Juliette met us, as planned, and this time we followed her in our own car. I now see where I missed the turn off for the house, and realize that it’s a very easy place to find. I only had to drive it myself. The house was empty when we arrived, although the dogs could be heard inside, barking at us as we pulled into the driveway. Juliette let them out into the yard while we unloaded our luggage and those few boxes and bags we brought with us. For the most part they ignored out activity and spent the time drinking out of the pool and digging in the brush.
The pool house is just right. There’s plenty of room in it and everything seems so new. It had been cleaned, too, the air inside pungent with a sharp, citrus smell. I appreciate that, that this is one less thing to have on my mind for the moment. Not that it’s going to be difficult keeping a place that’s so new and fresh in order, it won’t be anything at all, I just won’t have to add it to my “to do” list for tomorrow. I can focus on other things. When I get the time, I’ll make this place a little more personal. I’ll get my own sheets for the beds, and blankets, too. I’ll gather and nest here for as long as I can. For now, though, this couldn’t be better.
While Tish began unloading her clothes into her closet, Juliette and I sat at the small table in the kitchenette and went over a few last minute items.
“These are for you,” Juliette said, placing several items on the table: a check book, two credit cards, a ring of keys, and what looks like the world’s smallest cell phone. “When you’re shopping for the house, pay with these checks. I’ve ordered some with your own name on them, but for now these blanks will do, you can just fill in the name and address in pen.”
I know that drill, I’m familiar with starter checks.
“You can make big item purchases with these cards. Again, you’ll be getting some in your own name so there’s no confusion, but if you need to get anything, use these. In fact, you’ll need them to gas up the cars.” She pushed them toward me. Platinum cards with her name embossed on them. American Express. Visa. “Use the Amex card where you can first, there’s a buyer’s incentive on it, but when you can’t, use the other one, that’s for frequent flyer miles.” She smiled. “Like he doesn’t have enough. When your cards come, you can return these to me. Shouldn’t be more than a few days.”
I scooped them up and put them inside the check book.
“This phone is for you, and the only people who have the number will be myself, and A.J. It’s really for his use, if he needs to get you, and vice versa. He’s speed dial one, I’m speed dial two.” Then she picked up the heavy ring of keys. “I had them marked. House keys, front, side; and back doors. There’s a security system, and here’s the code.” She slipped me a bit of paper. “Memorize that as soon as you can and destroy that. These are for the garage, the Jeep, the Lexus, Mercedes one, Mercedes two, and the Porsche. You can use the Jeep and the Lexus for any around town chores, but when A.J.’s out of town he’d like it if you ran the other cars so they don’t just sit there.”
“Automatics, or sticks?” I asked.
“Both. Can you drive a standard?”
“I’ll have to brush up.”
I will. I can’t remember the last time I clutched. The thought of the conversation makes me smile. Platinum cards and Mercedes. What next, a limo to take me down to the whole foods market? I can’t believe that people live like this. All those cars, all this house, for one small guy. Something about it strikes me as obscene.
I’m not the only one awake tonight. There are lights on in the house, on every floor. I can see directly into the house through the huge plate glass windows that grace the landings and follow the stairways. It’s lovely that there are no other houses impeding the view to the ocean, but I wonder if people down there can see into up here? And if Mr. McLean knows of that possibility. And if he cares.
I don’t think that my new boss cares about anything much but his comfort, and even in that respect, I don’t think he cares about that too much. He obviously doesn’t mind living in squalor, as long as there’s a lot of space to put it in. He doesn’t care about what he eats, the grocery list I’ve been given is short, consists of mostly liquids, eggs, and bread, and leaves me with no idea of what kind of meals he’s expecting me to prepare. Or when he wants them. Or if he’ll be the only one eating them. I’m not even sure about the dogs. I know that I’m supposed to feed them, too, but not when, what, or where.
Tomorrow morning will be soon enough to get all that information.
Assuming that Mr. McLean is up in the morning. I’m not one to lay around in bed all day. I’ve never had that liberty or luxury, and now my body just wakes itself up at six-thirty, just before my alarm goes off. I can’t think of the last time I slept past then, and that thought makes me crush out this last cigarette and dump my cup of coffee down the sink. Juliette was kind enough to make me up a little package of necessities that included a nice French Roast from Starbucks, as well as bottles of water, juice, and milk. I have my own little loaf of bread and eggs, my own stick of butter that will serve for breakfast. Tish can buy her lunch at school and while I’m shopping for Mr. McLean I can shop for myself, too.
Hey, I’ve got money to do it with, too. And that thought eases my mind enough to allow a little sleep to creep in.
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Siobhan stays up late. That’s cool. Not that I’m gonna bother her tonight because I don’t need anything and there’s nothing she could do for me anyway. Got no food in the house right now, just cereal and I can eat that dry from the box. Got no milk anyway.
Juliette says that I need a routine. A lot of people tell me I need a routine. I thought I had one, but I guess it’s not good enough, or something. Juliette says that Siobhan will help me to keep to some kind of routine, but I don’t know how she’s supposed to do that. But if Siobhan stays up late, too, that would be very cool, because even though I like to sleep, I like to sleep ‘in’. Not that I’ve been doing much of that, what with the golfing and all, and the meetings and everything. I haven’t slept in much for a while. And I blew Rene off today, so I don’t think I should blow him off tomorrow, well, today because it’s already today and today was yesterday. Do you ever confuse yourself like that? I do it all the time.
Anyway, I SHOULD get up in the morning and hit the course and do the meeting and everything. But I should get up and make sure that Siobhan knows what she’s gotta do tomorrow, too. In fact, right now I should be making some kind of list or something for her, so she might have a clue, but I don’t have a clue myself. And I hope that Juliette has given this person some ideas of what needs doing, because even though I need this person here, and the coupla things I’ve talked to Juliette about, like the dogs and cars and stuff, THAT much I know about; beyond that, I’m lost.
I think I would have liked it better if Siobhan had moved into the house. The pool house seems far away from up here on the, third, fourth floor. I don’t know what floor this is, the house is built on so many levels and goes in so many different directions that sometimes it feels like there’s no top or bottom to the place. All I know is that from my room up here I can see everything: the ocean, the pool, the pool house, and the people in it.
They’ve been busy out there since I got back from supper, and I guess they were busy before that, too. They’ve lugged boxes and bags, they’ve come and gone with Juliette, and finally it all just stopped. I got tired just watching them. Juliette left and now there’s two people living in my pool house and a fucked up old Honda in my driveway, and I’m a little unglued about it, if I’m gonna be honest with myself. I’ve got exactly what I’ve been begging for and now I’m not sure that this is the best idea in the world. Because after my session this afternoon, I’m not sure that I want to be living here at all. Not just the house. California, period.
I always leave my sessions more confused then when I get to them. I’m supposed to make a list of all the things I want to talk about, and I never remember to do it, or to even take the time to do it. The whole thing ends up being a big muddle in my head. The doctor’s been nice about it, too, saying that some of the confusion I’m feeling has to do with some of the drugs I’m taking. I take a lot of pills for someone who’s not supposed to be taking drugs. All day. I have pills to take in the morning and pills at night, and one in the afternoon and a half a one that I have to have the pharmacy chop up for me because the first time I tried to do it myself I cut myself with a knife real bad. I have vitamins I’m supposed to be taking, too, but I don’t, and they want me to take cod liver oil and just the idea of that grosses me out. It’s supposed to be a natural mood elevator, something like that. Shit. I’ve been a coke head, and if you want a mood elevator, cocaine can work REAL good on that.
Anyway, my session was about my new housekeeper today and it got me thinking about the house she’ll be ‘keeping’ and why I own it. Then it led to why I was in California in the first place and then it led to Sarah and then I just didn’t want to talk about it. I clamed up. I can do that, it’s my session and I’m paying for it and if I DON’T want to talk I can sit there for an hour and not talk. Then I’m right back there again three days later and I’m talking about why I didn’t want to talk about anything at the last session.
I don’t mean to be like that. I never thought I was a person who would be like that, but I guess I am. I used to be able to talk about anything, at least that’s what I thought I did. Now I kind of know that all that time I was doing all that talking I was never saying a whole helluva lot. And now, now that I have to actually pay to have someone listen to me talk, I don’t want to talk about anything.
The lights going out at the pool house make me stop thinking about myself.
She’s gone to bed. I should go to bed, too.
The doctor had something positive to say today, though, even after my silent treatment and everything. He thinks it’s a good idea for me to have a housekeeper. He thinks that it’s a step in the right direction at getting myself organized, and that I’ve done something right. What he doesn’t know is that I’ve been trying to get someone to come and do this for me for a long time, and that it’s never worked out. Not just the liars and thieves. Some of them would have worked out okay if they hadn’t gotten caught and all. I wasn’t even mad at most of them, just pissed that they took stuff or told stories about me. The stuff they took they could have had for all I cared. And most of the stories were true. I couldn’t argue with that. It just pissed me off that it always had to end up with court and lawyers and bullshit.
I hope this one isn’t going to pull any of that crap on me. She doesn’t look the type, but none of the other ones did, either. Still, her background check came up clear, and she has a kid, which none of the others did. And I guess she’s not blow away by my celebrity, or maybe it just doesn’t phase her.
Or maybe she doesn’t know who I am.
In that case the makes two of us.
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© 2003 Chandrah, Inc.
© 2003 (*> Baby Bird Productions, Inc.
