Queen of the Hide Out

by Alice Quinn

  “Cricri! Don’t rush away like this. I can’t handle the thought of seeing your radiant smile just disappear like that. Cricri, it’s taken only five minutes for you to transform my life. I love you! You’re everything to me! Let’s run away to a secret island together!”

  Just for a moment there, I’d allowed myself to believe all that was actually happening and wasn’t part of my odd little fantasy world. In reality, he said, “Mademoiselle Maldonne! I forgot to introduce you to Amy. Please come back a moment.”

  He was holding the hand of a young, curvy Filipino woman, and plastered across his lips was one of the biggest grins I’d ever seen. However, his eyes told a different story. He wasn’t happy—more like worried.

  “Allow me to introduce Amy. Most of the time, she deals with the housework. Sometimes she is joined by a friend of hers. Anyway, this is who will be here to welcome you in the mornings. Of course, you’ll have your own set of keys from tomorrow onwards. I’ll leave them in the entrance hall for you in this bowl here. Amy will wait for you before she leaves.”

  I held out my hand to shake Amy’s and flashed her my best toothy smile.

  “Call me Cricri!”

  She didn’t look particularly pleased to meet me.

  I put my raincoat on, picked up my stupid busted-up umbrella, and pulled open the heavy oak door, all on my own again to face the elements.

  This whole getting-a-job nonsense had me starving! I bought a baguette from a nearby bakery and managed a quick stop at my favorite grocery store on the way home. I picked up four big bars of dark chocolate. It was the sort of stuff that always came in handy when I was fixing milk and a snack for the cubbies.

  As soon as I returned to my trailer, I was preoccupied. What had I forgotten? Oh yes! I hadn’t asked for an advance! How was I supposed to cope until Saturday?

  22

  I think the God of Debt must have been on my side, because I managed to pick up the twins without anyone catching hold of me to try and get me to cough up what I owed.

  The sun had decided to make an appearance, which meant I didn’t have to get all the waterproof covers and my broken umbrella sorted out on the stroller. Bonus! I successfully got in and out of the place in under five minutes. I was still running late for Sabrina, though.

  Apparently, I wasn’t the only one. When I arrived at her school, she was standing at the gate, chatting with a little blonde girl who was also waiting for her momma. There was a staff member at the gate too, staring at me disapprovingly. She let me take Sabrina, anyway (how good of her!).

  Sabrina jumped into my arms and hugged me. When I put her back down, she turned her head around to face the other kid and gave her a wave.

  “Bye-bye, Victoria!”

  Victoria? Well, well, well . . .

  Suddenly, I was uberinterested in this little girl. This was the little mite who’d managed to rob me blind after all! OK, so she hadn’t exactly robbed me . . . but all the same!

  At that very moment, her mother came running up. Blonde highlights, heeled leather boots, Hermès scarf . . . She looked like she crapped money. Like the saying goes, money attracts money. It didn’t surprise me one bit that my Big Pink had been attracted to this bling-bling woman.

  The teaching assistant or whatever she was looked relieved and opened the gate to let the little blondie out. Then the assistant turned her back on us and strolled off back into the school. Charming.

  I was horrified by the scene that followed. As Madame Chic-Ass bent down to give her daughter a kiss, the little one threw her school bag on the floor and screeched, “Too heavy!”

  It was just a tiny little bag—real pretty, real cute, and pretty much empty. There was no reason the girl couldn’t have carried it herself. I sensed a tantrum coming on. Heck, it had already started.

  I really thought the mother was going to say something along the lines of “What are you playing at? Pick that bag up now!” But no. She just continued to kiss her daughter, then went and grabbed the bag from the ground.

  They started to make their way down the sidewalk. It was too much for me. I just couldn’t resist. I absolutely always have to open my big trap.

  “Hey! What in the hell? Are you going to let your kid talk to you like that? I just can’t get over it!”

  23

  She spun around, surprised, and gave me the once-over. She looked around, checking whether I was actually talking to her or not. When she realized she was the only person I could possibly be speaking to, she said, “I’m sorry? Can I help you with something?”

  I softened my tone and tried to come across as more friendly.

  “You know what? You really shouldn’t let a little girl like that take advantage of you! Do you have any idea how she just treated you? Can you imagine what she’s going to be like as a teenager? I’m sorry, but I just can’t stand seeing attitudes like that.”

  “I didn’t ask your opinion, did I?” she said. “What business is it of yours? I’ll raise my daughter how I please!”

  I was pissed.

  “Oh, you call that raising a child, do you? You don’t know the meaning of the word. Here, let me show you.”

  I rushed up close to her and took the school bag out of her arms. She let me do it. I think she was too surprised to stop me. I placed the bag on the ground.

  “Victoria?”

  The little girl gave me a scornful look. Her mother looked as though she could hardly breathe.

  “Go ahead, Victoria. Pick up your bag,” I said as kindly as I could manage.

  Victoria ran off as fast as her little legs would carry her toward her mother’s car. The woman bent down to pick up the bag again, looked at me, rolled her eyes, and whispered, “Pathetic!” She made her way to her car, mumbling, “Who is that clueless idiot? Honestly, how do I get caught up with these people?”

  That’s exactly what I’d just been asking myself!

  “Hey! No need for that! I heard you, OK?”

  Sabrina had watched all this play out. It’s just a shame the whole thing hadn’t been as educational as I’d hoped.

  Victoria, her stupid mother, Monsieur de la Pinsonnière, Amy, Mademoiselle Kessler, and my new job were all playing on my mind. It was like my brain was on a total loop. If someone were to offer me one hundred million euros to describe what today had been like, I don’t know if I’d be capable of giving a straight answer. Had it been a good day because I’d found myself a proper job? Or had it been a bad day because I’d stirred up a load of crap with the woman who had my diamond? I’d met so many new people. How would that turn out? What would this new life be like?

  Whoever knew the answer to those questions would be . . . well, a genius.

  Thursday: The Best Things in Life Are Free

  24

  Do you remember that movie with Audrey Hepburn where she sings about how she could have danced all night with that posh English guy? Well, that’s what I had running through my head as I woke up.

  I slept like a baby and had a ton of lovely dreams, none of which I could remember in any way, shape, or form. I woke up feeling great. I couldn’t wait to get started in my new job. At the same time, I knew I had to have my wits about me. I had to know exactly what I was getting myself mixed up in.

  I didn’t want to take any risks, so as soon as I dropped the kids off, I headed over to my favorite Internet café (well, the public library actually) and did a little research into the Pinson family.

  I typed in “Max Pinson.” Bingo! The first thing I came across was a load of artsy sites, a few forums, several passionately written articles about art forgeries, and a bunch of fluff about some big art crime that happened around fifteen years earlier that my old Max Pinson seemed to have been caught up in.

  OK then! Interesting! I didn’t know much about any of it, but I imagined that if an art dealer is able to get his hands on some good copies, the dough just comes rolling in, even more than it probably normally does!

  There was also mention of a guy calle
d Paul Kenny, a counterfeiter, who’d disappeared without a trace. From what I could gather, he’d sold a vast number of really valuable paintings to the very respectable art dealer Max Pinson. This meant that the wrinkly guy had also stood accused of dealing in fake art. He was arrested. They’d searched his galleries and tried to get all the paintings back, but they had been sold to collectors across the globe.

  Max Pinson proclaimed his innocence, whereas the articles remained inconclusive on the whole question. Any clients of his wouldn’t be able to tell whether they had fakes or not—even if they had their doubts after reading all this shit! Out of all the paintings Max had sold, it was next to impossible to find which ones were genuine and which ones phonies. All the newspapers talked about it for a week or so and then some cyclist hit the headlines with a doping scandal, and all the crap about Max went away.

  Not bad, huh? In just a few clicks, I’d managed to get hold of enough information to feel pretty confident about the whole work situation. I now had a clear advantage. I knew there was more to this guy than met the eye.

  What was weird was that there didn’t seem to be any follow-ups on the case. It was a big deal at the time, in all the national and international newspapers, but it only lasted a few days . . . then nada. It went into an intergalactic black hole or something. Some new hot gossip took its place.

  I really wanted to know how it all ended.

  A quick look at the clock at the bottom of the screen told me it was time to go. I ran to Place de la Foux and knocked megaloudly at the door using the huge brass knocker. In response, I heard what sounded like a little mouse squeak.

  When the door finally opened, I understood it was Amy who had made the yelpy noise. She welcomed me with a fake smile, and I couldn’t help but notice her looking anxiously behind me as if making sure I’d come on my own. Did this chick have something to hide?

  As soon as I stepped inside, she slammed the door behind me. We both hesitated a moment. We didn’t know whether we should shake hands or . . . kiss? She leaned in, and I gave her a big hug and some noisy smackers on her neck. Strange choice, I know.

  She seemed pleased, though, and beckoned me to follow her. “Cam ere!”

  I think that was English, but with a weird accent. Why didn’t she speak French? Did they speak English in the Philippines? What about Filipino? My Filipino was about as good as my English (which was probably worse than hers in fact), so I had trouble communicating with her and had to rely on hand gestures.

  “Me, Cricri, you?”

  She pointed to herself and said, “Amy.”

  “No, you no Amy. Amy they give you!” I gesticulated and tried to mime my words. There was a bit of a “Me Jane, you Tarzan” moment going on. “Filipino name? True name?”

  After around ten repetitions she finally understood what I meant. She beamed the widest grin at me and exclaimed, “Lani!”

  So I’d guessed right. Why did bosses always give their domestic staff new names? Maybe Lani sounded strange to them or something? I said her name over and over. It sounded great! I liked it.

  I followed her lead as we crossed the main hallway. She took me into a room with large bay windows framed by stunning high arches which looked out onto a beautiful garden and terrace. Max Pinson was waiting for us in the middle of the room. He looked impatient as he sat there with his ever present (I imagined) glass of whiskey in one hand and a big fat cigar stuck to his bottom lip.

  Lani shouted, “Bye-bye, goodbye! Seeing tomorrow!”

  And off she went like a shot. I barely even managed a wave in her direction before my new boss said, “Oh, so there you are, my sweet dearest one. I’ve been waiting for you. Are we to luncheon together? Have you had a drinkypoo yet? I’m as hungry as a wolf, let me tell you! Come along now. I’ve laid the bridge table in front of the window. I feel it’s much more intimate. I hate eating at the dining table.”

  25

  There was a long wooden table, beautifully polished, with candelabras and lace tablecloths at the other side of the room. No plastic covers here then. Under one of the huge windows was a lovely little table laid for one.

  There was a buffet lunch on a trolley. A nice salad for starters and then some steamed salmon under a bell jar. I could smell dill . . . Oh, it tickled my nose. I couldn’t wait to dive in.

  “Wow! We’re going to be as happy as clams with all this, aren’t we? It all looks so yummy!”

  “I’m not a clam, I’m Max.”

  “I know. It’s just an expression!”

  “I know too. It was just a joke.”

  We both had a little giggle. He’d scared me for a second. I really loved the wrinkles around his eyes when he laughed.

  “You know what? I never had a job before where they fed me like this!”

  “Well, that’s life, I guess!” he said.

  “You sound like my daughter Sabrina!”

  “Really? What a charming thing to say! Wonderful!”

  He was much livelier than the previous day. Where was the old wizened guy I’d met?

  He sat at the small table and waited for me to serve him. There wasn’t another chair at the table, but I noticed a second plate, set of cutlery, napkin, and glass next to the food. So what did that mean? I could eat only after I’d served him, and I’d have to do it standing up? That was annoying! I really wanted to sit my ass down. Were the slaves forbidden to eat with the master?

  “Why do you get to eat at the table, and I have to stand up and eat next to the food? What’s that all about?”

  He squinted and looked a little bothered by what I’d said.

  “What? Does this surprise you in some way?”

  “Um, no, not at all. In fact, I prefer it. I hate listening to people chew on their food, anyhow. I’d rather just stand over here on my own and eat. That’s, like, totally normal for me.”

  “Is that right?” His tone changed to what sounded like resentment. “I’m sorry, but I require the company, so you’ll just have to live with my chewing noises. Take a chair and come and sit opposite me now.” He pointed to one of the chairs at the larger table.

  So now he was forcing me to eat with him. That was a total one-eighty move! It was exactly as I’d intended. Who wants to eat standing up? I hurried as fast as I could to serve him. As he watched me, he knew he’d been had. I could see in his eyes that I hadn’t gotten away with it. He was on to me.

  “So, my dearest, tell me everything there is to know about you. I’d like to know exactly who it is I’m dealing with here.”

  “Well, we’re like peas in a pod, me and you! But I guess I know more about you than you do about me.”

  “Of that I’m sure, my dearest! Just look at how quickly my son hired you yesterday. He couldn’t have known all that much about you now, could he?”

  I smiled. This wiseass wasn’t nearly as soaked as he looked. In fact, I think he was a bit of an old asshole. He clearly enjoyed manipulating people. He could give it, but he couldn’t take it. He wouldn’t let something just drop. He was a hard nut! Or maybe I was projecting too much. Perhaps he was just a bit crazed and didn’t know what was going on from one minute to the next. Whatever the case, I could tell then and there that I’d never get bored with this job.

  “So what do you know about me?” he asked with a charming smirk.

  “I know you were caught up in some sort of criminal art business. That doesn’t look too good to me.”

  “OK. I understand what you’re referring to. The Kenny affair. What a nightmare. Is that story still following me around? That’s because of the Internet, isn’t it? It’s just no longer possible to have our little secrets, is it?”

  He laughed. Just watching him laugh made me want to join in. It was infectious. We were obviously going to be great friends. But this one was a rogue, and I had to be on my guard.

  “I’m as innocent as they come as far as that whole business is concerned. I’m whiter than the virgin snow! When I bought those paintings, I had no idea. I was to
tally had! But let’s just leave it at that. I’d rather people thought I was a criminal and had dealt fakes than I was a dumb idiot who didn’t know what he was doing. So just you keep what I’m saying here between us. I mean, an art dealer should be able to spot a phony piece of work, shouldn’t he?”

  So that was his version of events. He was the victim. Not guilty.

  I served him some of the fish. “Are you on a diet, sir?”

  “Ha! So it would seem! I have no complaints, though. We have an excellent caterer here, and Amy certainly knows how to use the microwave. Thank you!”

  “You’re welcome.”

  After this pleasant little conversation, we ate in total silence. He took ages to chew his food. I soon realized why we were eating puréed veggies and steamed fish. It was the only thing he could manage. He had some kind of tooth issue. Gross.

  As we sat there, our meal was interrupted at least three times by the telephone ringing. He explained it was his kids. He hadn’t been getting along with them too well. I worked out that he was sick of them calling him up for loans. Apparently, this was the only reason they ever called. I could tell from his end of the conversations that all he got was a brief “Hello, how are you?” and then straight in to asking for cash. I couldn’t hear their exact questions, but from his side of things, his replies were short, hard, and always “No! No more money from Daddy!”

  I thought maybe he was having a few money problems of his own. I mean, why would you refuse your kids like that?

  After the third or fourth call, he murmured, “They’re all parasites!” Then he stared at me. “You know what? You don’t know how lucky you are, dearest!”

  “And why’s that?”

  “Well, you don’t have any worries when you’re broke! Being hard up is nothing but a blessing. Your children will certainly never bother you for money like mine do. They’re all absolutely useless! Well, almost all of them.”