A Slow Boil

by Karen Winters

  I slowly pushed open the office door, being as quiet as possible until I confirmed that Mr. Hunter really wasn’t here. The room was empty. I brought in the vacuum and pulled the drapes open to let in more light. The windows were more of an entire wall of glass, but I didn’t let it worry me. Turning around, the painting I’d noticed during my interview caught my eye. It was even more powerful up close, and yes, there was Rothko’s signature in the bottom right hand corner. I stared at it for a good five minutes before finally shrugging off the hold it had on me, and got to work.

  Two hours later everything was finished except the windows, which were taking much longer than I’d anticipated. I’d found a small stepladder in the basement when I’d gone down to transfer Mr. Hunter's clothes to the dryer, so reaching the top of the windows wasn’t a problem. They were just so huge. I was barely half way done and seriously questioning the necessity of having windows at all, when movement outside caught my eye. The view from this room looked out the front of the house, and from this height I could see a black car coming up the road that I walked every day. The car turned into the driveway and Mr. Hunter looked up at me from the driver’s seat. He smiled and I gave him a small wave with my rag. Then his car left my view and I heard a low rumble, probably the garage door. At least this time he wouldn’t be able to sneak up on me, I thought, but then I worried that I should have finished in here before he arrived back home. I returned to the windows, working faster, and soon heard his footsteps on the stairs.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Lane.”

  “Good afternoon, sir. I’m almost done in here, just finishing the windows.”

  “It's no problem. Take your time.” He glanced around the room. “You do very good work. Everything looks immaculate.”

  “Thank you, sir.” After a pause, I turned back to my work. Only the lowest panes of the windows were left, so I knelt down on the floor, sprayed window cleaner on the first one, and began wiping. Mr. Hunter was still in the room but as my back was turned to him I hadn’t realized he’d moved next to me until his shoes appeared in my peripheral vision. I stopped wiping and looked up at him, expecting him to say something further, but he merely stood there looking down at me. The awkwardness of the situation grew as I realized I was essentially kneeling at his feet. After what seemed like at least a full minute, he finally spoke.

  “Stand up for a moment, Miss Lane.”

  I rose and Mr. Hunter reached behind me for one of the curtains. He pulled it around my body and held it up near my face.

  “This shade of blue suits you perfectly. I wonder, would you be opposed to wearing a uniform while you’re here?”

  “A uniform, sir?”

  “Yes. Something you could change into when you get here. I’d rather you looked more like a housekeeper and less like a college student.” He swept his eyes over my usual jeans and university-logo t-shirt.

  “Um, no, I guess I don’t mind. As long as it’s not uncomfortable or immodest.”

  This brought a quick laugh from him. “No, Miss Lane, I wasn’t thinking along the lines of a French maid’s outfit … but now you've given me an interesting visual.”

  He was still smiling as he dropped the curtain and turned away. "I have some things to unpack from the car and won’t need this room for at least half an hour. Does that give you enough time to finish?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. I’ll see you at dinner then.”

  At six o'clock I carried his plate into the dining room and placed it before him. His eyes took in my apron but he made no comment.

  “Would you like me to make you a martini, sir?”

  He looked down at his pork tenderloin, rice pilaf, and sautéed greens. “No, I'll finish the pinot noir from last night.”

  I brought out the bottle and poured him a glass, then withdrew to the kitchen. After only three days of making his dinners, I could already feel myself settling into a routine. Scooping some rice into a bowl, I sat at the island waiting for him to call me. It wasn’t long before he did.

  “Did you have time to make another dessert this afternoon?” He asked as I refilled his wineglass.

  “No, sir, I didn’t. There is some pie leftover, however.”

  “As tempting as that sounds, I had pie for breakfast and again for lunch. I think I’ll have to forgo another piece today.”

  “That reminds me, sir, I have a question about leftovers.”

  “Yes?”

  “There’s still most of last night’s chicken left. Do you mind if I use it to make a soup or stir-fry or something?”

  “Of course not. In fact, I encourage you to do so. I don’t like to waste food.”

  “Can I ask you another question?”

  “Of course.”

  “Do you have any favorite dishes, or a favorite type of cuisine?”

  He put his knife and fork down at looked up at me with an odd expression on his face. “Why do you ask? Did Mrs. Sheridan give you the impression that I'm difficult to cook for?”

  “Oh no, not at all. The opposite, in fact. She said you ate everything she made and never complained once.”

  “Then, again, why do you ask?”

  Why had I asked? It had been an impulsive question, but surely I had some reason for wanting to know. As always, his direct gaze seemed to draw the truth out of me without hesitation.

  “I want to please you.”

  His gaze remained locked with mine. He was looking at me so intently, searching my face for something. I didn't know if he found what he was looking for, as I struggled to keep my expression as blank as possible.

  “I can’t think of any favorites off the top of my head, but if I do, I’ll let you know.”

  “Yes, sir.” I turned to go back to the kitchen when he added one last comment.

  “Miss Lane, you do please me. You please me greatly.”

  Chapter 5

  The next few days were a blur. It was crunch time at school and I only had one week left to get my final papers completed. Luckily, I had turned a corner in the one giving me the most difficulty, and it was now merely a matter of compiling all the citations, just busywork, really, but time-consuming. I’d also managed to put together an outline for my oral presentation and was about as ready as I was going to get for that. All in all, I felt like I had a handle on things; if I could just wring a few extra hours out of each day, I might even feel confident.

  Apart from the nearly overwhelming time crunch, the other issue weighing on my mind was my ongoing need to find a place to live for the summer. Britt and I had looked at two more apartments Saturday morning and they were just getting worse; there was simply nothing decent still available in town. The salary Mr. Hunter had handed me before I left on Friday was useless if I couldn’t find a place to rent. Britt told me after class on Monday that she’d even checked to see if I could move into her family's on-campus house they were given by the university as part of her mother’s professorship, but had been told the housing was for immediate family only. “But we're not out of options, yet, Syl. Let’s go check out the bulletin board in the Center and see if anyone’s looking for a roommate.”

  There were several such ads. I didn’t recognize any of the names, but Britt knew a couple of them. “Not this guy, he's a sleaze.” “This girl’s nice, but her place is in the south end.” “Hmm, this one sounds pretty good – right location, anyway. I don’t know who this guy is, but let’s take down his number and you can call him later.” I let Britt shuttle me through the decision-making, my mind on the paper I really wanted to finish tonight, and of course the fact that it was time to head to Southbay’s and then on to work. We left with two numbers, which I stuck in my purse. Maybe I could make some calls from Mr. Hunter’s kitchen if I had time. And whispered.

  Pete greeted me with a big smile when I arrived at the meat counter about an hour later. “What's for dinner tonight, Sylvia?”

  “I don't know yet. What looks good?”

  “How about some seafood?
We just got some fresh halibut in this morning and it looks fantastic.” He pointed to a pile of white fish. Yeah, I thought, reading the price card, for twenty dollars a pound it had better be fantastic, but I found myself nodding and asked for a filet. My dad practically lived on fish in the summer, and I could cook it in my sleep. I also bought a lemon, a couple of leeks, cream, some pasta, and a bag of pre-washed baby spinach because if dinners this week had a theme, it was going to be “easy.” I wondered how Mr. Hunter felt about hot dogs.

  Waiting for me on the kitchen island when I arrived at the house was a parcel with a note that read, “Miss Lane, please wear one of these from now on when you’re here.” I reached in and pulled out two identical navy blue dresses. Holding one up in front of me, I couldn’t find anything immediately objectionable about it. The neckline was modest, the sleeves elbow-length, and the hem would just cover my knees. Maybe not as comfortable as jeans but then, nothing really was except maybe sweatpants. Now the question was, where the heck was I supposed to change? I chose the powder room off the living room as it was the closest to the kitchen and as far as I could tell, never used.

  Locking the door behind me, I slipped out of my jeans and t-shirt. The dress went on easily, with a zipper up the front and two side ties that I guessed I was supposed to secure behind my waist. Once everything was zipped and tied, I realized the dress fit well and was perfectly comfortable, so I would wear it if that was what Mr. Hunter wished. I took a moment to look at myself in the small mirror above the vanity and had to admit the color did look good on me. Peering closer at my face, I noticed the tell-tale dark circles I always got when I was tired. My hair wasn’t doing anything for me, either, I thought, as I re-tied my pony tail a little higher and tighter. Better? Not by much. I still looked exhausted. Well, I was exhausted, I thought. So sue me, as Mr. Hunter would say.

  Monday was proving to be the day that look the longest to complete my tasks. There was no quick way to get through dusting the entire house, especially given the size of the library. It wasn’t physically tiring, though, and I enough energy left as I entered the kitchen to start dinner. One look at the clock told me I didn’t have time to call any of the roommate seekers, though. I could call tonight, I thought, as I slipped the apron over my dress and got to work.

  The halibut went into the oven at five-thirty. I set a pot of water on the stove to boil for the penne, tossed the spinach into a salad bowl and began making the lemon/leek/cream sauce that my dad loved with salmon. At six-oh-five I entered the dining room where Mr. Hunter was already sitting.

  “Good evening, Mr. Hunter. Sorry I’m a few minutes late. The fish took longer than I expected.”

  Not having seen him since Friday, I was struck again by his amazing good looks. Why was this man single?

  "Good evening, Ms. Lane. I was beginning to worry that you had some kind of kitchen disaster. Mrs. Sheridan once dropped an entire pot roast on the floor and I had to wait until six-thirty while she made me an omelet instead.”

  The horror, I thought. “Oh no, sir, nothing like that. I just have to dust faster, I guess.”

  “It's not too much for you, I hope.”

  “Not at all. I’m sure I’ll get faster the more I do it.”

  “I'm sure you will, Miss Lane.” He turned his attention to his dinner.

  “What would you like to drink tonight, Mr. Hunter?”

  “Hmm, just ice water tonight I think.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I filled a glass with ice and water from the dispensers on the fridge door and returned to place it in front of him. He’d already eaten almost half of his fish and looked up at me as I stood beside him.

  “You asked me last week if I had any favorite dishes. This,” he gestured to his fish, “is now one of them. You can make this for me any time. The sauce is delicious. Leeks?”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you.” His praise had its usual immediate effect and my voice came out with a bit of a squeak, as if I was trying not to cry. I wasn’t, was I?

  He caught the off tone of my voice and asked me if everything was all right.

  “Yes, it’s just finals week and I have a lot of stress right now.”

  “Are you going to be able to work this week? I can give you time off if you need it.”

  “That's very kind of you, but no, I’d like to keep coming in. Working here is the only peaceful, stress-free thing in my life right now.” Wow, where did that come from? Oh right, he was looking at me with that “honesty only” gaze against which I was utterly powerless.

  “Well, I’d like to help in some way. Feel free to bring your things and study here if you have any free time.”

  “Thank you, sir, that would actually help quite a bit.”

  “And just for this week, you can go after you’ve served dinner. I can clean up the kitchen myself.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Really. I am capable of starting the dishwasher, I just prefer not to.” He smiled and his face was beautiful. “I’ll make an exception for you this week, Miss Lane.”

  “Thank you so much, Mr. Hunter. I really appreciate it. So it’s all right if I go now?”

  “If it helps you get through the week, then by all means, feel free to go.”

  “Okay. Goodnight then, Mr. Hunter.”

  “Goodnight, Miss Lane.”

  I finished one paper that night around nine. One down, two to go. Before I left the library I dug into my purse for the phone numbers Britt and I had collected earlier and pre-dialed one of the numbers into my phone. Once I was through the doors, I hit send and waited through several rings until voicemail picked up. “Hi, this is Thomas. Leave your name and number and I'll get back to you. If you're calling about the roommate advertisement, sorry but I already found someone.” Great. I hung up and dialed the second number, again getting voicemail but this time it was one of those generic computer-generated inboxes, so I left a message saying I was calling about the roommate ad, and if someone could call me back, I’d appreciate it.

  Back in my room Anna was asleep and Megan was still out when I turned off my light at eleven-thirty, setting my alarm for six.

  The next afternoon I finished the vacuuming at three. It was a warm day and I found myself actually glad to be in a dress. It was much cooler to work with my legs bare, more like wearing shorts. I’d put yesterday’s dress in the wash with my apron and Mr. Hunter’s clothes, noting wryly that the load seemed to be getting bigger on a daily basis. After returning the vacuum to the closet and switching the clothes to the dryer, I hauled my laptop and book bag off the floor by the backdoor and set them on the kitchen island. If Mr. Hunter really didn’t mind me doing homework here, I wasn’t going to argue since at this point every hour counted. I’d gotten quite a lot done early this morning before class and if I was lucky, I might be able to finish another paper by the end of the day. I found a convenient socket for my laptop’s power cord at the base of the island, fixed myself a glass of ice water, and got to work.

  Two hours later I had made enormous headway on the paper. I was going to finish tonight, I could tell. I rolled my head around in a couple of circles to ease the kinks in my neck and breathed a huge sigh of relief. Wow, I thought, it does really help to work in total peace and quiet with no distractions. Chalk one up to Mr. Hunter.

  Mr. Hunter! Oh no, dinner! What time was it? In a panic, I spun around to the kitchen clock. Thank god, it was only five-twenty. That was close. Dinner tonight was only sausages and potato salad, and I’d already boiled the potatoes so I just had to fry the sausages and assemble the salad. Plenty of time.

  I shut down my laptop and packed away my notes and books, then jogged downstairs to fold the laundry and slip on my apron. I took Mr. Hunter’s clothes up to his room, put everything in its place, and then hurried back downstairs, remembering at the very last minute to pass quietly on the second floor landing.

  “Good evening, Miss Lane,” said my gorgeous employer as I entered the dining room at six.


  “Good evening, sir.”

  “Ah, sausages.” He stated the obvious as I put down his dinner.

  “I hope that’s okay.”

  “Of course. Did you make the potato salad yourself?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You really don’t have to go to any effort this week, Miss Lane. Store-bought potato salad would have been fine, although I'm sure yours will taste much, much better.”

  Now you tell me, I thought.

  “It wasn't any trouble, Mr. Hunter. I was even able to get some studying done this afternoon.”

  “Good, I'm glad to hear it.”

  “So, what can I get you to drink?”

  “Eager to leave?” He was smirking a little and dare I say teasing me?

  “No, not really. I just know you like to have your drink before you start eating.”

  “Well, what I drink tonight depends entirely upon you.”

  “How so?”

  “I happened to see you arriving this afternoon and you were carrying far too much. A bag of groceries is one thing, but I should have realized you’d need your computer and books if you were going to study here. I’d like to drive you home after dinner. If you accept, I’ll take a glass of ice water. If you prefer to walk, you may bring me a beer.”

  I returned to the kitchen and grabbed a glass from the cabinet. This was a no-brainer - a ride home would be awesome. I’d nearly died on the walk here; my book bag must weigh fifty pounds at least. I filled the glass with ice and water and smiled as I put it down next to Mr. Hunter’s plate.

  He smiled back up at me. God, his eyes were pretty when he smiled. “Very good. Give me about twenty minutes or so and I’ll be ready to go.” He started cutting into the sausage. “You can grab a bite to eat and change back into your school clothes while you’re waiting for me.”