1 Executive Lunch Page 18

  "OhmyGod!" I ushered her inside. She was badly bruised, but no cuts this time. "This is all my fault!"

  "The potatoes," she said around an ice pack.

  "What?"

  "He was mad about the potatoes."

  "He saw me! At the hotel yesterday--"

  She shook her head. "It was the potatoes at dinner. I thought I had all the lumps out, but I didn't."

  I had nothing to say to that. The good news was that Huntington had gone ahead and ordered a double bed for the study. I only had sheets for the king bed, but we made do. There weren't any extra blankets, and I had no idea what had happened to the old bedspread.

  "You'll have to go in the morning and see about buying some sheets and a blanket or two," I said, as if her face didn't look like that of a bloated corpse.

  "Couch would work," she mumbled.

  I didn't think she was much up to arguing, so I let it go. "I guess Ted followed you to the hotel and saw me later and figured we were plotting. This is all my fault." I was ready to cry.

  "No. He was at the bar before dinner. He gets real picky when he eats snacks there before dinner. It was my fault. I didn't get the lumps out."

  "But he--"

  "I promised him after that time he invited his friend and wife from work that I wouldn't ever serve lumpy potatoes again." She swallowed noisily.

  I had no idea what she was talking about. "Get some sleep. Make sure you eat something in the morning. I'll leave some cash so you can get some sheets and things tomorrow."

  There were tears in the corners of her eyes. They started to spill before I left and closed the door. I didn't know how to help her so I didn't try.

  Chapter 31

  Back in the main bedroom, I paced before calling Sean. I asked him about counselors. He yelled at me a lot and wanted details, but I told him he could answer my questions or I'd go somewhere else. He knew me well enough that he stopped pressuring me and gave me some names.

  Just in case Marilyn asked, I ought to be ready. If I could have forced her there…ah, but then force was the problem in the first place, wasn't it?

  In the morning, she was up before I was. She had tea brewing and breakfast made. She must have heard me in the shower. Unfortunately, she hadn't brought any extra clothes. I went back in the bedroom and found a clean pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt. "Help yourself to the shower."

  She didn't look up. Her face hadn't improved over the night before. Her short brown hair looked as though she cut it herself; shorter on one side than the other. With a good cut that framed her face, she might even be pretty, but Marilyn had a lot more to worry about than a haircut. "There wasn't any coffee," she said.

  "Grab some at the grocery. The pot is somewhere." I vaguely remembered seeing one. I set two places. She stared at the plates, and her mouth set in a firm line.

  "I don't need charity."

  "Yes, you do, but I'm not going to sit and argue with you about it. You'll need some food in your stomach before you go get sheets. Might as well eat here."

  "No one else eats with the hired hands."

  "How would you know? Isn't this the only job you've had in a while?"

  She pressed her lips together. "My grandma cleaned houses. I used to go with her."

  "So this house is different. Pull up a chair, get yourself full and then you can see if you can do some of the shopping. Just get the one set of sheets for now. I'll have to ask Huntington about getting a dresser." The last was said more to myself than to her, but she heard it.

  She sat. "Are you his whore?"

  I nearly choked on my eggs. I didn't even like eggs that well, but at least these were scrambled, and she had put cheese all over them. "What?"

  "His name isn't on the apartment. Why do you have to check with him? I guess even rich women have some man that runs things."

  I was appalled and without a satisfactory explanation. I stuttered for a while, burned my tongue on the hot tea while trying to decide how to answer and finally managed, "No, I am not his…anything. He…picks the furniture, that's all." I rolled my eyes at how stupid I sounded. "Fine. When you're at J.C. Penny's looking for sheets see if they have any dressers."

  She looked doubtful. "Penny's sells dressers?"

  I had no idea. My dad's friend, Hal, made most of what I needed. I still had the same dresser he had made me when I was teenager. "Maybe we can have something made. How about you just get a suitcase, and then you can leave clothes here in case you need them?"

  She stirred her eggs. "Why are you helping me?" She made it sound as if help made her hurt somewhere.

  "I need a housekeeper."

  She looked like she might argue, but it wasn't in her nature, at least not anymore. "Thanks."

  I barely heard it. "You're welcome. Looks like you could use some more ice."

  She shook her head. "Won't help now. Maybe some heat."

  Assuming she knew best, I offered her the tub. "There's a whirlpool jacuzzi off the master." The master bath was almost as big as the study and in my opinion, more luxurious. She could have used the very nice bath off the study too, but it didn't have jets in the tub like the master did. "Take yourself a bath. Pretend you're someone else. I gotta get to work."

  She looked panicked as I got up to leave. "What sheets do you want? What color?"

  "Get sheets. I don't care what color. Not pink. They are sheets."

  She watched me stuff things from my backpack into the briefcase. "You don't know much about being rich, do you?"

  Our eyes met. I held my breath before finally asking, "Do you?"

  Her eyes fell and then rose again. "I guess not."

  I shrugged. "We'll both make it. Who needs to understand it anyway?" I had my hand on the door, when I remembered the party. "Uh, Marilyn?"

  "What?"

  I had no right to ask, and I wasn't sure that having her continue to work for me was the right thing to do. Then again, no matter what I did or didn't do, Ted would keep on beating her. "I'm having a…party Friday. I kind of need someone to get everything ready so it's really good that you showed up." She looked like she thought I was lying just to make her feel better. I hurried along hoping she might not even notice the word "party" and the implied "people." "I was wondering, I kinda need someone to, uh, answer the door." As if I wasn't plenty healthy enough to answer my own door.

  She stared at me without blinking. "Answer the door? Downstairs, like the guy that lets me in?"

  I felt even more foolish. "No. Up here. During the party." I waved my hand. "Oh, never mind."

  I was almost gone when she called out, "I guess I'll be free Friday. I don't guess I need to rush right back. Usually I go to my mother's for a few days after something like this anyway."

  I paused and looked back. "Really? You'd have to deal with a lot of people."

  She shrugged. "I guess."

  "I might need you to not only answer the door, but take coats and help serve food."

  She nodded. "I can do that."

  "You sure?"

  Stiffly she replied, "Of course."

  "Obviously I'll pay you for more than just the cleaning. It's going to be a tough crowd." Her eyes started to flick back and forth as though looking for an escape, so I rushed on, "not a mean crowd, but they are…well, some of them are sort of demanding sorts." That was as accurate as I could do on short notice. I could just picture Dan asking her for hors d'oeuvre sixty times. And Lord help us both if he pinched her on the ass. I'd kill him on the spot.

  "You mean people that really are rich are coming to the party." She filled in my lame excuse with scary insight. "I can serve. No one notices the hired help. I used to waitress when," she looked down at the dishrag. "A while back."

  "You sure you won't get into any trouble for not showing back up at home?"

  She didn't answer. After the silence went on a heartbeat too long, I left and hoped I wasn't making things worse for her.

  * * *

  Once at work, I called one of the counse
lors. Without giving too much information I told the guy I was trying to help a friend, and I needed to know what to say and what not to say.

  "Be there for her," he told me. "If she calls, get her out of trouble. If she asks for help, send her to me."

  "Okay, but is there any way I can make her get help?" I pleaded.

  Chuck, the counselor, advised against pushing her. "Abused people think they deserve to be pushed. They expect it and almost beg for it because it is the only way they know how to act."

  I wasn't sure that was true about Marilyn. "At some point in her life she wasn't like this."

  "That's even better. If she responds to you, it might be because you remind her of someone positive that was in her life. She may be nearing the point where she realizes if she doesn't get out she could die. She might be trying to decide whether living is worth it or not."

  I thanked him and hung up. His words weren't all that reassuring because I wasn't a very good influence on her. The life I showed her was nothing more than a lie. It might not be abusive, but as she had already discovered, it wasn't a real life lived by a real person. She knew I didn't belong in the world Huntington had created.

  Of course, the more worrisome thing was that if she could spot it, others probably could also.

  In fact, the rest of that day, I was pretty sure I was making it painfully obvious that my life and history were totally bogus. Turbo quizzed me about the car again, and I still hadn't gotten around to asking Huntington about it. Gary also stopped by my office and struck up a conversation about the Viper. The only thing that saved me from looking a total fool is that the man loved to talk more than listen, so I just let him rave about all its great features. Things in my life were heavily out of control. I needed help.

  The number Huntington had given me made clicking noises as though it was being forwarded before he answered. "Huntington."

  "I'm not sure about the butler thing. We probably need a backup," I told him.

  "The cleaning lady?"

  "Yeah."

  "Okay, what else?"

  I sighed. "It would probably be a good idea if you brought the Viper over. People keep asking me questions about it."

  There was a much longer pause before he answered. When he did, his patience was gone. "It's already in the garage. Didn't you see it?"

  Parking spots were assigned in the condo. I had two permanent ones and the use of several temporary ones. The valet parking guys usually parked guest cars, but if they didn't I was supposed to direct my guests to use the correct ones. "Uh..mm."

  "I take that as a no." His voice was strained.

  "Well, I don't have the keys." It wasn't much of a defense, but rack my brains as hard as I could, I didn't remember a car being next to my normal spot. I was so jittery from Marilyn showing up late on my doorstep, I could have driven the wrong car into work and not thought twice about it.

  "I'll stop over." He hung up as usual without saying goodbye.

  I was not functioning at full power.

  It took a lot of effort to force myself to finish the order for the new equipment. After that, I read through a few of the resumes that human resources had sent over. The first three were not harbingers of hope. Human resources had obviously used a word search program because they equated my request for "operating system experience" with "operate large, complex equipment." People who drove bulldozers weren't likely to be very interested in setting up computer database systems.

  Maybe it was best that I didn't actually hire anyone. After I got fired, I didn't want Strandfrost to let the new people go for lack of remembering why they were hired in the first place. Without an empire builder to defend their cause, the poor souls might end up on the street with me.

  When I got home that evening, Huntington was waiting for me. Given the activities of the day, I was late. He was doing his caged animal dance across the condo, dressed in his usual casual business attire. His eyes glittered with an anger that reminded me of the attack.

  "Oh come on," I complained. "It's just a car. I saw it on my way in." It was right where he said it was, next to the Mercedes' parking spot.

  "Very funny!"

  "It's a nice looking car." He had probably gone to a lot of trouble to get it and paid a huge sum of money. "I like black." I tried to sound hearty and enthusiastic, but at the moment I was more concerned about food than any car. Hopeful, I looked in the kitchen for Chinese, but there wasn't any. The refrigerator was sadly lacking also. Maybe I would make some cheese and broccoli soup.

  I started mixing the flour and butter to make a paste for the base. "Since the car has a hardtop, I assume it is the coupe. That is good. I was never much for having to take a roof on and off. Too much work."

  That was not the answer he was hoping for. "Somehow I could have guessed that cars weren't your thing considering that you didn't even notice it in the first place. Forget the car. The problem is that we are not getting very far solving the real problem."

  "Did something else happen?"

  Huntington ground his teeth together and paced back into the living room. He stared out the balcony door. "He cashed in another charity check!"

  "Allen?"

  Huntington snarled, "Who else?"

  With the way Gary continued to let him participate, I wasn't surprised. "So he thinks all is forgiven."

  "How would I know what the man is thinking?"

  I shrugged, watching my mixture thicken. "Can you grate some cheese?"

  There was a funny silence that went on for too long. Sighing, I got the grater out and tried to stir and grate cheese at the same time. The cheese had to go in very slowly or it would curdle.

  After a minute of this routine, Huntington came over and took the grater from my willing hands. His culinary attention mashed the block of cheese, but some of it did come through in small pieces.

  "Do you think whoever is working with him is just going to keep working with him?" I couldn't decide if I should be grateful it was almost over or sad because I hadn't helped any.

  "Near as I can tell the idiot cashed it on his own. You'd think between being questioned by the Feds and getting his ass kicked around the office, he would wise up."

  I doubted it. It must have shown on my face.

  "What?" he asked.

  I tried to think how to answer. "They are still letting him do essentially the same job. No one has acted any differently except maybe right at first. Why should he change?"

  "He's been caught!"

  "He didn't even get his hands slapped, at least not by anyone at Strandfrost. The man is making an awful lot of money, and if he wants even more, why should he stop? Nothing truly bad happened when he took the first few rounds." I finished stirring the soup and moved to toast some bread.

  "He knows we're on to him!"

  "And he knows that you didn't do a damn thing to him."

  "He could go to jail! I could lock him up tomorrow!"

  "Yeah, but he didn't go to jail. When they didn't fire him I think he took that as a sign that what he did was okay. No one has really grilled him because the Feds are after whoever started this scheme. I think he believes his little part in the play was actually so minor no one cares."

  Huntington let out a huge breath of air. "He thinks he is getting away with it?"

  "More than that. I think he believes he didn't do anything really wrong. It's as if a few charity checks were just no big deal. He's one of the boys and they will just…overlook his scandal. At first he seemed worried, but now he is back to rambling through his day. The way he looks at it is that you guys don't have enough proof or there just isn't that much wrong with it."

  Huntington stared at me for a long moment. "He got off easy. He shouldn't even dare to get a speeding ticket."

  "From what I've seen, most of the people on Gary's team are men not used to being tracked. As long as they turn in an occasional report, and the company makes money, why should they worry?"

  "You're saying they're all bilking the com
pany?"

  That was a little too close to what I thought of the group, but what I had observed was not illegal, it was just carelessness. I ladled the soup out and sat down to eat. "I'm saying that Allen is one of them, and he doesn't seem to be aware he crossed over a line. So he just keeps right on doing what he was doing--and that may or may not include the equipment thefts."

  Huntington looked incredulous. He stood there, not using the paper towel he had torn off to dry his hands. After a short while, he sat down and helped himself to the soup.

  We ate in silence, my spoon much quieter against the bowl than his.

  Apparently he wasn't in the mood to help with dishes, because when he was done eating, he set his bowl in the sink and grabbed his jacket from the living room. "I can't even believe this mess."

  On his way out the door, he nearly ran poor Marilyn over. He grunted. I froze, watching from the kitchen over the top of the bar.

  Marilyn gulped as he towered over her. She dropped two shopping bags in the process of trying to rescue the package of sheets that had skittered down the hall when Huntington opened the door and startled her.

  "I'll get it," he growled impatiently, grabbing one of the bags and tossing it towards the couch.

  Marilyn scurried inside, holding another of the bags up higher to cover her obviously damaged face. I nearly leaped over the counter to take the sheets from Huntington. "Thanks."

  He glanced back into the condo at Marilyn, but she had scrambled out of sight. Even though he couldn't possibly understand what was going on, he was a gentleman. He did not ask awkward questions.

  I was grateful.

  "Is she going to do the butler stint?"

  I nodded. "Yeah."

  "Good." He stomped away.

  Chapter 32

  As if I needed a reminder of my double life, Suzy stopped by work on Thursday. I hadn't seen her since the conference. She didn't look so good. Her face was red and beaded with sweat.

  "What are you doing here?" I rushed around the desk and offered her a chair.

  "I wanted you to be there again."

  I stared at her flushed face and licked my lips nervously. "Be…there."

  "You were," she paused and took a deep breath or two. "Late, last time," she gasped out. She collapsed into the chair after getting out this less than pertinent information.