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What The Heck Tuesday
I haven’t posted a story in like forever, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t been writing. I’m currently working on some stories for another compilation (titled Dreams and Nightmares) and said to myself: “what the heck, post something, anything!”
Here is the first unedited chapter of one of these stories.
Working title: “The Caregiver / London”
“Do you know what you’re here for?” The woman with the English accent and stern eyes was peering into mine, she was trying hard not to squint but failed.
“I am here to care for Mr. Sayer,” my accent was half English half American, which made her wince every time I spoke.
I was standing in front of her with my hands behind my back to hide the nervous trembling that threatened to take over my whole body. My nurse uniform was wrinkle free and my hair neatly tied in a ponytail thanks in part to a condescending taxi driver, at whom, after winking at me, I barked ‘Addison Road. And you’ll be sorry if my uniform doesn’t make it unruffled.’
“You are young,” she stirred, “why would you want to live inside this house caring for an old man like Mr. Sayer twenty-four hours a day?”
She would have said ‘young and pretty’ if that was the case. No, this isn’t about self-esteem issues, she wanted it to be that way. She wasn’t going for pretty, she wanted someone that would be serious about her work whilst causing the least disturbance in the family. Simplified: she didn’t want Mr. Sayer falling for his caregiver.
“Caring for others is my calling and I’ll be glad to do it twenty-four hours a day for the rest of my life.” That line would’ve made me puke in a normal situation, but we had rehearsed this, of course. I thought it was a waste of time but she didn’t give a shit about what I thought. It was her little play for the man inside the room next to ours.
“Very well,” the woman eyed my rèsumé, holding it with both hands and pulling it close to her face, “it would be nice to have someone full of life in this house for a change.”
“Thank you.”
She cleared her throat, “Armand will say the last word.”
The trembling in my hands was transferred to my legs when she stood up and nodded me to follow her into Mr. Sayer’s room.
There is a typical odor in the rooms of the sick, as if death came to visit them from time to time and leave its stench in its wake. However, Mr. Sayer’s room was so filled with flowers that it wouldn’t smell like death even if The Reaper himself was among us.
It was dark inside, there was only light enough to see one’s way around the bed. Mr. Sayer was sitting on the bed and the moment he tried to reach one of the curtains to open it the woman intersected him.
“No, Armand, I’ll do it for you,” she opened it only enough for us to be able to see each other’s faces, “you shouldn’t move.”
“For fuck’s sake, woman! I can move, I’m not paralyzed.”
“But you shouldn’t, Armand. And don’t talk like that; there is someone here to meet you.”
He raised himself with his hands and turned to me. I can’t deny how scared I was to have him look at me from head to toe, as if measuring me before opening his mouth to speak.
“And you are…?” He drawled.
“I’m…”
“Her name is Scarlett, she’ll be your new caregiver.”
“Oh,” he cocked an eyebrow towards me with a sarcastic smile, “welcome.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Now, now, Armand, you must rest. I have to go fetch your meds and run some errands. Will you start today, Scarlett?”
“Yes, I’m ready to start today.”
“Good. Let me show you your room. Follow me.”
We went into the next room but, even when she was showing me things and explaining them to me I didn’t see a anything, my mind was running so fast I couldn’t concentrate. My thoughts were brought back abruptly by her asking me if I was all right.
“Excited to be here, that is all.”
She closed the door to what would be my private bathroom.
“You can stay here while I’m out. Today is George’s free day, he’s the butler, so if you need anything go ahead and help yourself.”
Butler? I think he’d be insulted if he heard her call him ‘butler.’
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You can call me Helga,” the stern façade had melted away and was giving way to a friendlier one, one that smiled before shutting the room’s door behind her.
Alone at last, I gave a quick look around the room before going back to Mr. Sayer’s.
When I stepped into his room I noticed he had rolled to one side and pulled the blanket up to his ears.
“Is she gone?” He asked from his hiding place.
“Yes, sir, she’s gone.”
He pushed the blanket off him, kicked it to the feet of the bed, got up, and sat on the edge.
“Thank goodness…”
“But, Mr. Sayer, you shouldn’t be up…” I went to him but he stopped me by holding out the palm of his hand.
“What did she tell you?”
“Excuse me?”
“What were the instructions she gave you?”
“That you needed twenty-four hour care because of your condition.”
“And what is that condition of mine?”
“You were shot three times during a violent assault.”
“I was shot two times on my left leg and once on my right shoulder, yes. However,” he paused before proceeding, “that was over a month ago. I’m fine, I don’t need to rest so much, and I should be out there having a stroll, for god’s sake! And these curtains…”
Before he had finished I was on my toes opening all the curtains and letting the room be flooded with light. He breathed in deeply, as if to smell the aroma of pure sunlight for the first time.
“What was your name again?”
“Scarlett, sir. And I must tell you I’m more forgiving than your wife.”
“She’s not my wife, she’s my sister.”
“Oh,” I breathed, letting some fake amusement slip through my parted lips.
I knew all about him already, long before I had applied for this job.
“I need to make some phone calls, if you’ll excuse me,” he got on his feet, stretched his back, and started for the door with a very noticeable limp. “Also,” he stopped at the threshold, “can you do something about the flowers? I’m neither sick nor dead.”
“I’ll do something about them.”
“You can burn them for all I care…” he turned away, then back, “just don’t get rid of all of them at the same time because then Helga will notice and you’ve seen how she is.”
“Yes, sir, I’ll be disposing of them one at a time.”
He turned to exit but paused again, “the burning them part isn’t practical, the neighbors will notice…”
“It’s OK, Mr. Sayer. I’ll take care of everything.”
He nodded, grinned, and then exited the room.
I was left by myself in a room filled with so much light and flowers that it looked more like a garden than a bedroom. As I picked some of the smaller arrangements to be thrown out I started pondering on Mr. Sayer –hair completely gray, in his late sixties, tall, handsome– and I wondered if there were business cards in his office that read:
ARMAND SAYER
Drug Lord
