Page 5 of Jane Deyre
“You’re missing out.” She takes a puff and exhales a ring of smoke. I swallow back a cough as she lifts her tumbler and quaffs her drink.
“So, let’s begin.”
I nod in agreement, fearing that any word that spills out of my mouth will cost me my new job.
“Basically, I’d like you to be my gal Friday. Do errands for me and help with light housecleaning. My dear longtime housekeeper, Grace, is getting old and rather arthritic. And my social secretary, Alice, is rather busy right now overseeing a fundraising tribute the Academy Museum of Motion Pictures is hosting.” Yet another glug of the Cointreau. “With all honesty, I’m sorry I agreed to it. I don’t care to be seen in public anymore.”
Yes, she’s been reclusive. Ever since...
She stops me in my thoughts. “But at ten thousand dollars per ticket, the gala will raise a significant amount of money for my foundation that’s near and dear to me. As will the silent auction.”
Yikes! Ten thousand dollars a ticket? That’s more than three months of my salary, but I guess for the rich and famous, it’s a drop in the bucket. As I’m about to ask her more about the event, another voice enters the room.
“Edwina, you shouldnotbe drinking at this early hour in the morning!Orsmoking! Your doctor advised against it.”
The voice is sharp. The tone peremptory.
It’s coming from the second floor. I gaze up at the balustrade that overlooks the great room like a balcony. No one’s there.
I shudder thinking how easily one could fall over the railing—especially if a little tipsy—when rapid footsteps sound in my ears.CIick-clack.I swivel my head. Stomping our way is a tall, whippet-thin woman, dressed in a prim gray suit with a knee-length pencil skirt, white buttoned-up blouse, and low-heeled black pumps. Her slate-gray hair is tied back in a chignon, so tightly it pulls back the already taut skin on her face. Everything about her is sharp. Like she’s made of shards of glass. Her pointy nose, jagged cheekbones, jutting chin, long fingernails, and piercing eyes. At close to six feet, she looks in a word: menacing.
“Give that to me,” she snaps, snatching the drink straight out of Edwina’s hand. “And put that cigar out right now.” She’s obviously not a force to be reckoned with.
Edwina defiantly takes another puff of her cigar and blows out a puff of smoke in the direction of the rigid woman. She’s obviously not a force to be reckoned with either.
“Oh, puh-lease, Alice. If I’d listened to doctors’ orders all my life, I’d have been dead a long time ago. Now, please set the drink back down on the table.” She watches as the other woman does as she’s told. “Have we forgotten you work for me?”
The surly Alice-woman screws up her face. The movement minimal. Then focuses on me.
“And what is this creature you’ve brought in? And why on earth is she drinking? She looks no older than twelve!”
I suddenly feel self-conscious again in my Smurfette costume. Thank goodness I’m no longer wearing the headpiece.
Edwina takes another glug of her Cointreau before responding, showing her who’s boss. “Alice, meet Jane. Jane Deyre. She rescued Pilote this morning after I took a spill. Saved him from a most awful fate! He was almost hit by a car.”
As if on cue, Pilote prances into the room and jumps onto Edwina’s lap. He lets out a meow and begins to purr as Edwina strokes him affectionately.
The woman called Alice gives me a once-over with her glacial gray eyes. I swear the temperature in the room has dropped ten degrees since she’s appeared. As if someone’s turned on the air-conditioning. Edwina goes on.
“As a thank-you, I offered her a job.”
Lifting her brows, the other woman hisses. “Really? Without consulting me?”
“Since when do I need to consult you? Anyway, she’s going to work as my gal Friday. Help me out with little odds and ends. Work with Grace.”
Alice narrows her eyes at me. “That means she’ll be working forme.”
I audibly gulp. For this dragon lady?
Tapping the ashes of the cigar into a crystal ashtray, Edwina looks my way. “My dear, all my household help reports to Alice. She’s my chief of staff and social secretary... And my primary caregiver. She used to be a nurse.”
The woman gives me a cold, fake smile. It sends a chill down my spine.
“Nice to meet you, Alice,” I finally say, trying to get things off to a good start. I stand up and offer her my costume-covered hand.
Repulsed, she refuses it. Her eyes stay fixed on me. “It’s Ms. Fairfax to you.”
Her voice is cold as dry ice. She obviously doesn’t like me. And it’s obvious I’m not going to be on a first-name basis with anyone in this house. Well, maybe, except for the cat.