Nightingale

Nightingale: Revised Edition

All Rights Reserved.

Of all the ways she’d ever considered the future unfolding—Vera Nightingale could’ve scantly imagined that things would play out the way they were now.

She drove on, reaching the outskirts of all of society as the shimmering lights of the ocean sparkled in the distance to the right, her beat-up old van cruising down the highway, a couple hundred miles from Los Angelus and nowhere near any other city or town, distancing herself from civilization more and more. She’d never driven through California before—but now, despite all the things she disliked about the place, she couldn’t deny that the vast, glorious scenery was something to be admired.

It was a bizarre thing; here and now, coasting down the expansive road on the very edge of the west coast, the occasional palm tree periodically whizzing past her vision, she felt as if everything in her life had undergone a hard reset, as everything from before was wholly gone.

Her friends, her family, her ex, and everything else she was once close to—it was all gone from her, all having slowly drifted away, and only now, just after she turned thirty, did it really begin to sink in. Her ex was a distant faded memory at this point, and her friends had simply wandered away, starting new lives and leaving her far behind.

And now—after the news of her father’s death—she was truly alone in the world.

Quite honestly, she always feared such a thing happening—but now, after all she’d been through, undergoing the hurt, the betrayals, the hardships, and the stresses that all adults face—she simply felt exhausted, almost glad to be driving alone, unburdened by everything and everyone at last. It wasn’t as if she wanted to be alone for the rest of her life—far from it—but right here and now, it was a rare, peaceful stretch of smooth, easeful serenity, and she savored the peace of her drive as it carried on and on.

Vera breathed out a laugh, the driver window down, allowing the wind to shift her short black hair. As her mind wandered, she almost found it ridiculous that she’d turned thirty; she felt no different, very much the same as she had at age eighteen, or twenty, or twenty-five. The only difference was her temperament and stress management. After living out of her van for so long, traveling alone, doing odd jobs, and facing wild life endeavors all throughout her twenties, she could scarcely imagine becoming deeply stressed by the world anymore. She’d gotten used to all of its insane antics, after all.

The only thing that still disturbed her, ever so slightly, was the idea of her father.

She wasn’t mourning him much—as the man had abandoned the family when she was only thirteen—but now, with his sudden death, he’d left her something of a fortune. It was the last thing she ever expected from him, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that he had some reason for doing so, something beyond the simple niceties of parenthood.

No—knowing her father, there was another motive, but she couldn’t figure out what it was for the life of her.

Alexander Nightingale was a driven man, but a selfish one, and when he moved out west and found success, he didn’t share a shred of it with the rest of his family back east. It was much the same as his usual behaviors back in the day. He acted this way when he was home as well, always nudging situations toward whatever would best suit his interests, and frequently overlooking everyone else’s.

So—why did he leave Vera the Nightingale Resort?

Her eyes shifted, squinting at Maps on her phone and thinking she wasn’t far from the answer. The phone displayed a GPS navigation, which showed she would finally arrive at her destination in two minutes, the app leading her to the place of her father’s success, a place she’d never seen, visited, or known about until recently—and now, with everything else having faded away, this mysterious place in the middle of nowhere would be the threshold of a whole new life.

The old blue van rolled down a relatively empty area of the spacious road, hardly any traffic around her anymore—which was strange, given everything she’d seen of this state so far. All around was a great, endless emptiness of only space and nature, with nothing but fields and open land to the left, and the vastness of the shore and the ocean far to the right.

Google Maps simply led her on, further and further still, deeper into this endless expanse of rarely traversed California.

Vera inhaled deeply, her cerulean eyes locked onto the road ahead, bracing herself for whatever she would find as she gently drove down the off-ramp, leaving the main road behind and venturing onto a narrower and more isolated street.

She’d been driving for two days—having just left a series of odd jobs she had while living in Louisiana—and she was in a place that looked like an entirely different world than the one she knew, a place that might as well have been a whole other country compared to the American south, a place where she apparently owned a prolific resort now.

It wasn’t as if she was unaccustomed to change—she’d been living in her van and traveling around the southern states for years now—but this was much farther than she’d ever gone, and this destination was of greater mystery and importance than any she’d ever sought before.

For the past two days, ever since getting the fateful phone call that informed her of her surprise inheritance, she’d been pondering deeply on the place, wondering exactly what the Nightingale Resort was like. Being that it was in California, she pictured it something like the expensive LA-styled houses in GTA V, like a sleek beach house that was bigger and even more expensive than the ones she’d seen in that video game. Honestly, she couldn’t picture herself in a life like that, living in a giant beach resort like a wannabe Hollywood type—but she couldn’t truly know what this endeavor had in store for her just yet.

And, as the Maps app made a faint noise, indicating that she was arriving at her destination, her attention fixated on the area straight ahead—her expectations instantly washing away.

The thin, narrow road led directly toward a massive, endless hillside—and at the very end was a magnificent building, not a beach house or a Hollywood home, but something that resembled an old-school mansion, at least four stories high and of an older design than she’d anticipated. The giant building looked as if it had been fashioned out of stone, with smooth slanted roofs on the top and over the entrance, the roofs all a soft, dark red color. The windows were tall and rectangular, with crimson drapes just visible inside each one, and in the center of the roof, a clock tower stood high above the rest, complete with a balcony inside. Two extensive parking lots were on either side of the building, and in the front was mostly grass, with a pair of stylish pavilions on either side of the narrow road that stretched through the property, the road leading directly up to the front doors.

Vera found herself slowing almost to a crawl as she drove steadily closer to the Nightingale Resort, her mouth drifting agape, leaning over the steering wheel and gazing up at it, feeling somewhat surprised.

It wasn’t at all how she thought it would look—and beyond that, she simply couldn’t believe such a place bore her family name. She knew her father owned the place—she knew every detail ever since the phone call two days ago—but seeing it, really absorbing the reality of it, was something else entirely.

“Damn,” she breathed, leaning back against the seat once she could no longer see the building clearly, driving even closer.

She turned and parked the old blue van in the nearest parking space to the entrance, which had a RESERVED FOR OWNER sign perched in front of it.

Feeling presumptuous for claiming the parking space, Vera sighed, powering the van off, combing her hairs down, and dousing herself with a touch of perfume. Then, she took a deep breath, popped the door open, and pocketed her keys in her jeans, sauntering around the van and gazing up at the building once again.

Vera’s hand slid into her pants pocket, adjusting her slim black tank top and feeling suddenly underdressed for the place. A Los Angelus beach house type of resort would likely think nothing of her—but this was clearly not the type of place she thought it was. No, the Nightingale Resort looked high-dollar and high-class, the last kind of place that a person like her felt welcome.

She wasn’t sure how long she stood beside her van, merely gazing up at the place and feeling as if she shouldn’t walk inside.

“Madame,” a man’s voice spoke from nearby, snapping her back into reality.

Vera blinked and looked straight ahead—locking eyes with a man in a dark brown suit, a slightly stocky man with wavy hair styled neatly in a small comb-over, his hair dark blond and his eyes a shiny hazel. He had a wide sort of face, and his eyebrow was arched, observing her with a look of expectance.

“Yeah?” Vera uttered.

“Miss Nightingale, I presume,” the man said, stepping away from the resort’s entrance and offering his hand. “Miles Williams.”

“Oh… oooh,” Vera exhaled, smirking and nodding as she returned his handshake. “Right, yeah… you’re the one I talked to.”

“Indeed,” Miles replied with a nod. “I’m sorry our conversation on the phone had to be cut short, but I was rather busy that day.”

“Yeah… I can imagine,” Vera agreed. “Everything just kinda fell onto you, didn’t it?”

Miles merely stared at her for a moment, a deadpan sort of expression, which looked almost sarcastic, if she wasn’t imagining it.

“Everything here has always fallen onto me,” Miles told her caustically. “It’s all just falling quite a bit harder now.”

Vera choked out a laugh, already feeling as if she liked Miles. “You’re funny.”

“It’d be funnier if it was a joke,” Miles said, cracking a smooth half-smile and gesturing for her to join him. “Come along, and I’ll show you your quarters.”

“Oh, I jus…” Vera paused, glancing back at her van. “I need to get my stuff…”

“No need,” Miles assured, raising a hand. “I’ll take care of that later. Come, now.”

Vera shrugged and nodded, following him toward the entrance of the resort, a pair of elegant double-doors that were almost entirely fashioned from glass. Miles pulled them open, and the two walked inside.

The lobby of the resort was as spacious as it was impressive, with lush red carpeting covering every inch of the floor, a humongous chandelier hanging from the center of the room, the check-in desk directly right, and the widened hallway perfectly adjacent from them, which led to the other areas of the building. A radio softly played a string of violin songs from the corner of the desk, there was a comfortable lounging area off to the left, and there was a narrower hallway in the right corner that appeared to lead toward the back somewhere, but Vera’s attention was on the desk, as the elderly woman behind it was giving her a welcoming smile and wave.

“Sarah,” Miles said to the elderly woman, motioning over to Vera. “This is Miss Nightingale.”

The old woman named Sarah seemed to light up, adjusting her glasses and extending her hand over the desk. “Oh, sweetheart… nice to meet you!”

“You too,” Vera replied politely as the old woman shook her hand vigorously.

“Oh… you’re gonna love it here,” Sarah declared, patting the top of her hand. “And you’re definitely gonna love having your own butler. Don’t hold back on him, now.”

“Watch it,” Miles said, cocking his brow curtly at her. “As if babysitting the lot of you doesn’t overwork me enough.”

“Oh… hush, now,” Sarah replied with a breathless little laugh, swatting at him and looking to Vera again. “Don’t listen to him, sweetheart. He ain’t babysitting nobody.”

Vera giggled, pausing and waving a finger at her. “Where’re you from? I’m guessing Georgia.”

Sarah paused, raising her brows and grinning, looking delightfully surprised. “Wow… now that is impressive. How on earth did you know?”

“No idea,” Vera told her honestly. “I kinda got used to hearing every southern accent in existence, so… I can just kinda tell them apart sometimes.”

“Right… Alex said you lived back east,” Sarah remembered, glimpsing down and frowning for a moment, then shaking her head and smiling again. “But, well… plenty of time to catch up later. I reckon you had a long drive here, didn’t ’cha?”

“Yeah… just kinda taking it all in now,” Vera affirmed, pocketing her hands and glancing around the enormous room again. “This place really wasn’t what I expected at all.”

“Oh,” Miles said, giving her a look of intrigue. “What were you expecting?”

Vera shrugged. “I don’t know… just… some California kind of place. Like a giant beach house, or a Hollywood mansion, or something. But this is really… old-school. It’s elegant, and old-timey, and comfortable. I like it.”

Miles’s eyes narrowed at her. “You certainly stereotype California quite a bit, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Vera snickered. “Why not? I’m from the south. Everybody does it to us.”

Miles chuckled and nodded.

“Aww… lookit you two,” Sarah smiled, waving between them. “You finally found someone who has your brand of humor, Miles.”

“Yes… and I’m thoroughly giddy with excitement,” Miles responded in such a flat tone, Vera nearly barked out a laugh, covering her mouth and just managing not to.

“Oh… hush up, now. Go,” Sarah laughed, swatting him away. “Take her up yonder way.”

“Well, thank you, Sarah… I’d be quite lost without your directions,” Miles replied swiftly, giving her a nod before marching off.

Vera followed the butler toward the wide hallway directly ahead of them. Once they entered, she saw that this hallway instantly broke into three, one leading into a massive dining hall, one leading to an isolated walkway to the right, and one leading down a rather ordinary hallway to the left. Miles led her down the left hall, the two of them strolling down the red carpet and passing by a few sconces on either wall, all of them with candles, and all the candles lit, complimenting the comfortable and old-school sort of atmosphere that Vera already admired about the place.

Miles was heading toward the elevator down the hall, but Vera paused, running her finger through one of the candle flames and feeling a brief gust of heat. The butler turned back and eyed her, and she simply smiled, facing him and pointing at the sconce and its lit candles.

“That’s so cool,” Vera said. “They’re real.”

Miles stared at her. “Did you expect them to be… not real?”

“Well… I’ve only ever seen electric ones,” Vera replied, sparing the sconce another glimpse before resuming her pace behind him. “People always make electric versions of this old stuff… but I didn’t know people used the real thing anymore.”

“Yes… as per your father’s design,” Miles muttered, pressing the button on the elevator. “This place is meant to be a true getaway from the overbearing ways of modern life… and it’s meant to maintain the atmosphere of a simpler time, at least to some degree. Not counting the pool, the hot tub, and the high-speed internet.”

Vera sniggered as the elevator doors slid open, and they both stepped inside. Miles hit the button for the top floor, and the elevator closed again, slowly ascending and carrying them away from the hallway down below.

They both stood quietly for a moment.

Then, Vera turned and gave him a curious look.

“Does anyone else live on the top floor?” she wondered.

“Just me,” Miles replied, cupping his hands in front of him. “There’s the master room—which is your room now—and my room is just across the way. Aside from that, there’s Mr. Nightingale’s office—your office now—and there’s the lift to the clock tower.”

Vera nodded, pondering on the clock tower and sighing grimly, falling silent again.

“Oh… and the balcony,” Miles added, just when the elevator doors reopened. “He’s got a balcony in his office that overlooks the ocean. Which… again… is yours now.”

He stepped out, and she followed him. They emerged in a hallway that looked identical to the one down below, only quieter, as it had no voices or radio ambiance anywhere nearby. The soft red floor stretched left and right, only two directions—to the room in the left corner, and to the room in the right one. Directly in front of them, however, was a set of wooden double-doors, which Miles began to push open.

Vera trailed after them, and they entered a wide, roomy office; the walls were a dark gray-blue, covered by many scenic paintings, a mounted deer’s head directly above the large office desk across the way. The desk was filled with clutter—papers, mostly—and a huge rounded rug covered most of the floor, decorative and colored a deep navy. Beneath the paintings and deer’s head, and just behind the desk, were two sets of shelves that were filled with books and a few trinkets, and to the right—along the other wall—was the sliding glass door, covered with blue curtains, though she was just able to see the early sunset in between them, as this door led directly out to the balcony. In the corner was a single wooden door, which she presumed must have led to a closet or a bathroom, and Miles strolled across the room toward it, stopping and turning to face her.

Vera paused for a moment to observe it all, then slowly pulled the double-doors shut, sighing and facing him.

Miles wandered over to the desk, lifting a long, cane-like object, which had been leaning against the desk. The cane-like object had a rounded and decorative end on it, and it was shorter than any cane she’d ever seen.

“What’s that for?” Vera asked, stepping forward and eyeing the strange thing.

Miles’s brows raised, and he held up the object. “This? It’s a fireplace poker.”

Vera hesitated, surveying the peculiar item and shaking her head. “Then why is it not pokey? That thing is round on the end.”

“It’s modified,” Miles shrugged, twirling it around his hand once.

Vera shot him a bewildered look. “Why…?”

“I like it better this way,” Miles replied, flashing a smirk.

Vera’s mouth drifted open, and she almost wanted to argue, but she merely sighed, shaking her head again and tossing up a hand. “Alrighty then…”

“Well… truth be told, it’s a rather useful instrument, given that any… rabblerousing… might take place,” Miles muttered, scanning the object up and down. “I call it my basher.”

Vera strolled up to the comfy armchair that sat in front of the desk, leaning on the back of it and squinting strangely at him. “Does that happen a lot here?”

“With people? No,” Miles mumbled, shaking his head and placing the basher down on the desk. “Although… once in a blue moon, we do get that loud, partyer, Hollywood type of crowd in here. One of them will get rambunctious and belligerent now and again… but, for the most part, the guests are rather peaceful here. Now… for the matters at hand…”

The butler hunched over the papers on the desk, sifting through a few of them before plucking one out of a folder.

“This details the payment plan for the employees of the Nightingale Resort,” Miles informed, reaching out and offering the paper to her. “If you’d like to make any changes, that responsibility falls onto you now. But, I’d recommend waiting until tomorrow to make any final decisions on this matter, after I have the opportunity to give you the grand tour and introduce you to everyone. Your decisions will be clearer-headed after that, and you’ll have a gauge on whose jobs you consider important, and what tasks might need a pay raise or reduction. Then again… if you don’t want to change anything… that’s fine, too.”

Vera stared at the paper, then made a dismissive shrug. “If everything’s working fine, then I don’t see any reason to change it. We don’t need to fix it if it’s not broke.”

Miles nodded sideways, then flicked the paper aside almost carelessly, grabbing a collection of stapled papers from the desk next.

“All right… now, this details the schedule of when certain goods are brought to the resort, foods, supplies, et cetera,” he told her. “If there’s anything you feel we don’t need, or if there’s anything you feel that we need to add—”

“I don’t wanna change anything,” Vera stated. “Not unless something’s actually wrong here. You know the place better than I do… so… if anything’s wrong, and if anything actually really needs to be changed, then you can tell me. Right?”

Miles lowered the papers, staring at her expressionlessly for a moment. Then, he shrugged and placed them back down.

“Can’t think of anything,” he mumbled.

“Okay,” Vera said, trying to force her real questions out. “Now… I just… I wanna ask you some stuff… about my father.”

Miles nodded, meeting her eyes again and waiting for her to continue.

Vera sighed deeply. “Do you know why he left this place to me?”

Miles’s eyes narrowed just the slightest bit, wearing a thoughtful expression. “I suppose he never called and told you, then…”

“No… he hasn’t talked to me since I was a kid,” Vera explained. “And it jus… it doesn’t make sense. I can’t imagine him giving me anything unless… unless he wanted something from me.”

Miles was quiet for a second, then sighed, placing a hand on the desk and leaning closer.

“You know how he died, yes?” the butler asked.

Vera nodded. “Yeah… after I got off the phone with you, I spent forever talking to a bunch of other people about all the legality of this stuff… and they all said the same thing. They told me my father fell off the clock tower here.”

Miles nodded mildly. “Well, Miss Nightingale, your father was… unfortunately… having a rather difficult struggle with maintaining sanity. It was a slow progression, and he got worse over the last few years. I did urge him to seek treatment, but… well… he was just convinced that he would die soon. I don’t believe he knew that he’d have an accident on the clock tower, but… well… he was quite insistent on getting his affairs in order. Including reaching out to you.”

Vera stared at him for several quiet seconds, then voiced the next question on her mind.

“Do you think he killed himself?” she said softly.

“No,” Miles replied, shaking his head. “No… your father was not suicidal. He was, however, unstable. He became that way… and he fretted with paranoia… until his fears simply came true.”

Vera nodded quietly at the floor, dwelling on this for a moment. Then, she glanced at the desk again, releasing a heavy cloud of breath.

“Do I have to go through all of that…?” she murmured with disdain, waving loosely at all the papers across the desk.

Miles stared, flashing his smooth half-smile again. “Well… quite honestly… no. Mr. Nightingale actually had a guy for that… and whenever the guy fails to show up, I do that. You’d be surprised how little work fell onto the man in charge.”

Vera scoffed out a choking sort of laugh, glad to dismiss the dark topics and return to sarcasm instead. “What did my father even do here?”

“Hah… well, in the beginning, nearly everything,” Miles replied, cupping his hands. “He started out with nothing but a lucky winning lottery ticket, and he decided to invest that in a business… which, lucky for him yet again, happened to actually turn out successful. He hired me straight off, right when I came to America. But, over time… as the Nightingale business began to soar, and as he found more and more success… he actually had enough money to pay people do to the most tedious aspects of the job for him. It wasn’t long before he had very little work left to do himself. Not a bad life you walked into here, all things considered.”

“So… what am I supposed to do, then?” Vera wondered. “Just… be a manager?”

“No… you are the owner,” Miles corrected, raising a finger at her, then pointing it at himself. “I am the manager.”

Vera squinted at him. “How can you be the manager and the butler?”

Miles’s curt little smile seemed to grow. “You’re not in a place that most consider ‘normal,’ Miss Nightingale… and your father led me to believe that you’d have it no other way.”

Vera studied him for a second, propping an arm on the back of the chair. “Is that why you get away with talking all sassy like that to people? It’s not okay for a butler, but it’s totally okay for the manager to do whatever he wants.”

“Well… look at that. You’ve read me like a book,” Miles replied swiftly. “Although, part of that simply boils down to me knowing everyone here. You don’t typically regard friends the same way you do strangers. Less rules and politeness required.”

“Uh-huh,” Vera uttered. “But you started talking to me like that right of the bat. Like, the second that we met each other.”

“Oh… come now,” Miles said coyly. “I can recognize one of my own when I see one.”

Vera gave him an odd look.

“Someone who doesn’t offend easily… who’s simply down to earth, relishing in life, and thoroughly done with it at the same time,” Miles explained. “People like us have an aura about us. It’s quite nice to know that another one exists, to be quite honest.”

Vera breathed out a laugh. “You’re like… scary perceptive. You know that?”

Miles raised his brows, smirking knowingly once again.

Vera smiled as well, tapping along the edge of the chair. “Well… is there anything else I need to know right now? I kinda wanna go grab something to eat.”

“Well… you might be interested to know that I’ll be grabbing your bites to eat from now on,” Miles told her. “We’re serving a wide variety of Japanese goods tonight, including a rather expensive type of sushi. I’ll deliver it to your room when dinner is served.”

Vera paused. “Okay… then… I’m gonna go get my stuff out of the van.”

“I’ll be doing that as soon as our conversation ends, Madame,” Miles said.

Vera stared at him, throwing up her hand. “Then what am I supposed to do?”

“Just relax,” Miles replied simply. “I think you’re rather overdue for it.”

Vera took slightly back, reaching up to her face without meaning to, then she quickly lowered her hand and looked away. But, she found herself looking directly at a mirror that was placed across from the desk, and she saw her face perfectly clearly—including the faint little lines that she swore were becoming prominent beneath her eyes.

“That wasn’t a remark on your appearance, either,” Miles added, seeming to read her very thoughts. “I wasn’t implying that you look worn down and ragged. Not at all. You simply have the demeanor of a person who’s worked hard all their life. I happen to read that aura particularly well, too.”

Vera faced him again, pointing around her eyes. “You don’t see the lines on my face?”

Miles leaned over the desk, cocking his brow at her. “Do you see the ones on mine?”

Vera scoffed and shook her head, eyeing him and only just realizing he had any lines there, though his were still faint, and rather distinguished, despite that she couldn’t see them especially well.

“No… frankly, I don’t see yours,” Miles remarked, lifting his basher and swinging it around mindlessly. “I’m not sure what you’re seeing in the mirror, there… but I wouldn’t trust any reflection that’s cast in this old backwards place.”

“How old are you?” Vera asked.

Miles ran a finger up and down the silvery object in his hand. “Hardly any older than you, not that you’d know it from looking.”

Vera laughed, feeling somewhat refreshed as she spoke with the butler. It was nice to speak with someone so bluntly and casually, the way she often liked to talk, and the way she always did with close friends years ago. Most people didn’t like to entertain such a conversation—but, as Miles had said, it seemed they both had this manner of speaking in common.

“Okay… so… I’m guessing I can’t be this blunt with everyone else here, right?” Vera figured.

“Oh… you’d be surprised,” Miles mumbled, fidgeting with the rounded end of the basher before placing it back on the desk. “Most of the people I speak that way to are employees and regulars, whom I know very well… and, by extension, you’ll know very well. New guests and perfect strangers, however… well… use your best judgment on them. But… you are the owner now, Miss Nightingale. So… I daresay… you can do whatever you damned well please.”

“Yeah… but I don’t wanna kill the business, though,” Vera snickered. “I’ll try and just be myself in doses here and there.”

“Ah, yes… the Miles Williams approach,” Miles said smugly. “I can attest that this method works very well here at the Nightingale.”

Vera nodded, still smiling, glancing over at the doors and back. “Um… which room is mine?”

Miles extended his arm, pointing to the corner of the room, in the general direction of the far left end of the hallway outside. “The one that is that way. Mine is down the other way. And… should you need anything… please don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Okay… I guess I’m gonna get comfortable in my room, then,” Vera decided, reaching for the doors and pulling them open.

Miles stared after her, his visage softening into a distant, reflective expression.

“Madame,” he called.

Vera stopped halfway through the door, turning back to face him.

Miles met her gaze from across the room, and—if she wasn’t imagining it—he appeared to be deep in thought now.

“I imagine you’re not accustomed to being waited on… but believe me,” Miles said, lifting the sheet of paper from the corner of the desk. “Had you looked at this, you’d see that I’m very well paid for it. So, if you need anything, even in the dead of night, then don’t hesitate to tell me so.”

Vera paused, slowly nodding and giving him a thumbs-up. “Gotcha. I will.”

Then, she sauntered out of the office, gently easing the doors shut behind her.

Miles remained alone in the room, standing in a still, eerie silence after her departure, an eeriness that he’d long since grown accustomed to. He glimpsed down, tapped on the basher, and let out a deep cloud of breath, sinking into Mr. Nightingale’s cushioned leather chair.