A Slow Boil (3 page)

“Sylvia, I just want you to know that I'm leaving because I want
to, not because Mr. Hunter asked me to.”

“Okay, but why?”

“Why?  Why does anyone do anything?  My time here was
up.  I need new things to do.”

I nodded, accepting her explanation, but looked at her
expectantly, hoping she'd say more.

I watched her debate inwardly whether to go on. Then she sighed
and said, “Mr. Hunter is very particular about certain things, dinner being one
of them, the way he likes to be waited on.”  She folded her hands in front
of her, rubbing her fingers together.  “I've never liked that part of the
job, making dinner and serving it.  I don't mind doing housework for a
living, but I'm not a waitress.  I tolerated it because the hours are easy
and the pay is good, but I don't know, this last year it's just been too
much.  He's gotten more demanding, harder to please.  I don't like
being made to feel like a servant.”  She looked at me carefully. 
“He's not a bad person, just difficult in some respects.”

“He made you feel like a servant?”

“Not all the time.  Like I said, I rarely see him until
dinner, but this last year, I don't know, he's started snapping at me, treating
me like I'm beneath him.  It's gotten to the point that I don't enjoy
working here anymore.”  She gave me a reassuring smile.  “But
hopefully you won't have that problem since you're only here for the summer.”

“If he tries to treat me like that, I'm out of here.” She patted
my elbow and said that she knew I'd be okay, and I assured her that of course
I'd be fine. But there was no denying the tiny frisson of emotion that ran
through my body as she waved goodbye to me from the back door and I headed back
to town.  I tried to identify what I was feeling.  Anxiety, yes,
nervousness, yes, but it was more than just being apprehensive about starting a
new job.  I was feeling something else as well, and the closest I could
come to identifying it was anticipation.

“No, this won't do. Not at all.”  Britt was in the living room
of the third apartment we'd looked at that morning, her eyes on the street
outside the window.  “You can't live right off the sidewalk like
this.  It isn't safe.”

I agreed with her that this place wasn't ideal, but my definition
of acceptable living quarters had begun to shift after seeing what was still
available in town.  Apparently the best apartments had been snapped up
much earlier in the spring by other students staying for the summer.  All
that seemed to be left were the seediest, least safe options.  The first
place we'd looked at had the moldiest bathroom I'd ever smelled.  The
second place was as small as my dorm room and didn't even have a kitchen. 
This one was more spacious, and at least it was clean, but as Britt had pointed
out, the front door was mere feet from one of the busiest streets in town.

“It's just for the summer, Britt.  I'm sure I'd survive.”

A truck drove past just then, its engine so loud I couldn't hear
Britt's response.

“It must get quieter at night, right?” I offered.

A man walked by on the sidewalk.  He looked in at me as he
passed, so close that if not for the glass between us I could have reached out
and touched him.  Living here would be like living in a store front.

Britt shook her head.  “We'll keep looking.  There must
be some place decent left.  Let's go get lunch and look through the ads
again.”

We found a bistro down the street and Britt pored over the rental
ads while we ate, rattling off descriptions.  I paid attention for as long
as I could but found my mind eventually wandering.  When I realized she
was no longer speaking, I looked up and she was watching me with a smile on her
face.

“Earth to Sylvia.

“Sorry, Britt.  I guess I'm done with apartments for the
day.”

“That's okay.  We still have time.  Two more weeks,
right?  We'll find you something.”

We continued eating in companionable silence for a while before I
gave into an impulse that had been digging at me all morning.

“Britt, do you know anything else about Adam Hunter?  Besides
what you told me before, I mean.”

“No, I really don't.  I think he's a writer.  He keeps
to himself, doesn't socialize, so no one knows very much about him.”

“I asked your aunt why she was leaving and she said that in the
last year or so he started treating her like a servant, like she was beneath
him.  Did she ever mention that to you?”

“No, but like I said, she never talked about her job much.” 
She paused and I could see her mind working.  “There was one time, though,
when she and Uncle Ernest came over for dinner about six months ago.  We
were all at the table and I guess the conversation must have been too loud
because she didn't hear the first time he asked her to pass him
something.  The second time he had to raise his voice and it came out
sounding more like a command than a request. She yelled at him, ‘Don't you ever
speak to me like that!’  And she left the table in tears.”

“Whoa. Was she okay?”

“Yeah, my mom went after her, and I guess calmed her down. I'd
forgotten all about it until just now when you asked about her job.”  She
looked at me carefully.  “Are you worried about working for Mr.
Hunter?  I never would have mentioned the job to you if my aunt had given
me any indication that he was difficult.”

“No, I'm not worried, just puzzled.  He was perfectly nice
during the interview.”  The waiter came to clear our plates and give us
the check.  While we were divvying up the bill and sorting out cash from
our wallets, I shrugged off my concerns with a laugh. “Besides, I'm only going
to be seeing him once a day at dinner, how awful could he get?”

“Awful enough for my aunt to quit, apparently,” Britt said under
her breath.  “But you're right,” she added as we left the restaurant
started our walk back to campus.  “Just like we might not find the perfect
apartment, no job is ever perfect either.  Let's just concentrate on
getting through finals and not worry about things that may or may not
happen.  Two weeks from now, we'll be free of school and can start having
some fun.  We should plan a weekend trip.  Where's the first place we
should go?”

The rest of the weekend flew by.  Britt and I both had too
much schoolwork to look at apartments on Sunday, so we spent most of the day in
the library.  Monday morning one of my professors decided to change the
final paper requirements to include an oral presentation.  There were only
twelve students in this seminar, but we were scheduled for half-hour
presentations beginning next week.  Great, I thought, just what I
need.  More work.

Before I knew it, the class had ended and it was time for me to
head out for my first day at Mr. Hunter's.  I dropped off my books in my
room, ran a quick brush through my hair and put it up in a pony-tail, decided
my jeans and t-shirt were fine, and grabbed my purse.  
Southbay's
was the nicest grocery store in town and luckily only a few blocks from
campus.  I knew the deli section well as this was often where I came to
indulge myself in real food when I needed a break from the cafeteria, but today
I grabbed a hand basket and set off for the meat section at the back.  I
didn't have a recipe in mind, but figured I couldn't go wrong with steak, fried
potatoes and a salad.  Nothing exciting or gourmet, but easy enough for my
first day.

Looking through the case at the various cuts, I realized I didn't
know how much to spend.  The tenderloins were fifteen dollars a pound, the
flank steaks on sale for eight.  I decided to err on the side of caution
and asked the man behind the counter to wrap up a flank steak for me.

“Can I get you anything else?”  He asked as he affixed the
price sticker and handed me the wrapped bundle.

“No, that's it, but I'm supposed to put this on Mr. Hunter's
account, and I don't know if I do that through you or up at the checkout
stand.”

“Oh!  You must be the new housekeeper!  I'm Pete.” 
He stretched his arm over the top of the case and took mine in an energetic
shake.

“I'm Sylvia.  It's nice to meet you.  Today's my first
day, so I'm still learning how this goes.”

“Well, as far as putting things on Mr. Hunter's account, that's
handled up front once you have everything that you need.  What I can help
you with specifically now that I know this steak is for Mr. Hunter is that you
should get the tenderloin instead of the flank.”

“I was wondering about that but didn't know how much I should
spend.”

“Mrs. Sheridan always bought the best available fish and
meat.  She told me once that Mr. Hunter didn't care what he ate as long as
it was the best we had.”

“Good to know,” I said, handing him back the flank steak.
 “Do you mind exchanging this for a nice tenderloin for me then?”

“Not at all, Sylvia.”  He quickly made the exchange and
winked at me when he handed me the new package.  “I’m looking forward to
seeing you here often.”

I headed over to the produce section and added a bag of small red
potatoes, some mushrooms and a head of lettuce to my basket.  I wondered
if Mr. Hunter would have salad dressing, but I could whip together a
vinaigrette if he didn’t. I should marinate the steaks in something … red
wine?  I grabbed a bottle, this time not choosing anything too expensive
since it was for marinating, not drinking.  That ought to do it, I
thought, as I headed up to the cashiers, where checking out was quicker than actually
paying. 
Southbay’s
obviously had had this
arrangement with Mr. Hunter for a long time.

The walk to Mr. Hunter’s was uneventful although the bag of
groceries had grown uncomfortably heavy by the time I arrived.  It
occurred to me that walking to work wasn’t going to be pleasant if I ever had
to bring a gallon of milk or bag of flour.  Well, I could get a backpack
or something, I supposed.  At the back door I put the groceries down
gently, careful of the wine bottle, and fished the key out of my purse. 
The door opened noiselessly and I found myself tiptoeing in.  The house
was so quiet it was almost unnerving.  You’d never haven known there was
anyone here.  I made my way to the kitchen and pulled the sliding door
closed, exhaling for the first time.  I took in the beautiful kitchen for
a moment and again felt a little pulse of excitement at having the use of this
gorgeous room.

I quickly shook off the feeling, admonishing myself to focus on my
work. First I fished out a casserole dish in which to marinate the steak. 
Then I washed the potatoes, cut them up and put them in a pan to simmer on the
gas stove, which I couldn’t help but caress.  Oh, I did love this
kitchen.  I didn’t care how many times I needed to admonish myself.

The lettuce and mushrooms went into the fridge, which I happily
noticed was well-stocked with milk and other heavy items.  I put the
half-empty wine bottle in the pantry, where I found an assortment of unopened
salad dressings, along with a variety of flavored oils and vinegars.  I
guessed I’d decide later how to make the salad.

The meal underway for the time being, I pulled the task binder out
of its drawer and reviewed my duties for the day.  Monday was dusting
day.  I would find a feather duster, clean rags, a spray bottle of mild
cleanser, glass cleaner, and whatever else I needed in the utility closet in
the basement.  I was expected to dust every surface in every room except
the office, as well as clean all TV and computer screens.  Clear enough, I
thought, and made my way downstairs.

Armed with my equipment, I decided it made more sense to work from
top to bottom, so I headed up to the third floor, being careful to tiptoe as I
crossed the landing outside the office.  I couldn’t hear a thing from
inside.

Once on the top floor I started in on the guest rooms. 
Nothing was very dusty but I made sure to get every surface just in case. 
Mr. Hunter’s room was the biggest challenge.  I ran my cloth over all the
frames on the walls and even did the photographs on the dresser, carefully
cleaning his mirror around all the photos wedged into the sides.  His
hamper only had a few things it but I gathered them with me and made my way
down to the laundry room, started the load, then reentered the kitchen to drain
the potatoes.  I tiptoed back to the second floor.  Apart from Mr.
Hunter’s office, there was only two other rooms on this floor.  Mrs.
Sheridan hadn't shown them to me and I remembered the haste with which she’d
pulled me downstairs after I’d asked why she was leaving.  The question
must have flustered her so much that she’d forgotten, but I assumed I was to
clean them as well.  The first room was a smallish powder room, so I’d
wait until Friday to clean it.  The second had a rather imposing set of
double doors.  I gently eased them open and stepped inside.

I couldn’t help the audible gasp that escaped my lips as I
surveyed the sight before me.  The room was dominated by a shiny black
grand piano in its center.  The walls to the left and right were lined
with bookcases that reached up to the ceiling.  There were even two of
those rolling staircases on each side to access the highest books.  The
far wall had the same enormous windows as the office and Mr. Hunter’s bedroom
but here the curtains were open, flooding the room with afternoon sun.  I
moved quietly toward the piano and took a moment to absorb some of the
atmosphere.  This room was giving the kitchen some serious competition for
my favorite space in the house.

“Am I paying you to stare at my piano, Miss Lane?”

“Mr. Hunter!”  I whipped around to the open door behind
me.  He was leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed.  He
didn’t look or sound angry, but I apologized anyway.  “I’m so sorry. 
I swear I was being as quiet as possible!”

He waved aside my apology and stepped into the room.  “I
didn't hear you, don't worry.  I just came in because there’s a book I
need.”  He walked over to a shelf by the windows, searched the titles for
a moment and then pulled down a volume.  “Do you like to read?” he asked
as he turned back to me and drew closer.

“Yes, I love to read.”

“In that case, feel free to borrow anything that catches your
fancy.”  By this time he was close enough in front of me that I had to
lift my chin to maintain eye contact with him. The bright light seemed to make
his eyes even bluer.

“Thank you.  Maybe I'll take you up on that this summer once
classes are over.”

“Please do.”  He ran his eyes quickly over my hair and down
my body, coming back up with a slightly pursed look.  Did he not like my
appearance?  What difference could it possibly make to him what I wore to
work, when I was to be as invisible as possible?  But his expression
smoothed and the next question he asked me was innocuous.  “How is the
work going so far?”

“Fine.  Mrs. Sheridan was very thorough although she didn't
show me this room.  Do you really want me to dust all these books?"

My question prompted a chuckle out of him as he began to move back
toward the door.  “Yes.  I do.  Is that a problem?”  He
stopped in the door frame again.

“No, of course not.”

He merely nodded and turned to leave, adding over his shoulder,
“Don't forget the piano, Miss Lane.”