Where am I going to find something like this again? A brief call to Marilyn in the privacy of the yard and I find out that, in reality, in this area, I could probably find similar situations, although most of them would require the care of children. With this on my plate that doesn’t seem like an option, although there ARE the dogs to consider. They’re just as bad as children and these three are particularly obnoxious.
I think I’m having an interview with Mr. McLean, but I’m not sure. He and Juliette and I are sitting at his kitchen table discussing some of the finer points of the job. Actually, Juliette is doing most of the talking while he’s nodding and picking at his clothes. Fleas. I know that there are fleas in here and he’s been twitching like he’s got a case of them himself.
“When can you start?” he asks me, breaking his silence and my train of thought.
“Soon, I suppose,” I tell him. “I just got out here myself and I have to enroll Tish in school, get her started, pack the car.”
“Do you have furniture coming?” Juliette asks.
“No. I just have what we brought with us.” I have not gone into the details of my circumstances. At this point, I don’t consider that anyone’s business but my own and I would like to keep it that way. It’s apparent enough to me what Tish and I must represent to these people, I’m used to the impression I make, but I’m not about to make any explanations. These people are more than willing to have Tish and me move in here under any circumstances.
We’re interrupted by the sound of people coming in through the front door with a lot of clatter.
“Cleaning people,” Mr. McLean says. He gets up and leaves without further explanation.
“Could you start tomorrow?” Juliette asks. There’s an edge to her voice now.
“I don’t even know where to begin,” I admit. I don’t. I’m overwhelmed by the events of the past forty-eight hours. I know that I wanted to have things happen quickly, but I also know that I had my own ideas about how they might happen, and this sudden transition wasn’t a part of them. “I don’t even have my bank account transferred.”
“Then taking this job as soon as possible should simplify things for you. You can start fresh without having to make a lot of little moves.”
Juliette has no idea what she’s saying to me. None, I see it in the ingenuous expression on her face. But the impact of what she’s says hits home. She’s right. Taking this job will simplify my life, not complicate it. One address, not a series of Post Office boxes until we’re semi-settled in some apartment that we have to share. I could be moved into the guest house by the pool this evening. I could have Tish in school tomorrow. The rest of my personal ‘chores’ could certainly be fit in around the duties they expect from me; how long does it take to do a grocery run and cook a meal? Laundry runs in the background. Why am I hesitating?
“You’re right,” I tell her. “I could be moved into the pool house later this afternoon if...”
“Great.”
I don’t get to finish, Mr. McLean finishes for me. I didn’t even notice him come back into the room, but he has without making a sound. He slips into his vacated chair again, both of his nervous, twitchy hands clasped together on top of the tacky, glass surface.
This is the first time he’s been completely still, and it’s also the first time that I’ve looked directly at him.
He’s very young. At first glance I thought he was in his mid to late thirties, but now that I can see him, immobile, I see that he’s barely edged into adulthood, despite the unshaved stubble on his face. Despite the circles under his eyes, or even the eyes themselves which are, they’re tired. Bruised.
My mind can work beyond the speed of light sometimes, so fast that I can’t always figure out how I get from point A to point B. Sometime, much later, I’ll clue myself in as to what, exactly, has tipped the scale for me at this particular moment. In the space of time it takes to blink I make up my mind to take this job, taking me back to my initial reaction to it before I ever got inside this house, or across this table. If it doesn’t work out, I’ll just get myself another job. We’re going to hammer out a contract where Mr. McLean can’t fire me on a whim, can’t discharge me without notice and a tidy lump sum in my pocket. I have to protect myself, and Tish. I know all about transient work, and transient people. I’ll be willing to forfeit any additional benefits if I back out of my end of the bargain, too.
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My bank account has gone from pitiful to burgeoning within a matter of minutes. After we agree to all the details of the contract, Juliette takes Tish and me back to our car. She offers to take us to the bank, to set up a checking and savings account for me, to take us to lunch, to go directly to the motel and help us pack, but I decline all offers. Those are things that I’d much rather do alone. She assures me that she’ll be seeing me later that evening to help me find my way back to the house, we plan to meet back here at the Starbucks. She even programs my cell phone for her numbers so I can get in touch with her if there’s a problem. Tish and I stand hand-in-hand on the curb near our car as we watch Juliette pull away in hers.
“Mom, this is so cool,” Tish says. I have to agree with her.
It’s afternoon, after the usual lunch hour, and Tish and I are famished. I don’t want any more Starbuck’s fare, although Tish would be happy with some glazed cinnamon buns. Instead, we take a little walk down the boulevard to a hamburger stand and gorge on cheeseburgers and fries. Then we go back to the motel and pack our gear. It’s not much. It looks like even less after the opulence, no matter how dirt encrusted it was, that we’ve encountered today.
I don’t check out, though. I’m still not satisfied that this new situation is as real as I know it is, despite my contract copies that I’ve added to the other pertinent papers in my worn out accordion file.
Tish and I decide to see if we can’t find our new ‘house’ by ourselves. The drive didn’t seem too complicated when Juliette was behind the wheel, so I figure that I can manage it. One of my trusty maps shows me the way to the Pacific Coast Highway, and from there, it seemed like it was only a matter of finding the right hill to ascend.
The sky goes from brown to blue as we make our way to the coast and the hills. The air is different. It’s cleansed by the ocean breezes instead of trapped by the mountains and valleys that make up the local topography. I notice right away that there’s a unique smell to the Pacific Ocean. It has no smell. There’s nothing briny in the air. There’s a moistness, but no fishy, seaweed, salt scent. Just something that resembles clean air.
It’s not long until we reach Malibu.
California is a sprawling place. Malibu takes that standard even further. It’s a maze of twisting roads that branch off for no reason in many directions off of about thirty miles of freeway that parallels the coast. Houses of all types dot the hills and line the coast. It’s more of an expanded village than what I recognize as a town. It’s even a bit different by local standards.
We don’t find the house but we do find a bank and a market. We get out and walk around. I go through the tedious routine of transferring my account to the local branch, and the not so tedious chore of filling my wallet with cash. As we wander in and out of the small buildings, I notice that Tish and I are quickly in the routine of putting our sunglasses on, and taking them off. Putting them on. Taking them off.
She notices it, too, and we look at each other and laugh.
There’s enough time for us to head over to Malibu High School. From behind our dark glasses we check out the comings and goings of the kids. They don’t look any different from the local kids in any other place we’ve lived. It will be different for Tish to be in a high school, she was in a grammar school before, headin to middle school. Apparently, unless I’m prepared to send Tish to private school here, this is where she’ll be going.
“Think we have time to do it?” I ask my girl. She grins and nods. We’ve done this so many times that it’s just another routine event. What elevates the procedure here is the attitudes, or better yet, the LACK of attitudes. The principle seems happy to see us, the office staff is downright jovial, and by the time Tish has chosen the appropriate classes and is enrolled they have me convinced to bring her tomorrow and they would take it from there. Right down to adding her to the local bus route which is not too far from our new living arrangement, and inundating me with paperwork for summer programs, camps, off-campus after school activities and a list of good dentists and pediatricians.
I like Malibu.
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I won’t be here when Siobhan and her daughter move in this evening. I have a meeting to go to, and then I have an appointment with one of my shrinks, the hard core one, the one who prescribes all the happy pills for me. After that I’m going to dinner with Rene. Juliette is going to help them settle in for the night, and I’ll probably see them in the morning before I head out for the links.
I’m making sure that the cleaning people have the pool house spotless. I’m not sure if it’s going to be up to standard for Siobhan, because she seems to be very, I don’t know, particular. Oh, screw that, it was pretty clear that she thought my house was a pig sty, and she’s right it is. I just don’t care about it anymore. Not the house, not being out on the west coast. Not even the dogs.
I’ll have to talk to Siobhan. I mean, I know that I have to talk to her, she’s going to be in the house, I’ll see her, I just need to let her know what needs to be done tomorrow in a kind of specific way. Like, the refrigerator’s empty and the dogs need a special food that she’s going to have to get at a place in Thousand Oaks. Details. There are all these stupid details living in a house. Things I don’t like to think about, or even want to think about. I don’t like having to think about the lawn, the pool, and the garbage pick up. I don’t like having to remember that the dogs need to be walked. Like maybe I’ll be in my studio here in the house and then the last thing on my mind is dogs and food and if I have enough bottled water, I just want all of it taken care of and the water to be cold when I want it.
Is that asking a lot?
Well, she’ll have to learn about how I like things and she’ll just have to do them that way and that’s it. That’s what I’m paying her for. I mean, that’s what you do if you don’t have anyone to do these things for you; you buy it.
Anyway, I can see the cleaning people scrubbing away over there from the kitchen window. I guess it’s better that Siobhan and her daughter stay out there. It’s already furnished and everything. Not that the second floor wouldn’t have been okay, but then they’d be wandering through the house and it’s weird having strangers in your house. Not that I would have really minded, because it’s nice not being alone in the house even if it’s not people you know, you know, people that are friends or something. I dunno. Maybe they’ll change their minds. I could get some furniture for those rooms off the kitchen. That’s a kind of nice set up and they would have more room. But maybe they want some privacy, too. I mean, I’m a stranger to them, too.
God, I hate this. I hate this. No one else I know has this problem. Not a one of them. They hire and fire help like it was nothing. They have two, three, four different people living in with them, filling up rooms. I could do that. I don’t need to have a pool service, a cleaning service. I could have a gardener living in the pool house and maids and housekeepers and who knows who living in here. Maybe I should. Maybe this should be the first in a long line of permanent employees. Then the house would never be empty.
Maybe I should just cut the crap and go back to Florida. Who am I kidding out here? I don’t even feel comfortable in California. I moved out here for all the wrong reasons; because being back there was no good. Too many ‘old’ friends doing all the things I’m not supposed to be doing anymore. And my old house was just this empty, like, monument to my OTHER relationship that didn’t work out because I was an asshole. I didn’t want to live at my mother’s because she was so unhappy with me at that point. She’s still not real thrilled with me for moving out here, for moving in with Sarah, who she couldn’t stand. Or for the engagement or the wedding that never happened.
I’m going to need that appointment with my shrink today.
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© 2003 Chandrah, Inc.
© 2003 (*> Baby Bird Productions, Inc.
