The Hungry House (3 page)

I
did not intend to quit.

###

That evening, I worked at my temporary job in a nursing home from 7:00 to 11:00 p.m. I arrived home that night feeling tired but happy. When I was ready for bed, I looked over my bookcase shelves and finally chose my copy of
Losing It
. As was my habit, I curled up in bed with the book and fell asleep reading.

###

The following afternoon,
Frank invited Mom and me out to dinner at eight on Friday. I was at the university library researching a paper with my cell phone turned off.

“
I just left a message on your daughter's cell. I want her to meet a couple of the people with whom I socialize--at dinner. You are also invited.”

“Thank you, but I never infringe on my daughter’s social activities.”

“Okay, we’ll miss you. Will you give her my message?”

Frank
insisted on giving me a ride in his Mercedes for the occasion, along with his date. He chose the Genoa, a restaurant featuring Northern Italian cuisine, located near my neighborhood, on Belmont Street. The Genoa was known for its excellent Northern Italian cuisine, a formal atmosphere, and $40 to $60 dinner menus. The maitre d' greeted Frank by name, and the three of us were escorted to the table. The décor of the restaurant was elegant yet understated.

Frank sat
at the head of the table, and on his right was his date, Debbie, a young blonde with very white teeth. Next to her sat an interesting-looking young man, wearing jeans and a sport jacket.

"Tom, sit here by
Vicky Howell. She's charming." Frank said this to a distinguished-looking older man who had just entered the restaurant and motioned to the two chairs where they should sit, at his left.

As Frank tasted the wine and then directed the waiter to fill everyone's glasses, t
he older man happily sat down in the chair next to me and introduced himself. "I'm Dr. Biltmore. Please call me Tom. So, how do you know Frank?"

"Well, I've
only just recently met him, and--"

The ringing of Frank's spoo
n on a glass stopped me in midsentence. "I'd like to make a toast to all of you here tonight, that we will have many happy social gatherings."

Everyone sipped wine
. I felt so nervous that all the alcohol looked very tempting, but since alcohol had figured largely in my "summer of mistakes," as I thought of it, I picked up my water glass.

Frank
indicated me with his left hand. “Vicky Howell is coming to work for us as Mrs. Black's assistant."

“
Vicky, this is Harry Adams, a friend of the family, and his wife Jill." A middle-aged man in a tailored suit smiled and nodded. His wife also nodded.

“A
nd James is a neighbor--and his wife Karen. He writes thrillers." James appeared to be in his early forties, with a stylish haircut and a rather large nose. He said, "Nice to meet you."

His wife, a beautiful brunette
, said, "Glad to meet you."

T
he dinner dragged on, with Frank dominating the conversation. Every time his date attempted to make a comment, Frank interrupted her in midsentence, usually to contradict some statement she had made. Even though she did not seem to be the brightest bulb, I felt sorry for her having to suffer his rudeness.

At one point, he began to tell a joke
. “What happens when you cross a Catholic--?"

I
interrupted, “--I can’t believe you’re going to tell jokes about religion at the dinner table. Isn’t that the height of bad manners?" The table fell silent. I had never been shy, having starred in several school plays, and I had often debated with my Grant High teachers when I felt they were wrong or misguided. Some enjoyed it; most hated it.

“So, what’s the deal, Vicky? Can’t take a joke?” Frank was not amused.

“I can take a joke, but why don’t we talk about something else, like your beautiful date, for instance?
"

Frank's girlfriend threw her head back and laughed
. "Shall we just call you ‘the brave one,’ from now on?" Everyone at the table burst out laughing with relief.

Frank said nothing in reply
and for a few silent moments looked outraged. Then, he seemed to decide to let it go. “Yeah, sure. Let’s talk about Debbie for a minute. You know what her favorite cause is, right? Pets."

I
lobbed over another comment. “I think that is laudable. You can tell a lot about the character of a person by how they treat animals."

My
comment instigated a round of conversational debates about animal rights' activists and their publicity stunts. Debbie explained her work with the Humane Society of Oregon. She sounded surprisingly passionate and articulate about the subject. I kept asking her questions, and Frank did not interrupt her answers.

Suddenly,
before the group had a chance to order dessert, Frank ended the evening. “All right. Let’s call it a night." Everyone immediately stood to leave and thanked Frank for his hospitality.

I
looked at the time on my cell. Nine p.m. I felt a gentle but insistent pressure on my elbow and looking up saw that it was Frank.

“Come with me
. You look done in.” Frank and Debbie drove me home and upon arrival, they both said good night.

“Goodnight
. And thank you for the wonderful dinner," I said. As I got out of the car, I thought to myself that I sounded like a complete idiot. As soon as Mom let me in the door, Frank drove away.

CHAPTER FOUR

Frank decided that he had been
acting a little rashly on the Vicky matter. It was cute that she was so spunky but immensely annoying. To take his mind off Vicky, on the following day he called Debbie at the dentist's office where she worked and asked her out to dinner. After dinner, he invited her back to his home, where she kept a toothbrush and a few articles of clothing there.

Once they returned to his home, Debbie settled down on the living room sofa, taking off her shoes and curling her legs underneath her
. Mrs. Black had retired to her bedroom.

"I was beginning to think you had forgotten me, Frank."

"Oh, no," he lied, "I haven't forgotten you. I've just been out of town a lot. It's nice to be able to spend time with you. How would you like some brandy?"

"Sure
. Just a little."

"W
hy don't you stay over tonight? Can you do that? We have some catching up to do."

She smiled
.
He sat down next to her on the couch and began to kiss her. She immediately responded to his advances, as he knew she would. She removed her clothing to reveal a black matching pushup bra and thong. Debbie moved the thong to the side and straddled Frank on the sofa.

Afterward,
Frank showered and then soaked in a hot bath with another glass of brandy. Debbie went upstairs, got into his bed and went to sleep. Frank got out of the bath and dried. In his robe, he stood and looked at Debbie as she slept. She looked very pretty lying there. He put on his slippers and walked downstairs. He took a bottle of water out of the refrigerator and walked outside to his pool to sit and think.

His night with Debbie
had not erased his preoccupation with Vicky. In fact, he had spent the whole time inadvertently comparing everything Debbie did with everything he imagined Vicky might have done. He knew that Debbie liked him, and she was faithful to him. He had had his investigator check up on her for a while. She liked him, mostly because he had money to spend on her. She would marry him, if he proposed. She would live with him, if he asked her to do so. In fact, she would do almost anything he wanted her to do. But, she did not love him, and he did not love her. And, there would never be any surprises. No arguments, no disagreements.

All the women he had ever
dated had been exactly like Debbie. They were willing to fling themselves at him and willing to act agreeable to have a try for his money. But not Vicky. She seemed to be motivated by her own inner world, her own thoughts and feelings, and her own dreams. Her own goals. She would never trust him enough to date him. He knew that now.

H
e moved away from his pool to sit on a bench in his garden, from time to time getting up and pacing, trying to plan what he would do. He had to find a way to get close to her.

CHAPTER FIVE

My mom watched from the window as I climbed out of the Mercedes.

“So what happened?”
she asked.

I gave her a hug and
kissed her on the cheek. “Nothing happened, except I dined and now I’m exhausted.”

“He didn’t try any ‘funny business,’ now did he?”

“No, of course not. He had a date with him."

“Oh
--well, that's good. So, he has to take two dates to dinner?"

"He was just giving me a ride."

“Well, I still think it’s strange.”

“Don’t worry, Mom
. I’m not attending any more dinners." As I said this, I suddenly realized I had come to a decision. I could not keep my relationship with Frank on a businesslike footing by riding around with him in his car or going to dinner with him, for that matter. It could lead to some sort of trouble.

I
had several telephone messages on my cell from my friends who wanted to take me out to dinner to discuss my good fortune. I called Betts, who was the unofficial ringleader of the group.

“We want to know everything about your dinner
. Spill the beans, girl.”

“Well, in all honesty, I’m too tired to spill the beans right now
. I just got home, and I still need to study.”

“Just got home! Who was there?”

“Several other people, for your information. I’ll tell you all about it, Saturday at noon. Rimsky's okay?"

"
Saturday! That's two days from now." She sounded desperately devastated by the prospect of waiting. "Okay. Sure. I'll pick you up at 11:30?"

"Fine."

When Saturday morning came, I felt grateful to put on a pair of jeans and any old shirt. I had slept until 10:45 and found Mom sitting in the living room with a book in her lap.

"Why didn't you wake me?"

"You need your rest. If they had to wait for you once, it wouldn't kill them."

I
hated tardiness in anyone, including myself. I jumped into the shower. I was ready to go and making my bed at 11:10.

"How are you feeling this morning, Mom?"

"Well, actually, I feel pretty good. I went for a slow walk yesterday and took a nap in the afternoon. Walking is good for me."

"Just don't overdo it."

"I'm not exactly running, dear."

I
noticed that her face was already starting to look less haggard, less worried. There was some sparkle in her blue eyes. I vowed that I would keep the new job. It was my Mom's ticket out of poverty and drudgery. It simply had to work.

The familiar sound of
Bett's car horn interrupted my thoughts.

"'Bye Mom.
" I gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

Upon arrival at Rimsky's, we ordered our
coffee drinks and sandwiches and sat down at a table. The coffee shop was a large older home, whose interior decoration was somewhere in between funky and delightfully decadent. It teamed with the usual suspects--a rag tag assortment of well-dressed couples, old hippies, young hipsters, wannabe hipsters, old school punk rockers, and unremarkable high school and college students. Ordinarily, we all loved Rimsky's for its people-watching opportunities as much as its delicious drinks and pastries. Today, all three of my friends sat sipping their drinks and smirking at me.

Bett
s started the inquisition. "So--we heard you got the job
and
that you're moving
and
that he took you to Genoa's." She raised her eyebrows up and down a couple of times in her best Groucho Marx imitation. Betts and my mom were very close and often spoke on the phone.

"Yes, that's what we want to hear about,
Frank
and his Mercedes, etc., etc. Give it up." Eileen chimed in.

I
could feel myself blushing. "There's nothing really to tell. I have a job helping Mrs. Black run the house and we're moving into the guest cottage.

"Actually," Betts said
, "Vicky, we're a little worried about you. You know how we used to tease that you should never be allowed out, because you're such a stunner? Well now, you are really out, with a capital "O," and we're a little worried about you. Can you trust this Frank guy?"

To
my everlasting dismay, unexpected tears fell down my cheeks. Oh, and I had planned to be so cool, calm, and collected about all of this and keep it to myself. Cool, my ass!  Who am I kidding?  I used a paper napkin to dab my face.

"Oh
, what's wrong?" Jennifer had put down her snack, and sympathetic tears began to form in her own eyes.

"Oh
--all right. I might as well tell you. But you can't tell
anyone
." I knew I could trust them.

I
looked around the coffee shop. No one was paying attention. I lowered my voice. "I hope that he's just trying to do something kind. Supposedly, I'm working for Mrs. Black, but I'm not so sure, because there's something about him I suddenly don't trust. For one thing, he seems to have a mercurial temper. I
have
to make this work for my mother's sake. It just has to. She can't work anymore. I have to take care of her." I looked at my friends. They appeared to be thinking. I could almost hear their brains humming like computers.

Jennifer
reacted first. "Now you listen to me. You are brainy and beautiful. Why, there isn't anything you couldn't do. Just keep away from him
and
his Mercedes.

Betts jumped in
. "If he does anything unfair, threaten a lawsuit. He won't want the publicity. Take my word. Just do a good job. That's all you have to do. I've heard bits of conversations about things like this at my dad's firm. The laws are all in your favor. Start a diary and document every day:  what work you did, how many hours you worked, and what he did that was out of line, if anything. That way, if you have to leave, you can leave with millions of dollars--or at least hundreds of thousands of dollars. Be strong. We're here for you. My dad would take your case pro bono in a heartbeat. You know that."

"There's more
. I met a guy in my English Lit class. He's cute and seems smart." Now, she really had their attention.

"Of
course
he is." Eileen interjected, "but what else. Did you go out on a date with him?"

"No
--I've just met him. We're going for coffee on campus next week. I don't know what I would do without you guys. Now let's talk about
your
week. Jennifer, you start. You look as if you're bursting with news." She usually was.