Eupepsia

By Roger Arsht

Read previous versions here.

     The drive to Eupepsia gave Annie a chance to reflect on her relationship with Richard, how they had gotten to this point, and where she thought the relationship might go. With each mile of road that passed beneath her car, Annie’s thoughts returned to her parents’ death and her time growing up in her adopted family’s home.  

     Her adopted family was large, warm, and loud. The dinner table never had less than ten people, and the food was authentic, homemade Italian. As if it was a competition to tell the funniest or most outrageous yarn, stories spilled from everyone’s mouth. Whether it was the woman who ran out of gas and had her car towed to the garage because she didn’t realize her tank was empty, or the macho guy who messed up the installation of the brake linings on his Chevy, there was never a dull moment. If there was one thing Annie would have changed, it would have been how hard it was for someone as soft-spoken as her to get a word in. While hugs and affection were plentiful, having someone stop and listen rarely happened. She was loved but invisible. Even though she absorbed automotive knowledge like a sponge, no one sought her advice or asked her opinion about what size timing belt to use or with what tension it should be installed even though she had the answers. Things weren’t much different in the kitchen. Her Sicilian mother, aunts, and sisters gave Annie instructions but never trusted her with the gravy and the rolling of the gnocchi. No matter how long she lived under her loving family’s roof, a pale, English girl with red hair would never be capable of properly fixing a transmission or pounding the veal thin enough for the scallopine. What these experiences taught Annie was that she was important and loved, to an extent, but not as much as her family’s olive-skinned children. By the time Annie was a teenager, she had decided that she wouldn’t be intimidated or minimized by any man or a woman, personally or professionally. She had successfully lived by this creed until she met Richard through his bullshit dating service. Annie paused her angry thoughts so she could reflect on the truthfulness of blaming Richard. She knew that between her experience of Richard’s dating service and at the restaurant on their first date, and her difficulty being caring to herself and intimate with a man, had left her bitter and hard. Annie had never imagined that she could feel so lonely and adrift. That thought, she knew was the reason she was so mad at Richard. He had exposed truths about her that she hadn’t wanted to acknowledge.  

     The drive gave Annie’s temper, already simmering, ample time to build. By the time she reached the entrance to the wellness retreat, she was in no mood to wait for the gate attendant to give her permission to enter the facility. He had to put his body in front of her car so she wouldn’t ram through the gate. The valet, who opened her door and asked if she had any bags, sprang back as Annie launched herself from the truck and headed for the front desk. 

     “Welcome to Eupepsia. My name is Missy. Can I help you?” the front desk clerk asked Annie politely. 

     “Where is Richard Sandman?” 

     “Where is who?” responded the clerk. Annie’s tone had put her on guard. 

     “Richard Sandman.” 

     “We don’t have anyone by that name staying here. Furthermore, I am not obliged to share the names of our guests without permission.” 

     “Dear God. Did he check in using the name Bertie? Does the nonsense never end?” 

     After the clerk asked Annie to please wait, she picked up the phone and summoned her manager. 

     “My name is John Hammel. May I help you?” said a man sporting an overly practiced smile. 

     “I need to see Bertie, or Richard, or Richard Sandman. You know who I’m referring to,” Annie asserted. 

     “You know I’m not at liberty to tell you who is staying here.” 

     “Could we go to the lounge where we can discuss this matter quietly?” Annie said to Hammel. She was already walking before he had a chance to answer. Annie’s face was only inches from his as she lectured him with a set jaw and steely eyes. The smile had left his face, and his insistent nodding was comical. Whatever Annie was telling him had his complete attention. After three minutes of one-sided discussion, John leapt to the reception desk and pressed a few keys. 

     “Suite 247,” the manager said meekly, then turned to Annie, “and I’ll give your regards to Mr. Strindberg.” 

     When Annie had left the reception area, Missy asked her manager why he disclosed the information. 

     “She laid out my options and told me that she owns ten percent of this facility. She’s also Mr. Strindberg’s financial advisor. He’s the majority owner.” 

     “So?” 

     “I like my job, and I firmly believe she would see to it that I was removed from this position if I didn’t give her what she wanted.” 

     “What a bitch!” 

     “I don’t believe that’s true,” he responded. “Something or someone has pushed her over the edge. In spite of her anger, she made a cogent argument. Her point about giving her the suite number of one of our guests is unfortunate. However, she never got personal. She didn’t raise her voice. I don’t think the people in Suite 247 will be given as much leeway.” 

     Just then the reception phone rang. “Thank you for calling Eupepsia. My name is Missy. Can I help you?” Missy handed the receiver to John who listened before responding. “Thank you, Mr. Strindberg. I believe the situation is resolved to Ms. Peterson’s satisfaction.” 

     “Did you get fired?” Missy asked. 

     “No. Mr. Strindberg is satisfied that I handled a difficult situation as best as I could. You, however, have been fired. Mr. Strindberg and Ms. Peterson didn’t appreciate you using the word ‘can’ when you should have said ‘may’.” 

     “Are you kidding?” Missy asked. “Those two broke the resort’s rules. We never tell anyone who is staying here.” 

     “Life isn’t fair. They are the owners, and we’re not. Remember that at the next place you are working.”