The doorbell rings. I stand to my feet, smooth out my skirt. Caleb eyes me suspiciously as he walks through the foyer. I hear him greet them warmly, and then seconds later, he appears around the corner. I see the man first. He is shorter than Caleb and stocky. He bears a striking resemblance to Dermot Mulroney — that is, if Dermot had a goatee, shaggy hair and dressed like a slob. I eye his jeans and tucked-in button down. He has one of those distasteful sleeve tattoos — which is peeking out of his cuffs. I immediately dislike him. He is a most unlikely owner of a nanny agency. He should at least iron his clothes.
The girl that follows behind him gets my catty seal of approval. She is a petite blonde with a pretty oval face. She looks innocent enough, except that she has heavily lined come hither eyes. Unlike her sloppy employer, she is wearing Dolce’s newest pants suit in sage green with an exact pair of snakeskin Louboutins that I have in my closet. How can a nanny afford to buy such expensive clothes? And then I realize she probably has one nice suit that she saves for interviews to impress potential employers. I won’t let her wear makeup like that when she’s with Estella. I don’t want my neighbors thinking that I got my nanny from an escort service. And besides, in my house, I get to be the most beautiful woman. I make a mental note to tell her that her uniform needs to be khaki pants and a white polo, and then I smile at them politely.
“Leah,” Caleb says in a clipped voice. “This is Cammie Chase.” The nanny smiles — one of those smug, puckered smiles where one corner of her mouth dips in. I immediately dislike her, too.
“And this is Sam Foster.”
Sam extends his hand towards me.
“How do you do,” he says slowly, maintaining uncomfortable eye contact with me. His hands, I notice, are rough and calloused; something I’m not used to feeling. The men who run in my circles have the smooth skin of businessmen, their only work being to type rapidly on keyboards. His hand lingers in mine, and I have to pull away first.
I offer them something to drink. Sam declines, but Cammie smiles boldly at me and requests a Perrier. I look from her employer to her and wonder if he will reproach her for such a rude request, but he is talking to Caleb and doesn’t notice. I decide to play nice. I’m not going to give her the job anyway, so why not send her away with a few sips of Perrier.
I excuse myself to the kitchen and come back with a tray carrying the green bottle of sparkling water, a glass and two frosty beers — one for Caleb and one for Sam — even though he declined a beverage. They look at me as I set it down on the table.
As soon as I’ve taken a seat, Cammie looks at me expectantly and asks: “Do you happen to have a wedge of lime?”
It takes all of my control to keep my mouth from falling open. Surely this time Sam will say something. But, he smiles at me politely and ignores the little witch’s outlandish request.
“We have some in the drawer of the fridge,” Caleb presses. I glare at him for encouraging this sort of behavior from the potential help and stand up to get it.
When I return with my neatly sliced wedge of lime, Cammie takes it from me without even saying thank you.
I sit down in a huff, not even bothering to smile.
“So—,” I say, turning my body away from Cammie and directing my attention to Sam, “ —how do you know my husband?”
Sam looks confused. His brows dip together and his gaze shifts from Caleb to me.
“I don’t,” he says. “This is the first time we’re meeting."
I blink in confusion.
Caleb, who is reclined casually on the loveseat like he is visiting with old friends, smiles at me knowingly. I know that smile. He is amused at my expense.
I look at everyone’s faces and slowly the picture pieces together. Cammie’s audacity, the expensive clothing …
I try not to let my shock show as everything suddenly makes sense. We are not interviewing Cammie for the position of Estella’s nanny — we are interviewing Sam!
I can see on their faces that they know about my mistake. It's embarrassing. The little blonde bitch, who I see in a new light now that I know she owns her own company, smiles, showing her teeth for the first time. She is evidently delighted by my blunder. Sam looks slightly more abashed. He looks away from me politely, and I clear my throat.
“Well, I suppose I got it all wrong,” I say generously, though I am inwardly fuming.
There is collective laughter — the loudest being from Cammie — and then Caleb turns to Sam.
“Tell me about your experience,” he says.
Sam rises to the challenge, listing his childcare experience. He has a Master’s Degree in child psychology from the University of Seattle. He practiced clinically for two years before deciding that he didn’t like the politics of being a counselor — how cold and impersonal it felt. He decided to move somewhere sunny — South Florida — and get a new degree in Music, which he intended to use when he opened a rehabilitation center for abused children.
“Music heals people,” he says. “I’ve seen what it can do for a broken child, and I want to heavily incorporate it into the center, but I need to have a degree in it first.”
“So,” I say more skeptically than I intend. “You spent seven years getting a master’s degree and now you want to be a nanny?”
Caleb clears his throat and takes his arms off the back of the sofa where they were resting. “What Leah means is, why not practice part-time while you finish up the degree? Why nanny when the financial benefits aren’t nearly as great?”
I lift my nose and wait for his answer.
Sam laughs nervously and rubs the hair on his face.
“Actually, being a counselor doesn’t exactly line your pockets, if you know what I mean. I did it for reasons other than money. And, I don’t come cheap as a child care provider,” he says honestly. “Notice I’m sitting in your living room, which is a significant step up from middle-class America.”
I sniff at his mention of our money. I was taught it was bad manners to point such things out verbally.
“I have a daughter,” he adds. “Her mother and I split up two years ago, but you can say I am well versed in taking care of babies.”
“Where is your daughter?” I ask.
Caleb shoots me a warning look, but I ignore him. I don’t want some wild kid running around my house on the days that he has her. And besides, she might get the baby sick. Something I can’t point out in lieu of my latest escapade.
“She’s in Puerto Rico with her mother,” he says.
I picture a beautifully exotic Latin woman that shared his home, but not his last name. Their daughter would probably have her mother’s hair and her father’s light eyes.
“Her mother moved back there after we split up. That’s part of the reason I chose to come to Florida — so on weekends I can fly over to see her.” I wonder what type of woman takes her child so many hundreds of miles away from her father, especially when she can use him as a babysitter on the weekends.
“Sam,” Cammie finally speaks up, “is my cousin. I promised him my best job, and when Caleb called I knew it would be a perfect fit.”
“And, how do you know Caleb?” I say, finally getting the opportunity to address the question that’s been on my mind.
For the first time, Cammie looks unsure of how to answer. She looks to Caleb, who smiles at me indulgently.
“We went to college together,” he provides simply. “And, frankly, Sam, if Cammie recommends you — family or not — I believe you’re the best.” He winks at Cammie, who raises her eyebrows and smiles.
An alarm goes off in my head. Caleb was a hotshot basketball player in college. He slept his way through the cheerleading squad, and then went on to meet that home-wrecking bitch Olivia. I narrow my eyes at Cammie. Did she know Olivia? Had they competed for my husband? My questions are left unanswered, as money becomes the topic of conversation.
I half listen as Caleb offers Sam a generous salary, which he accepts, and before I can protest that I would prefer a traditional fem
ale nanny — preferably one with both a large ass and a large facial wart — Caleb is standing up and shaking Sam’s hand.
It is decided. Sam will take care of Estella five days a week, with evenings off to attend class. He will start tomorrow, as Caleb leaves in two days on another business trip and he wants to make sure Sam is settled before he goes. Which is code for: My wife doesn’t know what she is doing, and I have to teach you how to coerce her to use the breast pump.
I sigh, defeated, and remain seated as Caleb walks them to the door.
Well, I got my way — kind of.
Chapter EightPast
I was not a commitment girl. Until Caleb rejected me — then I was. We’d had the talk, the one where I asked him where we were going, and he looked at me like I was a space alien.
“You knew,” he’d said. “You knew when you got involved with me that I wasn’t looking for commitment.”
I countered that I hadn’t been looking for anything, either. That things change when people click.
But, Caleb had remained firm. He wasn’t ready. He didn’t want me. He wanted her. He hadn’t exactly said that, but I knew it down to my marrow. I knew it by the way he always looked away when I brought her up. He wouldn’t even tell me her name. Whoever had ruined him had ruined everything for me.
I felt like a small piece of regurgitated potato skin. He just wanted to fuck me. I was curled up on my own sofa, after leaving his place in a fit of rage. I wanted to do something destructive. I called every single one of my slutty, ho bag friends and arranged to meet them for drinks.
I walked into the bar and had three numbers within an hour. Normally, I didn’t give any of the douchebags who approached me the time of day, but there was a doctor with an accent I found attractive. I tucked his number into my purse and had another drink.
By the time I left the bar, I was sufficiently sauced. Nothing new for me. I climbed into my car after bidding my girlfriends goodnight, and hadn’t driven five blocks when I crashed into a parked SUV. I sped off before anyone could notice me, but I was severely shaken.
I called my mother.
Her voice was impatient when she answered.
“Mom, I got into an accident. Can you come get me?”
“I’m in bed.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I’m drunk. I need you, Mom.”
She sighed heavily. I heard my father’s voice in the background and her snap — “It’s Leah. She’s gotten into some sort of trouble. She wants me to go get her.”
They exchanged words I couldn’t hear, and then she was back on the line. “Did anyone see you?”
I told her no.
“Good,” she said.
They spoke some more. My father sounded angry.
I waited patiently, massaging my head. It had hit the steering wheel on impact, and I felt the beginnings of a headache.
Her voice came back on the line. “Daddy is sending Cliff. He’ll bring you to the house.”
Cliff was my father’s driver. He lived in a little apartment on their twelve-acre property. I thanked her, trying to hide the disappointment in my voice, and gave her directions to where I was.
What had I expected? My mother hopping in her little, red Mercedes and driving to my rescue? A hug? I wiped the tears from my face and shrugged away the hurt feelings.
“Don’t be such a fucking little baby,” I told myself.
Cliff arrived ten minutes later. He parked his pickup in an empty lot and jumped in the driver’s seat of my car. I looked over at him gratefully.
“Thanks, Cliff.”
He nodded and shifted the car into drive. The good thing about Cliff was that he wasn’t a talker. When we pulled through the gates of the mansion, all of the lights were out. I stumbled through the front door — which was left open for me — and felt my way up to the spare room. No mother waiting, no father waiting.
I cleaned up in the bathroom, put a band-aid on the cut on my forehead and swallowed three Advil for my headache. Crawling into bed, I drifted off, thinking of Caleb.
I woke up to the sound of my name. It was my mother’s voice, impatient. I sat up quickly and flinched at the pain that zigzagged across my scalp. She was standing next to my bed, fully dressed, her hair coiffed on top of her head in a perfect chignon. Her lips were ruby red and pulled tight. She was angry with me. I flinched again and pulled the sheet up to my chin.
“Hi, Mama.”
“Get up.”
“Okay …”
“Your father is very angry, Johanna. This is the third time this year you’ve had an incident with your car.”
I shifted uncomfortably. She was right.
“He’s having breakfast. He wants you to come down so he can speak to you.”
I nodded. Of course he would send my mother. Ever his envoy, my father never spoke to me unless he sent my mother to summon me to a meeting. Even when I was a little girl, I remember being called this way when I did something naughty.
I hurriedly dressed in my clothes from the night before and followed her down the stairs to the dining room. He was sitting in his usual spot at the head of the table, with the paper spread out in front of him. At his elbow was a cup of coffee and a goat cheese and spinach omelet. He didn’t look up when I walked in.
“Sit,” he said. I scooted into a chair, and the housekeeper brought me a coffee and a small, white pill.
“Johanna,” he said, snapping his paper closed and peering at me with his hard, grey eyes. “I’ve decided that it’s in your best interest to come work for me.”
I started. I already had a job. I worked as a teller at a local bank. My father did not employ family; he called it a conflict of interest. Just last year, my cousin begged to be taken on as an accountant and my father refused.
“W — why?”
He frowned. ‘Why’ was not a word my father enjoyed hearing.
“I mean — you don’t believe in mixing family and work,” I rushed. My palms were sweating. God, why did I drink so much last night?
My father was handsome. He had olive skin and light grey eyes. He had spent ten hours a week in the gym for years and had the physique to show for it. With my flaming red hair and pale skin, I look nothing like him.
His eyes locked onto mine and in that moment, I knew what he was saying.
A dull ache worked its way across my chest as if it was searching for something. It found my heart, ripped it open and climbed inside. I picked my emotions up from the floor and looked my father in the eyes. If he wanted me to leave my job and work for him, I would leave my job and work for him.
“Yes, Daddy.”
“You’ll start Monday. You can take the Lincoln while your car is in the shop. Leave your keys with Cliff.”
He reopened his paper, and I knew I’d been dismissed.
I stood up, wanting to say something else, wanting him to say something else.
“Bye, Daddy.”
He didn't even acknowledge I’d spoken.
My mother was waiting for me in the hall. She handed me the keys to the Lincoln. This was such a well-oiled operation.
I drove straight to the bank and informed them I would not be returning to work. Then I headed to my townhouse with the full intention of drinking a bottle of wine and going to sleep. When I got home, Caleb was sitting on my doorstep. I stopped short. He was in his work clothes: grey pants, white button down, sleeves rolled to his elbows. He was sitting with his legs spread, elbows resting on his knees and looking at the ground, seemingly deep in thought. When he heard my heels on the concrete, he looked up … smiled. It was his crooked smile. It reached all the way to his eyes and made you wonder if he was picturing you naked. God, I was so lost to this man. I walked right past him and unlocked the door. When I opened it, he stood and followed me inside.
Afterward, we ordered Thai food and sat in bed eating it. I was still a little raw from my conversation with my dad — not to mention, I’d just slept with Caleb, again, after he told me he didn’t want me.
“Why did you come here? You can’t come for booty calls and then tell me I’m not good enough to be your girlfriend.”
He set his container down on the side table and turned to face me.
“That’s not what I said.”
“You didn’t need to, asshole. Actions speak louder than words.”
He nodded. My chopsticks froze on the way to my mouth. I had expected him to at least put up a fight … deny it.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
He took my container of curry and my chopsticks and put them next to his. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand while he was distracted. Something big was happening. I could feel it.
He pulled me onto his lap so that I was straddling him.
“I’m only going to talk about this once. No questions, okay?”
I nodded.
“I was with her for three years. I loved her … love her,” he amended. Jealousy rushed. That’s all it did — rushed through me with nowhere to go. It felt like I was going to pop from the pressure. I bit the insides of my cheeks.
“You never quite stop loving someone when you're in that deep.” His eyes kind of glazed over at that point. “Anyway, we were really young … and stupid. I couldn’t control her the way I wanted to; she was too strong for me. I made a really bad decision one night and she caught me.”
“You cheated on her?” Up until that point I had kept my mouth shut, too afraid to speak in case it broke the rare chatty moment he was having.
The muscles in his jaw clenched, and his nostrils flared.
“Yes — no.” He rubbed his forehead. “I was...” He dropped his hand to my hip. He looked so tortured that I reached up to put my palm against his cheek. I knew a little about Caleb’s father. He was a notorious womanizer. Currently, he was married to a woman younger than me. It was his fourth marriage. From what I gathered from Caleb, he highly disapproved of his father’s behavior, so cheating was coming as quite a surprise to me.
“I’m not a cheater, Leah. But, God that woman doesn’t trust anyone…”
I took a deep breath and let it ooze from between my lips. He watched me carefully, trying to gauge my response.
Dirty Red (Love Me With Lies) Page 6