by Ylana MIlls
He had known him for what? 24 hours? How pathetic.
"So…" she spoke again, after clearing her throat. "Have you found my bank statement?"
His eyes sparked with pride as he held up an envelope.
"I don't know if you did it on purpose…" he said, "but it was actually tucked inside a box of condoms."
'One of the two dozen I found around the place,' he mentally remarked.
"I see you have an eye for detail," she replied, crossing her arms with a gleeful smile. "I am impressed!"
Of course she had done it on purpose. And at the time, hiding it in a box of condoms seemed a hilarious idea. Now that she looked at him, and realized the hidden message she ended up sending out, she regretted it immensely.
She blushed. There was always hope he would cut her some slack, somehow.
"Congratulations, Mr. Shaw," she announced, trying to hide her embarrassment with her Freudian slip. "You're hired!"
Devon reached out to shake her hand, as his chest filled with relief. Finally, he would be able to pay some of his bills. Maybe buy a new suit… find a place to live. And there was still that extraordinary plus: Eliza Clark was adorable.
"And here… are your 200 bucks."
He took the money from her hands, and had to stifle the laughter rattling inside him. The girl was officially his boss, and that put a very interesting spin on everything.
"I'll be expecting you tomorrow at seven," he heard her say, before they said their goodbyes.
Chapter 3: Misreading signals?
Now the nightmare was for real. As Eliza left to work the next day, he found himself with five baskets of laundry to do. He was staring at them, with his arms crossed, and his eyes were as puzzled as those of a man who tried to solve a very complicated algebra equation without a calculator.
"Oh, well," he muttered. "I guess it will be the traditional trial and error."
He separated the items by colors, and in two piles: heavy stuff, not so heavy stuff. Then he shoved the clothes into the washing machine in four different turns, added a considerable amount of soap and softener to the dark ones, added bleach to the light colors pile, and hoped all of them would get to the end of that day with their integrity intact.
Except for a purple woolen sweater, which now looked like a loose sack of potatoes, two silk scarves that seemed to have been stabbed to death, and a beige leather jacket that now sported some very noticeable bleach stains, he was rather successful in his task.
How Eliza would react when she saw those casualties, however, was a mystery to him. He could only hope none of those items had some sort of sentimental value. Just in case, he decided to head to the kitchen and make her a decent meal: Thai chicken with lemongrass and coconut milk, his Pièce de résistance, a dish he would only go into the trouble of preparing when the situation really called for it. He had wondered if he should save that trump card for a rainy day, but his reasonable self pointed out that if he had indeed screwed up badly with the laundry, then he might not have any "rainy days" to look forward to.
----
When Eliza Clark got home that day, a spicy combination of ginger and lemongrass filled her nostrils. She closed her eyes with a smile. Arriving home, not to order Chinese food and slump onto the sofa to watch TV, but to savor a dinner made especially for her… with someone to talk to about her day… It was almost too good to be true.
And then, she remembered she had actually hired someone to do such things, and part of the magic in that scenario disappeared with a faint poof.
"Oh, hi."
And then, when Devon popped up from behind the kitchen door, wearing an apron while wiping his hands in a dishcloth, all the magic returned in a rush, and her heart swelled.
He looked so adorable.
'You're paying him to be here,' her mind quickly reminded her, 'Don't get so happy about yourself.'
"Hi."
When she replied, her smile had faded a little.
"Whatever it is that you have cooked, it smells delicious," she said, as she dropped her bag on a chair and walked over to the kitchen.
"Do you like Thai food?" he asked.
"I absolutely love it."
"Good," he smiled. "How about I fix you a drink?"
Eliza chuckled.
"What?" Devon asked.
"Oh, nothing," she responded. "It's just that I don't remember reading anything about 'bartender skills' in your resume."
"Oh, not all my special skills are in my resume…" he said, with a sly grin.
"For instance?"
'Lovemaking,' his mind promptly replied, and he had to stifle a cough.
"Hmm?"
"Canyoneering," he lied, avoiding her eyes.
"Oh."
He saw her bite her lip, and spent a long minute admiring her amused face. It was almost as if she had actually heard what his mind had said, and not his mouth, and that was one thing that mesmerized him. For some reason, Eliza Clark seemed to understand his mental processes very well, and the most amazing part was that she seemed to genuinely enjoy them.
"So… what drink do you recommend?" she asked.
"If you have TY KU liquor in this bar of yours," he replied, looking at the multitude of bottles behind the counter. "I'd say you should go for a Hello Kitty."
"Wow, you're no amateur to this business, are you?"
"Meaning?" he asked, looking at her with curious eyes.
"Most people would just settle for a Martini," she replied.
"I don't like to settle for less than it is worth," he said, staring at her for a brief moment, before his mind caught up with him and reminded him that she was his boss.
"Makes sense," she answered, as soon as her voice found her way back into her mouth. For a brief moment, it had gone somewhere else, as his eyes pierced into hers. "It's right behind the bottle of El Dorado."
"What is?" he asked, looking slightly confused.
"The TY KU liquor."
"Oh."
He cleared his throat as he fished for the bottle, and Eliza took a seat by the counter to watch him.
"How was your day?" he asked.
"Good. And yours?"
He raised his eyebrows. Maybe he should wait until after dinner to break the news about her clothes.
"Fine," he answered, after shaking the cocktail mixer and pouring her drink in a glass.
"Seriously?" she asked, raising her eyebrows. "You're gonna make me drink alone?"
"Well, I'm on duty," he whispered, trying to hold back a smile. "Am I allowed to drink?"
"You're allowed to join me."
He smiled as he fixed himself a drink as well.
"May I ask you what you do for a living?" he asked, taking a seat by her side.
"You may," she answered, sipping her drink. "I work in a school."
"Really? Doing what?"
"I help with after-school programs for kids," she said, looking at him with a proud smile. "Outdoor activities, arts, hiking trips… stuff like that."
He tilted his head, and looked at her with renewed interest. He noticed how naïve and full of joy she appeared to be, with her girly dress and that lovely ponytail, not to mention those funny glasses, which suited her so well. Yet, there was something in her eyes, even when she smiled, that reminded him of his own… It was some sort of imprinted sadness, a shadow of loss, something hard to pinpoint. Yet, it was there, and it made her look, at the same time, like a girl and a woman, a mixture of hope and defiance, strength and vulnerability, and he found himself really drawn to it.
"What drove you into it?" he asked, eager to learn more about her story.
She replied with a smile, and Devon could see that question brought back memories.
"My parents left me when I was just a baby," she said, and he finally understood where that shadow in her eyes came from. It was right there, clearer than ever, as she talked about her family. "And when you grow up alone, like I did, in an orphanage, lots of things can go wrong," she took another sip
of her drink. "You feel angry. You feel sad. There hasn't been a single day of my life when I didn't wish to see them again, just to understand why they didn't want me."
Eliza stopped, feeling the corners of her eyes prickle. She sipped her drink again, wondering why she was opening up to him like that. She didn't talk to anyone about that. Not ever.
"I guess that what saved me from a really screwed up life was the fact I had really great teachers," she went on. "I can't possibly explain how they made a difference in my life. I was really lucky, because I know that this is not what most kids in my situation get."
When she turned to look at Devon, she was actually surprised to see how absorbed he seemed to be in her story. She could only smile at how flattering his interest was.
"And that is why I do what I do today," she concluded with a shrug. "I thought I should give something back. And I really like it."
Devon's drink remained untouched, forgotten over the counter. The man's eyes were glued to the woman by his side, as he listened to her story and noticed that she looked even more beautiful now, if that was remotely possible.
He should come up with something smart to say. Something would also be good. Instead, he remained silent, gazing at her in awe.
"May I ask you a question?" he heard her ask.
"Anything," he replied, and he meant it. After sharing such an important part of her past with him like that, that was the least she deserved.
"What was her name?"
"Whose?"
"Your ex-wife's."
Devon lowered his eyes to his glass, and he finally raised it to his lips for the first time. After feeling the zesty sourness of the lemon soothe his throat, he was ready to open that can of worms.
"Kimmy. I met her in college," he said, staring at his glass. "I have a degree in Law, did you know that?"
"I remember, from your resume," Eliza replied, smiling lightly.
"Yeah. Well, to cut a long story short, we got married shortly after we graduated, and divorced less than a year later, when I found out she was having an affair with the Mendell part of the 'Shaw & Mendell' law firm."
When he finally looked at Eliza again, he was somewhat surprised at the sorrowful expression in her face. It was comforting to feel that she actually cared, and was not listening just to be polite.
"I am so sorry," she said, in a whisper.
"Yeah… Well, you know what happened next," he said, after taking another sip of his drink. "She managed to strip me of everything I had, except…"
He paused, and let out a smile.
"For your dignity?" Eliza completed.
"Oh, no, she took that as well," he replied, and the two of them chuckled. "My car. A purple 1999 Toyota Camry."
"Well, at least she wanted you to have something…"
"No, nothing like that," he snorted. "She actually tried to sell it on eBay."
"But no one wanted to buy it?"
"Well, I did," he answered, wrinkling his forehead. "And I bought it. Used my last savings to do so, but it was worth it…"
Eliza was now resting her head on her elbow as he talked. The way his eyes glowed when he talked about his car was so boyish and yet… there was something so sad and troubled about him that she couldn't help but feel that, somehow, they had more in common than both of them knew.
"You really have a thing for that car of yours, don't you?"
"Yeah…" he replied, and his eyes were dreamlike. "Kimmy always hated it. Called it tacky. But to me… yeah. It's like family."
He turned to look at her, and let out another heartfelt smile.
"You're gonna laugh, but… I dream of taking a road trip all over the country with it."
"With a purple 1999 Toyota Camry?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.
"Yeah!" he replied. "The engine is a beast."
"Sounds like an adventure," Eliza said, smiling at his enthusiasm.
"Right?"
"Why didn't you?"
"What?"
"Go on a road trip with it?" she completed her question. "I mean, before…"
"Oh," he whispered, looking back at his glass. "It's just that… I never actually wanted to do it alone," he said, before turning to glance at her again. "Was waiting for the right person to join me."
Their eyes met for a long moment, and Eliza had the very clear impression that he was going to kiss her when he leaned towards her.
"I think the food is burning," he announced, as he touched her arm and climbed down the stool before heading to the kitchen.
Luckily, he had gotten to the kitchen just in time to save dinner. Much to his surprise, Eliza insisted that he joined her for the meal, and so he did. They talked about much lighter topics, and the food tasted good. He only mentioned the incident with her clothes when they were about to finish dessert, which turned out to be a very wise decision, since Eliza seemed to care very little about the whole deal.
He was getting ready to leave when the phone rang, and Eliza excused herself out of the room to answer it.
"Well, looks like you don't have to worry about dinner tomorrow," she announced, gleefully.
"Is that so?" he asked, putting on his coat.
"Yes. I'm… I'm going out with Viktor."
Devon blinked, and stopped fumbling with his scarf for a split second.
"Viktor?"
"Yeah… He's… kind of my boyfriend," she said, avoiding his eyes.
He nodded, looking away as he swallowed a massive lump on his throat. There was no reason at all for him to be disappointed, so why was he? Perhaps he had misread the signals that she was into him, and anyway, it was not as if it mattered. She was the boss, he was the maid. He was there because she was paying him. They had only known each other for three days. He couldn't possibly care less.
The fact he had to find so many arguments to convince himself of that only proved it was exactly the opposite.
"Well, then," he said at last, still avoiding her eyes. "Have a good night, Ms. Clark."
He left her apartment and made his way to the car, kicking stones as he walked and wondering if there was a more pathetic way to end the day after receiving such news than to sleep in the backseat of a car parked somewhere in a posh neighborhood in Tallahassee.
Chapter 4: Not a good idea, but who cares?
In the day that followed and in the others, Devon made sure to engage in the most boring and daunting chores he could think of. He would clean toilets with surgical precision, sometimes even more than once a day. Ironing had become his favorite thing in life – especially now that he hardly burnt things anymore. Compared to his first week in Eliza's place, when he made sure to destroy at least six tops, three pairs of pants and three dresses, that was quite a remarkable deed. He had even taken to gardening, and would offer to walk the neighbor's dog when he had nothing else to do.
He would do whatever it took to stay away from his boss.
It had taken him at least ten days to admit, in the first place, that he had feelings for her. And not just those feelings – the ones that ended up with the two of them all sweaty and panting over each other in that wicked mind of his. No. He didn't have the hots for Eliza Clark. Well, he did, but it was not only that. He wished it were. It would be less complicated.
Unexplainably, that woman had clawed her way into his heart with her little smiles, with her wits, with her sense of humor, with her strength, with those girly dresses and ponytail and funny glasses and kindness and all those other things.
He had fallen for her. But, as usual, the joke was on him, and she had a boyfriend. In other words, whatever it was that his lame heart had in mind when it started beating faster for Eliza Clark, it was time for a reality check. She was off-limits.
And he missed talking to her, just like they had done in those first three days, before he had learnt about Viktor. Oh, how he hated that name without a face. Actually, thank God he had never seen the man in Eliza's place. Thank God he had never seen him anywhere. It was bad enough as it was.
The last thing he needed was to find out he was an impossibly good-looking and successful young man who made Eliza laugh and… well. He refused to complete that sentence. As it was, he could at least fantasize that Viktor was a very old, very wrinkled man with bad breath and a bank account even less impressive than his, with whom Eliza had agreed to go out with as an act of charity.
That was the kind of thought that entertained his mind those days.
"Devon?" he heard Eliza's voice behind him, and his shoulders went stiff.
"Yes?"
"Can you come here for a second?"
For a moment, he kept pretending he was nurturing a tulip, so that he would have the time to ensure his feelings were again under wraps before he glanced at her. One mistake and it would be fatal. Sooner or later, one of the many resumes he had been sending to law firms in Tallahassee would be picked, and that torment would be over. Until then, he would have to keep pretending Eliza Clark was just his boss.
He rose to his feet, and when he turned his head to look at her, his heart skipped a beat.
"Eliza," he asked, taking out his dirt-covered gloves as he walked towards her. "What is wrong?"
"What do you mean?" she asked, trying to sound as indifferent as possible.
Devon had been avoiding her for weeks, and the worst part was that there was absolutely nothing she could do. His housekeeping was becoming absolutely flawless, which meant that if in the first week or so she at least had the opportunity to rant at him for a burnt top or a stained sink, now there was nothing to hold on to.
"Do you think you can…" she said, but paused halfway. She had to be very careful as to how she would phrase that request, or things would end up like they always did: with Devon finding an excuse not to spend a single minute next to her.
She missed him, which was an absurd, to begin with. They had had coffee together once, then a rather superficial talk the next day, and then that dinner… That stupid, nonsensical, flawless dinner!
No. It had not been flawless. It would have been if he had kissed her, instead of patting her on the shoulder before heading to the kitchen to check if the dinner was burning.
