Chapter 6

Jack sat in his favorite chair, a Barcalounger with buttery brown leather and shiny brass tacks, a huge luxury for which he had paid the shipping. His grandfather had one, his father had one, and now Jack, a man who had been taught by two generations how to sit his butt in a comfortable chair and enjoy a good drink, had his own. With any plans cancelled for the evening, he indulged in his quiet vice of Canadian whiskey and Frank Sinatra. Assistant managers could not afford the good stuff and most of his contemporaries had no inkling of how to appreciate the fundamentals of voice and rhythm. Hell, his younger human staff thought rhythm was the bad jazz riffs in the porno vids.

Having liberated one of the retired crystal decanters and four matching glasses from the lounge, he appreciated having the time to twirl the glass in his hand, watching the light bend with different colors of the rainbow. The glass was solid and substantial, a reminder of what he sought. Besides, with no label to read, who knew the quality of the spirits in the decanter – same trick they used for vodka in the lounge.

Frank was reminiscing about New York when someone knocked at the door. Jack had half a mind to ignore the person, but he knew there would be even more consequences if he chose to ignore the request. He halved the volume and carefully laid his glass back on the tray. He did not bother with the eye spy.

“Danica?” Jack said, trying to downplay the incredulity.

“Can I come in, please?” She asked, as she ducked under his arm and stepped inside. “Oh, Good Lord,” she said with her fists on her hips as she zeroed in on his lounger.

Jack was staring at her butt, until he caught himself. “Welcome to my home, I guess. What brings you here, Danica?”

She stepped in a slow circle, taking in the entirety of the room, like she was memorizing the details. “This is what an unwholesome den of iniquity looks like, where all the folk wenches come to indulge in their darkest passions. How ... less than dramatic this room is than my imagination.”

“The bedroom is through that door if you want to continue snooping,” Jack said. “I can assure you the presentation conforms with the standard furniture found in all the employee lodgings. No magic.”

“Jack, you have the New York Mets on your duvet cover,” Danica called out from the bedroom. “How old are you?”

“A man has got to have dreams, Danica, and someday, they will win the World Series. It will happen in my lifetime, even if it takes decades,” Jack said. “Please, join me in my common room where you can explain why you are here this evening.”

“I always thought you were a Batman pajamas guy although there was one point when I was worried you were into My Little Pony.” Danica walked out of the bedroom and went straight for the decanter. She poured herself a drink and took a sip. “This is not even house, Jack,” she said as she held up the tumbler.

“Even assistant managers cannot afford ‘the house’ in this resort, Danica. Unfortunately, the hobbits enjoy their tipple but resent paying for it. Because of our No Discrimination initiative, all of us are treated as suspect and another privilege, house beverages, is lost to the rest of the staff. Hence, the extra inventory counts we perform daily.”

“They don’t even hold their liquor well, and they get really grabby after a drink or two,” Danica said. “I don’t think it’s because they’re short; I think they’re small all over, if you know what I mean.”

“This is going to be a long conversation,” Jack said, rubbing his forehead. He scooped up his tumbler and refilled it before plopping down in his lounger. “Pull up a chair, Danica, and sit. What’s on your mind?”

“It’s obviously small penis syndrome,” Danica said, taking a swig and grimacing. “Where did you purchase this moose piss?”

Jack rubbed his eyes. “What, Danica?”

“I’m making small talk, and you’re an inept fool,” she said.

“Accusing me of being a Bronie is not small talk, Danica. Insulting my hospitality is not small talk either. Denigrating the hobbits, especially when we are in the middle of contract negotiations, is plain stupid.”

“Okay, I suck at small talk,” Danica said. “They make it look so easy on the Lifetime Channel movies.”

“I’m sure that’s a common misperception of Lifetime patrons,” Jack said, wondering if someone had planted a bug in his room to record this conversation. “Small talk aside, what is it you wanted to discuss?”

She took the decanter, pouring herself another slug. “I came to explain why I lied to you, telling you I was a lesbian.”

“I’m all ears.”

“The women here say you’re all dick, but I digress. My recruiter in Omaha instructed me to tell my next manager that I’m a lesbian.”

“Omaha,” Jack said. “I thought we recruited you from Skopje. Did you lie about your geography too?”

“No,” Danica said. “I was front desk manager at the Magnolia Hotel in Omaha when the assistant general manager slot opened. I applied. In my interview with the general manager, he made it clear that the only way I would get the promotion is if I fucked him.”

“What did you do?” Jack said, leaning forward.

“I approached the man,” Danica said with a slight smile. “I grabbed his cock and balls, squeezed, twisted and jerked the package hard to the right. He went right down.”

Danica finished her second glass. “He charged me with assault, and I charged him with attempted rape. As Americans say, it was tit for tat, both charges were mutually dropped. I interviewed for this position online in Omaha with the recruiting firm before I left for my parents’ home in Macedonia. Second interview was in Athens.”

“If this man attempted to rape you, and I believe you,” Jack said, “why are you alone with me in my room?”

“Besides the fact that you fuck anything with tits, and I emphasize anything,” Danica said, pouring a third drink, “every single one of your conquests praise you to the heavens. Jack is so nice. Jack is so passionate. Jack generates magic like he was born to it. Jack understands my needs. Christ on a crutch, Jack, they suspect you are the first human shaman. Why do you think Spin Oza wanted you to bed her tonight? Why do you think her mother is coming?”

“You know about that,” Jack said with a frown. He grabbed the decanter and poured the remainder in his glass.

“If you aren’t a shaman, they are going to murder you by fucking,” Danica said. “On the bright side, I’m next in line for your job.”

“Your concern for my person is touching,” Jack said. “At least someone will benefit from my death. I’ve no doubt that my prowess in bed is exaggerated, but feel free to include that nugget in my eulogy. I look like an assistant manager. No one in the history of the world placed an assistant manager in the role of heartthrob in a book, a movie, or heaven help us, in a streaming service. Like the Twilight Lands, my new persona is surreal.”

“I don’t know, Jack,” Danica said, dismissing his words with a weak wave of her free hand. “Have you looked in the mirror lately. You don’t look like that sickly, pale guy with the cheesy mustache in personnel file pic anymore. This place does not only agree with you, but it also compliments you. You are looking chiseled with a strong chin and square shoulders. No one would call you dweeby now. Of course, your presentation could be an illusion, more sleight of hand than magic.”

“Yeah,” Jack said, fighting back the desire to rush to the mirror. “Speaking of magic, what about it and you?”

“My Divining Way was ambiguous. A couple of the girls told me I needed to sow some oats of my own,” Danica said. “They arranged a few quiet dates, and my companions were pleasant, certainly scratched the itch. However, there were no fireworks as we say in the old country, and there was no magic either. I can sense the magic, Jack. I know it’s there; I cannot access it. Something is missing.”