I was prepared for that. I remembered that it could be that way. Even though I haven’t been back in this area for years, I remembered the haze and the traffic and the palm trees and the freeways with islands of orchids decorating them. I remember the way it smells, the smell of traffic and something sweet from the ever blossoming flowers. I remember bird’s of paradise, those showy orange flowers that are so expensive to buy anywhere else in the country, but grow like weeds out here.
I have a map and an address for the motel and we find it all without much trouble. Until I can find a job and a place to live, this is going to be it for a while. It’s not really a motel, it’s a transient’s digs, a week-to-week bit of cheap rental property that appears clean and relatively safe. It’s not bad. Not great, but not bad. At least it’s ours for the moment. There’s even a miniscule pool that looks all right to swim in, and I know that Tish has given it the once over and found it acceptable. After paying the first week’s rent and dumping our meager luggage in the room, Tish and I decide to drive around. I need gas, I need to see what this neighborhood is like, and we need to get a few staples for the dinky kitchenette that comes with the room.
Only we don’t make it out the door before my cell phone rings. It’s one of the placement agencies and they have something ‘interesting’, am I in L.A. yet, and if I am, could I come by their office?
I think I can make the time.
~~**~~**~~***~~**~~**~~
This sounds like one, weird job.
I’m sitting in a very cool, very quiet office, and Tish is sitting in the lounge outside with a book. I’m wearing one of my ‘new’ outfits and I’ve put myself together the best I can. No one makes any comments, or looks at me oddly, so I figure I look okay. And I was expecting to hear about a house sitting opportunity.
Instead, I’m hearing about a housekeeper’s position.
“I’ve never done anything like this,” I tell the well groomed woman on the other side of the desk. Her name is Marilyn Ward and she’s one of the nice people I know only from the phone conversations we’ve had. She’s even a nicer individual in person.
“There really isn’t any experience required,” Marilyn stresses to me. “Cooking, light cleaning, laundry. Supervising the grounds, I know that sounds intimidating, but it only means that you have to coordinate the gardeners, pool service, and cleaning service. Food shopping, probably some extraneous, outside chores, you know, like keeping a home running, only it isn’t your home.”
“And I’d get paid for this?” I’m skeptical. I’m dubious. This sounds too easy and I’m waiting for the catch.
“The salary isn’t exorbitant.”
And there’s the catch. I almost don’t want to ask, but I do.
“How bad?”
“A thousand a week, but there’s room and board included.”
“Come again?”
“I know it’s on the low end of the scale for a position like this, and because of the on duty hours being so high. They’ll offer some health benefits, too. Seventy-five percent for you, fifty percent for a family policy.”
“A thousand? Dollars?” I’m not hearing her right. I’m having a delusional moment. It has to be the sun, or the stress, or the change in climate.
“Yes.”
“A month?”
“A week. Before taxes.”
“I’ll take it.” I’m not even hesitating. Marilyn is looking at me as if I’ve lost my mind.
“You need to interview for this first, we were only interested in knowing if you were interested. You need to see a Juliette Harris.”
“Is that who I’d be working for?”
“No, it’s her client that’s looking for assistance.” Marilyn picks up the phone on her desk, then puts it down again. She sighs. “I have to be honest with you. This has been a hard position to fill. No one stays very long, the client is high profile and difficult. I wasn’t going to say anything, but you have a child. Not that it’s a problem, it isn’t, the client can accommodate a live-in family situation, it’s just, you might want to keep that in mind.”
“Is this person a child molester?”
“No, nothing like that.”
“Then I can work around it, I’m sure,” I say, not sure what I’m getting into other than a financial situation the likes of which I have only dreamed of. For housekeeping, for doing the things I’ve had to do ANYWAY.
“I’ll tell you what, we’ll keep you in our open files, and we’ll be in contact with you even if you take this job. Whenever something comparable comes up, I can be in contact with you. And don’t hesitate to call if you need to.”
“You sound like you don’t have a lot of hope for this job.”
“They haven’t been able to keep anyone for more than three months.”
“Who is this person?”
“A.J. McLean.”
“Who’s that?” I ask. The name isn’t ringing a bell and I’m sure Marilyn said this person was high profile.
“He’s a Backstreet Boy.”
“Oh. Are they still around?” I’m not much of a pop music fan, but I was sure that group had broken up.
~~**~~**~~***~~**~~**~~
I have an interview with Juliette Harris in the morning. I think I’ll wear my new dress, which means that I have to buy some thread and sew up the pulled seam. I might even invest in some make-up. I don’t have any right now and it’s a good thing that I’ve gotten some sun and a few good nights sleep, or I might have looked, well, frightening.
I’m also not going to say anything to Tish about this, not until I have a very clear idea of what I might be getting us into. Once outside of the collective calm of Marilyn’s office where the number one thousand loomed large in my head, I begin to think of the down side to this potential adventure. This McLean guy could be a complete idiot, or there might be something unsavory about him that I can’t abide, or that I might find offensive. Not that he couldn’t feel the same way about me.
But I’m going to wait about school for another day. And I’m going to treat us both to a nice supper at a restaurant. Not a diner, not a hamburger stand, a restaurant.
Because if this guy will have us, I’m probably going to take this job because something like this is not likely to fall into my lap again.
~~**~~**~~***~~**~~**~~
~~**~~**~~***~~**~~**~~
Juliette says that she’s interviewing someone for the housekeeping job tomorrow. There was a message from her on my machine when I got in this afternoon. At first I’m thrilled, and then I panic.
This place smells like dog. No, it reeks like dog. Dog and cigarette smoke and a kind of cold, musty odor that I don’t even know what it is. And the cleaning people don’t come until tomorrow, too, so the place is a little, a little messy. I know that there are trash bags somewhere in the kitchen, and after a frantic search I find them and start loading them up with the trash that’s accumulated in the corners. There are stacks of junk mail and papers that I don’t read and magazines that I do. There’s garbage in the compactors that need compacting and I’ll be damned if I don’t know how to work the friggin’ thing. Ashtrays. Dog poop that the dogs have actually managed to get on the newspapers that I leave out for just that reason. Dog poop that didn’t quite make it.
It’s worse in the kitchen. Take out wrappers and cartons are, they’re around. I run around the house trying to find just about anything that needs to go and stuffing it into trash bags. Anything that remotely resembles trash. I know that outside I have a lot of trash cans. They’re blue. Big blue plastic ones that hide behind a wall type thing.
I almost throw out the jewelry I bought the other day. I must have tossed the bag onto a chair or sofa and the dogs got a hold of it and it’s a soggy, shredded mass of paper and wrapping. The box it came in has protected it, though, and I take it out and look at it again.
It’s such an odd piece. It’s unique. I stop in the middle of what I’m doing and take it out of the ruined wrappings and look at it all over again. I try it on. I guess I could wear it. I look at myself in the mirror that hangs here in the living room.
Maybe not. It looks stupid on me, and for me, that’s saying a lot. I’m not even sure it would look good on Sarah, now that I see it here. Sarah’s my, she’s that person that I don’t know where she fits in my life, and who doesn’t want me in hers for the time being. We have the same kind of coloring, and if this doesn’t look good on me, it’s not going to look good on her. Something about the color, that blue-green that’s turquoise, it clashes with the tone of our skin unless we’ve got a real deep tan. Right now I don’t. Sarah does. She tans outside and she tans at a salon, too. I know. I still get the bill for that, too.
I take the jewelry off and look for a place to put it. The house has a lot of heavy furniture in it. I don’t know why, I don’t like bulky furniture, I like real streamlined stuff, but here it is. That’s a lie, it’s here because it’s what I picked out with Sarah and it’s what she likes.
There’s a chest of drawers and I open one, put the turquoise in there. I’ll take it upstairs later, when I go upstairs and try and shovel out some of what I have lying around there. Like the laundry all over the floor of the bedroom and bathroom and closet. And all the DVD’s and CD’s I got scattered.
Shit.
I need a housekeeper. I’m ready to hire whoever this one is sight unseen.
Shit.
I hope this one stays.
~~**~~**~~***~~**~~**~~
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© 2003 Chandrah, Inc.
© 2003 (*> Baby Bird Productions, Inc.
