Second First Impressions

by Sally Thorne

  “Of course I can’t.” Teddy is getting riled up, almost crackling with blue-black sparks. “But I won’t need to know how. Alistair does all that.”

  “How is that fair to him? If you’re starting a business, you’ll need to learn.” Jerry is pleased to have made a point. To me he adds, “No, that’s fine, Ruthie. Just send your usual reports to the office.”

  I need some way to impress Jerry. “We work very hard to ensure that Providence maintains its reputation, which of course goes without saying.”

  “You may need to explain it for Teddy’s benefit,” Jerry says, but I detect a faint whiff of face-saving. Perhaps Jerry can’t remember why he added PDC to his sold-sticker collection. I click into brochure mode.

  “Providence has been consistently listed in the country’s top ten retirement complexes since it was built in the late 1960s. We really pride ourselves on the boutique feel. In this area, there’s a saying: ‘With any luck I’ll retire in Providence.’ They’re saying that this is the ultimate goal to aspire to.”

  Jerry isn’t really listening. “And you live on-site here, correct?”

  “Yes, sir. It’s part of my salary package. There’s a dual-occupancy cottage that used to be for on-site security and maintenance. I am here twenty-four, seven for the residents.”

  “For how long?” Teddy asks.

  Is he not very bright? Oh dear. Beauty fades. “Sorry, how do you mean? All day and all night.” I shimmy out of my hot cardigan.

  Teddy says, “No, how long have you been living here, twenty-four, seven?”

  “Oh. The whole time. Six years.”

  Teddy is as dumbstruck as that moment when I turned around and revealed my true age at the gas station. “Do you go anywhere?”

  “Providence is a great employer. I visit my parents when I take my vacation. And I go to the gas station,” I add with a pinch of dryness. “It doesn’t matter where I go. It matters that I’m always here.”

  “That sounds absolutely—” Teddy is silenced by his father’s sideways look.

  “It sounds like true long-term commitment to a job,” Jerry finishes. “It sounds like someone who chose a role and stuck with it. Someone who doesn’t go chasing after the next shiny thing.”

  Teddy argues back, “I’m not doing that. I’ll prove it to you when we open.”

  “Sure, we’ll see.” Jerry looks at me with a small smile. “It’s rare I meet someone as dedicated as you, Ruthie. I can always tell when someone’s only in it for the paycheck.”

  I am sick with pleasure from this praise. I’m also conflicted, because Jerry’s blunt dismissal has hurt his son. “Thank you. I love it here. Would you both like a tour of the grounds?”

  Jerry says, “Teddy needs somewhere to stay for a month or two. He’s been kicked out by his roommates and has run out of couches. It wouldn’t look great for a Prescott to be sleeping in a cardboard box. He’s going to take the other half of your cottage.”

  “It’s a little musty.” My stomach flips over in surprise. We’ll be sharing a wall.

  “I’m stashing him here for a few months. Just enough time for him to get back on his feet. Save some money. Sort yourself out, Teddy. If you could get me the keys, Ruthie, we can walk up and find it. Maybe you could give it a little once-over with a feather duster for him.”

  This morning we were completely off the radar to PDC. While swooping in to rescue his hapless, walletless son, Jerry has remembered we exist. And now I have to clean. I manage to say blandly, “Sure, that’s no problem.”

  Teddy is affronted, possibly on my behalf. “I can clean it myself.” He holds out a hand for the cottage key, but his father does too. I know who my boss is.

  Jerry takes it and says, “While you live here, Teddy, you’re going to help out here in the office.”

  I keep my eyes neutral. I can’t transmit how deeply, desperately I do not want this.

  “She doesn’t want me to,” Teddy says. Am I a completely open book to him? Scary.

  “Of course she does,” Jerry rebuffs. “I think learning on the site will be a good way to get you interested in our business. You can adapt it to your latest venture, if you want,” he adds unconvincingly.

  Teddy sighs. “I’m not a property developer. I’m a tattoo artist. I’ll never be on PDC’s payroll.” The compulsive inking is explained. Tattoos, motorbikes, floating on the breeze, completely unconcerned about his next meal or next bed? No wonder he keeps staring at me like I’m microscopic.

  Jerry eyes Melanie thoughtfully. “Have you signed a contract?”

  I answer for her. “Yes, two months, and I’ve already trained her.” No way am I sitting across from the boss’s son while he dicks around doing quizzes online for eight hours a day. I’ve got Mel for that. She blinks at me, expression grateful. Teddy’s looking roughly the same. “We’ve got a maintenance contractor, a gardener . . . we’re all set.”

  “Anything else?” Jerry refocuses like a laser on me. “Any other odd jobs around here he could do?” Jerry really wants to put a big tick in his Teddy Project column. “Ruthie, you just mentioned filling up a resident’s car with gas. That sounds like a job.”

  I feel like my brain’s cogs are clunking too slowly. It’s the stress. I can barely remember my own name or pull in a deep breath.

  What to do? A job for Teddy . . . what could be done . . . ?

  “That was for the Parlonis,” Melanie offers helpfully. “They need a lot of help. Wait a minute,” she begins slowly, turning to me. Her young cogs are faster than mine. “They’re hiring for an assistant. He can work for them.”

  I felt small and ridiculous at the gas station, when Teddy Prescott roared with laughter over every single aspect of my appearance. Now it’s time for a little payback. “Perfect; well done, Mel. Would you like to see the job ad, Teddy? It’s mainly driving, errands, and cleaning.” It will also be the strangest, most demeaning experience of your life.

  “Perfect,” Jerry echoes, and I think he’s feeling some Teddy payback too.

  Teddy is regarding me with suspicion because I’m filled with evil glee. “I think these residents should interview me first. I don’t want special treatment.”

  Jerry can’t argue with that. “Put in a proper effort. I’ll take a walk. Always nice to actually set foot on one of our assets.” When he steps out onto the path and turns away, I see that his profile is just like his son’s.

  I wish Jerry wouldn’t walk around here without me. He’s going to get ideas, I just know it. Life is change, after all. But I have to make him understand how important this place is, and I have to report to Sylvia that I tried really hard.

  On impulse I follow him out and say, “Mr. Prescott? Sorry, Jerry? Would I be able to join you?”

  “I’d rather you go with Teddy to the interview. I know you want some job certainty,” he adds. He looks exhausted now as he looks up the hill. “I can’t even remember when we acquired this place.”

  “You’re a busy person.”

  “Too busy. My daughter Rose is ready for more responsibility. I’m going to ask her to conduct a full site review and recommend to the board how we proceed. I’ll ask her to call you.” He seems pleased with this solution.

  “I’ll provide her with any information she needs.” I know that it’s going to take more than reports to convince them to leave Providence as it is. What opportunity do I have to showcase what an impact we have on our residents? How can I make him fall in love with the place? “I don’t suppose you’d like to come to the Christmas party this year? I do the fund-raising for it and we have a lot of fun. We have a theme, and . . . it’s just a great example of what we do here.”

  Jerry is charmed. “Send through the details to my assistant. If I’m available, sure. Why not? Sounds like a good time.” He sets off up the path. “Send an invitation to Rose as well, please. She needs to learn to get out of the office and meet people. I doubt Teddy will still be here then. But until he leaves, can you keep an eye out for him,
and help him settle in?”

  I have to reply: “Of course.”

  Chapter Five

  Back inside the office, Teddy and Mel are getting along like a house on fire. I dial the Parlonis and when it’s eventually answered, there’s a loud TV blaring in the background. “What?” Renata yells so loud that Teddy hears her from where he’s standing. “Who died?”

  “I have a new boy here for an interview.” Applying the word boy to these tight muscles is laughable. But then again, he did just come in here with his dad like he was applying for a paper route.

  “I thought we were going to get our diapers changed by a nurse,” Renata barks. “I was about to start wetting myself. What’s he like?” I hear loud chewing. “What category?”

  She means, is he:

  Droopy Goth

  Brain-Dead Skateboarder

  Prima Donna

  Talentless Musician

  Idealistic Youth

  Many other categories I can’t remember right now because a handsome man is staring at me like I am interesting

  What category? All I know is, his eyes are like a golden bonnet tortoise shell. Brown, green, and yellow. Exceedingly rare, found only right here. My gaze starts on his T-shirt sleeve, and before I know it, I’m moving down that forearm to his wrist. I’m ravenous to see more of this perfectly executed living art. Under my eyes, his hand flexes like I’ve touched him. Without much air, I say, “He’s in the tattoo category.”

  “You know that’s only a subcategory,” Renata says.

  “He’s the son of the owner of Providence. He’ll be living on-site in the other side of my cottage for a little while. It’ll be very convenient—he can just pop up to your place whenever you need him.”

  Renata whoops in delight. “So we’ve got ourselves a Richie Rich for my last-ever boy. I’ve been training for this.” There’s a short pause. “The owner’s son, did you say? Do I have to behave myself with this one?” It’s the first time she has ever paused to consider how her high jinks might impact me.

  “He doesn’t want any special treatment,” I tell her with barely concealed relish. “Just do the usual interview.”

  “I’m going to do the White Shirt Challenge. Haven’t done that one in a while. Send him up. What am I going to wear?” She hangs up.

  To the dial tone, I reply, “No problem. See you soon.” I hang up. “Let’s go.”

  “Can I come?” Melanie grabs her notepad.

  “You need to stay here and answer the phone.” She wheels her chair back to her desk and slumps into it. “You really didn’t need to take notes, by the way.”

  “I was just copying you and all your lists. Anyway, I hope you get the job,” Melanie says to Teddy. “It’d be nice to have someone young around here to talk to.”

  His gaze flicks to me. “I think I’m older than Ruthie.”

  She realizes how that sounded, covering it up with huffs and blustering. “There’ll be three young people here, of course that’s what I meant. So have you ever heard of the Sasaki Method? Of course you haven’t, because I invented it.”

  “Based on the name alone, it sounds very legit.” He’s interested and grinning, leaning over to poke around in the junk on her desk. “I hope it’s not a pyramid scheme. I’m broke and gullible. Ah, what the hell? Sign me up.”

  “You will not tell him about the Sasaki Method,” I counterinstruct.

  Teddy picks up her notepad. “‘Baby bear’? Oh my God, kill me now.” He picks up a pen and scribbles that out. He reads out more of her notes. “‘Haircut. Crowning glory. Golf course facials.’ This is a useful record, good job. Wait, what does this mean? ‘Warn Ruthie off this one again.’”

  Mel shrugs. “Just making sure my boss doesn’t get blinded by the hair.”

  Teddy’s eyes cut to me and he strokes his head with his fingertips. His gaze holds mine. Stay bland, Ruthie. Hold steady. With zero shame, he smiles at me and crosses out that “Warn Ruthie” line in Melanie’s notes.

  Melanie doesn’t notice all this somehow. She continues in her previous train of thought. “We have a maintenance dilemma here at Providence. Deciding whether Ruthie is high—or low—maintenance, for her dating profile. What do you think?”

  “Dating profile?” He stumbles over this, but recovers and pretends to inspect me. “Hmm, let me think.”

  Great, two giggling employees. The thing about being the butt of a joke? It’s funny at first. But after an entire child-olescence being Truthful Ruth the Reverend’s Daughter, it’s worn thinner than a contact lens.

  Melanie says, “With the Sasaki Method, I will ensure that Ruthie—”

  “That’s enough, Melanie,” I say in a voice that would make a golden retriever piddle. “Please get back to work.”

  “Roger,” she replies, uninjured. To Teddy she says, “I hope you weren’t the one who hurt Ruthie’s feelings.”

  He turns to me, surprise in his eyes, but I walk out. “I sometimes do that,” I hear him tell her with what sounds like genuine regret. “I’ve been told I can be a careless little asshole.”

  “Just don’t do it again,” Melanie replies with steel in her tone. “Or I’ll kill ya.”

  “Come on, you’ve got an interview,” I call out with dark glee in my heart. I hope Renata Parloni absolutely breaks this one.

  Teddy keeps pace easily with me as I almost run up the path. “What’s with the wildlife situation?”

  We come across two golden bonnet tortoises. They are mating. I mean, I’m happy for the species, but, sheesh. In my effort to give them some privacy, I knock into Teddy and pinball into a hedge. He puts his hand on my arm to steady me. We stop and face each other.

  “Careful,” he chides, like I’m the clueless visitor. Like I haven’t been here, working my ass off preserving his family’s investment. Now I’m steaming mad. Providence was under the radar. We were forgotten. Now Jerry Prescott is on the other side of the lake right there, taking photographs, delegating, and making new plans.

  “Maybe they’re playing a game,” Teddy says, gesturing down at the path where the tortoises are rocking each other’s worlds. “Maybe it’s not what we think.” He wants me to be playful with him.

  “The ones with yellow on the shell are endangered golden bonnet tortoises. Please don’t step on any, or I’ll have to scrape them up and fill out a form.”

  You wouldn’t even know where to locate that particular clipboard, buddy.

  Teddy blows out a breath, looking back down at the office. “That was probably the most humiliating thing I’ve ever sat through. ‘Little baby bear,’” he groans, remembering afresh. “Hey, is that the faintest ghost of a smile at my expense?” He’s still holding my arm and squeezes me gently.

  I’m sort of . . . gently panicking? Is that what this flutter-sensation inside is?

  He notices my reaction and folds his arms slowly across his chest like I’m a spooked critter. The knuckles peek out—his right hand has GIVE across the knuckles. GIVE and TAKE, oh gosh, why is that making it hard for me to find actual normal words to say out loud?

  “I know you’ve been put in a real difficult spot by my dad. Sorry about that. I promise I’ll be out of here as soon as I’ve saved enough. Just a couple of months. This place is kind of something, huh?”

  “This place is really special. Come on, let’s get going.”

  “Yeah, wait,” Teddy says, in no rush like always. “Let me take it all in.”

  Providence is built around a natural lake, fed by streams running down from the steep hill to our right. The dark, scribbly-looking forest isn’t good for hiking or picnic-blanket daydreaming; I’ve tried both. It’s nothing but mosquitoes and Bigfoot manure in those trees. Tortoises slowly graze the banks of the lake, and in the spring the banks have nodding drifts of bluebells and white tulips that I planted myself.

  But Teddy’s not taking in the view—he’s looking at the town houses.

  “Looking at these houses makes me feel like I’ve got something on
the tip of my tongue. Like déjà vu.” He steps over the copulating tortoises and begins to stroll, looking troubled. “Maybe I dreamed this place.” He looks at the glasses hanging against my chest. “I’ve been having a lot of dreams lately.”

  “I’m sure you have.” The dryer I am, the wider he grins. I gesture up at the houses. “Once I tell you, you won’t un-see it.”

  Teddy stands in front of the first town house, number 1, home to Mrs. Allison Tuckmire, and he tucks a fist under his chin. He looks cute when he’s thinking. He should do it more often. “Give me a clue. The architectural style.”

  “You’re into architecture?”

  Shrug. “I like design.” I suppose. He’s completely covered in them.

  “Colonial Revival. The double pillars on either side of the doors, the arch motifs over the windows. The shutters and the slate roof. I already gave you a hint earlier, in my brochure spiel. This place was built in the late 1960s.”

  Teddy twists his body back to me with a groan. “I can’t take it. Tell me.”

  I say, “Graceland,” and he looks at me like the ground has dropped out from under him.

  “Graceland,” he repeats with genuine wonder. “Graceland had a litter of kittens.”

  I laugh at his perfect description. “The architect who designed Providence was Herbert St. Ives and he was a big Elvis fan. There’s a total of forty kittens here.” I sweep my arm at the huge square of houses surrounding the lake. “This was, once upon a time, extremely modern and glamorous. Now it’s just . . .” I try to think of how to spin it. “Preserved to the best of our ability.”

  He rubs his neck and looks contrite. “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings at the gas station. I have an incurable case of verbal diarrhea. I get really carried away and you just sparked my imagination too much. But that’s my fault, not yours. I’m sorry.”

  I’m speechless that I could spark anything in him at all. We stare at each other, and I realize the part I’d hoped for the most is not coming. The bit where he says, You really don’t look old at all.

  The silence becomes too much for him to bear. “I’m guessing everyone here is super rich.”