Although Swithin was the best concierge The Willow Woods Resort and Spa had ever had, he disliked his job, or at least that's what he told himself. In truth, it wasn't his job that he disliked, neither was it the resort, the people it served, nor the Napa Valley it rested within. What Swithin truly disliked was his boss, Mr. Sandoval—a deceitful man who, more often than not, stole credit for the work of others.

Nevertheless, as Swithin stood before his bathroom mirror preparing himself for work, he found himself uncharacteristically content. Content because he recognized that the comfortably handsome man he saw before him, was in the prime of his life. Deep blue eyes, jet-black shoulder length hair, just a year out of college, he was as trim and fit as he’d ever been, and unbeknownst to him, would ever be.

Still, as Swithin slipped his concierge coat over his shoulders and started adjusting his tie, the feeling of content that had filled him for the good part of the morning swiftly drained from his eyes. It was July 15th, 1999, his twenty-third birthday, and although he tried to get one of the other concierges to cover his shift, none of them could, or would. So, being the diligent, responsible worker he was, Swithin climbed into his car, drove to work and grudgingly began another day at the Willow Woods Resort and Spa.

"Swithin!" Mr. Sandoval called out sternly through gritted teeth from down the concierge's desk.
"Yes sir," Swithin replied as he walked over to Mr. Sandoval.
"What are you working on right now?"
"A train reservation for the Clarks, in suite 110."
"Write down the specifics and hand the task off to Donovan."
"Any reason why?"
"Because I told you to," Mr. Sandoval snapped back under his breath.
Shaken by Mr. Sandoval's tone, Swithin pinched the bridge of his nose, closed his eyes, took in a deep breath and let out a hard sigh.

Mr. Sandoval was a pot-bellied man in his late thirties. His hair was unevenly cut and was only ever presentable when gelled heavily and slicked straight back. His flat facial features made his uncomfortably large teeth all the more prominent, as did his tendency to smile his trademark cheesy smile far too much.

 
"I'm sorry," Mr. Sandoval said condescendingly as he reached out and playfully tapped Swithin's chin with a closed fist. "Did that come out harsh? It's just that…" Mr. Sandoval leaned a shoulder toward Swithin and dropped his voice to a whisper. "…you and I both know you're my best concierge, so I need you to help me with a special guest. Okay?"

"Okay," Swithin replied, then pulled a flip pad out from his coat pocket and readied a pen. "What's the guest's name sir?"
Mr. Sandoval smiled and stepped back, turned and faced Swithin. "Dave Bennett. He'll be with us today on through the weekend. He has a lot of what he called, specific requests."
Swithin’s left eyebrow shut up. "Would any of these specific requests, by any chance, relate to prostitution?" Swithin asked suspiciously.

"Nothing like that. At least I don't think so…” Mr. Sandoval paused as if in thought. “No. Mr. Bennett is just a needy guy, and something tells me if we make him happy, he could represent a lot of positive income for the resort."
"Understood, sir. For what remains of my shift, I'll handle Mr. Bennett's requests."
"Hold on a minute, Swithin. What do you mean by, ‘for what remains of your shift’?"
"I have two hours left on my shift, sir. So whatever I don't get to by six o'clock, I'll pass on to Mark or Emily. One of them can wrap up my work during their shift."
"Look Swithin, I don't think you understand what I'm saying. Mr. Bennett is a very important guest."
"I understand that sir, and all his requests will be attended to."
"By you!" Mr. Sandoval clarified sternly.
"By me, sir? Why me?"

Mr. Sandoval leaned in toward Swithin ear and softened his voice. "Because the kind of requests Mr. Bennett's likely to make are the kind of requests you can grant. You get shit done, kid. Sometimes I'm actually amazed by what you're able to pull together for our customers. No offense to Mark or Emily, but they can't do what you can."

"Thanks Mr. Sandoval," Swithin said earnestly. "That felt good to hear."
"Well then,” Mr. Sandoval replied in a matter of fact tone, “let’s hope you don't mind hearing this. If you don't get all of Mr. Bennett's concierge needs addressed by six o'clock, you're working late!"
"But sir, some of his requests might not even be possible to address until tomorrow, and besides... It's my birthday!"
Mr. Sandoval smiled.
"All the more incentive for you to get Mr. Bennett's itinerary wrapped up by six o’clock."

Swithin clenched his jaw shut, brought the tips of his fingers to either side of his temples and began to rub.
Noting Swithin’s apparent irritation Mr. Sandoval asked, "Is there a problem?"
"No," Swithin replied dejectedly. "No problem at all."
"Good! Mr. Bennett is staying in suite 212. Call him and introduce yourself."
Swithin walked to a phone at the end of the counter and picked it up, but before dialing set it down again and turned towards Mr. Sandoval. "So this guy, Mr. Bennett, he's some sort of wheeler dealer?"

"Our Mr. Bennett is wheeling and dealing on a level I haven't seen in years,” Mr. Sandoval replied. “ He's the kind of guy most wished they could be, and only the foolish wouldn't try to befriend. If we do for him, you can bet he'll do for us. So Swithin..." Mr. Sandoval paused as if he was waiting for a response.

"Yes Mr. Sandoval?"
"Don't screw this up!"

Chapter Three: Phoning Mr. Bennett >>