Mr. Cobb. Enjoy your dinner, Alexia." He handed the bags to Ben and closed the door.
Ben took the food and brought it to the dining room. Helen's table and chairs were back in his place. The table clothed and set, candles lit, and the wine breathed. He unpacked the bags.
"Have a seat and start eating. We have a lot to cover tonight," he said.
I sat and beheld the china, silver, crystal, tablecloth, and linen napkins.
"Everything is lovely," I said.
"I don't do paper, too much garbage and increased grocery shopping."
"I've never eaten on Limoges before, I said, inspecting the plate in front of me."
"It makes everything taste better."
The chicken, barbecue pork fried rice, egg rolls, and shrimp chow mien, smothered in sriracha sauce, were devoured in half an hour.
"I didn't realize I was so hungry. I'm sorry you won't have much for tomorrow," I said.
"I usually eat out anyway. It would sit in the fridge and grow mold. More wine?"
"No thanks, I'll clean up since you paid."
"Fair enough. Load up the dishwasher, and meet me in the library. Down the hall, third door on the right."
I finished in the kitchen and treaded down the hall. As I entered the library, I felt like I had been transported back in time. Bookcases lined the walls with every imaginable title. A glass case sat on a table behind the imposing mahogany desk. The library was a mini-museum and an old-fashioned bookstore wrapped up into one.
Alone, I poked around. This didn't count as snooping but very close.
The shelves housed the classics: Homer, Shakespeare, Joyce, Superman comic books, and bound issues of National Geographic .
The desk, polished to a gleam, held neat stacks of documents and piles of unopened mail. Architectural blueprints sat rolled up. The glass case intrigued me the most. A shadow box filled with his mother's tributes and awards. There were pictures of his mother with celebrities and a laminated letter obviously written by a child. The red crayon scribble read:
"Dear Mrs. Helen,
Your books are really good. I bet you're a good mom.
Love, Tammy."
There were folders stuffed with more letters and newspaper clippings. I tried to open the lid for a better look, but the case's lock wouldn't budge.
"Someday I've got to figure out what to do with all of it," he said.
He pointed to the desk.
"Welcome to your job. All of this is now your responsibility. I get mail begging for money, artwork, personal appearances, and advice. I have bills that need to be paid, checks to be deposited, supplies to be ordered, parties to attend, proxy stock votes to be sent, reports to be read and written. In other words, I'm up to my eyeballs, and I need help."
This was overwhelming. If I wanted to make real cash selling information, he handed me the mother lode. Why did he trust me?
"Ben, are you sure you want to release all this sensitive information to me?"
He took my hand and kissed it.
"Alexia, when you had me at a disadvantage, you didn't use it against me. You could have given Wally everything and more than he dreamed of, and you stopped. Discretion is a rare commodity. I appreciate it and reward it."
"Don't expect any miracles. I have a lousy track record of making a mess out of workplaces."
"You've worked for the wrong people who didn't appreciate all your talents."
The nudity would play a part. Something new to add to my resume.
"So what do I do here?"
"I want to paint and not be bothered by life in general. That's where you come in. Fix it, file it, and allow me to forget it. You need to fill out these forms." He handed me a packet. "You can work here or move everything downstairs. You will need my signature on some things. If you have questions, please make a list, and we'll go over it. Why don't you get started? Here's a key to the apartment, if you decide to work here."
"Won't I be in your way?" I asked.
"I'm not home during the day. I'm at my loft, painting "
"How many models do you go through in a week?"
It came out with all the
Ben took the food and brought it to the dining room. Helen's table and chairs were back in his place. The table clothed and set, candles lit, and the wine breathed. He unpacked the bags.
"Have a seat and start eating. We have a lot to cover tonight," he said.
I sat and beheld the china, silver, crystal, tablecloth, and linen napkins.
"Everything is lovely," I said.
"I don't do paper, too much garbage and increased grocery shopping."
"I've never eaten on Limoges before, I said, inspecting the plate in front of me."
"It makes everything taste better."
The chicken, barbecue pork fried rice, egg rolls, and shrimp chow mien, smothered in sriracha sauce, were devoured in half an hour.
"I didn't realize I was so hungry. I'm sorry you won't have much for tomorrow," I said.
"I usually eat out anyway. It would sit in the fridge and grow mold. More wine?"
"No thanks, I'll clean up since you paid."
"Fair enough. Load up the dishwasher, and meet me in the library. Down the hall, third door on the right."
I finished in the kitchen and treaded down the hall. As I entered the library, I felt like I had been transported back in time. Bookcases lined the walls with every imaginable title. A glass case sat on a table behind the imposing mahogany desk. The library was a mini-museum and an old-fashioned bookstore wrapped up into one.
Alone, I poked around. This didn't count as snooping but very close.
The shelves housed the classics: Homer, Shakespeare, Joyce, Superman comic books, and bound issues of National Geographic .
The desk, polished to a gleam, held neat stacks of documents and piles of unopened mail. Architectural blueprints sat rolled up. The glass case intrigued me the most. A shadow box filled with his mother's tributes and awards. There were pictures of his mother with celebrities and a laminated letter obviously written by a child. The red crayon scribble read:
"Dear Mrs. Helen,
Your books are really good. I bet you're a good mom.
Love, Tammy."
There were folders stuffed with more letters and newspaper clippings. I tried to open the lid for a better look, but the case's lock wouldn't budge.
"Someday I've got to figure out what to do with all of it," he said.
He pointed to the desk.
"Welcome to your job. All of this is now your responsibility. I get mail begging for money, artwork, personal appearances, and advice. I have bills that need to be paid, checks to be deposited, supplies to be ordered, parties to attend, proxy stock votes to be sent, reports to be read and written. In other words, I'm up to my eyeballs, and I need help."
This was overwhelming. If I wanted to make real cash selling information, he handed me the mother lode. Why did he trust me?
"Ben, are you sure you want to release all this sensitive information to me?"
He took my hand and kissed it.
"Alexia, when you had me at a disadvantage, you didn't use it against me. You could have given Wally everything and more than he dreamed of, and you stopped. Discretion is a rare commodity. I appreciate it and reward it."
"Don't expect any miracles. I have a lousy track record of making a mess out of workplaces."
"You've worked for the wrong people who didn't appreciate all your talents."
The nudity would play a part. Something new to add to my resume.
"So what do I do here?"
"I want to paint and not be bothered by life in general. That's where you come in. Fix it, file it, and allow me to forget it. You need to fill out these forms." He handed me a packet. "You can work here or move everything downstairs. You will need my signature on some things. If you have questions, please make a list, and we'll go over it. Why don't you get started? Here's a key to the apartment, if you decide to work here."
"Won't I be in your way?" I asked.
"I'm not home during the day. I'm at my loft, painting "
"How many models do you go through in a week?"
It came out with all the
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