by L.H. Cosway
All I knew was, he wasn’t inviting Gillian to spend her lunch hours with him playing chess.
It was five past seven when I arrived at Mum and Dad’s. They lived in Hackney, in the same little house I’d grown up in. It was far from a perfect place. The house was old and worn and in definite need of a lick of paint, but it was home, even more so when it was filled with the aroma of my mum’s cooking. My mouth was practically watering at the scent of her special recipe moussaka.
“You’re late!” Mum said, one hand on her hip, her usually plump lips drawn into a thin line. “We’ve all been waiting.”
By “all” she meant her, my dad, and my younger brother Kain, who had just turned twenty-one and still lived at home. My older brothers, Leon and Matt, were married with children and had long since moved out.
“Sorry, sorry, today was my first day on my own, and it took me a little longer to finish up than usual,” I said, raising my hands in the air. I loved my mum to pieces, but she had a fiery temper and got mad easily. Lateness was one of her many pet peeves, especially when she’d gone to the trouble of cooking.
I almost laughed as I took off my coat and saw she was holding a spatula. She pointed it at me like it could’ve been used as a lethal weapon. “The next time I will make fish fingers! Then you’ll learn to be on time.”
Now I did laugh. Mum had only moved to the U.K. when she was twenty-three, so she still had an accent, and “fish fingers” just sounded hilarious when coming from her. I stepped forward and gave her a hug, which seemed to placate her mood.
“I’m sorry, mamá, it won’t happen again.”
She sniffed. “Yes, well, see that it doesn’t. Now come on, you look starved.”
I followed her inside the kitchen, saying hello to Dad and Kain as I took a seat at the table. I filled them all in on the details of my new job, and I didn’t fail to notice the look of pride in my dad’s eyes when I spoke. I knew the fact that I’d gone back to school meant a lot to him. He’d always told me I had brains to burn, and that I was wasting my time working in a bar. I wasn’t quite sure that I’d ever go much further in my career than working at Johnson Pearse, but at least it was something.
We were just done with dinner when my phone began to vibrate. Since texting at the table was another of my mum’s pet peeves, I excused myself to the living room to check my message.
Oliver King: Are you busy?
Alexis: Just finished dinner. What do you need?
Oliver King: I’m at a meeting that’s running late. I was due at my mother’s an hour ago, but it looks like I’m not going to make it. Can you pick up some flowers and deliver them to her?
I frowned at his message. I didn’t want to blow off my family, since I usually stayed and watched TV with them after dinner, but I was really curious to meet the elusive Elaine King. Okay, so I was morbidly curious. She hadn’t been seen in the public eye for more than a decade, and there had to be a reason for it. Plus, she’d been the one to teach King how to play the piano so beautifully, and I was a little in awe of her for that. Finally, I replied.
Alexis: Of course. Send me the details.
Needless to say, Mum was none too pleased when I skipped out on her early. I left with a promise to visit again at the weekend, and that kept her happy. When I arrived at the florist, there was a huge bouquet of red and yellow lilies waiting to be collected. I picked them up, careful not to damage the petals, and went outside to thumb a cab.
Elaine King lived in a four-story period house in Bloomsbury, a very exclusive and expensive area of London. I stood outside for a moment, gathering my nerve. I’d never stepped foot in a house like this in my life, and it was slightly intimidating. Finally going for it, I pressed the doorbell, and a moment later a female voice came through the speaker.
“Hello, is that you, Oliver?”
“Mrs King, my name is Alexis. I’m your son’s assistant. He had a meeting run late and asked me to deliver some flowers. I hope that’s okay?”
“Flowers? Oh, yes, flowers. Okay, I’ll be right there.” There was something manic and airy about her voice that sounded kinda off. I was standing there for a good five minutes before I finally heard the door being unlocked. She opened it slowly, and I was met with an older pair of ice-blue eyes that were almost identical to King’s.
She studied me for a moment, then craned her neck around the doorframe to ensure I was alone.
“Do you…do you have any identification?” she asked, a tremor in her voice. Jesus, was she okay? Resting the bouquet on my hip, I rummaged in my bag for my work I.D. before pulling it out and showing her. She took her time scanning the details, and then before I knew it, she’d reached out and grabbed my wrist, pulling me inside. Her hand was cold. It all happened so quickly that I barely had time to react. I was standing in the foyer, still holding the flowers and my I.D. when she began flicking locks and pushing over deadbolts.
Whoa. That door had a lot of locks on it.
When she finally turned to face me, I had a proper chance to take in her appearance. Her light blonde hair was long and raggedy, and she wore a cream silky robe over a pair of peach-coloured pyjamas, slippers on her feet. Her complexion was pale, and there was a nervousness in her expression that made me want to put her at ease. She was like a twenty-first-century Miss Havisham, locked away in her big old house. I could already see that the furnishings were dusty and uncared for, which meant she probably didn’t have any household staff.
“Hi,” I said, clearing my throat. “I’m sorry for intruding, but like I said, Mr King wanted you to have these.”
She stared at me, seeming to flounder for a moment, and I got the feeling she didn’t speak to new people very often. Then her eyes went to the flowers, and her face lit up in a smile.
“Oh, my, they’re beautiful,” she said, coming and taking them from me. Without another word, she carried them into the living room and placed them on the window ledge. I noticed that she needed to squeeze them in, because there were a bunch of other vases there already. Some of the flowers were fresh, and others looked like they’d died a long time ago. I felt a little shiver run down my spine. There was definitely something not right about this woman.
“Thank you so much for bringing these. Oliver knows I love my flowers. I remember when I was still performing, I’d come back to my dressing room, and it would be full to the brim with bouquets. Oh, the smell was just heavenly.” She paused, and swallowed, her bloodshot blue eyes considering me shyly. “Would you like to…to stay for a cup of tea?”
I wasn’t sure if I did, but there was no way I could say no to her. She seemed so lonely, and she had clearly sequestered herself away from the outside world. I wondered if King was the only person who ever got to visit her.
“Of course,” I replied. “That’d be nice.”
She smiled again and motioned for me to follow. A moment later, we were entering a large, unkempt kitchen. The sink was full of unwashed dishes, but thankfully she set a clean-looking mug down in front of me for the tea. As she busied herself making it, I felt my phone buzz in my pocket and pulled it out.
Oliver King: Did you deliver the flowers?
Alexis: Yes.
Oliver King: How did she seem?
Alexis: She seems okay. I’m still here. She invited me in for tea.
I knew saying she was okay was stretching it a bit, because there was nothing okay about this situation, but I didn’t feel comfortable asking King about the state of his mother’s mental health in a text message. There was a long stretch in between me sending the text and King replying. Elaine had made the tea and was pouring some into my cup with an unsettlingly shaky hand when I felt my phone buzz again.
Oliver King: I’m still in the meeting. I’ll call you later. Be as sensitive as you can with her.
Well, it was obvious from his response that when King had asked me to deliver flowers, he hadn’t expected his mum to invite me in.
Alexis: I will. Don’t worry. Talk to you late
r.
Elaine sat down across from me, her hand still shaky as she lifted her cup to her mouth. She took a sip, then set it back down. I clasped my hands together in my lap. This was one of the oddest moments of my life, sitting in a kitchen having tea with a woman who was once a global superstar. I drank some tea.
“Goodness, you must think all this is terribly peculiar,” said Elaine, gesturing around the room.
I didn’t want her to feel bad, so I said, “Oh, give me peculiar over ordinary any day. It’s far more interesting.”
Something about my response made a tiny smile crop up on her lips. “I would have dressed if I’d known I’d be having company.”
I waved her away. “Don’t sweat it. Me and my roommate Karla practically live in our PJs when we’re at home. In fact, it’s the highlight of my day, getting home and slipping into a pair. And don’t even get me started on bras. Taking those torture contraptions off after a day’s work is pure heaven.”
Surprising me, Elaine laughed, a light, tinkling sound. She settled into her seat, looking a little more at ease now. “How long have you been working for Oliver?”
“Not long. His other assistant, Eleanor, is retiring soon, so he hired me to replace her.”
“I haven’t met Eleanor,” said Elaine. “But we spoke once or twice over the phone. She seemed very nice.”
“She is. I’m going to miss her when she leaves.”
So even Eleanor, the woman King trusted the most, hadn’t met his mum? The fact that he’d trusted me to come here made me feel…I don’t know, special.
Elaine shifted closer in her seat. “Alexis…what’s he like, at the office, I mean?”
“Mr King?”
She nodded. I chose my words wisely when responding. “He’s…extremely driven. People really respect him, and he’s a good boss. He doesn’t go crazy if I make a mistake or anything.”
She seemed happy with that answer, and now I knew something else. Elaine King had never seen her son work, had never visited him at the office. She was a full-fledged hermit. We spoke for another few minutes, and then I got the feeling she wanted me to leave. Not because I’d done anything to make her feel uncomfortable, but just because being around someone new seemed to take a lot out of her. I said my goodbyes, and she walked me to the door. When I stepped outside, I immediately heard her re-doing the locks.
What on earth had happened to Elaine King?
I caught the tube home and was just settling into bed for the night when my phone began ringing. It was King.
“Hello?”
He exhaled a long breath. “Alexis, I…I’m sorry. I didn’t realise she’d ask you in. She never asks anyone in. She comes to the door to collect deliveries, but she doesn’t let people inside, except for me and her therapist. She won’t even allow me to hire any household staff.” Wow, he almost sounded upset. It was a little jarring, since he was always so suave and put together at the office.
“Look, King, it’s none of my business. I know it must be difficult having a family member who….”
“Did you just call me King?” he said, cutting me off.
“Oh, yeah, sorry, I….”
“Don’t apologise. I like it.”
A silence elapsed, and then he said, “Alexis, I’d really appreciate it if you kept my mother’s current condition to yourself. Every once in a while, journalists come sniffing about. It’s a hard job keeping them away from her.”
“I can imagine. But don’t worry, you have nothing to fear from me. I won’t tell anyone.”
He seemed curious now. “I hope this doesn’t sound like an odd request, but could you tell me what happened? The fact she let you into the house is a big deal.”
“Of course,” I answered, and then began to detail the encounter from beginning to end.
When I was finished, King said, “She must have seen something trustworthy in you. I’m not surprised. I felt the same way the first day you came to be interviewed.”
What he said made me catch my breath. I just hoped he didn’t hear it. “You did?”
“Yes, you have a warmth about you, Alexis. I sensed it even after you got prickly when I told you I liked your picture. Do you find that a lot of people you don’t know very well open up to you?” he asked, and the accuracy of his question blew me away.
I did find that happening a lot. Whether I was sitting on the tube or having a quick coffee in a café, I’d find myself being drawn into conversations with strangers, where they’d tell me things about themselves you wouldn’t normally say to someone you don’t know. It had happened just this morning, when I’d gotten caught up chatting with the man at the newsagents, thus making me late with King’s papers.
“Yes, actually, I do.”
“You see. People must feel like they can tell you things without being judged.”
Ha! That was a laugh. I was a judgey little bitch sometimes. Just ask Karla.
“Huh,” was my only response.
“Well,” said King, clearing his throat. “I’d better let you go. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Yeah, see you,” I said, and then we hung up.
Dropping my phone on my nightstand and making sure to set my alarm, I thought that today had been one for the books. I was exhausted, and as soon as I shut my eyes, I was out. However, in my dreams, King’s words seemed to echo: You have a warmth about you, Alexis.
I found I kind of liked the sound of that.
Six
The following morning, I got another call from Eleanor informing me she wouldn’t be in until after lunch, so I was responsible for the morning routine again. This time I felt more prepared. I had King’s breakfast and his newspapers on his desk when he arrived. Once Gillian had talked him through the upcoming meetings for the day, he very subtly signalled for me to come into the office. It piqued my curiosity.
Closing the door behind me, I walked over to the window as King perused a paper. I had no idea what he wanted to talk about, and he didn’t start speaking right away.
Perhaps he felt weird about the thing last night with his mum.
Glancing out and down onto the large open square beyond the office building, I spotted a new guy working the newsstand I’d been watching on the morning of my interview. A couple of customers came and went, but it was obvious that there was no longer any dealing going on.
King was still reading when I said, “Do you know there’s a new guy working the newsstand outside?”
The corner of his mouth shaped into a grin before he swung around in his chair, holding a pen to his mouth as he considered me. “Does anything get past you?”
I gave him a toothy smile. “Very little.”
He half-sighed, half-chuckled as he turned back to his desk. “I looked into the other guy after you mentioned him. Turns out you were right — he was dealing, so I got rid of him.” He paused, letting out a derisive chuckle. “Apparently, he was well known by traders around here, went by the name of Bernie Black.”
I was impressed that King had the kind of pull that he could get the guy removed just like that. I mean, he was obviously dealing for someone higher up, and this area would have been a highly profitable patch. Finally, I replied, “He actually told people his name? That’s kind of dumb.”
He stared at me sharply. “Think about it, Alexis.”
I did. Then it hit me, and I laughed. “Ah, so Bernie as in coke, and Black as in hash.”
“Now she gets it,” said King with the tone of a patient schoolteacher.
I narrowed my gaze at him. “Do you know anybody in the office who bought from him? Because they’re gonna be pissed when they find out he’s gone.”
Glacial eyes flicked up. “There’s a few I suspect, but they’ll just have to deal with it. It’s a lifestyle a lot of people who come to work here fall into. If you’re good at what you do, you can make an enormous amount of money in the blink of an eye. These people make that money, and all of a sudden they’re buying expensive cars, luxury homes,
and going out every night for extortionately priced meals. However, like you said yesterday, keeping up with the lifestyle and competing for all this money is also a big part of it. Competition equals stress, and when stressed, human beings seek a way to alleviate it. One of the main outlets for stress relief is drugs. Therefore, the City is a big market for dealers, especially since the people here have more than enough money to pay for what they want. It’s a hard job keeping tabs on who’s dealing and where, especially since I’m always so busy, so I have to thank you for the heads-up.”
The warmth in his gaze made me flush. “It’s no problem.” What he’d said made me curious, so I went on, “What do you do to deal with the stress?”
He gave me a wan smile, and there was something in his expression that struck me as sad somehow. Rubbing at his chin, he answered, “Hmmm, when I’m stressed out…a nice glass of top-shelf whiskey usually does the trick.”
“That makes sense,” I said, and walked around his desk before taking a seat in front of him. “You know, I always thought it was poor people who did drugs, to escape the bleakness of their realities. Now I’m thinking maybe the practice is most common at the top and the bottom of the ladder. Perhaps the best place to be is somewhere in the middle.”
“Not necessarily. I’m at the top. Do I look high to you?”
The deadpan way in which he said it made me laugh. I leaned forward and teased, “I’m not sure. Let me have a look at your pupils.” Surprising me, King rose from his seat, walked around his desk, and came to kneel in front of me. Before I knew it, his face was mere inches from mine.
“Go ahead,” he said, voice low.
Whoa, Oliver King’s face right up close…I wasn’t sure what to do with that. I guess he didn’t realise the effect he had on this very non-gay lady, because he seemed entirely unselfconscious. His eyes were beautiful, his lashes long and golden, his skin smooth with a hint of stubble around his jaw, and his lips were just…I had no words. Sculpted and masculine was probably the only way I could think to describe them.