyle, I’m not pissed off. I just think you’ve got a lot to learn about dealing with people.”
Kyle laughed. “Hey, I’m a nice guy—I swear. I’ll bet my next check you’ll be calling them dolts a week from now. They’re all immigrants from eastern Europe or something. Most of them can’t understand a word you say.”
“Oh, so that means they’re stupid? That means they’re dolts?”
“All right already, I’m sorry. Boy, you and me really are starting off on the wrong foot.”