by Lily Zante
I feign a long drawn-out yawn.
“Working for this guy is wasted on you.”
“I can’t help it if I don’t know much about him.”
“Did you know that he had a girlfriend who died under mysterious circumstances?”
“What?” My eyelids fly open. “When?”
“A long time ago.”
“Where they dating?”
“I think they’d just split up.”
“What?”
“It was around the time The Attic blew up. It catapulted him into success.”
My insides cartwheel and jiggle at the news. My earlier power over Ward fizzles away and is replaced by a sense of foreboding.
“The new book,” says Jamie, in a suspenseful voice. “Have you managed to get a sneak peek at a few pages?”
I shake my head. “He’s made it clear to me that his desk is off limits.”
“Don’t you see his work area?”
“I do. I have to clean the study first thing, but he’s warned me to not touch anything, or snoop around. The place is littered with junk food wrappers and cans, but the main area on his desk is neatly organized. He has a pen.”
“A pen?”
“A MontBlanc pen he seems to cherish.”
“A MontBlanc?” Jamie echoes.
Now that I’ve had ample opportunity to clean his desk, I can see that while it’s a mess, the middle of it is pristine. I tell Jamie, “Towards the center, everything is lined up nice and neat. His notebook closed. His sheets of paper all tidily placed underneath. Then he puts his magic pen across the top of the notebook, and six sharpened pencils placed vertically along the righthand edge.”
“The freak!”
“You can’t call him that,” I say. “He’s not a freak. Just … lazy.” I recall the plethora of things I have to clear up after him daily.
Jamie makes a face as if he’s disgusted. “I’m shocked. I had no idea he was such a slob.”
“You don’t have to clean up after him. You just have to give him a workout.”
“I can do that, but I can’t start for a couple of weeks.”
“A couple of weeks?” I cry, horrified. I’m worried that Rob will get desperate and find someone else for the role. I’ll try and work on him. A couple of weeks isn’t that far away. “Talk to his agent and explain,” I say. “Rob’s a good guy. You’ll see.”
“Now?”
“Yes, now.”
I call Rob on my phone. “Hey, Rob, it’s me. I have a new personal trainer for Ward. He can’t start for a couple of weeks, but he’s one of the best. I can vouch for him.” I wink at Jamie as I pass the phone to him. Already I feel a little happier about returning to the mansion tonight. It’s not home, I don’t have a place I can call home right now, and that thought leaves me feeling unsettled.
But at least seeing Jamie every day will be something to look forward to.
Chapter Eleven
WARD
* * *
“I’ve found you a new trainer,” Rob tells me.
“I don’t need a new trainer,” I protest. “I managed to do a workout myself.”
“I heard.”
“From who?” Though I have a pretty good idea from who. I don’t tell him that I haven’t done one since that day I found Mari in the gym. I’ve avoided that room, and her, for days.
“Mari.”
I hope he doesn’t have her spying on me. That would be below the belt. I’m aware that he’s worried I’ll stop writing completely, like before, but that’s not going to happen this time. I wonder if that’s the purpose for him hiring a live-in housekeeper for me. “What did she say?” I ask, curious.
“That you were working out in the gym. That you’d figured out something with your story. It pleases me to that you’re making an effort to be nice.”
“It was a passing comment. Not a conversation.” Why in the hell is she talking about me to Rob?
“Jamie Hurst starts in a few weeks’ time. He needs to take care of a couple of things first.”
“When was this decided?” I was getting used to the idea of having the mornings to myself, without the added stress of a personal trainer.
“You need someone, Ward. I told you, James Garvey suffered a heart attack. The way you’re going, I have reason to worry.”
“So you found me a new trainer,” I state, wanting to change the conversation.
“Mari found him, actually.”
“Mari?”
“Jamie is a friend of hers. They both got laid off at the same time, so try not to fire him.”
“Him as well?”
Rob laughs. “You worry me sometimes.”
“I worry myself.”
“I’m serious. Give the guy a chance.”
I hang up, curious now to see what this new trainer friend of Mari’s will be like. She’s gone out to do some grocery shopping. I know this because she left me another note on the kitchen island telling me. Maybe now is a good time to go to the gym while she’s out of the house.
Why am I tiptoeing around her? Why do I care?
There’s something about Mari that makes me more self-aware, but I’ll be damned if I can figure out what it is. I’m not attracted to her, I barely know her. Then why do I care what she thinks?
She makes me feel like less of a man. I hate for her to see my flabby, unfit body, and I hate that she is fit and slim, and can easily do the things I struggle to.
I never used to be like this. Not in my thirties but hitting forty has brought its own set of problems.
Sitting at my desk, writing, or pretending to write, has many disadvantages. It’s not just the emotional mind-crushing feelings of imposter syndrome which riddle me, but the sheer difficulty of writing something that people might want to read. Time and again I wonder if I can actually do this. Always I wonder if I have failed. And apart from the emotional toll, my writing has also taken a toll on my health. My stomach bears the brunt of it.
It makes me angry each time I see a photo of James Garvey looking dapper, distinguished and a picture of success. He’s what a real author looks like.
I head into the kitchen and glance at Mari’s note again.
Chopped fruit in the fridge. More salad and quinoa for lunch.
I look in the fridge to find the plate of food. It looks bright and colorful, but it doesn’t look appetizing. I’m tempted to have a couple of donuts, but I am also embarrassed by my gym encounter with Mari. It shouldn’t make a difference, but it does.
I leave the plate of salad and instead reach for the bowl of chopped fruit. I’ve written four pages this morning and I’m pumped. My characters are taking shape and the plot is thickening.
Something has changed.
I feel motivated to write, and though I’m not back to my usual productive standards, I’m making progress.
Perhaps Rob was right and having a change of scenery and environment is helping a little. Being forced to live with another person has made me self-conscious. I never cared what Freya thought of me. She never intruded on my thoughts. With her, I was never forced to have interactions. Unlike now.
I’m sitting at the island, eating, when the housekeeper walks in.
“Oh.” She stops when she sees me, as if she’s shocked. I don’t normally have my lunch in here. It’s always at my desk in the study but for some reason I decided to eat here today.
“I hear your friend starts here soon.” I wipe my mouth with a napkin.
“Jamie?” She breaks out into a smile. “He has a few things to straighten out with his current workplace. He’s definitely starting?” She sounds hopeful as she runs her hand through her silky hair. It’s the color of dark chocolate, with caramel mixed in. Strange how I never noticed that before.
“In a few weeks.”
“That’s great. You’ll like him.”
I have my reservations. “Will I?”
“He’s nice and friendly, like Trevor ...” She winces, as if she’s wandered into h
ostile territory.
“Trevor was rude and disrespectful.”
She starts unpacking the groceries but doesn’t answer. It was a rhetorical question. We haven’t been in the same room since that time in the gym. This first meeting is a little stilted but there isn’t the usual edge.
“You don’t ever go out,” she states.
“I don’t need to. Everything I have is here.”
“But going for a walk can be nice. It might help you to get some fresh air.”
I don’t find her curiosity, or advice, as offensive as I usually would.
“Rob says you and your friend both lost your jobs.” I’ve never had more than a few words to say to Freya, and I’ve known her for years. I have no idea why I’m taking the time and trouble to make conversation with Mari now.
“We all got laid off. All the staff. It was horrible. The owner was charged with money laundering offenses. We had no idea any of this was going on.” She shivers with disgust. “I never thought my boss was that kind of person.”
“People will surprise you in ways you can never imagine.”
“You’re right. You’re absolutely right about that.”
I should know. I write about these people all day long.
“Jamie is nothing like Trevor.”
“No?” He must mean something to her. I wonder if she’s subtly pleading with me not to fire him.
“He’s a good guy. Most of my belongings are at his place.” She stops suddenly, as if she’s said too much.
He is her boyfriend.
A thorn pricks at my side. This means they will laugh about me, and talk about me, just not here. They’ll do it in private. “You’re together?” Why did I ask that? Why did I pry in a way I never do?
“God, no,” she cries. “We’re just friends.”
Even if they are just friends, there’s a chance I’ll be the butt of their jokes and I won’t even know. I get up abruptly, the need to shut myself away pinching my thoughts.
“You’re leaving?” she asks, looking startled at my abrupt departure.
“I have words to write.”
She nods, as if she understands. “Do you need me to bring you anything? You seem to be making progress.” Her smile is light and reassuring. She’s making an effort. Trying to be nice and friendly. I should make an effort, too, but now I wonder if I should head to the gym and do a workout before her friend shows up.
Chapter Twelve
MARI
* * *
I can’t decide if Ward is becoming more civil, or if I’m getting used to him. Or whether I feel sorry for him, knowing about his mom and his girlfriend. But as the weeks go by, we reach a nice equilibrium.
Being cooped up together gives people no choice but to try to get along. It also helps that the house is huge. We could go the whole day without seeing one another, like we did soon after the gym encounter.
I make it a point to go into his study first thing every morning and give it a good cleaning before he starts. I’m still as careful as ever around him. I’m aware of his short temper and I can’t risk losing my job over his tantrums.
The shining light on the landscape is Jamie coming on board. Even though Ward is nicer, it’s still lonely and isolating being here. I miss not being in a work environment. Back at the hotel I had plenty of interaction with my work colleagues and the customers. I was surrounded by people, and I never realized how important it was to me until I took this job.
I don’t know how Ward does it, sitting indoors all day long. In all the time I’ve been here, he hasn’t been out once. Lately, he’s in his study more and spending less time in the TV room. I’ve noticed that he also doesn’t wear that loose-fitting robe of his.
I haven’t seen him in it this week. Instead, he’s been wearing sweatpants and baggy sweatshirts.
As I walk into his study, I’m surprised to see him and I jump back in shock. “I wasn’t expecting you in here so early.”
“It came to me,” he says, not looking at me. He’s scribbling away furiously as if I’m not even here.
“What did?”
“The twist. I slept on it, and I woke up with the perfect twist.”
“I’ll wait until you’re having lunch before I polish the surfaces,” I tell him but I pick up his litter from the coffee table and the sofa. He’s even got a half-full can of fizzy drink on the mantelpiece above the fireplace. I notice that he’s got a fire going. Usually when I come in here, the blinds are always drawn, but with the fire going, there’s a dark, cocoon-like ambiance to the room.
He picks up his pen and taps it on the desk repeatedly. He seems somewhere else. I know my place, and it isn’t here. He continues to tap away with his pen, and I, curiously, glance over my shoulder at him as I walk away, then trip over something on the floor. A box of cookies. The half-empty bag of chips in my hands goes flying to the floor and some of them fall out, leaving a mess. I scoot down to pick them up.
“Go,” he growls.
I look up. “But I’ve made a mess—”
“Go. Before I lose it.” It’s an order. I jump up at once and leave.
WARD
* * *
I stop tapping my pen and flex my fingers before I start writing again. Moments like this are rare, when I wake up with a full scene in my head and the urgency to get it down on paper spurs me on. The problem which had stalled me last night vanished into a wisp of smoke and I was writing down new words, my pen flying, ideas pouring out of my head. Until she walked in.
Mari interrupted the flow. Her bending down to pick up something is a level of interruption I don’t need.
I didn’t mean to be so short with her, but what ordinary people don’t understand is that when words are stuck in my head, they need to come out. They don’t come out when I see Mari’s pert bottom facing me.
As it is, I’ve struggled to unsee her in her gym clothes, bent over doing her downward pose.
Freya never distracted me in that way.
No one ever did.
I don’t like live-in housekeepers, and one such as Mari is the most dangerous of all.
I try my ritual again. Tapping the pen twenty times on the desk. All writers have a writing ritual. I’m not the only one. Something, anything, to get the muse working. Only, this time, she seems to have failed me. I can’t pick up from where I was.
When I’m in the flow, words gush out like water from a dam. I lose track of time, of who I am, of where I am and when I stop, my fingers are stiff.
I was on a streak until she came in. I’d been up early and writing for two hours. I flick through the sheets I have written. It’s all here, every single last detail of it.
Getting up, I flex my fingers and I pace around the study. I have to get my writing streak back. After a few more minutes of flexing my fingers, and rotating my shoulders and turning my neck from side to side, I hunker down at my desk and attempt to write again.
MARI
* * *
He’s been in the study all day and hasn’t even come to the kitchen to have his lunch. I debate over whether I should take it to him. The guy needs food and water. But I recall how annoyed he was when I tripped and made a mess on the floor and then started to clean it up.
He needed to be left alone.
I put his lunch back into the fridge and set about with my cleaning duties. Later that evening when I go to make dinner, I see that he still hasn’t had his lunch. I debate once more about risking his anger and taking some food in for him. Then I decide against it.
I make a light dinner, in case he might want that instead of his lunch, and head into the gym for a workout.
Jamie and I used to do this in the hotel gym at the end of our shifts, especially on a typically bad day. Ten minutes on the treadmill, five minutes on the vertical climber and five minutes on the rowing machine. It’s not easy to make myself do this alone. With Jamie, it never seemed like such hard work because we’d be talking and he’d be making jokes. It says something about
my current state of mind and where I am that I’ve chosen to do a workout instead of going out or watching TV.
Loneliness is hard for me to handle, and boredom doesn’t help.
I move onto some light weights, and then I open up my yoga mat in the corner and do a few yoga poses. The stretches and breathing exercises make me calmer, stretch my muscles, and take all the knots and kinks out of my body. I end with my favorite yoga move of all, lying on the mat with my eyes closed, and my legs out and my hands on the side, breathing and trying to clear my mind.
I’m floating.
Floating, floating, floating.
Then I see Ward at his desk, tap, tap, tapping away with his favorite pen.
I try to clear my mind, to erase that image.
But it flashes into my head again.
He’s tap, tap, tap, tapping.
I hear a noise and my eyes fly open.
Ward’s dark hypnotic eyes stare down at me.
Jesus.
I’m about to bolt upright, except I’m paralyzed and I can’t move. A gasp falls out of my lips at the sight of him standing over me. The words ‘axe murderer’ flash before my eyes in blood red letters and I stare quickly at his hands.
My heart almost shoots out of my mouth.
“I didn’t mean to snap at you,” he says.
“What?” I manage to sit up, seeing that he isn’t carrying an instrument with which to kill me. But I can’t help feeling scared. After all, he crept into here and I didn’t even hear him.
Then I remember that his girlfriend died under mysterious circumstances. What does that mean, mysterious circumstances?
How long has he been here? Feeling a little underdressed in my sports bra and clingy yoga pants, I hug my knees up towards my chest in the hope that they’ll give me some cover. Ward is still standing, towering over me, and I’m sitting hunched up on the mat.
I promise to inspect every inch of the house in thorough detail tomorrow looking for bugs and hidden cameras.