by Alice Quinn
Sure thing, buddy! Whatever. Jeez!
His remark made me angry on behalf of his kids. He came across as being so damn selfish. I made out like I hadn’t heard him properly. I wasn’t going to let him wind me up like that.
Before making a start on his dessert (yogurt, what else?), he took it upon himself to tell a few jokes. I was on my second glass of wine by this point, and it doesn’t usually take too much to make me laugh when I’ve been drinking during the day. By the end of the meal, the pair of us were laughing our titties off.
I put him in a large armchair in the library to rest. It was a sitting area at one end of his office surrounded by books rather than a separate room. I asked him to bear with me as I cleared everything away.
26
It felt so weird being all on my own in that humongous house. Well, there was old graybeard of course, but still. I used the trolley to take all the pots and bits and pieces into the kitchen, where I loaded up the dishwasher.
Then I hunted around all the kitchen cupboards until I found some Tupperware so I could sneak away with all the leftovers. It would make an excellent meal for my moppets back home. I hid it all away in my big carryall (which I pretended was a normal purse, but it totally looked like a weekend bag).
When I headed back to old Maxy boy, he was snoring like a wild animal and had tipped over a glass of whiskey onto his leg. I looked at my cell. I still had another two hours to get through. What was I going to do? For starters, I’d have to try and make as little noise as possible. Imagine being paid for doing nothing—and that was exactly what would happen if this old guy stayed in the land of Nod.
The library area was amazing. It had shelving right up to the ceiling and even a little ladder that you could slide around on. It was like My Fair Lady. I took a walk along the walls and studied the books. Most of them were about art or art history. Sounded like fun stuff (not!).
An end to the snoring and a sudden choking noise let me know that old Max had woken up. He looked over at me with a stunned grin.
“Is that you, my dearest? Do you want a drinkypoo?”
I shook my head. I’d already had enough as it was.
“OK. Sit down then. Tell me a story,” he said.
“Would you like me to read you something?” I was scared half to death after having scanned the shelves. There was a strong chance I’d be bored to death too if I had to read any of that.
“There’s no need to read something to me. No. There are all sorts of stories in life. Why don’t you tell me yours? I noticed you avoided the subject earlier. Did you think I hadn’t? What are you doing with your life right now?”
This question got me thinking. Since when were bosses interested in the lives of their maids? There was not a cat’s chance in hell I’d tell my life story to someone I’d only met yesterday.
But he insisted. “You know everything about me, don’t you? Almost everything. The worst thing in fact. The big story of my life. Actually, it was all a load of old horseshit, anyway. Let’s balance things out here a little. Listen now. You’re going to tell me all about your biggest concern in life.”
That wouldn’t be difficult. I thought it over for a second or two. The question turned over in my head. I didn’t see why I couldn’t just tell him the truth.
“My big worry right now is that I owe dough to just about everyone in France. But that’s not even the worst bit. The worst bit is that my kids have asked for certain Christmas gifts, and there’s no way to swing it. I haven’t got a cent to spare.”
“Oh my dearest! Would you take some advice from an old man who’s just about seen it all? You’re still young. You’ll learn soon enough that the best things in life are free.”
I couldn’t help but think, If this is how he thinks he can cheer me up, he’ll have to think again. Thank you very much!
He continued, “In your opinion, who are the richest people on this earth? Those with debts to pay or those without? My philosophy has always been as follows: I’ve always made absolutely sure I owe money left, right, and center. Money is an excellent way to maintain relationships with people. Every person you owe money to is on your side. They want you to succeed. This can create some very strong bonds. So what you must deduce from your situation is that you’re someone who has very strong relationships with a lot of people. Which therefore means . . . you’re rich!”
Hmm. He’d got me there. I didn’t know what to say.
He climbed out of his big armchair, taking forever to do it, and used me as a walking stick as he made his way to his office. He sat down in front of a massive flat-screen computer and started surfing the Internet.
“Come and take a look, my dearest. Let me show you just how easy it is to make money.”
Really? Easy? That’s news to me, that’s for sure. Well, not counting when you manage to find trash cans full of the stuff. Which can only ever happen to a person once, I imagine.
I watched him click from site to site. He spent a long time pouring over an art website he was subscribed to. There were paintings with certificates of authenticity and all the technical details and everything. He explained each piece.
Then he went into a chat room. There were dozens of people instant messaging each other about what they’d seen on this particular page. Out of nowhere, a message popped up on the screen. “It’s starting.” Max dialed into a Skype group, and all we could hear was a multitude of voices. Everyone was speaking at the same time. What a racket! People were shouting out what seemed like random numbers. Then, just as soon as it had started, it finished. All went quiet.
My old man clicked on the red phone icon on the screen to hang up. At that very moment, instant messages starting appearing again on the screen. Everyone seemed to be congratulating Max.
“There you go!” he gloated. “Two hundred fifty grand. That was no sweat at all!”
No sweat? Was he saying 250 whoppers was no money at all to him? I had no clue what had just happened.
“Did you understand all that, my dearest? I’ve just made two hundred fifty thousand euros in only a couple of minutes. I sold one of my paintings. This site is a digital window of sorts. It’s my gallery in Paris.”
“Stop showing off! There’s no need to make a big song and dance about it!”
“Oh! Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Mademoiselle! I know you’re in trouble and you owe people money! Listen, I can help you. This World Wide Web is incredible, you know? It’s just so practical. Since I found out how it all works, I haven’t even stepped foot inside a real store. So Christmas is coming up. What’s on your kids’ letters to Santa then? Do they want iPhones?”
27
I couldn’t stop laughing.
“Are you kidding me? What in God’s name would they do with iPhones? My little girl wants a Beauty and the Beast castle and her best friend, Simon, wants a Pirates of the Caribbean ship with all the little pirates that go with it.”
“Perfect.”
He scrolled through some sort of shopping site until he got to the toys section. He typed in “Beauty and the Beast” and “Pirates of the Caribbean” and found the exact toys the kidders wanted in just a couple more clicks. In fact, the prices were a lot less than I expected . . . but still far too much for me.
However, when he started clicking through all the extras—a treasure island, a lifeboat, a crew of pirates, a dress for Belle, little shoes—I could see that this stuff was getting even further away from my budget. He just kept going . . . Max was having a ton of fun looking at all this stuff! Well, at least he was passing the time . . . and now I had an idea how much all this was going to set me back.
“Are you sure? Is this what they want?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He had a delighted expression on his face. If only I’d known at that stage what would lie ahead. For a second, I thought he was going to say he would buy the gifts for my kids. I know. I’ve always been pretty naive. It was my first day on the job. There was no reason for gift buying. It
’s not even like I deserved a Christmas bonus or anything. I’d seen how hard he was on his own kids, so what did I think was going to happen? The guy was just messing with me. I’d play along.
He stared straight into my eyes. “You see? Now you know how it’s done. All you have to do is click on this button.”
He moved the cursor to the right-hand side of the screen. There was a “1-Click” button. He didn’t click on it, though. “All you have to do is get out your credit card.”
As if I have a credit card!
“It’s child’s play. Such good fun.”
He laughed heartily and I joined him. Even though I didn’t really know what we were laughing at. This guy was a real oddball. I’d have to tread carefully. He gave off the impression that he was a kind, mumbling old guy, but I think he was rubbing my nose in it here. I wasn’t too sure.
“Do you want to play cards?” I asked, attempting to change the subject. I’d had just about enough of the online shopping for one lifetime. I felt like he was really rubbing salt in the wound.
“It’s not really my cup of tea, my dearest,” he replied, acting as if nothing had happened. Maybe he had no clue how much he’d upset me. He looked tired all of a sudden and made an effort to stand up. “Please excuse me. I have prostate problems.”
He headed toward the hallway. From what I could gather, he needed the bathroom badly.
I don’t know what came over me as soon as he’d left the room. It’s almost as if I have a little devil living inside my brain. I sat in front of his computer and clicked on the history button . . . the toy site . . . the toys. The cursor seemed to make its own way over to the “1-Click” button. I . . . didn’t . . . click on it.
Thank you for placing your order. Your order is being processed. 1x Beauty and the Beast Castle, 5x Characters, 10x Accessories. You will receive your order in no more than 2 days.
Just kidding. That’s what would have appeared on the screen if I’d had some guts. No. There was no way. I closed the window.
I was such an idiot! I should have been more of a hard nut. I mean, I could have just done it. I know it would have been stealing . . . but stealing for your kiddos doesn’t count.
When Max came back into the room, he found me in an excellent mood. I felt like I’d won some kind of battle (against myself, but all the same). Why did my brain work the way it did? Even I could see I was a nutjob.
He headed back over to his computer and started typing away at superspeed. He didn’t seem all that happy.
He glared at me and proclaimed in a stern voice, “Ms. Maldonne, let’s talk about your children seriously for a minute. Come over here.” He whispered, “Big mouth . . . she didn’t dare . . . she won’t get far . . . Shame . . .”
I was starting to have some doubts here. Was he speaking about me or what?
“I can hear you,” I said.
“Hmm . . . Come and take a look here instead of just yapping.”
He had opened the window with the toys . . . and went straight ahead and clicked on the order button.
I didn’t quite know what to do or say. In fact, what I really felt like doing was the Snoopy dance. I wanted to do the Snoopy dance big-time. But I was afraid I’d look like a complete ass, jumping and spinning around in front of his desk.
So I managed to hide the extent of my excitement. I needed to find a way to thank him. I gave him the biggest, sloppiest kiss I could right in the middle of his wrinkly old forehead, leaving traces of splodgy fuchsia-pink lipstick behind. What an odd old fella! Had he really just got my babas the gifts of their dreams?
“Would you like me to sing you a song?” I asked.
His eyes lit up. “A song? Don’t move!” He opened the bottom drawer of his desk and took out a sparkly dress, a blonde curly wig, and a microphone with built-in speakers. “Go get yourself ready. I want a front row seat for this!”
Just as he finished speaking his cell rang. He searched through his pockets and eventually managed to find it.
“Hello there?”
The expression on his face changed. He furrowed his eyebrows into a worried frown—listening, but not saying a word. He started looking through all his pockets again and got something out that looked like a key. I thought maybe one of his desk drawers was locked or something.
He glanced over to me, whispering, “Uh huh, mmmh mhhh,” the whole time, and shooed me out of the room.
OK, no need to be so rude. I get it! I went to find a bathroom so I could change into the dress and wig. I looked like one hell of a crazy lady, let me tell you. In fact, Lady Gaga couldn’t manage to look loopier than me if she tried.
When I returned, he was still on the telephone. I walked up and down in front of the windows, admiring the views and the beautiful photos displayed on top of the grand piano. I could hear his voice getting louder and louder.
I tiptoed to the partition door between his office and the big dining room and hid behind a pillar so I could try to listen in. I couldn’t follow much of the conversation. It was very disjointed and he was mumbling, but his tone was hostile.
“Of course! They’re the exact terms of our agreement. So you tell your little minions to not bother me any longer. In fact, any information they require is . . . Of course I know what I’m doing! Do you think I’m some kind of moron?” He let out a long, sharp laugh. “I enjoy your sense of humor. If you wish! Why in the heck not? I always knew I’d be able to count on you. I understand perfectly, but when all’s said and done . . . Well, it’s as easy as pie for you, isn’t it? Nothing but a little signature and a stamp on the bottom of the report. That’s right, dearest. The deadline’s tonight, isn’t it?”
And then nothing. Not a sound. He must have hung up. I waited a moment, then entered the room. I was careful to do a couple of fake footsteps beforehand, so it sounded like I was coming from a distance.
He was sitting in one of the large armchairs and was just slipping a little black notebook into his inside pocket. He almost jumped out of his skin when he saw me approaching.
“So I’m all mic’d up, and I’ve got the threads and the wig on. What do you want me to sing for you?”
“Go onto YouTube and type in ‘I Could Have Danced All Night, the Audrey Hepburn version,’” he muttered.
There you go! I immediately made the connection to that morning’s visit from my mommy. She had got it once again! Honestly, who could ask for a better mother? She was as gifted as they came.
There were several versions of the song on YouTube. We chose the film version, just the instrumental—it was like karaoke! I sang as loud and as well as I could. He just couldn’t get enough of it. He made me do it four times in a row! He was like a kid in a candy store. Me too, to be honest with you. When I got sick and tired of singing the same song, we looked for other musical numbers we knew and the show went on!
This was an excellent thing for me because it was a total rehearsal for the next time I had a chance to sing down at Sélect. Maybe these songs could work down at that joint? Who knows? Max closed his eyes as I gave it everything I had.
We were interrupted by my cell. Oh yes! I’d set an alarm. I’d done it so that I’d know when my shift was over. It really scared the shit out of him.
“Monsieur Max? I have to go now.”
“Already? You’ll be back tomorrow, though, won’t you, my dearest?”
“And why wouldn’t I? I swear, if someone had ever told me I could be paid for having this amount of fun, there’s no way I’d have believed them!”
“You had fun, my dearest? I’m absolutely delighted in that case!” But he didn’t look happy. “So we’ll see each other again tomorrow, same place, same time? For a drinkypoo?”
There he went again with his drinkypoos. It was so British. I didn’t get it at all.
“Until tomorrow then, my dearest. Would you like me to see you to the door?”
“That’s very sweet of you, but I have to get out of these clothes first. In the meantime, you can jus
t sit there nice and quiet and wait for the nurse to get here.”
“Oh, didn’t I tell you? The nurse isn’t coming today. He phoned just before you got here to say he couldn’t make it. But you can leave me. I’ll be fine. I have a few calls to make. I’ll keep myself busy.”
I felt a little guilty just abandoning him like that. I thought he had to be with someone at all times. His son had said that he wasn’t to be left on his own. But seeing as he’d given me permission to leave, I ran to the bathroom and changed.
As I approached the door, I turned to give him a final wave.
He shouted out, “Don’t forget your keys! They’re in the Degué in the vestibule!”
What was he talking about? I looked around and found a key on a Mercedes key chain in a round colored bowl on a small table near the front door. That must have been what he meant.
As I made my way out of there, all the songs I’d been singing continued to play in my head. I felt rich! I know I hadn’t been paid yet, but I’d just earned myself a whack! Forty-eight big ones for doing next to nothing. It was the easiest money I’d ever made. And there was no need to even get started on the free toys! What a cinch! The old gnome had given me a taste of what easy money was all about . . . and it had screwed with my brain.
Once out on the street I noticed a huge guy, built like Bigfoot, who was clearly pretending to read a newspaper. He was standing in front of a Porsche opposite Max’s big house. Oh no! Is this another mob guy after me and the diamond? So it looks like they’re never going to let this drop! I thought we were done with it! I guess this really isn’t the right time for me to go pick up my Big Pink then? Thank God I’ve found a job! This diamond shit is more trouble than it’s worth.
When I walked by him, he looked at me over his newspaper, one eyebrow raised. I thumbed my nose at him. He looked stunned for a second, then tried to give off the impression he hadn’t even noticed.