by Del, Lissa
“You know he can’t actually understand you.” Kat checks her phone for the tenth time in as many minutes. “Oh, Ian wants us all to have dinner on Friday night.” Ian is a friend we’ve all known since college. Back then I’d had high hopes for an Ian-Kat pair up, which would have been perfect because two of our best friends falling in love had seemed like the ultimate plan, but sadly, neither Kat nor Ian had been remotely interested. They did get along famously, though, so we’d all kept in touch and spent a lot of time together, barring the two years Ian had spent married to a Goth hairdresser before he’d come to his senses and divorced her.
“I can’t do Friday,” I grumble. “It’s David’s birthday.”
“Tell Mary-Anne you’re too sick to make it.”
“She wouldn’t care if I was already dead and Nick and the kids would still have to go.” I point out.
“I’ll tell him Saturday then,” Kat replies easily, jabbing at her phone with a plum-coloured fingernail.
“I need to check with Nick,” I remind her.
“Nick’s not going to say no.”
“True, but I need to find a sitter.”
“Stop being such a Negative Nancy. You’re going to find a nanny after lunch.” She flips her wrist to check the time on her Tag, even though she’s holding her phone already. “Oh God, speaking of which, I have a meeting in twenty minutes. Cancel the coffee, I don’t want to be late.”
“Since when have you cared about keeping someone waiting?”
“Since the ‘someone’ is a delectable young executive from Parker Homes who hasn’t succumbed to my usual charms,” she replies wickedly.
I drink the coffee on my own while re-reading the resumés. None of these three applicants are ideal on paper. I just hope these interviews aren’t going to be yet another colossal waste of my time.
I finally set them aside when my phone rings and Nick’s name appears on the screen.
“Hey babe.”
“Hey, how’s it going?”
“Good. I’m just looking through the resumés for this afternoon’s interviews.”
“Do you need me to pick up the kids?”
“No, I’ll get them. I should be done by the time they come out of school.”
“Okay.” He pauses, a sure sign that he’s got something important to say and I quickly intercept him.
“Kat said that Ian wants us to get together for dinner on Saturday night.”
“Don’t we have my dad’s birthday thing this weekend?”
“That’s on Friday.”
“Do you want to go? It won’t be too much for you, two nights in a row?”
“No, Nick, it won’t be too much for me,” I tease.
“Okay, sounds good.”
“Great, I’ll let him know. I’ll see you later.”
“Evie,” he says before I can say goodbye.
“Mmmm?”
“Did you speak to Doctor Moxley?”
I cringe. I knew he wouldn’t let me off the hook that easily. My gaze falls on the cat, which is now trying to cough up a fur-ball on the sofa.
“I did,” I reply confidently. “Just a few minutes ago.”
“Oh good.” He sounds relieved and I hold my breath, praying he won’t ask for any more details. Either God is listening, or Nick is far more swamped without Steph than he’s letting on, because he tells me he loves me and rings off.
I drop my phone onto the sofa beside me and reach for the cat. “Looks like you’ve got yourself a name, after all, Doctor Moxley,” I tell him, scratching his mangy ear. “And I have a feeling you and I are going to be spending a lot more time together.”
By the time Amy number one arrives, Doctor Moxley has left, leaving only the faint tang of cat piss and a slug-like, black fur-ball behind. I’ve just wrapped it in a paper towel and tossed it in the bin when the doorbell rings.
“Hi!” Amy number one yells cheerily as I open the door. It takes her about a nano-second to register my bald head and another twenty to compose her face into something suitably sombre. I’d take this girl for everything she had if we were playing poker.
“You must be Amy,” I smile, the perfect blend of polite but professional distance. “Please, come in.”
We sit in the living-room. My sofa has never looked as sophisticated as it appears with Amy draped elegantly over it, I think enviously. Then I remember that she’s sitting where the cat spat up.
“So, why do you want to be a nanny?” I ask.
“Well, obviously I don’t want to be a nanny forever,” she admits. “I’m actually waiting for a lucky break in my acting career. Until that happens, I need something simple to tide me over.”
“My children aren’t simple. They have well above average intelligence.”
Her eyes widen in horror. “Of course they aren’t! I didn’t mean…”
“I know, Amy, I was joking.”
“Oh!” A relieved bubble of laughter is followed with another inquisitive glance at my head.
“You want to be an actress?” I prompt. I haven’t even looked at my interview questions yet. I have an inkling I won’t be needing them.
“Yes,” her dark head bobs enthusiastically. “My agent says I have a very raw talent.” I suspect the agent didn’t intend this as a compliment, but I don’t pass comment. “He’s got a whole bunch of castings lined up,” she adds proudly.
“I’m looking for someone who can be reliable,” I point out. “How often do these castings occur during the day?”
Her smile slips. “Um… mostly they take place during the day, but I can be in and out in a couple of hours. You won’t even notice I’m gone.”
I set the sheet of paper in my hand aside. “Amy, I’m sorry, but at this stage I just can’t afford to be without my nanny for any extended duration. As you can see, I’m not well,” I add, when she looks set to argue her case, “and I’m not always available myself. My children need someone who will always be here if I can’t be.” Amy’s mouth closes. No one argues with someone who has cancer. It’s a cheap shot, but I’m not wasting her time, or mine.
“I understand, Mrs Danvers. I’m very sorry I…”
“Not at all,” I say, waving my hand breezily in the air. “It’s not your fault and I wouldn’t want to stand in the way of your aspirations.”
She gets to her feet a moment after I do and I walk her out. The entire interview took about four minutes, which leaves me with over half an hour before Amy number two arrives. I phone Kat.
“Aren’t you supposed to be finding the world’s best nanny?”
“I found the world’s worst actress instead.”
“Really? She’s been already?”
“She’s already left.”
“Don’t sound so down in the dumps. The next one will be the one, I can feel it in my waters.”
“I haven’t trusted your waters since they told you that Ricky Ferris was straight.”
“Hey, that wasn’t my fault. Besides, how many women do you know who can say they’ve snogged a gay guy?”
“Probably just me,” I admit. “But I would’ve preferred not to spend six months chasing him around campus because your waters told you he was into me.”
“My waters were wrong about that. They’re right about this. Just you watch.”
“If you’re wrong you’re buying my dinner on Saturday night.”
“If I’m wrong, Ricky Ferris is straight,” she says before hanging up.
Amy number two makes a much better first impression. Not only does she not baulk at my bald head but she notices the dark spot on the sofa and, before I know what’s happening, she’s blotting it with a paper towel dipped in vinegar.
“It’s an old trick my mom taught me,” she says. Even better, her short, pixie-cropped hair doesn’t poke the jealous hair-bear that’s taken up residence in my chest lately.
Everything is going perfectly until she spots the pictures of Jesse, Dylan and Casey on the mantel.
“Oh wow, they’re
gorgeous!”
I smile in the smug way that mothers do when someone praises their children before I realise I’m doing it, and then realise I don’t care. “Do you want kids of your own some day?”
She sets Casey’s picture back down and shakes her head. “It wouldn’t be right. I know a lot of same-sexed couples are taking the plunge, but Jacky and I just don’t believe it’s fair on the child. We both love kids, though.”
I’m so surprised it’s rendered me speechless.
“Are you surprised?” Amy asks, the corners of her lips tugging upward.
“No!” I scoff as if the thought is absurd.
“Then maybe you should tell your face,” she teases.
I can’t help myself and I start to laugh. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t realise. You don’t seem…”
“Gay?” she asks. “It doesn’t roll off the tongue very easily, does it? But then again, I’m guessing neither does cancer.” She gestures at my head. For a moment, I’m stunned, affronted and hopeful all at once. This girl is a dynamo. She’s not being rude and she’s not treating me like I’m dying. She’s just that blunt. I think I’m in love.
“Amy, I’m going to level with you. You’re not the right person for this job. I’m looking for someone very specific and you’re not it. But,” I snatch up her resumé with renewed excitement. “I see you studied business management?”
“Yes.” The word is drawn out into three syllables, a question, not an answer.
“My husband and I own a design business and we recently lost our in-office manager. Please don’t think I’m crazy, but I think you’d be perfect for that position. The pay is better,” I add quickly, “and there’s a lot of work, but to be honest, the kids are much more.”
Amy stares at me for at least half a minute and then she grins, a face-splitting smile that is dazzlingly sincere. “When do I start?”
8
Nick
The phone doesn’t stop ringing. The sound drills into my temples and gouges out what little brain matter I have left. Steph was a bitch but she knew how to keep things in order.
The phone rings again and I snatch up the receiver. “Danvers Inc., Nick speaking.”
“Hey buddy.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. “Hey Ian.”
Ian Harris is the closest thing I have to a best friend, or he would be if men had such things. He’s also been madly in love with my wife for the better part of two decades, something I forgave him for a long time ago because he’s never acted on it and, well, I understand just how easy it is to fall in love with Evie. What I’ve never understood is why she picked me when she could’ve had anyone. Evie is life incarnate, every inch of her bursting with energy and enthusiasm. Even now, with everything she’s facing, she refuses to go quietly. Death, it seems, may take life, but it cannot subdue it, and my fearless, feckless wife is irrevocable proof of that.
“I wanted to check if you and Evie were free for dinner on Saturday night,” Ian is saying now and I force myself to pay attention.
“Yeah, she mentioned it. Where do you want to go?”
“How about Lapiz?”
“That’s the new pizza place downtown?” Pizza twice in one week, I think, is probably not the best thing for Evie’s health, but I know better than to mention it to her.
“Yeah, they have a live band on Saturday nights,” Ian continues, “I thought it could be fun.”
“Sounds good.”
“Awesome. How’s eight o’clock?”
“Eight’s good. I just need to check if Evie’s found a sitter.”
“If she can’t, I’m sure Donna would watch the kids.”
Donna is Ian’s younger half-sister. A twenty-something collegian, Donna is always looking for ways to make extra cash.
“Great, I’ll keep you posted.” My phone lights up on the desk next to me. “Listen, I’ve got to go, Evie’s calling.”
“Tell her I say hi.”
“I will, buddy. See you Saturday.”
I hang up and raise my mobile to my ear. “Evie?”
“I found you the perfect assistant!” she practically squeals down the receiver.
“What?”
“Amy number two, the one who came for the nanny interview – she’s gay, by the way - she has a degree in Business and she can start immediately!”
My shoulders sag in relief. “Oh, thank God.” I know Evie and she wouldn’t recommend someone if she wasn’t suitable. She’s half the reason Danvers Inc. made it through the recession of 2007. Actually, she’s the sole reason we made it through. I was ready to foreclose but Evie wouldn’t hear of it and, instead, she went through the phone book and scheduled meetings with every reputable developer in the greater area. One, in particular, had refused point blank to see her, but Evie had simply arrived at his office unannounced and demanded to be seen. She’d dragged me along against my will.
“Mr Tidwell is not available to see you, Mrs Danvers,” the receptionist said when Evie handed over her business card.
“That’s okay, Ingrid,” Evie replied easily, reading her name upside down from her desk, “we can wait.” Evie had smiled then, completely disarming the woman. Evie’s smile was dynamite, it always had been, and I had yet to see anyone – man, woman or child, immune to her charms when she wanted something.
“Yes, well, I’m not sure if that will do you any good,” Ingrid had muttered, less certain now. “He has back-to-back meetings for the rest of the morning.”
Evie hadn’t responded, she had simply taken a seat in one of the plush, overstuffed armchairs in the reception hall and had gestured to me to do the same.
We had waited for almost four hours until I knew every inch of the marble-tiled floor, until the swirls of paint on the abstract artwork adorning the walls had begun to spin from being stared at too long. One by one, we watched as stuffy, suit-clad businessmen and one stunning blonde in a red onesie, which Evie called a pants suit, filed past and were granted entrance into the office behind Ingrid’s desk. Evie had glared at that polished oak door as if it had personally insulted her. I’d looked down at my beige pants and white, open-necked shirt and felt my anxiety rise.
My left leg had started to cramp by the time the last visitor had left and the unwelcoming oak door finally opened fully, to reveal a middle-aged man in a pair of faded jeans and a cream polo-neck sweater. Victor Tidwell almost didn’t notice us as he passed, but Evie jumped to her feet and planted herself firmly in his path.
Victor gave a start and then shot a puzzled look back at Ingrid who had discreetly buried her nose behind her computer screen.
“Can I help you?” he had looked down his long nose at my wife as if she might bite.
“Mr Tidwell, I’m Evie Danvers from Danvers Inc.” Evie’s hand snaked out and snatched Victor’s. “And this is my husband, Nick.”
He shook my hand automatically. “I see. And what, exactly, can I do for you folk?” His eyes darted toward the door and then slid to his wristwatch. I had seen that look before. This was a man looking for an escape route. I sighed inwardly and placed a hand on Evie’s back. She stepped out of my reach, closer to her prey.
“We wanted to chat to you about your interior design work. That’s what we do.” Like magic, one of our corporate folders found its way into his hands. “Danvers Inc. is a design company and we would like to work with you.” She said with rather than for, because she was Evie and she was slyer than a snake in the grass when she needed to be.
Unfortunately Victor Tidwell was one tough customer. “I’m afraid I’ve already got three design companies on my books and I’m not in the market for another.”
“Do you like sushi, Mr Tidwell?” The mega-watt smile flashed, brighter than a homing beacon.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Sushi,” Evie waved her hands in the air. “We’d like to treat you to lunch.”
Victor Tidwell had started to squirm. “Now?”
Evie made a point of looking at her watch. �
�Well, it is lunch time.”
“That’s very kind of you…” he floundered.
“Evie,” she inserted helpfully.
“Yes, well, that’s very generous of you, Evie, but I’m afraid I have a previous engagement.”
Standing beside her, I marvelled at how Evie’s smile faded, so slowly it was like watching the sun disappear behind a cloud. Victor Tidwell started to look more than a little alarmed.
“Look, how about I schedule some time to see you on…” he glanced back at Ingrid, who hastily flipped a few pages in what was, no doubt, his diary.
“Wednesday, 9 o’clock?” she offered.
“Wednesday, nine o’clock,” Tidwell repeated, looking anxiously at Evie.
Evie, to my utter horror, frowned at me, as if trying to recall if that time would suit us. As if we might have a thousand other places to be on Wednesday morning, as if our company’s very existence didn’t depend on this meeting and a positive outcome.
“That sounds good,” she acknowledged finally, while I gaped at her, uselessly. I could have sworn Victor expelled a sigh of relief.
“Well, I’ll see you then.” He shook our hands again and walked out of the door. Evie waved at Ingrid, who smiled.
“You weren’t really going to take him to lunch, were you?” I had asked as we made our way to the car.
“God no! We couldn’t afford it anyway. How horrendous if the card was declined?”
“Nick?” Evie’s voice over the phone pulls me back to the chaos of my office.
“That’s a relief,” I say, “when can she start?” I can picture the smug smile on Evie’s face.
“I thought you said you were coping just fine on your own,” she taunts. She loves to be right.
“Shut it you little Minx. When can I expect her?”
“She’s on her way,” Evie tells me happily. “Oh, I’ve got to go, I think my next interviewee’s here. Wish me luck!”
I set down the phone and look around the whirlwind front office. There are papers everywhere and three unwashed coffee cups on Steph’s desk. I haven’t even lifted a finger to try to clean up when the phone rings again. Oh well, she may as well know what she’s getting herself into.
