She was sitting in the corner of fer father's office, watching him take a phonecall. Her weekend had come to this.Â
Jarlath did not live an ordered lifeâcomfortable in chaos, he was, with things strewn about wherever he dropped them. Always missing his keys until he learned to put them into his shoes. Then: missing his shoes. Getting into the back seat of his car always involved several minutes of clearing miscellaneous items in order to fit inside. Umbrella. Golf clubs. A stack of important documents he would later complain were missing. His office was no exception.Â
He sat behind the large mahogany desk in the specific, golden light of early September, and around his finger was the coiled wire of the telephone while he rifled through papers in pursuit of a booking report.
âBear with me, Michael, bear withâŚâ
Tossed a hand in surrender.Â
âNo. Apologies. Have you got it there? âŚYes. 72%, is it? Really? Thatâs shit. What are the Shelbourne doing?â
He winked at Lissa, perched on the Chesterfield armchair that had occupied the room since her great-grandfather was the owner, and she smiled.Â
â...so weâre too expensive. Drop the deluxe rooms by twenty euros. Thatâll shift them. And thenâŚâ Lissa watched him click around the desktop of his ancient, yellowed computer. A folder called fdghj. Files: hfjgk and hfjgk(1). âI have a record somewhere. Theyâve announced that concert in January, havenât they? Do you knowâyes? Exactly. Letâs bump the prices 30% for that.â
He was suave, generally. Even while discussing numbers on the phone, though Lissa was sure some of his theatrics were exaggerated in her presence. He might as well have put his feet up on the desk and pulled out a Cuban cigar to suck on.Â
âThatâs just an insight for you there,â he said to her once the phone was back on the receiver. âHow the booking business works.â
âSeems quite simple.â
âWell, thereâs more to it than meets the eye. Lots of hidden logistics, see.â
And for lunch, they met a client in the lounge, where servers rushed over with menus. Mr. Mansfield this, Mr. Mansfield that, and Lissa sipped her glass of wine. It was still summer enough to enjoy the rosĂŠ, and she did, while stealing opportune glances out the window behind Mr. Galbraithâs head at a troupe of young tourists sharing sangria in the sun.Â
He wasnât talking to her anyway. Once theyâd wrapped up the perfunctory introductions and heâd understood that she was essentially a token woman at the table present to learn the ropes, Galbraith decided he no longer had to acknowledge her. A conference, the men were discussing. He wanted the hotel for a weekend, and of course, yes, Jarlath would work out a rate that made them both happy.Â
It was another tech event. Tech menâbecause letâs face it, they were usually menâwere invading Dublin like the Axis forces and expecting to be thanked for it. Those pallid, hunchbacked boys who had once punched incomprehensible digits into their computers over a nest of cables had recently become something modern and dangerous. In blazers over graphic t-shirts, they loped through the lobby on conference weekends, and at night, raided the minibar and worked themselves up into such a spurt of rebellion that they flung bibles out the window onto the terrace. They would do it again this year for a discounted rate. Some faceless person would clean it up, nothing would be said, and the pattern would repeat.Â
â... and catering, naturally,â Galbraith said, to punctuate his long list of expectations. âWe werenât satisfied with the spread last time. Sandwiches and whatnot. Underwhelming fare.â
Lissa raised her eyebrows.Â
âSorry to hear that,â Jarlath said. Unaffected expression on his face. âWe can arrange something more appropriateâget the chef to come up with a menu.â
âWeâd be looking for something gourmet.â
Lissa watched him scribble lobster?? into his notebook, then he slid it toward her so she could nod earnestly at it.Â
âAnd can youââ Galbraith waved his pointed finger vaguely at the notebook. âIf youâd include a note about the service. The last time attendees waited twenty minutes for coffee orders. Can you make sure the girls can keep up this time?â
Lissa had been the manager on staff that day. She remembered it because an elderly customer had a medical incident. While awaiting an ambulance, the conference attendees formed a pointedly long queue and complained. What-kind-of-establishment this, are-the-waitresses-even-qualified that. Then they all took to Yelp and left two-star reviews where they used her actual name. Jarlath barely knew how to use Google, so it was fine, but in self-destructive moments Lissa still looked them up and seethed.Â
Jarlath smiled pleasantly. âLook, Iâll speak to events and weâll come up with a rate. Fifty rooms, conference space, catering⌠weâll see if we can throw in late checkout, as weâre aware these events can run on. Weâll consider it an apology for the service last year. What do you think, Lissa?â
She realised sheâd been grinding her teeth. âYes, weâll see what kind of deal we can work out for you.â
Jarlath grinned, his hand on her shoulder, and she felt like one of the boys.Â
They wrapped up with handshakes and great thumps on each otherâs backs and promises of contracts by Friday, then Galbraith left, the napkin heâd blown his nose into stuffed into his glass.Â
âYou did well, Lissa,â Jarlath said. âThatâs what itâs all about. Making everyone happy.â
âYou think heâll be happy? Doesnât seem exactly easy to please.â
âOh, heâll complain about something in the end. He always does that, and weâll take it on the chin and sort it. Itâs the way it goes,â looking at her seriously. âItâs the nature of the business.â
âI know that. Justâheâs a bitââ
âA bastard, yes, but a rich bastard.â He laughed and made a gesture with his fingers to signify money. Money, money, yes, thatâs what the business was built on. More. Everywhere, all the time. But Lissa saw no good reason for it to justify rudenessâmore dreaded Yelp reviews with her full name in the title.Â
The restaurant door opened, and in came Phil, hands in his pockets and the demeanour of a man who was just poking around in someoneâs drawers. âJarlath,â he said, and her father stood.Â
âI needed to run something by you.â He acknowledged her with a nod. âLissa.â
Jarlath buttoned his jacket with one hand. âWell, we can wrap it up there, do you think, Lissa?â
She glanced at her watch. âItâs earlier than we agreed.â
âOh, well, I think itâs probably enough for one day.â
She looked at him. At Phil. âYes, I suppose.â
âIâll see you later at home?â
âIâI donât know. I might be staying at a friendâs.â
âThatâs fine, darling. Then Iâll see you tomorrow.â
âAnd tell Nicky I was asking for him, wonât you?â
She watched them go, and through the fluted glass panel in a door, their navy suits were fractured, then blurred, then gone.
