“And his suggestion that we might be involved in some sort of corruption,” Feldspar added for her.
“Yes, and all that. You said that you had been in trouble with the authorities once in the past.”
Feldspar nodded. He poured himself another shot.
“I realize it’s none of my business,” Vera tacked on, “but I can’t help but be curious…”
“Ah, you want to know exactly what happened. Well, as you know, I’ve always been in this business in one way or another. My employer always had great faith in me—”
“Magwyth Enterprises, you mean.”
“Correct. I’ve managed resorts similar to The Inn, all over the world, the very best inns, facilities that make our inn here pale in comparison. Well, it was at one such inn that I gave my associates a bit too much leeway in the way things were to be run. I’m afraid some improprieties occurred, and my associates, unbeknownst to me, took it onto themselves to engage in some rather unusual management practices.”
Vera’s brow twitched.
“Yes, Ms. Abbot. Crimes were committed. Nothing serious, mind you, but crimes no less. Several of our best-heeled clients took exception to this, and since my associates were under my supervision, I was quite justifiably held responsible. But I assure you that none of these misgivings were anything remotely similar to the good Chief Mulligan’s accusations. They weren’t so much crimes as they were unauthorized liberties.”
Vera pondered this. Certainly many liberties were taken in the hotel and restaurant business: pilfering, misuse of funds by mid- and upper- management, fraudulent business deductions and record-keeping. These must be examples of what he meant.
“At any rate, my employer was not pleased. I was demoted back to the field, so to speak, to manage a new facility and reprove my worth. It’s a bit like penance.”
Some penance. It sounded more like a slap on the wrist to Vera. Sending Feldspar to the cost-no-object Inn as a demotion was like putting a fat person on a 5,000-calorie-a-day diet. If this is how Magwyth Enterprises punishes its managers for screwing up, I’d hate to think what their idea of a promotion is.
But Feldspar, next, even answered the joke, by repeating something he’d already mentioned many times. “If The Inn continues to succeed—and I suspect it will—then I’ll be back in the good graces of my employer, back to running our very best inns.”
Feldspar made The Inn seem like a highway motor lodge. Vera found it hard to imagine that the company’s other inns could be significantly superior to this one. He must be talking about places in Europe or the Middle East, which catered exclusively to royalty and billionaires.
And Feldspar went on, “In which case I’ll need a preeminent restaurant manager to take with me, Ms. Abbot.”
Another implication he’d been making since she started up here. Part of her felt like a dog being tempted by a distant bone, yet another part of her felt quite flattered. “Well, Mr. Feldspar, I don’t like to count my chickens before they hatch. We haven’t even been open long enough for a full quarterly report. It’s probably not a great idea for either of us to be worrying about promotions until we see exactly how well we’re doing here after the initial numbers are in.”
Feldspar lit a Turkish cigarette with a jeweled lighter. “Ah, so businesslike, a natural predilection toward pessimism. My hunches, however, almost always come true. I hope that you will keep any potential possibility in mind.”
He’s such an odd man, she thought. Was that why she admired him? Was that why she liked him? “Don’t worry. I will.”
Again, he smiled, the fetid smoke blurring his face. “Indeed, Ms. Abbot, I believe with the utmost certainty that you and I will both enjoy a considerable success in the very near future.”
««—»»
What could Lee say? He didn’t even know her name. Excuse me, but have you seen…well, you know, the pudgy housemaid who never talks? That’s right, the one who gives me head every night, and who can’t have sex because some S&M pervert sewed her vagina shut? The one who’s got burn marks and scars all over her body?
Lee was worried.
She hadn’t come to his room in the last three nights. Nor had he seen her working about The Inn. The other housemaids—the ones who seemed equally distant and nontalkative—sure.
But not…her.
Lee didn’t know what he was getting into; he didn’t even know how he felt. He knew one thing though:
Something’s fucked up around here.
They seemed to be running a fair amount of dinners that night—not exactly in the weeds, but they were busy. There was no time to take a quick break and skip over to room service to ask Kyle if he’d seen her. And he couldn’t really ask anyone else because they’d want to know why.
“Hey, Lee, what’s the matter? Your Jack-’o-matic break down?” Dan B. called out from behind the range. “How come you’re acting weird these days?”
“Weird? Me?” Lee tried to joke back. I think I’m in love with a fat woman who never talks. “Your mom dumped me for Cujo. I’m depressed.”
“Aw, that’s a shame. But look at the bright side, you’ve still got your sister, that is if you don’t mind the sloppy seconds after me. One thing I can’t figure out is that parking-garage-sized cooze on her. What’ve you been doing, sticking your whole head in?”
“Why don’t you stick your head into that pot of creek water you call Le Chabichou Sturgeon Soup? And take a deep breath.”
“I took a deep breath last night when I was going down on your grandma. About died, but fifty bucks is fifty bucks.”
Lee slid another tray of glasses into the Hobart. No point in trying to out-do Dan B. with the gross jokes. He sipped a Maibock he’d hidden behind the big dishwasher, and let his thoughts flee.
They didn’t flee far.
He couldn’t stop thinking about the housemaid.
He couldn’t stop thinking that something bad had happened.
— | — | —
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The food was exquisite: rich, savory, remarkable.
As remarkable as this heady reprieve. They sat and watched, stuffing their gullets on steaming ambrosia and delectible wines. A taste of the cursed world! This blasted scape of insult!
The women were splayed naked before them, dumbly following their own initial instincts. Lapping at one another upon fragrant beds of feathers as countless candles sizzled. Holy preludes drenched with ungodly designs! The acolytes stood aside in wait of their wishes: more rich foodstuffs, wines, fellatio…
Eventually they rose, their lips glossed by succulent greases, and approached the beds. A male acolyte produced wondrous little blades, while the female shrieked in cosmic enthusiasm, a most diverting creature. Her pleasure was obvious.
One blonde’s throat was delicately slit, and the warm blood allowed to sheen the soft flesh of the others, which several reveled to lave off with their tongues. Several more pried apart the blonde’s brittle skull, to feast upon the still-warm brains…
Stout members turned rigid. They each waited patiently to take their turn.
««—»»
Lee woke up past three a.m. For the third night in a row now, his lover had not shown herself. I guess she’s sick of me, his male paranoia presented. Probably in bed with Kyle right now. Or that weird fucker Feldspar.