“Cool,” he says with a nod and pockets the card. “Sure you don’t need any brothers or maybe a distant cousin?”
“No. One aunt will be fine. Thanks, though.” I drink up and leave the bar. I take the long way home, out to Star Island where I live. Calling the office, I tell them to do without me for the rest of the day. Mort is standing in the kitchen at the stove when I walk into the house.
“Good afternoon, sir,” he greets me, dressed comically in a checkered apron.
“Hey, there, Mort. You’re looking fetching,” I tease him.
“Thank you, sir. I’ve been reading cookbooks and decided to try my hand. I hope I may depend upon you to be my guinea pig.”
“I’d rather you just be my secretary, but if we must eat your British fare, we must,” I josh him. Everyone knows that British food has the reputation of being tasteless and unappetizing. He glares at me a bit without making it obvious, and I go into my study to wait until dinner is ready. I’m not terribly hungry. It seems like all I’ve done all day was have lunch and drinks. MacKenzie is definitely on my mind.
I’ve just settled into my leather chair when my cell buzzes. I pick it up, answering.
“Is this Michael?” It is a voice I’m not familiar with. It is an older woman, and she uses a very cultured accent.
“Yes, this is he. How may I help you?”
“I understand from a few friends of mine that you’re looking for someone to play your aunt?”
“I am, indeed. I have a situation in my personal life that requires the appearance of my wealthy aunt. Is this something you would be interested in?”
“Indeed, I would. Especially if room and board are included.”
“Yes, they are. I’d like to interview you. Would you be available this afternoon yet?”
“Sure. Tell me where you live.”
“Why don’t you give me the address where you are? I’ll send my driver for you?”
“Excellent.” She gives me an address that isn’t very distant from the bar where I met her friends. I call my driver and send him in her direction. Mort checks in on me once or twice, curious as to what I’m up to. I have to give him credit. Whatever he’s cooking, it smells good. If this woman looks promising, I’ll invite her to stay for dinner.
Mort is back shortly thereafter. “Sir, sorry, but there is a woman at the door asking for you.”
“Bring her in.” I don’t elaborate, and I can see it hurts his feelings a bit. “I’ll tell you about it later.”
Olivia Steadman is unlike anyone I’ve ever met before. She looks like she stepped out of the movie Sunset Boulevard, although she seems to be perfectly sane. She’s wearing a colorful caftan, her hair a mixture of gray and bleached blonde bound on top of her head, wrapped inside a turban. I can only see the part directly above her forehead.
“How do you do, Ms. Steadman?”
“How do you know my last name?”
“I make it my business to know who I’m dealing with. I made a few calls while you were on your way out.”
“I see.”
“Please, won’t you sit down?” I offer her the chair opposite my desk. She settles herself into the leather depths, arranging the folds of her gown into what she considers an attractive fashion. She pushes back a lock of hair that had escaped her turban, and I see her long, painted nails and massively over-sized costume jewelry. She looks to the side and spots my little built-in bar.
“I don’t suppose there might be a little sherry in that selection?” she indicates with one long, red-tinted nail.
“Of course. Let me get it for you.” I pour her a small glass of sherry and hand it to her, a strong waft of toilet water overcoming me. The woman is down on her luck, there’s no doubt about that. She could probably play any role I ask her to, but I only need her for one.
“So, Ms. Steadman. Let me explain. There is a young lady who has recently entered my life. I won’t use any names as of yet, but you would meet her soon. She, for whatever reason, has decided she’s not interested in dating anyone who has wealth or connections. I may have misrepresented myself a little, and now I find myself liking her more than I’d expected, but I’m trapped by my own, well, we’ll politely call it deception.”
“Boy, I’ve never heard this one before. It’s usually the other way around,” she says, holding up her glass for a refill.
I accommodate her and leave the bottle on the edge of the desk. “So, I’m interested in hiring a woman such as yourself to stay here on my estate in the main house and to pretend that you are my aunt. It would be represented that the estate belongs to you, and as your beloved nephew, you permit me to stay in the guest house on the edge of the property. In return, I look after you, and other than that, we would lead separate lives. If the charade is successful, I want to date this young lady and will, at some point, find a way to tell her the truth.”
“You’re going to look for a way to get out of your bullshit, is that right?”
“Well, you’ve got a unique way of putting it, but pretty much, yes, that’s right. I don’t know her well enough yet to know how I can do that, which is why I need to buy some time.”
“And what happens to me if she doesn’t buy your bullshit?”
“Then your engagement in this house would come to an end, the curtain would fall. I would compensate you well for your time and trouble, and you would be on your way.”
“How about the butler?”
“I’m sorry?”
“The guy who let me in the front door?”
“Mort? He’s my secretary. He also fancies himself a chef, as well as a number of other positions. He shares the house here with me and would act as your butler when this young lady happens to be in the area. Would you have a problem with that?”
“Not at all. Is he married?”
“I’m afraid if you want details about Mort, you’ll need to ask him directly. So, I detect a very faint accent. Are you capable of presenting yourself as being from a moneyed set, let’s say from New York?”
“Well, of course. I’m an actress, after all.” She answers me in the perfect accent, and I know I’ve found the right woman, quite by accident, quite by luck.
“I should let you know, I’ve already done a background check on you, and while there are some shady things in your past, I don’t see anything there that would interfere with what I’m looking for. Are you interested in the position?”
“What does it pay?”
“You will be well compensated.” I mention a hefty sum, and the greed in her eyes is evident across my desk.
“When do I begin?”
“Well, I’ll send my driver to take you home and collect your belongings. If you would like to move in tomorrow morning, that will be fine.”
“How about tonight?”
“I’m guessing that your circumstances are rather limited at the moment?”
“Your mama didn’t have any dummies,” she shoots back. I like her. She is brassy but honest. I think we can get along well. She has enough character that we could improvise and make it look like she’s just highly eccentric. “The job is yours.”
“What’s for dinner?”
I look over her shoulder to see Mort standing in the doorway. “Yes, Mort?”
“Dinner is served, sir.”
“Excellent. Would you please set one more place for Ms. Steadman? Of course, let’s do this the right way. From now on, I will refer to her as Aunt Olivia, and you can call her Olivia.”
Mort’s eyebrows shoot up, but he’s too well-mannered to question me in front of our guest.
“Very well, sir. Ms. Steadman, may I show you to the dining room?” Mort is a stubborn cuss, but very good at politely showing when he’s pissed off.
Olivia sets down the brandy glass and with a flourish of her long sleeves, rises to her feet. Her nose rises upward, and in a very authentic Katherine Hepburn accent, she says, “By all means. Shall we go in?” With that, she sweeps past Mort and seems to find the din
ing room simply using her sense of smell.
I follow behind and hold a finger to my lips to silence Mort’s questions. “I’ll tell you later,” I tell him softly. In a louder voice I say, “Mort, that actually smells pretty good. Are you sure you didn’t order it in and dish it out on plates?”
“No, sir. I prepared it myself.”
“Is it safe to eat?” Olivia asks. I like her already. Mort doesn’t answer. We sit down, the three of us, at the table as Mort serves a delicious platter of Caribbean food. It is spicy, but delicious. “Not too bad,” Olivia comments, and Mort gives her a sidelong glare. I can already tell there’s going to be trouble between these two.
What I didn’t know is what kind of trouble it would be.
“Mort, Ms. Steadman will be moving in with us. I’ll be giving her the room at the head of the stairs. You should know I’m moving out to the guesthouse. There is a reason behind this madness, and I’m asking your cooperation. It’s important to me that Ms. Steadman, who shall from this point forward be known as Aunt Olivia Daughtry, be accorded the respect and position she’d have if she truly were my aunt and owner of this property. I have a reason for wanting this relationship to be believable, and I’m pretty sure you’ll catch on before too long.”
“It has something to do with that girl, doesn’t it, sir?”
“See how quickly you catch on, Mort?”
Olivia stands up at the table and looks at me. “If your driver will take me home now, I’ll be back soon with my belongings.” I nod and communicate such to the driver who pulls up promptly to the front of the house to collect her. I watch the car glide down the driveway and turn to face the fireworks. They are not long in coming.
“Sir, perhaps I do not deserve an explanation, but I must say sir that I cannot understand what you are about. This makes it difficult for me to adequately support you, and I must reserve my own thoughts on this until such time as it becomes clear.”
“I understand, Mort. I don’t blame you. You’re just going to have to trust me on this one.”
“Yes, sir.”
I leave Mort to his ruminating and go upstairs to pack a few bags of my personal belongings. I carry these to the guesthouse and am relieved that I had taken the time to modernize and redecorate that building. It will serve as my personal residence for the time being, and hopefully, I’ll be able to get Mac to come and be with me there.
I watch from the window as the limo returns, dropping Aunt Olivia, as I would come to call her, at the main house. I depend upon Mort’s good manners to see her upstairs and help her get settled. They’ll have to fend for themselves.
I’m up early the next morning and have already formulated my plan. It doesn’t require much detective work to discover where Mac will be working. I know she will begin on Monday, and that leaves me four days to normalize the home situation. I make sure that when she arrives on Monday morning, there is a massive bouquet of tropical flowers and a card from me, congratulating her on her new job. It will also include my personal cell number and an invitation to call me. With that accomplished, I sit back to wait.
Sure enough, at the end of the day on Monday, she calls.
“Michael?”
“Hi, there.”
“The flowers are absolutely gorgeous. You shouldn’t have gone to such expense.”
“I’m not exactly a pauper, and it gave me a lot of pleasure to do that for you.”
“Well, they are gorgeous.”
“So, would it be presumptuous of me to say that your number came up on caller ID, and I just added it to my contact list?”
She giggles, and I find it charming. “I’d like that.”
“Do you like to text?”
“Of course. Especially late at night when I’m under the covers.”
“Is that an invitation?”
“That depends on whether you want it to be.”
I love this stage of relationships. This back-and-forth flirting talk where neither one takes the other one seriously until you’ve reached a point where you both recognize you’ve been serious all along.
“I did, indeed. So, what do you say that I meet you under the covers tonight about 10 o’clock?”
“I’d say I’d love that. I’ll wait for your call.” She disconnects, and it feels like the light has gone out of the room. I have three hours to kill before we speak again. I can’t wait.
* * *
Okay, I’ll admit it. I went to bed early. I haven’t done this since I was a young boy with an exam the next morning. This is certainly much more pleasant to look forward to.
I find I like staying in the guest house. The main house is overly big, especially before Mort came to live with me. This is more my size, and the tale of The Three Bears comes to mind. While it is great to have Mort fussing around the house, I also like my privacy, and so now I have the best of both worlds. Well, almost. There’s a certain young lady I’d still like to weave into the story.
Now, I’m lying here and considering the proper dress for texting with someone from beneath the covers. There’s no one around, so I hop out of the bed and strip, then slide back beneath the covers. I make a vow not to touch myself. That would be breaking some unseen rules, I’m quite sure. This isn’t, after all, a sexting call.
I’m watching the digital clock on my bed stand. Time has never been a quantitative thing for me—I’ve never had to punch a clock. Now each second seems to be a sealed box, full of mystique, and too heavy to lift for opening. At last, the magic digits roll up.
I touch her name in my contacts list. It simply reads, “MacKenzie.”
“Hello?” Her voice is sweeter on the phone than in person if such a thing is possible.
“It’s Michael.”
She giggles. “I know. You came up on my caller I.D.”
“Am I calling too late?”
“No, we agreed on 10:00, didn’t we?”
I take a deep breath. “I’m sorry, I’ve never really done this, and I’m feeling like an idiot with nothing to say.”
“Well, can I mention something?” she asks.
“Sure!”
“I thought we were going to text, not talk on the phone?”
Shit! “Oh, my God, do I ever feel like an idiot now! Hey, I’ll tell you the truth. I was just looking forward to talking with you and forgot. Is that a crime?”
“No, not a crime, but have you ever texted before?”
“Just business.”
“Hmm … it can be a fun experience, you know. A little liberating?”
“Want me to hang up and text?”
“I’ll do whatever you want,” she says, being cooperative and spontaneous.
“Okay, screw it. I should have texted. This is nothing like how I normally get to know someone.”
“How do you usually do it?”
I have to think a second. There is a lot riding on my answer. “Truth? Maybe over a drink, a dance at a club, dinner …”
“That’s what I thought. So, what did you decide?”
“Decide?”
“Want to talk or text?”
“I’ll hang up now and text.”
“Bye.”
My heart is hammering, and I get up and go into the bathroom and get a drink of water before calling back. I feel like a supreme idiot.
MICHAEL: You there?
MAC: Yes
MICHAEL: Sorry, such an idiot
MAC: It’s okay. Thought you might like to try this. I’ll be gentle since it’s your first time.
MICHAEL: Thanks … I think? Do you go by Mac?
MAC: That’s what most people call me
MICHAEL: I never asked. You really aren’t married, are you?
MAC: Nope. You?
MICHAEL: No. Almost, once. But that’s long over.
MAC: What happened?
MICHAEL: She changed her mind.
I don’t want to tell her the whole sordid story this early on, even though she deserves to know. I’m beginning to accrue the th
ings I will have to tell her someday, and none of them are going to get me gold stars.
MAC: I’m sorry. Been there.
MICHAEL: You, too?
MAC: A story for another time.
MICHAEL: You excited about the job?
MAC: Mega. Had a great first day.
MICHAEL: That’s good. I know you’ll be great at it.
MAC: Why do you say that?
MICHAEL: You’re smart, convincing, resourceful, and beautiful. That’s a golden combination.
MAC: What do you do?
Oh, crap. I knew she would ask this eventually. MICHAEL: Real estate investing.
MAC: Cool! I have a music degree (which is worthless), but it got me a job. I’ll take it.
MICHAEL: Do you have a boyfriend?
MAC: Want me to?
MICHAEL: Hell, no.
MAC: Then you’re in luck.
MICHAEL: Would you like to have one?
MAC: Maybe. Have someone in mind?
MICHAEL: How about me?
MAC: I’m smiling. You move fast.
MICHAEL: I can move faster.
MAC: I’m trying not to read anything into that.
MICHAEL: Do you like fast movers?
MAC: Oh, yeah.
MICHAEL: Lucky for you.
MAC: You’re funny. And a really nice guy – thank you again.
MICHAEL: I mean it when I say it was my pleasure.
MAC: So, tell me a secret.
MICHAEL: Why?
MAC: Silly. That’s how this works. You say things you wouldn’t if we were face to face or on the phone.
MICHAEL: How do I know I can trust you?
MAC: You can divorce me if I tell anyone.
MICHAEL: In a crazy way, that makes sense.
MAC: So?
MICHAEL: There’s one secret that comes to mind right now, but not sure I should tell.
MAC: Go ahead. The worst that can happen is you have to divorce me, remember?
MICHAEL: Shit. Okay. Here it comes.
MAC: I’m waiting … tick-tock-tick-tock.
MICHAEL: I’m naked
MAC: Jesus, you ARE fast.
MICHAEL: Now your turn.
MAC: To get naked, or tell a secret?
MICHAEL: Both
MAC: Nope, you only get one.
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