Chapter 4
Late Monday morning I dropped Paul off at Reception, leaving him in the capable hands of Heather, one of the female guides, looking sturdy and persuasively Teutonic in her polo shirt and shorts. In a former life, Heather could have been a hostess on QVC selling Handcrafted Tiffany Style Pet Bobble Head Accent Lamps to third-world villagers. She’d nearly signed me up for a tourmaline facial and a warm stone rubdown before I came to my senses and remembered that I’d promised to help Dante review résumés, and made my escape.
I found Dante hanging massage school diplomas on his office wall, the largest of three adjoining rooms in the elegantly furnished, walnut-paneled suite. He looked spiffy and very much in charge in his Perry Ellis, four-button pinstripe suit. In answer to my “H
