Author's Note: Another in a series of separate but related short stories, the most recent of which is "The Party."
Rich Uncle Pennybags. AKA Mr. Monopoly. Round, a shock of pure white hair on the sides, completely bald on top. Exquisitely coifed bushy white mustache. Thick white eyebrows to match. His attire in public always the same. Dark suit, pearl grey vest, and an elegant bow tie.
Winston Leonard Day got out of the hired car and trundled into the lobby of the DeSoto Hotel. One of Savannah's most elegant hotels, certainly amongst its most expensive. Late September, still so hot that the heat rolled off of the sidewalk in waves. The hotel lobby, on the other hand, very white, clean and of course, refreshingly cool. Understated elegance. Not gaudy like some of those crusty bohemian mansions in town. More original art than some galleries. A good number of people were in the process of checking in but, thankfully, everything operated at a noise level just above a whisper.
He made the pick right off the bat. What a happy and unexpected circumstance! He was there when Winston glanced to his right as he approached the registration counter. Standing with another fellow at the concierge desk. He looked to be a teenager. Long dark hair, almost black. Well over his ears, falling into his eyes. Pale skin. Pink lips. Light blue eyes. Around 5'8." Slender. His ill fitting uniform at least a size too big.
He'd have to find out more, of course. But, the lad looked about right for what he wanted. He silently congratulated himself. At the last minute, he'd impulsively thrown some rope, handcuffs, and a dildo into his luggage. Ya never know, he'd thought.
Check in went smoothly. In less than a minute, he was whisked up to his fifth floor corner suite. Classy, elegantly appointed. A nice sitting room, executive desk, a king size bed in a separate room, and a small balcony overlooking the Basilica.
The conference organizers were putting everyone else up at the Holiday Inn Express, a few blocks away. Good for them! They could have that bullshit! If they wanted him to speak at the fall conference, they would pay for the DeSoto. Alternately, he would consider attending some other time. Maybe. They paid.
He was an American Historical Association super star. He knew it and they knew it. Not one, but two John H. Dunning awards for his books on the American presidency in the Twentieth Century. He was also renowned for his sponsorship of three outstanding PhD. candidates who received the AHA's Allan Nevis Prize for their dissertations.
An opening reception would begin in an hour. Plenty of time to check out the boy. After organizing his clothes and freshening up, he hit the lobby. Sitting in a luxurious chair across from the registration desk, he pretended to study some notes. Mainly, he wanted to observe the scene while he studied the young man.
***
Toby concentrated on the computer display, trying to keep up as Wells flipped from line to line, then screen to screen.
His second week on the job, still job shadowing. What luck getting this job! Amazing talent? Good looks? Or, just damn lucky? After casually mentioning to a friend how burned out he was working at Sav-Hil Vacation Rentals, he'd been told there might be an opening at the DeSoto.
An easy on-line application. Toby got an almost immediate response inviting him to a face-to-face interview. He thought he was interviewing for a valet or bellman job. Much to his surprise, the opening turned out to be for a job on the concierge staff.
A couple of days later, he found himself sitting across the desk from the hotel's general manager, Mr. Thinkwell. Neat, officious. Straight forward questions that Toby tried to answer with a minimum of bullshit.
Alarmed, he watched Mr. Thinkwell pick up the phone right then and there and call Karla for a job reference. Karla, his boss at Sav-Hil. A nasty piece of work. She never spared the opportunity to insert "shit" or "fuck" into every phrase. Toby had never thought of warning her that he had applied for another job. This all had happened so fast!
Mr. Thinkwell only asked a couple of questions. Listening at first, then holding the phone slightly away from his ear. Toby could hear Karla's non-stop barrage from where he was sitting.
"Thank you very much." Then, in a sing-song voice, "Good-bye." Thinkwell carefully placed the phone receiver back in its cradle, holding it by two fingers as if it were a venomous snake.
"Well..." Mr. Thinkwell clasped his fingers together on the desk. He looked appraisingly at Toby. Much younger than he preferred for a position like this. But, he saw this as potentially a long-term hire. He could have gotten one of the other guys he'd interviewed. Older, more polished. But, those kinds of guys usually helicoptered in from Miami or New Orleans. Stay a season or so and they were off to Vail or some place in Europe.
Sitting in front of him was a Bee, code for a native of nearby Tybee Island. He could be a stay-er. Moreover, Toby had told him he was enrolled in the hotel management program at Savannah Tech. Thinkwell liked that. He'd guest lectured there himself from time-to-time. Chances are the young man would take the job seriously.
In short order, the offer was made. A significant increase in pay from what he'd been making. Decent hours that fit neatly into his class schedule as a senior at Johnson High School. Monday-Wednesday-Friday from 3 to 8 pm. Every other weekend. Those would be long days but Toby didn't care. Saturday and Sunday, 7 to 5.
"Parting is such sweet sorrow" wouldn't accurately describe Toby's last day at Sav-Hil. As much as Karla bitched him out, he knew he was a valuable employee. He would be missed. With a wave, he bid her adieu.
The words, "You fucker!" formed on her lips. Somehow, she managed to hold back, instead, offering one of her classic glares.
Assigned a locker for his school backpack and clothes, Toby quickly changed into the white shirt and black pants he'd brought with him. The burgundy colored double breasted jacket emblazoned with gold metal buttons was too big but it was the smallest one they had. Sleeves way too long, he was offered a couple of safety pins so he could turn them under. The black clip-on bow tie, likewise a bit outsized, made him look like a little kid getting ready for a church choir concert.
The first couple of days made his head hurt. So many details! To top it off, the hotel's software, a bit out-dated, seemed counter-intuitive to Toby. He either pushed the back space key too many times or failed to click enter on the correct line. But, the software wasn't the only challenge.
Mr. Thinkwell scared the shit out of him whenever he stopped by the concierge desk.
"Do tell. How is our young charge doing?"
Mr. Thinkwell had the habit of beginning every question with the phrase, "Do tell." As a result, Wells had whispered to him, the staff had given him the nickname, Mr. Do Tell. Toby's funny bone was tickled. The problem was, the name got stuck in his head. He resisted every urge in his body to keep from calling Mr. Thinkwell by his other name.
Even though he was local, Toby quickly came to realize that the upscale Savannah visitor had entirely different needs from those of the average Savannah local.
What's the best dish at the Olde Pink House? The Fried Lobster Tail. Is it really $60? Yes, and it's worth it. Shrimp and Crab Meat Au Gratin or Shrimp and Scallop Risotto at Pearl's Saltwater Grille? He had to contrive an opinion based on the notes on the computer. Toby had only eaten there once when he was a kid. He had a hamburger.
What high end store is closest: Hygge or Terra Cotta? Terra Cotta, but ShopSCAD is even closer and a lot of fun. Toby guessed that directions to Walmart had rarely, if ever, been asked for.
All of this information and more could be found in several binders kept behind the concierge desk. In addition, flipping through the various screens brought up even more information, telephone numbers, and contact names.
Toby watched Wells closely and listened carefully as he made a restaurant reservation.
"Hello, Missy. Wells here from the DeSoto. Looking for a table for two at seven." Brief pause. "The name is Robert Stevenson. Thank you." Hanging up, he typed briefly into the computer as he dialed the phone. "Mr. Stevenson, Wells calling from the concierge desk. Confirming two people for seven at Gryphon." A brief pause. "Will you be needing directions?" Pause. "Thank you. Please let us know if we can assist you in any other way."
Toby swirled his tongue around in his mouth as he silently repeated some of the phrases. He was blithely aware of how hokey and unsophisticated his hillbilly Georgia accent sounded. This was like learning a new language!
He had to stand silently and just watch for the first week. When he was finally allowed to field a phone call from a guest, Wells stood so close to him Toby could feel his hot breath on his cheek. Heart racing, he somehow made it through.
***
A bemused look on his face, Winston absentmindedly nibbled on the corner of his notes as he watched the boy. Ideal in so many ways. Looking a bit like a scared rabbit. He watched his associate closely, hanging on every word the guy said.
Every once in awhile, the boy would jerk the hair out of his eyes or sweep it onto his forehead with his left hand. Cute! The light blue eyes and pale skin were really an alluring combination. Winston wondered if he was aware of how pink his lips were.
The ill fitting jacket was almost too much. Obviously too big across the shoulders and the chest. Wrinkles on either side near the armholes concealed what was probably a narrow chest. The over-sized bow tie. He looked like a kid wearing his dad's clothes. Adorable!
With a sigh, Winston tucked his notes into the inside pocket of his suit coat. Watching the boy had actually given him a mild erection. At his age and under these circumstances, that was pretty good. Standing, he walked past the concierge desk and, without another glance, headed out to the conference reception.
***
