protect your neck?”
“Too hot, sweaty, and dangerous around machinery,” he said.
Helen pulled a wide-brimmed straw hat from a bag. “I stopped by a late-night tourist shop and bought you this.”
“Nice,” he said. He smiled, and his burned face looked like it might crack. Helen hurt looking at him.
“The other gardeners, Charlee and John—that’s Carlos and Juan—wear straw hats, but not as good as this one.”
He grabbed her wrist and pulled her close. “Come here,” he said, kissing her lips. “You worry too much.”
She put her arms around his neck and felt him wince. “I also have a topical steroid cream and an aloe vera lotion,” she said.
“I love it when you talk dirty,” he said.
“You have a fever,” she said.
“Because you’re so hot. Come to bed, Nurse. You can take care of this burning sensation.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Helen said.
“Oh, you’ll make me feel much better,” he said, unbuttoning her blouse. For a man who looked parboiled, he moved with enthusiasm.
Afterward, when they were sprawled on the sheets, Helen hugged him carefully, her arms wrapped around the unburned parts of his chest. The contrast between his pale skin and seared face and arms was dramatic.
“Did you learn anything today?” Helen said. “I’d hate to have you suffer for nothing.”
“It was worth sacrificing some of my hide,” he said. “The cook, Ana, brought us cookies and cold drinks when we took our morning break in the kitchen.”
“The Coakleys let the help eat in the kitchen?” Helen said.
“The staff kitchen, where Ana does the actual cooking, not the show kitchen in the front of the house. Ana’s English is excellent, better than Charlee’s. John speaks some English, but understands more. I suspect the two men may be illegal, but it’s not polite to ask.
“Ana asked me why a gringo was doing yard work. I said I was on probation for speeding, and they relaxed a bit. I was outside the law—but not seriously. They thought getting arrested for speeding was funny. The real icebreaker was when Charlee said I was a good worker.”
“A high compliment in that world,” Helen said.
“The highest,” Phil said. “I praised Ana’s cookies—they were delicious. She said the Coakleys never said anything good about her cooking.”
“Ana sounds like a flirt,” Helen said. “It’s a good thing I’ve met her. She’s at least fifty.”
“With a husband and four kids. Even if she was twenty and hot, you’re still sizzling.” He kissed the top of her head.
“Ana is old-school Mexican,” Phil said, “and none of the Coakleys were home, so she fixed us a traditional
la comida,
a big lunch. We had ceviche, salad, empanadas and
carne en su jugo
—that’s meat and beans, like a stew—and hot tortillas. Ana made flan for dessert. Sure beat that health food Markos gave us the other night.
“After lunch, Ana relaxed and was ready to gossip. I asked about Bree Coakley’s twenty-first birthday party. Said I’d read about it in the newspaper. Boy, did Ana give me an earful.
“The family hired some big-time celebrity chef from New York because they didn’t want Ana’s ‘peasant food.’ That’s what they called her cooking. Never mind that she’d trained at one of the best restaurants in Fort Lauderdale, and she doesn’t serve Mexican food unless the family asks for it.
“
They hurt my feelings,
Ana said,
but I said fine. I told them I didn’t want the extra work. I didn’t, either.
“Maybe not,” Phil said, “but Ana was still hurt. She said the party cost half a million dollars, but Bree was unhappy.”
“Why?” Helen said. “You could buy a house for that.”
“Bree only got one birthday party, and that party was in Fort Lauderdale.”
“So?” Helen asked.
“Bree whined that Paris Hilton had a five-day birthday bash—five parties in five cities and five time zones—London, New York, Tokyo, LA and Las Vegas. Hilton had a different
“Too hot, sweaty, and dangerous around machinery,” he said.
Helen pulled a wide-brimmed straw hat from a bag. “I stopped by a late-night tourist shop and bought you this.”
“Nice,” he said. He smiled, and his burned face looked like it might crack. Helen hurt looking at him.
“The other gardeners, Charlee and John—that’s Carlos and Juan—wear straw hats, but not as good as this one.”
He grabbed her wrist and pulled her close. “Come here,” he said, kissing her lips. “You worry too much.”
She put her arms around his neck and felt him wince. “I also have a topical steroid cream and an aloe vera lotion,” she said.
“I love it when you talk dirty,” he said.
“You have a fever,” she said.
“Because you’re so hot. Come to bed, Nurse. You can take care of this burning sensation.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Helen said.
“Oh, you’ll make me feel much better,” he said, unbuttoning her blouse. For a man who looked parboiled, he moved with enthusiasm.
Afterward, when they were sprawled on the sheets, Helen hugged him carefully, her arms wrapped around the unburned parts of his chest. The contrast between his pale skin and seared face and arms was dramatic.
“Did you learn anything today?” Helen said. “I’d hate to have you suffer for nothing.”
“It was worth sacrificing some of my hide,” he said. “The cook, Ana, brought us cookies and cold drinks when we took our morning break in the kitchen.”
“The Coakleys let the help eat in the kitchen?” Helen said.
“The staff kitchen, where Ana does the actual cooking, not the show kitchen in the front of the house. Ana’s English is excellent, better than Charlee’s. John speaks some English, but understands more. I suspect the two men may be illegal, but it’s not polite to ask.
“Ana asked me why a gringo was doing yard work. I said I was on probation for speeding, and they relaxed a bit. I was outside the law—but not seriously. They thought getting arrested for speeding was funny. The real icebreaker was when Charlee said I was a good worker.”
“A high compliment in that world,” Helen said.
“The highest,” Phil said. “I praised Ana’s cookies—they were delicious. She said the Coakleys never said anything good about her cooking.”
“Ana sounds like a flirt,” Helen said. “It’s a good thing I’ve met her. She’s at least fifty.”
“With a husband and four kids. Even if she was twenty and hot, you’re still sizzling.” He kissed the top of her head.
“Ana is old-school Mexican,” Phil said, “and none of the Coakleys were home, so she fixed us a traditional
la comida,
a big lunch. We had ceviche, salad, empanadas and
carne en su jugo
—that’s meat and beans, like a stew—and hot tortillas. Ana made flan for dessert. Sure beat that health food Markos gave us the other night.
“After lunch, Ana relaxed and was ready to gossip. I asked about Bree Coakley’s twenty-first birthday party. Said I’d read about it in the newspaper. Boy, did Ana give me an earful.
“The family hired some big-time celebrity chef from New York because they didn’t want Ana’s ‘peasant food.’ That’s what they called her cooking. Never mind that she’d trained at one of the best restaurants in Fort Lauderdale, and she doesn’t serve Mexican food unless the family asks for it.
“
They hurt my feelings,
Ana said,
but I said fine. I told them I didn’t want the extra work. I didn’t, either.
“Maybe not,” Phil said, “but Ana was still hurt. She said the party cost half a million dollars, but Bree was unhappy.”
“Why?” Helen said. “You could buy a house for that.”
“Bree only got one birthday party, and that party was in Fort Lauderdale.”
“So?” Helen asked.
“Bree whined that Paris Hilton had a five-day birthday bash—five parties in five cities and five time zones—London, New York, Tokyo, LA and Las Vegas. Hilton had a different
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