“Yes, and fine,” I say, glancing down at the lacquer that still adorns my toes. The polish has held up fine, despite my misgivings. Nyle was right; wearing sandals instead of sneakers actually helped the polish stay on. Socks and sweat can cause a lot of wear and tear.
“How’s the patient?”
“Much better, thank you. So I’m here to research something else today. I need to look at what you have on furniture. Basically the Arts & Crafts movement.”
“Very good. We have a nice selection of material on that, and the computers are plugged into some good sites. Here, I put this book aside for you,” she says, trading the ones I’ve read and returned for a thick volume that looks like a textbook. It is. An Intro to Psychology book. “I thought, why not start with the basics and work your way up.”
“Thank you.” I’m not sure if I want to pursue this now, this working of the mind. Seeing Alex being relaxed this past weekend has taken the edge off of watching for signs of lapses into depression. He’s been far from depressed. He even budged and went to the session that Mickie invited him to. He was still asleep this morning when I went up to the house to make him breakfast.
He even left me a note, tell me that he’d gotten in very late and to not bother about breakfast, he’d take care of lunch and that I probably wouldn’t see him until supper.
I was surprised that I didn’t have to second guess him.
Regardless, he seems stable and I’m of the school of thought that if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. I’ll always be aware, I’m just not sure I’ll need to be an active participant in any aspect of Alex’s troubles. In fact, I’d rather not be a participant at all, active or otherwise. But I accept the book if only for the fact that Nyle put it aside for me, that she thought of me and was thoughtful enough to do this.
“It’s not as intimidating as it seems,” she says. Then she turns away with a gesture that tells me to wait, and helps a student who has a question.
I leaf through the text. No. It’s not intimidating. It’s very basic and written simply. I’ll read this. Even for enjoyment. Out of curiosity.
“What would you like to do first, research, or have a cup of tea?”
“Research, please. If I can resolve something in my head, I have some shopping to do today.”
“I take it the redecoration project was well received.”
“Very well received. But, considering I have no idea what I’m doing, I want to make sure that I stay on track with my idea.”
“And that idea would be?”
“Fermenting,” I hedge. I don’t want to verbalize my vision. I see something that not only suits the house, but suits Alex and suits the atmosphere I’m trying to create. I’m trying to wean Alex gently into taste and a style that isn’t exactly his own, but compliments his need for a modern look. I think my first attempt has been a good one, and I’m glad that he’s pleased with it, but he’s been less than helpful in giving me his thoughts and impression. He hasn’t gone beyond being complimentary. And showing the living room and den off to Mickie and Dwayne. Still, I’m not secure enough in what I’m trying to do to go too much further without making sure that I’m not going to spoil the effect or push too hard for what I want, as opposed to what Alex wants.
Nyle sits me down at one of the computer carrels and logs me in.
“Are you computer literate?” she asks me.
“I can find my way around.”
“This is a timed machine. You have an hour before it logs you out. Save and print out links, and you can follow up leads at home. The printout comes to the front desk, you can pick it up there and then we’ll go have a strong cup of tea and discuss the affairs of the day.” She reaches down and lifts my pendant. “Very nice.”
“Thank you,” I say, and then I turn to the screen and begin my trip through the Internet.
~~**~~**~~***~~**~~**~~
“You’re taking this very seriously,” Nyle tells me as she leafs through the pages of printout I made.
“It’s not my house. I don’t want to foul it up too much,” I say. The tea we’re drinking is very light and fragrant. I can taste something like cherry behind the usual flavor of what I think of as ‘tea’. It’s nice.
“I don’t think you’ll make too many mistakes,” she says, and she passes me the papers back. “So you’ve given up psychology for interior design. Interesting,” she says. “They’re related.”
“Oh? Would that be the fabric of the mind in similarity to the fabric of the drapes?”
“More like the need for order.”
“Then I’d say that, in my case, it would be housekeeping and psychology walking hand in hand, because I’ve certainly made some order out of chaos there.” And I laugh.
“I’m sure you have.” Nyle sips her tea and looks out at the ocean. I follow her line of sight. I think that everything in Malibu faces the ocean, if it can. “So. What do you think you’ll do with yourself once the allure of housekeeping wears off?”
“That’s too far ahead to contemplate,” I tell her. It is. “I haven’t even been at the job for two months. I’m not even sure I’m comfortable with the job yet.”
“Maybe you’re not going to be comfortable with it ever.”
I look at Nyle, but she’s still looking out at the ocean. A little shiver runs up my back. I wish she hadn’t said that. I truly do. Because that thought has occured to me, as well, and I can’t afford to have that thought, or any thoughts of that nature. It’s easy to think back ten days or so to Alex sitting me down to tell me he was going on a little vacation. It’s easy to feel the panic I felt at that moment, when I thought he was giving me notice. That’s the major problem with this job, beyond that fact that there’s no upward mobility or future. The day that Alex decides I’m no longer of any use to him is the day I’m unemployed.
And no, I’m not sure that I want to be a housekeeper for the rest of my life.
“You’re smart. Have you thought about college?”
“No, why, are you recruiting?” I ask with a laugh.
“No, and I’m not so sure I’d recommend Pepperdine for you, although it’s an excellent school. There are so many colleges and Universities out here it’s hard to go very far without running into a campus or two. You might want to start out slow. A community college. Or just a night class or two.”
“Can’t. Child care. And I’m pretty busy right now.”
“Yes, I can see that,” she says, and now she looks at me over the rim of her cup and I can see her smiling at me.
“Touché.”
“I’m just giving you a hard time,” she says. Her smile is in earnest now. I smile back. “You ARE smart. Smarter than I think you think you are. I mean, not many women would pick up stakes and move the way you have. And succeed. I think you could expand your horizons a bit more.”
“Nyle, are you out here perverting the students again?” A voice interrupts us. A man I don’t know, but who obviously knows Nyle, is approaching us with a briefcase in one hand and a cup of something in another. He’s quite the individual, his long hair pulled back in a ponytail that’s not working; ends and strands are blowing all over the place. And his accent is decidedly not American, although it might just be affected. I can’t tell.
“No more than you do on a daily basis, David.” She turns a little, but makes no other move. “Is there something you want?”
“Yes, but I see that you’re on your break.”
“Yes, I am.”
She says nothing and he says nothing. This David remains standing beside her chair, staring. Waiting. For what, I have no idea. It just makes me very uncomfortable.
“What, David?” Nyle finally asks. There’s laughter in her voice.
“I thought that it was proper form for you to make an introduction,” he says.
“Oh, yes, right. David, this is Siobhan Murray. Siobhan, this is David Ravensdale. Don’t let his looks fool you, he’s as obnoxious and pretentious as he seems.”
“Charmed,” this David says, and he reaches for my hand. He has a firm handshake. Good grip. Dry.
“Nice to meet you.” And now it’s time for me to go. “I have to run, Nyle.”
“I’d like to talk to you a little more about what we were discussing,” Nyle says. “Give me your number, I don’t think I have it.”
“Do you have something to write it on?”
“Here.” David Ravensdale offers me a business card and pen from his pocket. I scribble my phone number on the back of it and hand it to Nyle, then return the pen to its owner.
“Thank you. There, well, I do have to go. Thank you for the tea, Nyle, and, and it was nice to meet you, Mr. Ravensdale.”
“David,” he says.
“David,” I repeat. I smile. He smiles. Nyle is laughing a little, shaking her head, but in a nice way.
“I’ll phone you,” Nyle assures me.
“Leave a message,” I tell her. And it’s not until I’m in the Jeep that I realize that I’ve given her the number to the house, and I don’t have hers.
Damn.
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© 2003 Chandrah, Inc.
© 2003 (*> Baby Bird Productions, Inc.
