Inheritance

by Judith Michael

  Goddam, he thought, sitting straight on his stool. That's where the future is. It's a pain in the ass that it has to be a job, but if it's a big job . . . And the Salingers are as big as they come: they could find a neat place for me if they wanted to.

  Shit, he told himself with a grin, if we're smart and take our time, there's no reason why Laura and Clay Fairchild can't end up right in the middle of the Salinger empire. And then let anybody try to take anything away from us.

  The next morning, as soon as Willard Payne walked into his office, Clay knocked on his door and said he wanted to talk to him about a serious problem in the hotel.

  * * *

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  Laura's desk was daric gray steel, crammed in a windowless room with gray steel filing cabinets and typewriter tables and three other assistants at their own steel desks. Sitting beneath the unsparing glare of fluorescent lights, it was hard to believe that just beyond the closed door was the elegant lobby of a grand hotel. "Someday we will make this place beautiful," Jules LeClair said vaguely once or twice a month, but he never got around to it; he was very busy.

  "The concierge of a great hotel must do everything—exquisitely," he had instructed Laura when she first arrived. "He is the eyes and ears and the mother and father of the hotel. A guest also once called me the mayor of the lobby. He was, of course, exactly right."

  Jules LeClair, wearing a perfectly cut black suit and red brocade vest, his mustache clipped, his silver hair precisely waved, ruled from his carved walnut desk set at an angle in the most prominent comer of the lobby. Fresh flowers bloomed in his Waterford vase every day, his pencils were sharpened before he arrived, the heavy glass protecting the desktop was polished until he could see his reflection—a satisfying sight he permitted himself before plunging into the day's work.

  "The hours are 7:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m., four days a week," he told Laura. "You may, of course, work longer; it is the only way to learn, to become a true concierge. There is, naturally, someone always at this desk, around the clock, but the truly crucial times, when we are absolutely indispensable and everything would crumble without us, are seven to seven. Therefore, I, Jules LeClair, work those hours. Anyone who dreams of being as superb as I will work those hours at my side. We allow ourselves exactly one hour for lunch. The remainder of the time it is our delight to please our guests so that they return and also tell their friends how well it is here. Each day we hand them their room keys, of course greeting them by name. If they have been here before, we arrange for their favorite drinks and flowers to be in their rooms when they arrive; we remember whether they will want tickets for the theater or the symphony or the basketball. And they think we are wonderful. And they are exactly right. Are you always so quiet, like a little mouse? This is excellent; this means you will learn."

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  Each day Jules gave her a different job to do, and soon Laura had her own private file of information about the city, the hotel, and returning guests. 'There are always times to rely on other people," Owen told her, "but not on their information. You must have your own. If you don't, you'll always be an assistant, never an authority. You'll always have to rely on others."

  "I won't," Laura said. "Not on Jules, not on anyone."

  Owen smiled. "Very good," he said, and did not point out to her that she had already taken the first step away from his tutelage. She'll do just fine on her own, he thou^t, and he was pleased.

  Mornings began for Laura before Owen left his room. Rosa had breakfast waiting for her at six-thirty and she was at the hotel twenty-five minutes later, while Arlington Street still seemed to sleep and the lobby of the Salinger Hotel was hushed and waiting for the day to begin. "Good morning, my good staff," Jules said amiably and perched on the comer of Laura's desk. "Here is the first work of today." He handed out folders with assignments. "Laura, for you I have a special task: you will arrange for a yacht for the Countess Irinia, for two weeks from today, for a period of five days. Use our check to reserve it; the countess's secretary will naturally reimburse us when diey arrive. Insist that the company assign chef Louis; the countess conmiended his creme brulee last year. When this is done, you will write to that effect to the countess; I of course will sign the letter. Also, Madame d'Al-lessio wishes to visit the Dior showroom when she is in Paris next week; this I will take care of myself because it is very sensitive, keeping my good friend in Paris happy so he does us these favors, but you will please write to madame and tell her we are delighted to arrange this for her. That letter also I will sign. Now, a few other matters . . ." He went over them rapidly while Laura nodded and said nothing, annoyed because Jules, possessive of his status and the enormous tips he received, always refused to let her deal directly with the wealthiest guests.

  The doOT from the lobby opened and Jules looked up. "^Yes, yesr

  '*May I see you," Felix said. It was not a question.

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  i

  '' "But of course," said Jules, his small careful mouth clearly

  showing that he would allow no one but someone of Felix's importance to take him from his work. "Laura, you will sit at my desk. Make no decisions; simply hand out keys, write down requests, and smile often. I will not be long. So,'* he said cheerfully to Felix, "shall we sit on the couch beside the window? From there I keep an eye on my desk and my very pretty assistant." I Laura watched them sit together. She had smiled at Felix when he came in, but he had barely acknowledged her presence and she wondered, as she always did when she saw him in the hotel, what he thought of the fact that Owen had bypassed him to get her the job with Jules. She looked up as the first of the morning joggers stood before her, asking for his key. Drops of sweat dripped on Jules's immaculately polished glass. "Good morning, Mr. Starrett," Laura said, siniling as she took his key from the board in the top desk drawer and handed it to him. "Would you like me to have pecan rolls and coffee sent to your room?"

  "Right." He peered through the cascade of sweat that blurred his vision. "You're new here. I'd remember you."

  "I usually work in another office."

  "Smarter to have you out here. You're a hell of a lot prettier to look at than that Frenchified little dandy they usually have. You knew my name, too."

  Laura smiled again, thinking that even if her memory were terrible, the loud Dallas twang and the many demands of Wylie Starrett would be impossible to forget. "We remember our favorite guests," she said and picked up her telephone. "I'll order your breakfast. And let me know if you need a driver for your appointments today."

  She had made the call to the kitchen, and greeted six other joggers, when a small, pale man, frissily folding a handkerchief in his hand, appeared before her. She tried to think of his name and failed. She couldn't even recall seeing him before. "If I may help you?" she asked warmly to make up for her failure.

  "Security Systems Incorporated," he said. "I have an eight o'clock appointment with—^"

  Laura missed the next few words in the pounding of her

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  heart. But as swiftly as the fear had gripped her, it was gone. What was wrong with her that she still jumped when she heard someone say "security" and even when she saw a policeman walking in her direction? Nobody was after her; there was nothing to be afraid of. And then she smiled to herself. Except not being able to tell a security man from one of the Salinger's wealthy guests. "I'm sorry," she said, "who is it you want to see?"

  "Mr. Asa Salinger."

  Laura called upstairs to confirm the appointment, gave him directions to Asa's office, and had only a moment to wonder what security problems Asa was worried about before she was caught up in a rush of early-morning guests who needed information or wanted tickets for events that evening. As she responded to each of them she jotted down their names and their requests, and when Jules and FeUx returned she handed Jules the list. "Ah, excellent. You see?" he said to Felix. "My little Laura is as efficient as she is pretty. I have written to Mr. Owen Salinger t
o thank him for sending her to me. But, Laura, I have returned. My chair?"

  She rehnquished it, hiding her reluctance beneath a cool smile. "I'll be in my office."

  "Laura," Felix said, "I'd like you to have a cup of coffee with me."

  Masking her surprise, she looked at Jules. He was less successful; his curiosity clearly showed as his gaze flicked rapidly from Felix to her and back again. When he could learn nothing from their faces, he sighed and nodded. "For a brief time. We are, of course, extremely busy."

  Laura was smiling as they walked away.

  "Is there a joke?" Felix asked.

  "I was thinking about Jules. With his red vest and the way he moves his head, he reminds me of the ruby-throated hummingbirds at the Cape."

  He gave a small smile. "I hadn't thought of that." Clever, he thought; I hadn't given her credit for being clever. And danmed attractive. He gave her a sidelong glance, approving her pearl gray suit, her white blouse buttoned to the throat, and the dark blue silk scarf, worn like a man's tie, with an ivory stickpin in the center. Vaguely recalling the ordinary,

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  gawky teenager who had come to woric for them three years earlier, he wondered who had taught her. Allison, he supposed. She was always taking somebody in tow: stray animals, stray people, even friends and family members who she thought needed her help. Danmedest thing how she always had to help people. Like her mother, he thought. She gets it from her mother. Not from me; I leave people alone. U they need something badly enough, they'll ask. "We can sit here,'* he said, coming to a stop. ^They'll bring coffee to us."

  Laura sat on the striped sofa. The president of Salinger Hotels Incorporated can have coffee brought to him in the lobby. Why can't everyone? If I had my own hotel . . .

  "—understand you're learning everything about hotel management," Felix was saying.

  "Everything Owen and Jules can teach me. I suppose between them they know just about all there is to know."

  "And you're studying it in college?"

  "Yes."

  "And what will you do with all this knowledge?"

  "Use it." Laura watched the waiter from the hotel's Boston-ian restaurant arrange cups, a pot of coffee, napkins, and a basket of croissants on the table before them. He should have brought fruit; I'll remember that. As he filled the cups, she said, "Owen wants to help me find a job when I graduate."

  "You have a job. With Jules."

  "I want more than that. Someday I want to manage a hotel."

  "Only one?"

  She smiled. "One at a time."

  "But you've thought of others."

  "I've thought of possibilities," she said carefully. She studied him, wondering why he had changed toward her. His face was expressionless, but his voice was warmer than at any time in the three years she had been with his family. "Was there something special you wanted to ask me?"

  "Not special, no. I simply thought it would be good for us to talk. Jules is pleased widi you; Owen says you're a quick student; my daughter Allison calls you her best friend. And I hardly know you. Leni tells me all young women want more these days; she was speaking of you and it seems she was right. Which hotel do you expect to manage?"

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  "I don't expect anything. We haven't talked very much about it. I'm sure it will be a small one, but it's up to Owen to decide."

  "An older one, I assume."

  'The older ones are the small ones." They were sparring now and Laura was tense. Whatever he claimed, he did want something from her, and she didn't know what; and she was afraid she wasn't quick enough to keep up with him. At that moment she saw Owen crossing the lobby, and instinctively she stood.

  "What the hell—" Felix began, not used to having people interrupt a conversation before he was ready; then he followed her gaze and saw Owen, who was smiling broadly as he joined them.

  "Laura, my dear"—he took her hand, holding it for a moment—"and Felix, and breakfast. An irresistible combination." He sat in an armchair beside Laura's, but he spoke to Felix. 'This is fortuitous; I came in early to find you before your busy day began."

  "Is something wrong?"

  "Not to my knowledge." He took the cup of coffee Laura had poured for him. *Thank you, my dear. I try to keep up, Felix; you know how interested I am, and retirement has not changed that."

  "We send you weekly reports."

  "So you do. Can you tell me a little more about the new hotel we are building in St. Kitts?"

  "What about it?"

  *The rooms are small."

  A tight defensiveness pinched Felix's face and he bent forward, explaining in clipped words why they had chosen to put money into the conference rooms and goLf course instead of larger bedrooms. Laura watched him: the small but urgent gestures he made with his hands, the ramrod back inclined toward Owen, his anxious eyes, and suddenly she felt she was seeing him for the first time. He's desperate for Owen's approval, she thought, astonished at the humanity of a man she had always thought of as unfeeling. For a moment she pitied him. But then, as Owen made a comment about gracious surroundings, impatience flashed over Felix's face and his grat-

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  ing voice became even harsher. "Just because you like nineteenth-century bedrooms it doesn't mean our customers do. They don't. They want frills: swimming pools, exercise rooms, golf courses, marble lobbies, French chefs. And we give them all that, but it costs money. It makes money, too. What other reason is there to do anything, unless you're stuck in a swamp of sentiment? The way you're hanging on to those old hotels of yours—being romantic about bricks and mortar —when any fool could tell you we should be tearing them down and building new ones ..."

  Owen slowly shook his head. "Romance is the only magic we have left, and I have plans for those hotels." His somber look settled on Laura. "One of these days you and I will see what we can do with them. I've always wanted to, you know, but we were busy building up the chain and the years passed, and so did much of my energy. But now, with someone young to stimulate me . . . well, we'll see what we can do. Otherwise, FeUx will wait until I'm dead and then tear them down and build fancy high rises with swimming pools and tiny rooms."

  "And profits," Felix said shortly.

  **Those four hotels break even; they've never lost money." Owen contemplated his son. "Why does this bother you so much? Four hotels, Felix, out of fifty-eight Salinger Hotels in this country and Europe."

  "Four of the top markets in the country—New York, Chicago, Philadelphia, Washington—where we don't have modem hotels because I can't go into competition with you by building new ones. Four cities where the Salinger name means shabby and second-rate."

  Owen nodded. "A good point. Our name should indicate excellence. And something will be done about it."

  "How? You won't let us touch those hotels; you keep them locked in your own damned private corporation, separate from the rest of the hotels. It makes no sense! It's not good business!"

  "But it might be good romance." Owen smiled at Laura. "And maybe I'm not too old to try to mix a httle romance with business. It's worth a try, wouldn't you say, Felix?"

  Felix shrugged. "Whims," he muttered. "If you'll excuse

  Judith Michael

  me, I have a busy day. Someone from Security Systems is supposed to be here and I want to see him."

  "He's here," said Laura. "He asked for Asa and I sent him upstairs."

  "Problems with security?" Owen asked.

  "Not a big problem yet, but it might be. Two guests in the past month have had their pockets picked in front of the hotel. We hired a detective and he stood around for two weeks, but the second incident occurred five feet from him and Fve got to find a way to prevent any more from happening."

  "Yes. Good God, people will see us as unsafe; it has to be stopped. You're hiring more detectives?"

  "I'll hire a dozen if I have to. I want to get some suggestions from an expert first."

  "Why don't you have your detective si
t down?" Laura asked.

  Owen and Felix frowned at her.

  "I mean," she said nervously, "standing up is no good; his eyes are at the wrong level. If he's sitting down he's looking at pants pockets and he can see better."

  "By God!" Owen roared, causing nearby guests to turn in disapproval. "Wonderful! Who would have thought of that? Eh? Felix, get a chair for your man!"

  "He'd attract considerable attention," said Felix dryly.

  "What about that?" Owen asked Laura.

  Wanned by his praise, Laura ignored Felix. "Put him in a wheelchair."

  "With a tin cup!" Owen exclaimed. "And a monkey!"

  "Let's not overdo it," Felix murmured, but for the first time his interest was caught. "It might work."

  "It's worth a try," Owen said. He grinned at Laura. "It takes a creative mind to think like a pickpocket. Thank you, my dear—"

  A woman screamed.

  It cut like a sword through the morning crowd. For an instant the lobby froze. Then it came to life. Everyone was milling and talking at once, as if a film had speeded up and might soon be out of control.

  Felix had shot out of his chair and was gone. "I must go," Laura said to Owen. "Jules will want me."

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  "Yes, yes, go." His bushy eyebrows were drawn together. "We've never had violence here. Never . . ."

  Laura kissed the top of his head and quickly made her way through the milling confusion toward her desk. But before she got there she saw Felix bending over a woman sprawled on a love seat; he looked helpless and enraged. "Can I help?" she asked.

  His mouth was tight. "She won't say what happened. She doesn't want a doctor; she doesn't want the police."

  The woman's hands were clasped tightly beneath her chin and her eyes were closed. Late fifties, Laura thought, too much makeup, bleached hair, expensive suit, fine pearls. Her nails were manicured and she was crying. Jules arrived but held back as he saw Laura bend over and gently push the woman's hair firom her eyes. "I've ordered tea for you," she said quietly. "Can you sit up?"