Rourke

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When I pull into the driveway, I’m satisfied to see Patricia’s car is still here, even though I’m late. I contacted her this morning, requesting she stay after my mother’s physical therapy so I could speak with her on the progress of my mother’s recuperation from her stroke.

With a glance I see the large lawn needs another cut ahead of the normal every two weeks and make a mental note to contact the lawn service. It’s the house I grew up in, and it’s more like home to me than the million-dollar mansion I bought several years ago. A large, rambling four-bedroom ranch on a large lot, I want to make sure it’s maintained the way my father would want it to be.

As I’m almost an hour late, I’m surprised to find Patricia closing up the special, thicker mat my mother does her physical therapy on in the den. The den used to be my father’s space and only holds a wall of books, his writing desk and a chair.

“Was there a problem today? Are you only now wrapping up her therapy?”

“No problems on her therapy. When she got the call you would be late she was rather...sad, so we got to talking for a while when we finished. It’s actually something I wanted to talk to you about. She is doing very well, making great progress. I’m impressed with her, even if she isn’t. There’s—I’m just going to say it; your mother is lonely. Her loneliness could be hindering her recuperation for a variety of reasons: she feels why bother since there is nothing she’s missing out on, and she has no one to urge her on or share her goals with. I understand you are busy, please don’t think this is about you. If only all my clients had family who cared about them as much as you do about your mother...but she needs something more.”

I roll my shoulders, tension eating away at me. “This isn’t news. Mom is an introvert in every sense of the word. She doesn’t like going out, and it’s difficult for her to make friends. One of her best friends died a few months ago. Her only other real friend, a neighbor, moved to California last year. I’ve been trying to get her to move in with me since the stroke. My home is large; we would each have our own space while also being able to come together for meals and in the evening. There is a room made up for her. She’s being stubborn about staying in her own home. I’d move in here, but there isn’t a whole lot of room. My hours are almost nocturnal, my clock hasn’t reset yet to this time zone. I’m also still handling three properties in France and Italy. None of that is conducive to creating a restful environment for her.”

“Neither of those things would be good for her, it would make her feel like a burden. She is quite preoccupied with not being a burden on you. I would like to suggest having a CNA live in, versus coming in during the evening and overnight.”

“We already did that. It was my concession to her coming home instead of living with me. The situation only lasted a week, she didn’t like Raylene.”

“It was a whole new situation for her, and she was still grappling with the changes and her limitations at the time. Remember, it might seem like months, but it’s only been thirty days since the stroke and eighteen days since she came home. In home healthcare you get to know other home healthcare workers and their reputations. I’m not surprised Cheryl and Raylene didn’t get along. Raylene is a little... overwhelming.

“I have someone I believe your mother would get along with very well. Olivia Casey has been a CNA for six years. Last year she became a licensed practical nurse. She missed the signup this semester; however, she will also be going to school to get licensed as an RN, a registered nurse. She is a calming influence, fun, kind, sweet, tough but so nice about it the patient barely sees it. Olivia works best with kids and older patients. You and Cheryl are lucky her latest patient assignment is ending in a few days—she is in demand. The boy’s family is moving to Seattle, and they love her so much they offered her twice her fee to move with them. She considered it, but she loves Austin and has family here, so she didn’t want to leave.”

“She hasn’t booked another assignment?” I’d hate to get into a bidding war, it wouldn’t matter, I would win. It would, however, be an inconvenience.

“When I talked to her yesterday about Cheryl, she hadn’t yet. She’s open to meeting Cheryl to see if they will be a good fit.”

“Did you talk to my mother about this?”

“Yes, I mentioned she seemed lonely. I told her about Olivia. Cheryl wasn’t exactly excited by the suggestion at first. So I took a different tack and couched it as Olivia being the one who needed help. How she was looking for a new assignment soon, or else she would be back to sleeping in her sister’s spare room. Cheryl was more open to it after that.”

I consider her suggestion. When I first met Patricia, I wasn’t sure what to think of her. In her mid-forties, black, very thin, with her hair buzzed short and a blunt, no-nonsense attitude, I worried my mother and she would clash. My mother doesn’t like anyone being bossy; she puts up with me out of love, she often reminds me. Yet they got along as if they had known each other for years. I’d had Patricia checked out, as is my standard protocol for people who will be close to me and my mother. I respected her for working her way through several intensive years of school to become a physical therapist while she had two children to raise. I like her blunt nature and respect her opinion. “I want to meet her first. Have her call me as soon as possible.”

Patricia nods. “I will.”

“Good. When did my mom lie down for her nap?”

“Only twenty minutes ago. You’re likely to have a long wait, she was exhausted. She tried to push herself today.”

I thank Patricia as I see her outside, carrying the large mat she uses for her. Since I have time, I pull out my briefcase from my car. It’s time to make decisions. My manager for my downtown hotel, Denise, left two months ago. While my restaurant and bar team in the hotel is running seamlessly up to my high standards, supervised by Caleb as they have been for the last five years, my hotel team once under Denise is unstable on an almost daily basis.

As far as Denise was concerned, this was all my fault for leaving Austin, the responsibility for the hotel was too much for her. Which was bullshit, in the two years before I left, she called me once maybe twice a month about something.  There was also the fact her running the hotel on her own was her job description. I ignored her whining for what it was, a thinly veiled attempt to bring me back to Austin permanently. 

When I hit the billionaire mark three years ago I decided to start enjoying what I worked hard for while I still had time. And I had worked hard, nearly twenty-four seven, to make my three hotels and four clubs the best they could be. I was on construction sites for my commercial building and property investments more than I was in the office. So I bought a jet and headed to the Bahamas, where I enjoyed the sun and the surf and the beautiful women. Within two weeks I was bored out of my mind. I made my way to St. Tropez. After a few weeks there, I was again bored. On a whim I purchased a one-star hotel, and within only a few months I flipped it into a four-star and sold it for six times what I paid for it.

The itch started and I did it again in Rome, Athens, Paris, Madrid, and Mallorca. While it was work, in a way it wasn’t. I took my time with each property, enjoying the nights with beautiful women, good food, and taking in the city sites and nightlife. There was also the relief of knowing while I was turning the hotels around, I had every intention of selling them off.

I found myself in Monaco, a city built for pleasure seekers. Casinos that never closed, beautiful women searching for wealthy men and willing to do whatever was asked of them, fast cars, faster boats. It was paradise with an address. I gambled often, winning a house, a hotel, a chateau in Tours and a boutique hotel in Florence. Monaco was slowly feeling like home when I got the call about my mom. I’d left the same day to find my mother unable to speak and my downtown hotel, the jewel in my whole damn portfolio, in a constant state of chaos.

I was hoping to leave Franklin, Denise’s second for years, as the person in charge. After how things have gone, though, he’ll be lucky if I keep him on at all. My patience is at an end for the frequent phone calls and the daily urgent texts and emails. With the music and movie festival coming up that takes over Austin in March, only thirty days from now, I need my hotel running as smoothly as if it were on glass. I’m already in back-to-back planning meetings to confirm shit we settled months ago. During the festival I’m running twenty-four hours a day between my three hotels, four clubs, and the different festival events and panels I get asked to participate in. The last thing I need is to worry about the hotel as well.

I bypass my father’s den to head for the dining room table. Even though my father died almost fifteen years ago, I’m still not comfortable working in his den. My father was a larger than life guy and the few times I tried working in it, I felt like a little kid playing at being an adult. Which is kind of funny because at six foot four, I’m two inches taller than he was. But my dad was a barrel-chested guy, built like a tank; even though I’m all muscle, I’m leaner with a broad chest. Several times my mom has told me I’m bigger than Dad, but that’s not the way I remember it.

At the kitchen table I open my briefcase and pull out employee files from my three hotels for everyone who has what it takes to replace Denise. My downtown hotel is my star hotel, with a five-star Michelin rated restaurant, the exclusivity of the hotel with every bell and whistle, from a pool on the roof, to butlers and maids for the four penthouses and presidential suite with a jacuzzi on the large terrace looking out over downtown. It is the place to stay in Austin. There is a club attached, a club everyone in Austin is trying to get into every night of the week, and when the stars came to town it’s where they all party.

The five files were picked by Doreen, my assistant for the last eleven years. She’s sharp and sees through bullshit and is one of the few people in my life who isn’t afraid of me.

I’m surprised by the pick on the top, Valentina Golden. Denise had high hopes for her when she hired her six years ago. While I approved the hire, I didn’t meet her until she started working. There were a few issues in the beginning. Valentina wasn’t able to work late as often as she was needed and she called in several times. Denise was embarrassed to admit maybe she made a mistake. I reviewed her file and saw the problem right away.

Valentina had a dependent listed, a three-year-old daughter. However, her in case of emergency was a neighbor, not a family member. I also saw Denise wasn’t paying what Valentina was worth. From the beginning I made it a primary rule that all my people are highly paid. It fosters loyalty, instead of resentment for needing to work two or even three jobs to make ends meet. From my maids to the front desk, everyone makes a comfortable living wage. I increased Valentina’s pay to where it should be, and within three months there weren’t any other issues. After that I made sure the wage was set by the position, not the manager who did the hiring.  

I’m more than willing not to hold Valentina’s past against her. The issue is her age. Call me a fucker, I freely admit it. Her age would be an issue if she were sixty as much as it’s an issue she’s only thirty. Would the staff respect her? Could she hold her own against asshole guests without letting them get to her? Did she have enough experience to be responsible for a hotel that brought in an average of eight hundred thousand a day, during slow traffic time, but would bring in close to two million during festival season and other high traffic times?

Putting Valentina’s file to the side, I look through the next one, Kyle Tennison. Kyle isn’t a bad option: graduated Texas A&M top of his class, he’s hungry to move up and works hard, but he’s young too. He also doesn’t have the charisma, the easy way with people he needs to deal with both guests and staff. I’ve watched him lose his cool more than once.

Anthony Thomkins, him I like. He has the charisma, always smiling even when he’s getting reamed by an asshole guest, and both staff and guests like him. Except he hasn’t been with the hotel long enough for me to put him in charge all on his own—he started only three years ago. And at thirty-one he’s still a little younger than I would prefer him to be.

Russell Wells is the safety pick. He’s forty-two, with a degree from Rice with honors. He’s nice, he’s polite, he’s boring. Even though he’s gay, he’s vanilla in a city where we take so much pride in being weird it’s our unofficial motto, “Keeping Austin Weird.” There’s also the fact he’s been head of events since the place opened, and he likes what he does. He’s good at what he does because he likes the precision, the lists he can cross off which would make the people under him nuts. While he would accept the position, I don’t think he would be happy.  

As I consider the files in front of me, the more resentful I grow of having to do this. From the face of it Franklin should have worked, he’s been at the hotel for six years, and worked as Denise’s number two for two years. Why isn’t he working out?

It’s only five. I call the front desk and Becky Santos picks up. Becky is a cute kid, she’s only twenty-two and she has a crush on me. It’s no big deal; I’m used to it. I’ve been dealing with it since I was in grade school. Some guys revel in their good looks. I did when I was young, dumb and full of come, but I grew out of it, more or less. I’m not going to say I don’t use it to my advantage, but never with employees. Employees are always off-limits, period. Becky knows that, she respects it. She’s also worked at the hotel for under a year, so she knows enough but is far more loyal to me than to anyone else at the hotel.

“Becky, it’s Rourke. I’m looking for information. Are you busy in the front right now?”

“We’re quiet, sir. Anything I can do to help, I’ll be happy to do.”

“Who else is working with you?”

“Scott.” Scott is the same as Becky. He has a crush on me too and has been at the hotel for two years. He worked his way up from a waiter in the restaurant and has only been at the front desk for a little over a year. I’m not worried about him hearing her side of the conversation. 

“Becky, I was at the hotel until three a.m. this morning. Can you tell me why? What’s going with Franklin?”

“Well...sir, I don’t want to—”

“I want you to.”

Her sigh is audible and filled with relief. “Franklin is low-key sexist and tripping on power. He’s also been gossiping about the guests.”

Gossiping? No. For all our luxury amenities and décor, a distinction of our first-class service is complete discretion. What happens within the walls of each of my hotels stays there. Employees don’t talk about the stars who go from their room to a costar’s, or if a celebrity gets loaded on liquor or something else or runs through the hall naked on a dare. Employees don’t talk to their families about it, and they definitely don’t talk to the press; they aren’t even allowed to gossip among themselves. It’s a hard and fast rule for everyone from the maids to the top.

The only other rule of the hotel is the hotel staff are treated with the same respect the guests expect to be treated with. I made sure to put it in the guest welcome packet: they’ll be completely catered to, but no guest is allowed to verbally or physically assault an employee. A single transgression will get them ejected from the hotel and they’ll be refused further service, even in the club and restaurant. It’s happened twice to people who were sure it wouldn’t happen to them; that was all it took for all guests to know I was serious. Even the reason they weren’t allowed back in the hotel wasn’t made public, simply that they weren’t.

“Sexist, how?”

“He talks down to all of the female employees. He’s giving them the worst schedules, over the guys. He hid it better from Denise because he had a crush on her. But since she left he’s been letting it all hang out; he’s even being rude to some of the female guests.”

I start writing the email to my human resources to terminate Franklin, effective immediately. “Tell me about Valentina.”

“She’s great. I love Valentina. She’s so nice and she doesn’t play favorites like Denise did. She understands I don’t have the most reliable daycare. She had the same problem, and she’s hooking me up with someone to help me out. The guests like her too.” I hear a smile as she says Valentina’s name.

“What about Anthony?”

“I like Anthony. He’s cool. He doesn’t look down at me, didn’t hit on me when he found out my baby’s daddy is black the way other black guys do. Anthony doesn’t let people get to him when they’re racist or try to do the racism on the down low. He also didn’t freak out when he realized Scott thinks he’s cute the way some guys do, like having a guy think they’re cute makes them gay too. We were kind of hoping Anthony would take over for Denise or Franklin when Franklin was saying he was going to go with Denise.” Her sincerity is clear.

“Thanks, Becky. I’ll talk to you later, keep up the good work.”

“You’re welcome, sir. Will do.”

I’ve gotten a reply from my head of human resources already about Franklin; I’m promised it will be done today. I respond telling them to put Anthony in his place and put Valentina in Denise’s position. My only hold off on Valentina is her age. If she were five years older, I wouldn’t have hesitated, I decide not to now.

My phone goes off, and I send it to voice mail. I’m not in the mood for Collette’s breathy little moans of how much she misses me. It never fails, no matter how often I say I’m not interested in anything more than a little fun for a few weeks, it never ends as easily as women promise it will. Collette laughed when I set my rules, claiming she was just looking for some fun.

I met her almost six weeks ago, she was in Monaco for a photo shoot for some makeup company. She found it amusing I wasn’t aware she was a model, as she made it clear she was almost a supermodel and was in the tabloids often. Her hint was I should know because I, of late, had been in the French tabloids and European press because of the women I fucked. Her presence in the tabloids should have warned me about the type of person she was. For me it’s the one part of my time overseas I hated, being followed around by paparazzi. I didn’t pick the women I fucked for their titles or who they were; I based it on if I thought they’d be good in bed.

Collette was clingy from the beginning. We went out every night, at her insistence. She was also a lousy fuck, lying back as if she were bored. I was ready to end things when I got the phone call about Mom. When I told her I needed to come back to Austin because of my mother’s stroke, she threw an ear-splitting tantrum. She’s been calling me ever since. I haven’t answered a single call.

A glance at my watch tells me it’s been an hour since I got here. It’s also close to dinner, at least for Mom. I go through her refrigerator; the meals I have delivered to her are stacking up. Another indication she isn’t doing well on her own. I’m aware she’s spending more time in her room, in bed.

Once again, as it has almost every day since I got the call, guilt hits me hard for not being here when her stroke happened. It’s not as though I haven’t been back in Austin at all in three years. I’ve come back for the festivals and racing. I also spend the weeks of Thanksgiving and Christmas here. On top of that, I asked Mom repeatedly to join me in Monaco and she turned me down every time.

It’s hard to believe she had the stroke—she’s only sixty-two—but it’s a wakeup call for the both of us. While I’m not sure how long I’m staying in Austin, I do know it will be a while. I have not given up on the idea of moving her into my place, only I’m not willing to go against her wishes. For now, having this Olivia stay with Mom is the best option out of the ones I have.

I hear the wheels of the walker seconds before Mom walks into the kitchen. “I’m sorry if I’ve kept you here too long. I guess Patricia worked me out harder than I thought.”

She reaches out for a hug. As I return it, I’m careful to keep my hug gentle, she seems so frail. “Don’t worry about it. I only just finished what I was doing. I am starving though. You hungry? Want to keep me company so I don’t eat alone?”

“Hmm...yes, something to eat sounds good. Are there any of those chicken enchiladas in there?”

“Yes, chicken enchiladas coming up. I’m thinking of this mushroom ravioli thing, is it safe?” These aren’t the strict dietician-developed meals I usually eat. My morning starts with an hour-long workout in the exercise room I added to my office, along with a steam shower. Working out at work keeps me from getting comfortable or overdoing it, as I can get lost in my workouts at home. For Mom, I’m willing to adapt the rest of my day to offset this change by adding another workout this evening in my home gym.

“You know it is. Just like you know it’s not one of my favorites, so thank you for eating it for me. Even though it’s not one of those perfectly prepared meals you usually eat.” Mom knows about the biohacking diet and my workouts and attempts to support them even if at least once every six months she tries to, as she says, make me see sense.

“I remember you weren’t happy with it. I thought I cancelled it on the delivery list. How was your therapy session today?”

“It went well. I’m getting better at holding things heavier than three pounds. From the way Patricia acted you would have thought I power lifted something.”

“I like Patricia. How are you doing with her?”

“Good, I like her too. Very sweet young woman, if a tad pushy.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s a part of her job description. She mentioned she thinks it’s a good idea if you had someone living in instead of Eliza coming in at night. What do you think? Sweet tea?”

I take out Mom’s meal from the toaster oven, put it on a plate and place it in front of her. “Water, please, the tea is keeping me up. I thought about it. I’m not sure. Patricia mentioned the poor girl doesn’t have a home, she goes from house to house working with her clients. Can you imagine that, not having a home to go to? I do have the guest room that never gets used, aside from your old room you only use during festival season.”

My home is off Capital of Texas, hanging off the side of a hill, and is a long drive I’m not up for during the late nights and early mornings of festival season. “Sounds tough, to go from one place to another without having your own place. Maybe you can freshen up the room and help her decorate it, so she feels more comfortable. You had fun redoing the living room, at least with her picking the paint you won’t go through five different shades of it.”

“My son, the comedian. It was only two different shades. Hmm...if she manages to make it through all those hoops and checks of yours, it might be nice to have someone around the house.”

“The background checks are for your safety. I’m not going to apologize for them. We’ll see.”

After dinner we watch her favorite television show.  I get a call on one of my clubs that has me leaving earlier than I would like, but Mom understands and gives me a hug as I promise I’ll call tomorrow.