This Crazy Rich Boy

Every early morning, Dale, as general manager of The Residence, gathers up the staff in a quick briefing. All the employees stand in a few rows in the lobby, listening at attention to Dale's talk. While this seems unnecessary—they are serving only one person, for crying out loud—Dale knows that the entire building has so many moving parts, and he wants to be always on top of every possible situation. After all, if any small part of the single-serving boutique hotel deteriorates, it would be his ȧss on the line, answerable to Gabriel Tan.

He had just arrived from the hospital. The staff, consisting of housekeeping, to security, to chefs, already know about the crisis with their boss. "Sir Miguel is, so far, in a stable condition," Dale says, not really fully confident that Miguel's stable. But he has to keep up appearances. "And we have to be extra attentive to what we do, just in case our services are needed beyond the walls of this building."

When the Concierge desk's phone begins ringing, almost everybody turns to it with bated breath.

Dale stares at the phone, his heart pounding. Might it be from the hospital, bearing bad news?

"Should I answer it, Sir?" Lucille says, who is standing right in the front line. "Maybe it's an emergency. Maybe it's Miss Claire?"

Jesus, Dale thinks. Can we panic some more?

Warily, he picks up the phone, like he's afraid it might bite him. "Hello?"

"You should have picked up the phone next century," Mrs. Gomez's raspy voice blasts his ears. "Five rings, Dale. That's atrocious!"

"I-I'm sorry, Ma'am," Dale says, instantly recognizing who it is. "I was briefing the staff and—"

"Goodness! I'm just right on time, then!" she says. "Listen, Dale. Did you know what happened with the Tans?"

"Yes, I—"

"Good! Then listen to me closely. Miguel Tan needs blood. It's an emergency."

"I know. Because I—"

"This is a super emergency, Dale! I already spoke with the president of that hospital. It's true that they don't have any stored blood that can be received by Miguel Tan. There was a recent surge in dengue fever cases that depleted much of their stocks. They tried the nearby blood banks. None. The problem is, Miguel's blood type is super rare. AB negative, do you hear? So I need you to ask your good men and women over there if any of them would have the good heart to try to donate, if they can."

"Well, absolutely!" Dale looks around even as he speaks to the phone. "Ma'am, what blood types can serve as donors?"

Mrs. Gomez is stumped; she didn't ask. "What the hell, just ask everybody who's willing to go over the hospital. Let the learned folks over there decide."

"But there are dozens of us here, Ma'am, how about—"

"Make it absolutely simple, Dale," Mrs. Gomez says finally in her [email protected] tone. "Just ask them if they can help you or not. We're not forcing anyone. This is completely voluntary."

Dale pauses. Of course, nothing's voluntary here. There's something about Mrs. Gomez's tone that says, if we don't see you at the hospital, you're marked. "Yes, Ma'am. I will be on it."

After Mrs. Gomez hangs up, Dale faces the crowd. He clears his throat. He wonders how many of them would volunteer. "That was our boss's right-hand woman. As you know, Miguel Tan had an accident earlier here, right in the lounge. Some of you had the unfortunate task of cleaning up the blood and the mess. You've seen how much blood that was." He takes a deep breath, gazing at their faces. "Miguel Tan, our boss's beloved brother, is hanging on for dear life. They're asking for anyone who might donate some blood. It was a delicate situation, and what they need is not readily available. So they're asking if some of you might be willing to come with me to the hospital and see if we can be a donor."

"Do we have to go now, Sir?" Someone from the back row says.

"Yes, I'm afraid so. Those who would not volunteer will be staying here, keep an eye on things." Dale looks around. "So those of you who would like to volunteer, give me a show of hands."

"It's a blood donation, Sir, right?" Lucille says, her face pale. "They're going to stick a needle into us?"

"Of course," Dale says, trying to smile, even though he also realizes now: Jesus Christ, I'm terrified of needles, how do I face that?

"Oh, my God," Lucille squeaks. "Would you know how big a needle they'd use?"

"Jesus, Lucille," Dale says, his voice intentionally loud to inspire fear in their hearts, and also for those in the back rows to hear. "Do not think about the goddamn needle, okay? This is not about the needle, or whatever size it is. This is about potentially saving a life. This is about a once-in-a-lifetime thing to do something meaningful." Dale looks at each of their faces, trying to make eye contact as much as possible. "Sure, we are merely employees here. We do our jobs, we get paid, and that's about it. But Gabriel Tan treated us more than just his hired help. Gabriel, despite his temper, took care of us, even our families. Did he ever let us down? Hasn't he been so generous during the holidays? Some of you here were transplanted from his other companies and may have been working for him far longer than I am—have you ever experienced Gabriel ever saying no, especially if it's about a sick loved one? Someone's ailing mother, school fees for one of your kids, clearer career path? Despite his reputation and temper and what-have-you, Gabriel Tan is a beautiful human being with a heart of gold. And now he needs us. He only has one brother. We all know how much Gabriel loved him, despite the situation. Despite whatever that had transpired between them. I, for one, will be first in line to offer my blood. I'm not sure if I'm qualified, but I will be right there, first in line, to give back whatever I can to the person who had given so much to me and my family." He pauses, waiting for his words to sink in. "So let me ask you again, anyone who volunteers, please give me a show of hands."

Silence descends on the room. Everyone's just gazing at him, as though just waiting for him to leave. Then suddenly, Lucille raises her arm. "I'm terrified of needles, Sir, but I'll be next to you in line. Count me in!"

Dale breathes a sigh of relief. At least there are two of them who can show up at the hospital.

But then someone at the back yells, "Count me in!" Then another in front raises an arm and says, "You don't even have to ask. I'm here for the boss." Then it is followed by another, and another, and another. Until everyone in the lobby's chattering excitedly, as though they're all going to some corporate excursion or something.

Dale chokes on this show of support. The truth is, he never expected this. He wipes a tear with the back of his hand, as he gazes at his team proudly. A couple of them volunteering would have been enough; he wouldn't lose face to his superiors. But the whole The Residence team volunteering in unison—that would be astounding, and Gabriel would be glad. "Thank you," he manages to mutter. "Thank you all."

"But is there a way we can donate without the needle?" Lucille says again.

"Lucille," Dale says, as patiently as he can. "The needle does not feel a darned thing. And we don't even know who will qualify as a donor."

"Okay," Lucille says, not looking okay at all; she's already there in that hospital, in that bed, with a nurse who's about to stab her with a gigantic needle. She cringes, but Dale suddenly taps her gently on the shoulder.

"Don't worry," he says. "If you qualify, I'll be right beside you. I will even hold your hand. I'll make sure the nurse uses the tiniest needle on Earth. It would even hurt less than an ant bite." He smiles.

"Okay, Dale," she says finally, smiling. The truth is, Lucille just wants to prolong her interaction with Dale. And now that he's noticed her, it's mission accomplished.

Dale claps his hands. "People, we're going there now. We're using the hotel's tour bus. Should fit all of us nicely. We'll lock up the whole place, and I ȧssume we'll be back in a few hours even before the morning's over."

"Yes, Sir!" the team says in unison.

Dale turns to Lucille. He takes her hand. "I'm holding your hand as one professional to another, Lucille." He smiles. "Because I don't want you to be frightened of anything. I won't leave your side."

Lucille smiles, too. And did she just feel him squeeze her hand a little bit? Today might be the most exciting day she's had in a long while.

Meanwhile, as these things are happening, Mrs. Gomez is in a taxicab on the main avenue on the way to the hospital, yelling at the poor cab driver to "Make freaking sure to keep the pedal to the metal like your life depended on it!"