“Ed,” I nodded, outstretching my hand to his. I clearly didn’t do this enough, because when he looked at my hand, he looked behind him, as if there was probably another, more important Ed standing there, one I’d actually want to talk to. Jesus, I really am an asshole.
“Sir?” his tone was unsteady and questioning and he slipped his worn, soil-coated hand into mine. His shake was strong, though, and I respected that. Everyone hates the man who puts their hand in yours and lets it go limp like a wet noodle.
“Do you happen to know the name of the um, housecleaners who work here, through your agency?”
As I asked, I realized I had no idea how much or little interaction these workers had with one another. Just because they all work for you doesn’t mean they all get together and hang out, you jackass, I scolded myself.
I’d never second-guessed anything about myself, not really. But this girl, trying to find out who she was, it had me behaving in a way I didn’t recognize. I liked having someone kick me into gear. It made me feel young, it made me… feel. Period.
He surprised me, pulling his hand from mine then reaching back for his wallet, rummaging through to find a single sticky-note, blue, folded in half.
“I know them both,” he smiled, pleased with himself and somewhat relieved that he was able to answer my question.
“Here,” he outstretched the blue note to me and I unfolded it, reading the handwriting scrawled across.
Britta 127 S. First Street, Apt 2B
“She’s the new one,” he added, referring to the girl from the kitchen. “Other one is her cousin. Got her the job.”
The other one. That must’ve been the dark-haired girl that drove the silver car. I’d recalled seeing her maybe once before, when Mavis was still around.
“What happened to Mavis?” I wondered aloud, trying to think of when the staffing changed.
“She moved abroad. That’s all we know. Three months ago,” he shrugged, clearly not interested in Mavis at all. Neither was I. All I wanted to know was how long Britta had been in my house, under my nose, without my knowing.
“Three months ago, is that when Britta started?” I asked, following the delicate lines of her cursive, rereading her name for the fifth time. Britta.
“Yes, sir,” he said, crouching to set the potted palm in the soil near the pool. “Britta tutors my son. First day I met her here at your place, she introduced herself. I told her about my kids, that I had a high school aged son who was struggling with his school work. She offered to tutor him for free. That’s why I have her address. I take him to her place twice a week, usually. I try and fix things while I’m there, as a way of repaying her, but sometimes she won’t even let me do that.”
She tutors a high school kid for free. It surprises me that she does this. Your early twenties are the most selfish time of your life, everyone knows that. And here she is giving up two evenings a week to help a family she just met.
“She’s a good girl,” Ed added, rising from his kneepad on the concrete, dusting his gloves off.
He knew so much about her. He’d been to her place. Unexpected jealousy climbs my neck and I clench my jaw, force a little smile.
“Is this downtown?” I held up the note with her name and address and Ed looked at me once, quickly but not so fast that I didn’t see the hesitation in his eyes, then nodded. He no doubt thinks I’m a creepy rich guy who wants to pay to have some maid fantasy-fulfilled.
“Yes, sir. You need to me to take something to her? I’m going tomorrow.” Now he seems protective, as if he doesn’t want me going to her place. Normally, this would greatly annoy me. But Ed worked for a few other assholes like me, how was he supposed to know I wasn’t like them? For all he knew, I was just like Ted Nolan down the road, whom Ed worked for as well. Ted “I’ll stick it in anything with a pulse and I don’t care who knows” Nolan, as I like to call him. In a way, it pleased me that Ed was protective of Britta. That she had someone looking out for her. I made a mental note to give Ed a big Christmas bonus.
“No, that’s okay Ed. May I keep this?” I asked, and before he could respond, I’d slipped the paper in my pocket. He’d been taking his son to her place twice a week for three months, surely, he remembered how to get there.
“Thanks, Ed. And, good work,” I added, though it felt disingenuous, even though it wasn’t. The timing was perhaps poor but I did truly appreciate and respect the work that they did for me.
In my Britta-induced haze, I drifted up to the third floor, went into my office and locked the door behind me. I don’t know why I locked it. No one was in the house for the rest of the day, but it was a habit that stuck with me. My last ‘girlfriend’ was fucking nosey and I hated it, so I locked doors. That was four months ago and I was still doing it. Habitually locking people out, I guess.
I sat at my desk, emails flooding my screen with work I wasn't in the mood to do. All I'd done my whole life was work. I didn't have a spouse and kids to fill my spare time, so instead, I filled my spare time with more work. Well, and, writing. Or trying to write.
I didn't claim to be a writer but writing was what I'd wanted to do when I was in college. My dad was in
