by Ava Mallory
“Hello.” I answered the other line.
“Is this Mercedes?” The woman's voice sounded familiar, but I couldn't recall where I'd heard it previously.
“Yes,” I answered. “Who is this?”
“Are you home?” She asked.
“Who is this?” I asked again. “Why do you want to know if I'm home? As if I'd answer that for some stranger.”
She hung up.
What in the world?
Hank looked at me curiously. “What was that about?”
I shrugged. “I don't know exactly. Nubbin called to scold me about Charlie and, then, some lady called to ask if I was home. What is it? I come home early and everyone decides to lose their minds?”
Just then, there were hard footsteps, marching up my front porch stairs.
“Who is that now?” Ruby asked, looking out the kitchen window. Her eyes went wide. She turned to look at Hank. “Uh oh.”
Margie immediately rushed to the door and pulled the door open, yelling, “Caught you, thief!”
A woman yelped. “Oh, you scared me! Where's Mercedes?”
It was the same woman from the phone call.
Ruby stepped in front of me as I made my way from the kitchen table to the front door in the living room. “Now, Mercy, I'm going to need you to remain calm.”
“Wait. What? What are you talking about? That's the woman from the phone. I recognize her voice.” I tried to move around her.
Mercy opened her mouth to protest, but her cell phone rang in her pocket and, being the supervisor of Nightingale Nurses, the traveling nurses agency that we worked for, she was obligated to answer all of her calls in case there was an emergency.
She answered her phone, “This is Ruby Nickles, the on-call supervisor.”
No wonder the woman's voice was so familiar, she was the housekeeper I'd helped my ex-husband find to clean his house a couple of days a week, because his cleaning skills were severely lacking. I should know – I lived with him.
“Kitty?” I asked. “How nice to see you. Was that you that just called me a few minutes ago?”
She pulled me in for a hug before noticing Ruby and Hank.
“Oh, hi! I'm so glad you're both here too. I was going to call you. Now, I can cross off a couple of more items on my wedding to-do list.” Kitty said.
It took me a good five minutes of staring at Ruby's stunned face to connect the dots. “You're marrying James?” I didn't mean to sound rude, but if memory served me right, Kitty Corker was a good fifteen years older than I was. That put her at about ten years older than James.
“Yes, I'm so glad that you introduced us. I can't tell you how much my life has changed for the better.” Kitty beamed like a blushing bride, while I fought to keep the contents of my stomach from escaping through the gaping hole in my face – my mouth.
Ruby spoke. “Honey, sorry, but that was the office. Someone has requested you for a job here in town.”
“Me, specifically?” I sounded on the verge of tears.
“Yes, Nathaniel Rich. Do you know him? He asked for you specifically. I thought you were going to take a couple of weeks off?” Ruby asked.
“I don't know anyone named Nathaniel,” I said. Things were moving too fast and none of it made any sense.
“Oh, that was me,” Kitty giggled. “I used to work for him and he asked me if I knew of some good nurses that could help care for his ten-year-old grandson. I recommended you. James says you're the best he knows. And, speaking of Jimmy, he told me that you would never go for this, but I think we're about to prove him wrong.”
Jimmy? He hated to be called Jimmy.
“I'm on vacation.” I answered, angered by her nerve. Who was she to volunteer me for any assignment? We weren't friends. She was just someone that a former patient of mine recommended to me. Now, I wish I'd never brought her into my life.
“Oh, but they are really nice people and little Cash is such a good boy. He's tons of fun.” Kitty said.
I couldn't take it anymore. I had to ask. “When did you start dating James? Last I heard, he was happy being single and when did you decide that you wanted to be called Katherine and...”
Ruby interrupted before I really got going. “Kitty, this is a lot to take in right now. How about we head on out of here and let Mercy get settled in for a bit?”
Kitty looked like she understood, but her mouth, apparently didn't get the message. She asked, “Before I go, I have to ask this – will you come to my wedding? I'd love to have you there with Diana and the Nickles'.”
“Diana? Well, of course, she'll want to be there for her father. Why wouldn't she?” My anger was about to reach an all time high.
“I know that, but she's going above and beyond. They all are. Everyone has agreed to be a part of my wedding party. I hope you will too, since you were the one who introduced us to each other.” Kitty said.
None of us noticed the young woman standing in the doorway, holding a clipboard and a bag.
“Excuse me, I'm selling cookbooks for my church. I was wondering if you'd be interested in buying one?” She directed her question at all of us, but none of us, except Kitty, could come up with an answer for her.
“Is there chocolate cake recipes in there?” She asked. To me, she asked, “Do you know how honored I'd be if you volunteered to bake our wedding cake? Jimmy always brags about your baking. He'd love you forever if you made our cake.” She screeched with excitement and handed the young woman some money for the cookbook.
Hank asked, “Is this a bad time to tell you that we bought you a new laptop?”
Ruby smacked him on the arm. “Not now, Hank. Not now.”
“Anyone call for a cab,” the young lady on the porch asked.
“Nope.” Margie answered as she tried to take a peek outside. “Hey, Mercy, do you know anyone with a kid?”
My brain was on overload. All of a sudden, I couldn't speak. I just stood staring at the circus act that had become my life. The couple of weeks that I couldn't wait to get started were now the exact things I couldn't wait to get through.
“Mercy? Mercy? Mercedes Mares, are you there?” I could hear Ruby's voice, but it was as if I wasn't there. She shook me. “Breathe, honey, breathe. Look who came to pay you a visit.”
She guided my head with her hands, turning it toward the doorway. Tina, my former co-worker and her son, Noah, stood waving at me with one hand and carrying a suitcase in the other.
Chapter Two
I looked down at my scrubs and had the sudden urge to run to the nearest big box store to buy something much more appropriate for employment at a place as austere as this home. I'd lived in Lake Villa for well over twenty-five years and had never once – well, maybe once a year to take my daughter trick-or-treating, but who didn't – ventured to this side of town. Quite honestly, I'm not even sure that this is considered 'part of town'. It was a stark contrast to what I considered the most spectacular home in all of California – my home.
“Do you have an appointment with Mr. Rich?” The guard at the gate checked his clipboard for my name, but I hadn't given him my name yet, so I sat uncomfortably, studying my chipping fingernails while he wasted both his time and mine, before he finally figured it out.
“What was your name again, ma'am?” He asked.
Again?
“I'm Mercy Mares. I'm supposed to meet with someone named Lucilla. As far as I know, I'm not scheduled to meet with Mr. Rich.” I answered him, wondering if I'd been mistaken. If I was, I definitely wasn't dressed for the occasion.
“Sir,” he said.
“Excuse me? I'm a woman,” I answered, wondering when was the last time he'd had his eyes checked.
“Yes, I can see that. I meant Sir Rich, the man who owns this home and about five others around the world. Why don't you know whose home you're visiting?” He spoke as if I was some kind of a dunce. I can't help it that while this Sir Rich was probably vacationing in the South of France, I was working among the real people – us long-suffering pe
ons.
“Of course I know who Mr., I mean, Sir Rich is. Who doesn't? But, like I said, I'm not scheduled to meet with him today. We had dinner last week.” I don't know why I said that. I didn't have anything to prove. Did I?
He looked at me like he didn't believe a word I said, but thankfully, he didn't want to argue the matter. “I'll have to give Lucilla a call because no one mentioned that she was entertaining guests.”
“She's not entertaining guests. I'm here for an interview.” I explained.
He stopped speaking and gave my beat down automobile the once over. Yes, I know my car is ancient, but she gets the job done – sometimes.
Pointing at the dummy tire I had Hank slap on for me after the debacle at my house the day I arrived home, he said, “You know that tire is not meant to be one for everyday use. That's a dummy tire.”
“Yes, I know, but tires this size are hard to come by these days, so I'll have to make do. Wait a minute, why am I explaining this to you? You don't care, do you?” I asked, embarrassed that I was about to divulge my car woes to a complete stranger.
“I don't. Now, let me call her, so you can get on out of here. Your car is an eyesore.” He said, looking from side to side to see if anyone could see my car parked in front of the equivalent of J.R. Ewing's Southfork Ranch.
“Rude much?” I mumbled under my breath as I revved my engine.
He glared at me as he spoke into the phone. Without bothering to say another word, he opened the security gates and went back to his post.
“Well, aren't you sweet?” I only said it because there would be no way he could have heard me over the sound of my squealing brakes and the muffler that was holding on for dear life.
Most people would have gotten rid of a car like my little over twenty year old Honda, but I wasn't most people. I believed in commitment and had a very difficult time letting go, except in the case of my marriage that needed to go long before it ended, but about my car – she'd been with me through thick and thin and the idea of dumping her because she'd done what we all naturally did, felt like a betrayal. I realize that I'm probably a little more attached than most car owners, but when you've grown up understanding the value of a dollar and the love of a good family, of course you wouldn't discard someone. What if someone discarded me because the legs that used to run for miles now struggle to walk up a flight of stairs without protesting?
The sputtering of my engine forced me out of my self-talk about my car. I quickly pressed the gas pedal because, like many anomalies about my car, hitting the gas sometimes made the sputtering stop at once and, at other times, it made my brake lights come on and refuse to turn off without having to pay my now well to do mechanic a hefty sum of money.
A small, curvaceous woman emerged from the front entrance. Taking notice of the liquids that spilled from my car's undercarriage, she pursed her lips right about the same time her arms folded in front of her and her right eyebrow quirked up. I could almost hear her thoughts. Hopefully, she would come to the conclusion that I desperately needed this job.
I stepped out of the car, not as gracefully as I would have liked, but I managed to avoid spraining my hip when I used it to close the driver's side door, twice after it kept popping right back open.
“Hello.” I waved to her.
She nodded, assessing me up and down. “I'm Lucilla Bernal.” She said, without offering her hand. “We'll do your interview in my office. Follow me.” She turned and walked quickly through the foyer and down a long hallway with parquet floors and custom wallpapered walls, lined with exquisite paintings that I'm sure were not knock offs. They smelled of money and power.
As we made our way to the back of the house, I noticed a number of open doors leading to impeccably decorated rooms, including a formal living room, formal dining room, a library, a powder room and finally a very handsome study. I didn't notice any staff inside any of the rooms, but I could safely assume that they were busy tending to their required duties and had probably been trained to blend into the scenery.
What can I say – I watched Downtown Abbey. I thought I had a pretty good grasp of how these things worked.
“Is the home always, so quiet?” I asked as the butterflies in my stomach decided to flutter. What was I so nervous about? I'd done hundreds of interviews and never felt like I wasn't up for the job. I mean, I've only been a nurse for over half my life. I knew I had the experience and the right attitude – on a good day, but no one ever said that a nurse had to be ultra chipper every single day of their lives. I mean, we were human, aren't we? Well, most of us anyway.
“Nathaniel – I mean, Sir Rich likes peace and quiet. He's getting up in age and likes his naps.” She said. “Now, if you're going to work here with Cash, it will be up to you to ensure that the house stays quiet and that things are kept neat and tidy in his wing. I have staff members for heavy cleaning and I take care of the daily duties and I manage the staff. That means, the grounds, the maintenance, the cooks, and the cleaning staff. I still get my hands dirty because I'm not afraid of hard work. Your job will be to take care of Cash. You will keep an eye on him and make sure that nothing bad happens to him. He's to keep his room clean. That's his responsibility. His studies will need to be tended to. Sir Rich has hired a couple of tutors to keep him on schedule, but he may need extra help. And, I'll fill you in on the rest of your duties, if I hire you.”
There's more?
I scratched my head. “I'm sorry. I thought Mr... I'm sorry, what do I call him? Anyway, I thought he specifically requested me to care of his sick grandson, not to clean his room?” This woman had me confused.
We entered a small office, tucked between a butler's pantry and a large dry storage room, just off the large industrial kitchen, equipped with double ovens, a brick oven, and a refrigerator with glass doors that had its own dedicated wall.
Whoa, I've never seen a kitchen as large as this one!
“Have a seat over there.” Lucilla pointed to the only chair available besides the one that sat behind her desk.
“This is a really beautiful home. I've never seen anything like this before in my life.” I was in awe at what a large home this was. Back when I was doing home health care exclusively, I'd taken care of a variety of patients, but none of them ever lived in anything the likes of this home.
“To answer your question, all of the employees call Mr. Rich 'Sir'. It's a title he earned and he prefers to be addressed that way. Until or unless he tells you otherwise, that's what you'll call him too. As for this house, it's his pride and joy. Like his many investment properties, he chose every last item and fixture in it. Nothing here hasn't been touched by him.” She explained, still not offering a hint of a smile.
“Wow, that's amazing.” I said, but really, what else could I say? Congratulations to him?
“Well, just so you never forget that this is his home. His everything. We have to respect that and respect him.” She warned me as if I'd ever do anything to cross the line. I was here to work, not steal the silverware.
“I understand,” I said. “What about his grandson or his children? How do they figure in?”
Her eyes darkened. “His children are none of your concern. Your focus will be on Cash and only Cash.”
Oh, you have no idea, lady. I never forget that my work is how I pay the bills. I wasn't going to tell her that, though.
“So, the boy I'll be caring for – his name is really Cash?” How appropriate!
Lucilla didn't like me. I could see it in her eyes. I just couldn't figure out why. I'd never met her before and I surely didn't want her job, so what was the problem?
“I think we're done here.” She said, pushing her chair back away from the desk. “You will need to buy appropriate clothing and no shoes in the house. I only let you keep them because you didn't know any better.” The corners of her thin lips quirked up for a millisecond before returning to the grim look she'd shown me since I'd arrived.
Didn't know any better? What's that supposed
to be mean?
“My interview is over? You didn't want to ask about my background or need references or anything like that? And, just what's wrong with my scrubs? What's more appropriate for a child?” I thought I looked pretty good. Maybe, I didn't shop in Beverly Hills, but that didn't mean I waltzed in here like someone off of skid row either.
She put her hands on her hips. “I may be the manager, but I have to follow orders too. Sir Rich asked me to have you pay a visit, so that I could assess whether or not you'd be a good fit for Cash. I've done that. You're here. We've talked. When I'm asked to do something, I do it.” She sighed and softened long enough to say, “I'm not going to lie and say that I agree with what he's asked me to do, but I am not arrogant enough to challenge him and his decisions.”
