by Emily Bishop
“Pleasure.” Tess smiles then turns serious again. “I was looking all over for you. You only have…” She glances at her watch. “Eight minutes until your meeting.”
“Sorry.” I glance at Sabrina, who now has her arms folded over her chest. “I guess time flies when you’re having fun.”
She laughs.
I know the coffee break didn’t go as planned but hey, I have to admit it was still fun. In fact, that’s probably the most fun I’ve had in ages.
Tess taps her watch.
“Right. I better get changed and get to work,” I tell Sabrina as I tear my gaze away from her and reluctantly jog back to the house. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you get a new pair of sandals.”
“Thank you.”
“I suggest you go get changed as well!”
“I will!”
Deal
Sabrina
What a mess.
I frown as I lift my uniform, having already changed into another, staring at the stains that the soil in the lawn, the sprinkler and Zombie all caused in one moment of chaos.
What was up with that dog? I thought he was going to gobble me up. Thank goodness Randall pulled him off me.
Suddenly, I remember the image of Randall in his soaked shirt and jeans, the cotton and denim clinging to him like a second skin and showing off all his bulges and curves.
All his bulges? Not really. I did not see that.
Shit. What am I thinking? It’s bad enough that I’m fantasizing about his muscles. Now, I’m thinking about that, too.
I shake my head, clearing the image.
At least Zombie likes me now, though there’s no guarantee David will feel the same.
Sighing, I put my dress into the machine. I just hope the stains come off. I only have seven sets of uniform, after all, the last two a blouse and a pair of pants for trips. And I work seven days a week.
As I’m trying to figure out the machine, Lucy enters, a pile of laundry in her arms.
“Sabrina?” Her brown eyes grow wide when she sees me. “What are you doing here?”
“Washing my uniform,” I tell her. “At least, that was my intention.”
Lucy sets down the curtains on the bench. “You’re not supposed to do any washing, you know. You could have just left your clothes there in the hamper in your bathroom.”
“I know, but I was afraid that if I didn’t wash this uniform at once, it would be harder for the stains to come off.”
“Stains, huh?” Lucy gives me a suspicious look.
I blush as I realize what she’s talking about. “Not that kind of stains. I was out in the lawn and Zombie jumped on me and then the sprinklers turned on so…”
“I see.” She stands beside me and looks at my uniform. “Mud stains do get harder to remove the longer you leave them.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Which detergent did you use?”
I point to the box on my right.
“That’s fine.” She puts down the lid of the machine. “Now, you just set the knob like this and turn this dial and press this and that and – there, it should be all set.”
True enough, the machine starts whirring.
I smile at her. “Thanks. You’re a lifesaver.”
Lucy shakes her head. “Nope. I’m just a maid.”
She sits down on the bench and starts separating the white curtains from the dark ones.
“How long have you been working here?”
“Four years. My friend recommended me as her replacement when she had to leave because she got pregnant.”
“Oh.” I put a maroon curtain into the dark pile. “Wow. I can’t believe you’ve been here so long.”
“Sometimes, neither can I,” she confesses. “Sometimes, I feel like I’ve been here forever and that I’ll be stuck here forever like Mrs. Wilson.” She glances at the door, as if worried that the housekeeper might suddenly show up but she doesn’t. “That makes me a little sad but then I think of how much money I’m earning, plus the living quarters are really nice. Mr. Brewster is fair and all the other maids are nice, too, so all in all, it’s not such a bad deal. I’m sure some people have it worse.”
I nod, remembering the hardships I went through while I was trying to earn money as a singer and, of course, while I was trapped in Vince’s house.
“You’re right. It’s not so bad.”
“How about you?” Lucy asks, throwing a beige curtain into the light pile. “How long have you been a nanny?”
I pause. Do I make something up or do I tell her the truth?
“I just started actually,” I say, deciding there’s no harm in the latter. “Just this year.”
“Really?” Lucy looks surprised. “I thought of that because you look so young but then, you seem so professional.”
“Thank you.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-two.” Again, no harm in saying my real age just as there is no sense in hiding it.
“You really are young, younger than me. I’m twenty-five, and I’m the second youngest maid here. Amy is younger by just a year. I don’t know who the oldest is but I think it’s Carmen.” She glances at the door again.
“Well, if you’re not going to work hard when you’re young, when will you?”
Lucy smiles. “Why did you decide to be a nanny, though?”
“It just seemed right.”
Now, that’s a lie. The truth is more like it’s my only option.
“You like kids?”
“Yup.”
“David is a handful, though. He’s always been.”
That brings me to the question I’ve been wanting to ask.
“Lucy, can I ask you something?”
“Sorry, but I don’t know if Mr. Brewster is seeing anyone right now or what kind of things Mr. Brewster likes,” Lucy says as she kneels in front of the dark pile, now separating the thin fabrics from the thick ones. “I mean, I know he likes to work out and to…”
“Stop,” I interrupt her, raising a hand. “I’m not going to ask about that.”
“Oh.” Lucy looks at me. “Sorry. I just thought you were interested in Mr. Brewster, too.”
Well, I am but…
Wait. I am?
I shake my head.
“So, what’s your question?”
Right.
“You’re saying all the previous nannies were interested in Ra… Mr. Brewster?”
“Not all but many of them were. I guess he is kind of hot, if you were into that bulky type. I’m not.”
I understand. Some women prefer lean men and others big men. I thought I was one of the former but I guess I’m one of the latter? Or is it because Vince was lean?
Focus, Sabrina.
“So, none of them really cared about David?” I ask.
“Some of them did,” Lucy answers. “Some of them adored him. They just adored his father more.”
I touch my chin. “I see.”
“Then there were those who adored him but couldn’t stand him, what with all his pranks and insults. That kid has claws, I tell you.”
“I know.”
“Did he play a prank on you yet?”
“No. Something tells me he has other plans.”
Lucy snickers. “You bet.”
“But he did throw me a few choice words last night.”
“Yet, you don’t seem affected at all.”
“No,” I agree. “Maybe because a part of me knows he doesn’t mean them. He’s just lashing out although I don’t know the reason why.”
“Who knows what that kid thinks?”
Lucy grabs the pile of dark, thick curtains, one of which falls out of her arms. I pick it up and help her stuff the curtains into one of the front-loader washing machines.
“Actually, I was hoping you could tell me,” I say after the load has been stuffed inside, standing up.
“Me?” Lucy looks puzzled. “I’m just a maid here, remember?”
“But
you watch over him in between nannies, right?”
“Yeah. I guess I get that job. So, don’t you screw up, okay?”
I grin. “I’m trying not to. That’s why I’m asking for your help. Maybe you can give me a clue about how I can win David over?”
Lucy chuckles as she reaches for the detergent. “Winning the son over instead of the father. Well, that’s a first. If you ask me, though, it’s smart. If you win the son over, the father might follow.”
Really?
Wait. That’s not my intention.
“I can’t help you there, though.” Lucy puts the detergent into the drawer of the machine. “Frankly, I’m not sure if that boy can be won over. Maybe you should ask Zombie. He’s the only one who seems to have accomplished that.”
I frown. “Yeah. If only Zombie could talk. He’d sooner eat me, though.”
“I mean, look at me,” Lucy goes on. “After all these years, David still doesn’t like me.”
I touch my chin. “Do you know why?”
“Now, that I happen to know.” Lucy puts the detergent back. “It’s the reason why Harry is the only one he seems to like. Also, he told me himself once.”
“Why?” I ask curiously, excited.
This may be the clue I’ve been looking for.
Lucy sighs as she leans on the machine. “Simple. We’re girls. David doesn’t like girls.”
My eyebrows furrow. “He doesn’t?”
“He says that now. Give him a few more years and he’ll be all over girls. Right now, he hates us, though, probably as much as that cherry-flavored syrup he has to drink every day. Cherry-flavored, my ass. That does not taste like cherry.”
I remember the liquid multivitamin supplement I gave to David this morning and the expression on his face as he drank it. I guess it does not taste good.
“Why, though?” I ask Lucy, hoping to learn more. “Why doesn’t he like girls?”
“I don’t know. Aren’t all boys like that?”
Come to think of it, my cousins didn’t like me either when they were David’s age.
“Or maybe it’s some psychological thing like he thinks we’re all his mother and his mother left him so he hates his mother and he hates us.”
I look at Lucy. “Wow. That’s one… complicated theory.”
“Just something I got from Dr. Phil,” Lucy says. “But, nah, I don’t think that’s it.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “Me either.”
In the first place, David didn’t know his mother so he can’t be mad about her leaving. And she didn’t leave per se. She died, which I’m sure she didn’t want to do. I don’t think David would hate her for that.
Maybe hate is too strong a word. Maybe David just simply doesn’t like girls. The question is: Why?
“Sorry.” Lucy shrugs. “But I don’t think I can tell you anything more. You’re the new nanny so I guess you’ll have to figure it out for all of us.”
I nod. “Challenge accepted.”
Now, how do I find out why David doesn’t like girls?
I can think of probably the simplest, easiest method – ask him myself.
***
“Because girls are stinky, slow and stupid,” David gives me the answer without any qualms, crossing his arms over his puffed chest as he stands beside his bed.
I frown. “Who told you that?”
“I just know.” He sits on his bed and turns on the TV.
Yeah, right. I bet someone told him. A friend? A classmate? Or did he hear it from someone on TV?
I grab the remote and turn off the TV. “Young man, we’re not yet done talking, okay?”
“Oh, and girls talk too much,” he adds.
What the…?
I take a deep breath. Calm down, Sabrina. He’s just an eight-year-old boy.
“That’s not true, David. We are not stinky—”
“Ms. O’Donald is stinky. I keep feeling like I’m going to sneeze when I’m next to her.”
Probably, she put on too much perfume.
“And Jane is stinky. She keeps throwing up at school.”
“Well, maybe she’s sick. Anyway, those are just two girls. Not all girls stink. Do I stink?”
David doesn’t answer.
I’ll take that as a no.
“And we are definitely not slow or stupid,” I tell him as I sit near him. “In fact, we girls are just as quick, smart and strong as you boys.”
“No, you’re not,” he argues. “You’re fussy. All the girls in my class are fussy and all my nannies were, too.”
“Really?”
David nods. “They act like babies.”
I stand up and put my hands on my hips. “Well, I’m not fussy, David. I’m not a big baby. And tell you what, I’m going to prove it to you.”
He snorts. “How?”
“You tell me how.” I kneel in front of him. “You can give me three challenges.”
“Like dares?”
“Yes, like dares. If I can’t do them, then you can keep pushing me away and being mean to me…”
“And you have to give Zombie a bath and let me stay up until nine.”
I sigh. “Fine. But if I manage to do them all, then you, young man, have to promise that you’ll let me be your friend and that you’ll stop thinking that way about girls. Do we have a deal?”
He doesn’t answer at once. Probably, he’s weighing his chances.
“Well?” I urge. “Are you scared I might be able to prove you wrong? Even if I do, you have nothing to lose.”
He pouts. “Fine. We have a deal.”
“Good. Let’s shake on it.” I offer him my hand. “So, what’s your first challenge, sir?”
David touches his chin, a mischievous grin on his face. “Let’s see…”
Girl Power
Randall
What on Earth is going on?
Just a few minutes ago, I went to David’s room and neither he nor Sabrina were there. That’s fine. It’s not one of my rules for them to stay there at all times, after all. Now, though, as I approach the kitchen, I can hear David making weird noises and saying weird things like ‘brown vomit,’ ‘dog poop’ and ‘ants in your stomach.’
What the hell is happening?
As I enter the kitchen, I find out. At least, I see Sabrina on the counter, eating a burger. No, more like devouring the burger as fast as she can while David is sitting across her, watching her and cheering her on. No, not cheering her on but more trying to get her to vomit. In between them are two more plates, one empty except for some crumbs, and the other with another burger. The kitchen timer is there, too, ticking away, right beside a pitcher and a glass of water.
Okay. I think I know what’s going on. I’m still confused, though. Why is Sabrina speed-eating burgers and why does David want her to fail?
“David.” I approach them. “Was this your idea?”
“No,” he answers, quickly glancing at me before turning back to Sabrina.
Sabrina, on the other hand, just waves at me and then continues eating as she glances at the timer.
No? So, this was Sabrina’s idea? I find that hard to believe. If it is, though, then she must have a good reason behind it.
As she finishes the second burger, she grabs the glass of water, gulping it down. Then she pushes her plate away and grabs the third, cutting the burger on it into four and chomping away at the first quarter. She seems to be struggling now, though, slowing down.
“Spit it out! Spit it out!” David cheers as he beats his fist on the counter.
“David,” I warn him.
“What?” He shrugs. “It’s part of it.”
I guess it isn’t unfair. Even so, I can’t help but want Sabrina to succeed at whatever this challenge is and glancing at her, she seems to be having a tough time already.
Unable to resist, I grab one of the quarters of the burger, hoping to help her.
“No!” both Sabrina and David shout at the same time, Sabrina with her mouth still full.
/> “Sabrina has to finish all that by herself or she loses,” David explains.
Fine. I put down the piece of burger and anxiously wait for her to finish. I want to cheer her on but I don’t know if it’s the right thing to do. I don’t even know if she should be doing this.
Finally, she’s on her last quarter of burger and David looks scared, especially since there are still sixty seconds left on the timer. She goes through this one quicker than the rest, then gets off her stool and puts her hands, ketchup, mustard and mayo-coated fingers and all, up in the air.
David has the opposite reaction, his face falling on the counter like he was just the one who ate a ton of burgers.
“Oh, man.”
Done with cheering, Sabrina washes her hands and mouth, then goes back to the counter to drink another glass of water.
“Now, could you please tell me what’s going on?” I ask her.
She sets her glass down. “Your son and I made a deal. Basically, he gets to dare me to do three things that he thinks girls can’t normally do and if I do them, he’ll start thinking better of girls and be my friend. This is the first challenge. Well, technically it’s the second but…”
“First,” David says. “The one with the bugs was a trial.”
“Bugs?” I ask curiously.
“You know how your son already has his collection of fake bugs? So, the first challenge was for me to lie down on the floor and stay still for ten minutes while he covers me with those bugs, and mind you, there was a real beetle mixed in. But, hey, I did it.”
“But that doesn’t count?”
“It’s a trial,” David says again. “This is the first challenge.”
“Yup. So, this time, he told me to eat three burgers in ten minutes and that’s what I did.” Sabrina grins triumphantly as she lifts the three empty plates on the counter. “So, I guess we’re down to two, right, David?”
He doesn’t answer, lifting his face but still letting his chin rest on the counter. “Are you sure you’re a girl?”
“Of course, I am, silly.” Sabrina chuckles as she ruffles his hair. “What? Do you think I’m wearing a disguise?”
“Hey. Don’t touch my hair.” He smooths his hair again.
“Sorry. I forgot boys are touchier about their hair than girls are.”
