Henry & Me Page 2

  “Who must be rich?” I ask.

  The purpose of our presence here is still not clear to me. Ji-ae was hush-hush on the subway ride to here, saying there was someone she wanted me to meet. Since there’s no way she’s concerned about improving my love life, I assumed we were here to meet a friend of hers or some acquaintance who could land me a job.

  “Your future employer. That’s who.” Ji-ae imprisons my wrist with her hands, like she’s scared I might bolt if I knew the truth.

  At five-three, she is petite and has the kind of unrealistically willowy figure that not even models can aspire to. Her face is overrun by a mass of brown spots, but she still looks pretty from afar. Due to her eccentric fashion sense, she wears pink frilly tutus over black leggings in public on a regular basis. Today is a tutu day.

  “Wait.” I try to slink back, but am held in place by Ji-ae. “Why are we here? Tell me. Now.”

  “For a job interview. This is a great opportunity for you, Max.”

  I don’t like the sound of this. Job and interview–those words sound dreadful, especially next to each other.

  “What job?” I enquire, feeling like I’m being sucked in by a tornado.

  She pulls me into the building. “The one I texted you about.”

  Immediately the posh lobby draws my attention. My line of thought vanishes as I pause to admire the gorgeous gold-framed paintings hung on the wall, the grand chandelier spraying light over the beautiful wooden desk, behind which a professionally dressed man is talking to someone on the phone. Looking back, I see there’s a doorman. A doorman.

  A woman holding a young girl’s arm cuts across the lobby, dressed like she’s headed straight to the New York Fashion Week. When I look down at the little girl with hair as blonde as a Barbie doll, my errant thoughts fall back into place.

  “The cleaning and babysitting job?” I ask Ji-ae, picking back up where we left off.

  “Yep.”

  “But I told you I wasn’t interested.”

  She walks ahead. “I thought you’d change your mind if you met your employer. He sounded really sweet over the phone.”

  “You called him?”

  “Yeah. To let him know that you’d be coming to interview at three.”

  I want to say something strong, but I hold my tongue. Can’t bite the hand that feeds me. (I hate how literally these metaphors apply to my life.)

  And here’s one thing about my sister-in-law—once she sets her mind to something, she won’t rest until she’s accomplished it. When you consider that she used to sell insurance, that almost makes sense.

  I scan the lobby once again, feeling a little better about this shebang. So this is where the guy who advertised the thirty-five-dollar-an-hour vacancy that I hadn’t planned on responding to lives. Now I’m curious to find out who he is. Maybe I should go along with Ji-ae. Even if I don’t get the job, I’ll at least check out how the rich in Manhattan live.

  Ji-ae walks ahead, then looks back and says, “Hey, Max, move it along. We’re not here to sightsee.”

  “Sorry.” I stumble, losing my balance.

  “Watch it.” Gripping me by the arm, she pulls me up. “Gee, what would you do without me?”

  I sneer. “I’d be fine without you.”

  The guy at the reception confirms our purpose and makes us sign in. Since Ji-ae called and spoke to the guy who created the job posting, we are let in without hassle. Despite how much I criticize her, I admit that she’s a natural-born manager.

  As we’re swallowed by the golden-plated elevators, the scent of expensive perfume assails my nostrils.

  “Why didn’t you wear nicer clothes? He’ll worry about the quality of your laundry skills if he sees you in this.” Ji-ae’s voice nitpicks over my shoulder.

  Since I moved in with Coop last fall, she’s started nagging me more than my brother.

  “I’m sure he won’t be noticing my clothes,” I retort.

  She flips open her phone, scrolling through the world’s premier international gossip registry—otherwise known as Facebook. “Okay, so I researched your future employer online as much as I could. His name is Henry. He runs a consultancy firm that works with pharmaceutical and oil and gas companies. From the looks of his LinkedIn, he seems to be doing well. But he doesn’t have a Facebook page, so his personal life is a mystery.”

  “How do you know he’s going to be my future employer?” I ask, feeling trapped inside this golden cage. I’m having second thoughts about this housekeeper job.

  Patting my back, Ji-ae gives a reassuring nod. “Well, I’m here, aren’t I? I’ll never let you fail this interview.”

  That only scares me more.

  With a ping, the elevator unloads us on the thirteenth floor (such an ominous number), and we buzz apartment number 1310, which is supposed to be my ‘future employer’s’ abode. There are only two apartments on this floor, separated by a huge corridor that holds a big ceramic showpiece shaped like a torn piece of paper. The other apartment is numbered 1321. 1310 and 1321? What knucklehead came up with this numbering system?

  My ears faintly pick up the swish of the door opening, but I continue staring at the weird piece of ceramic.

  “Hullo. We’re here for the housekeeper interview,” Ji-ae says, then kicks back, her heel landing squarely on my ankle.

  “Ouch.” I hop forward, ready to greet my so-called ‘future employer’. “Hel—”

  A strangled sound escapes my throat as my eyes meet a pair of blue ice chips.

  Oh, my God. It’s him—Henry Stone. The Henry Stone I rejected all those years ago.

  Mortification spreads over me.

  I haven’t seen him since the day at the auditorium. He quit the theatre society after our little ‘chat’. Probably realized I was never going to come around to liking him. I never bothered to enquire about what happened to him after college, even though one of my friends was close to somebody in his set. I assumed he’d be working a boring job somewhere, and dating someone within his reach.

  But I was wrong. I mean, look at him now—living in this posh Manhattan penthouse and interviewing me to babysit his kids.

  And holy crap, he’s changed so much. No, his face hasn’t magically transformed into Henry Cavill’s, but his hairstyle and fashion sense have improved. It’s hard to believe the difference age and hair can make on a man.

  “Hello,” he says crisply, betraying no hint of familiarity.

  He peruses me, but there’s no flicker of recognition in his eyes. Maybe he’s forgotten me and that episode. Although humiliating experiences like that tend to be hard to forget, maybe he’s one of those people who have a terrible memory.

  “I’m Max,” I say after a long pause. “I’m here to interview for the housekeeper position.”

  Henry opens the door wide. “Come on in, then.”

  My jaw remains frozen halfway as I take in the breadth and grandeur of the space I’ve stepped into. This apartment is like one of the ones they show in home décor magazines. Minimalistic, with standout furniture in bold colors. Henry’s wife must have a real eye for aesthetics, because there’s no way he did this himself.

  Craning my neck, I try to peep into the rooms, most of which have been left open. Two of them look like bedrooms, and one’s an office. But I can’t see a nursery or a kids’ room. I do ponder the possibility that his kids are older, but then he’s my age. So unless he married right out of college, that’s a stretch.

  “Beautiful house,” Ji-ae remarks appreciatively.

  She’s staring at the walls like they’re made of chocolate slabs. I hiss at her. She better cut that Charlie in the Chocolate Factory expression before it creeps him out.

  Henry gestures to the roomy sofa at the center of the living room. Sunlight is washing over it from the floor-to-ceiling windows.

  My legs shake a little as I lower my butt to its cushiony softness. Scattered around the monochrome rug below are pages of sheet music, with a bunch of pens having been put away hastil
y into a blue plastic box stowed under the TV. Judging from those and the lack of a nursery, I’m beginning to wonder if he even has kids.

  “Please sit.” Henry retrieves the resume Ji-ae emailed him on his iPad, taking a seat on the sofa opposite the one he pointed us to. “Maxima Anderson. You were the one who called me this afternoon?”

  “No, that was me.” Ji-ae lays her business card on the coffee table, along with a plastic box of food samples from her menu for today. She’s a professional cook, by the way. She has her own lunch delivery business. She makes homemade lunches for busy people. “I’m her sister-in-law, Ji-ae. Nice to meet you. I brought you some samples of Max’s cooking.”

  “But those—” were made by you, I intend to say, before she shuts me up with a sharp kick to my ankle.

  Opening the box, she points at the various dishes, beaming proudly. “Max is a versatile cook. She can cook any cuisine—Korean, Chinese, Italian—you name it, she can make it.”

  Henry regards me with suspicion, but gives a terse nod in Ji-ae’s direction. “Thank you very much. I’ll try them later.”

  Glowing at her triumph, she leans back and encourages me to continue. I’m not really sure what to say here. I mean, this is Henry Stone. The same Henry Stone who I once treated like he was more insignificant than the dirt I walked on.

  A twinge of regret twists in my chest as I eye the paintings hung on the wall. He’s really made something of his life. This should have been my life—a gorgeous mansion in Beverly Hills, a housekeeper to manage the home, comfort and luxury.

  “Call me Max,” I say, shaking his hand anxiously.

  “I don’t know if you read the ad, but I have very high standards for domestic help. My experience with housekeepers in the past has been less than stellar, so I will be interviewing you thoroughly today to decide your suitability for the job,” he mentions.

  “Of course,” Ji-ae coos. “It’s important to establish trust with a housekeeper. After all, you’ll be entrusting this beautiful apartment to her care.”

  Paying her no heed, Henry continues, opening a different file on his iPad—one that has a lot of words and checkboxes next to them.

  “Have you had any experience with children before, Max?” he enquires, his tone airy but firm.

  “I was summer camp counselor for two years. I taught music to kids.”

  I shudder, recollecting the experience. During my freshman and junior years of college, I was seriously broke, so I decided to be a camp counselor to mint some moolah. The problem was, I’m terrible with kids. Three kids under my care became sick halfway through due to eating a poisonous mushroom (that I explicitly told them not to eat.) None of the kids ever listened to my instructions. Suffice to say, I’m not keen on being a babysitter again.

  “Excellent.” Henry puts a check mark in the first box, appearing pleased. “Any cleaning experience?”

  “I was housekeeping staff at the Four Seasons in LA briefly.”

  Ha, that was a nightmare. Cleaning and I are mortal enemies, and will remain so for the rest of my life. But I can’t say that to Henry, so I modify the truth a little.

  “My boss constantly praised the high standard of my work, so you have nothing to worry about there.”

  It’s thanks to my acting ability that I pull that lie off so easily. In reality, my boss at the Four Seasons fired me because I always left the rooms messier than I found them. But hell, this is an interview, and a little embellishment is standard. It’s not like I’m an inveterate liar or anything.

  One thick eyebrow inches up his forehead. “Really? Then why did you only stay at the job a month?”

  Someone’s been going through my resume with a fine-toothed comb.

  “I had scheduling conflicts,” I fill in smoothly. “When I was in LA, I was trying out my luck in Hollywood. I got a lucrative role, so I had to quit. It was a sad day.”

  It was actually the happiest day of my life.

  He gives a slight headshake, but doesn’t offer any further comments. When he brings the rim of his coffee cup to his lips, painful awareness seizes my gut. His lips are so beautiful. Not one dry flake in sight—unlike my gross lips that are shedding flakes like a salt shaker.

  On closer inspection, his face is different, too. He has nice, soft skin. I wonder what beauty products he uses. I’ll have to check his bathroom cupboard once I’m hired. Maybe I can even borrow some stuff. God knows I need something to preserve my dying beauty.

  Henry sinks back into the sofa. “Do you have any questions for me in the meantime, Max?”

  “Oh, yes.” I clasp my fingers in my lap. “Quite a few, actually. How many kids do you have, and how old are they? And is your wife often at home? I don’t see her anywhere today.”

  Henry looks baffled at my questions. Ji-ae elbows me from the left. I don’t have to look at her face to realize that I may have been overzealous.

  But his being alone strikes me as odd. I would think he’d do something as important as interviewing a housekeeper together with his wife.

  My gaze falls on his ring finger. No wedding band. Wait…he’s divorced already?

  “I don’t have any kids, and I’m not married,” Henry clarifies, eliciting a surprised gasp from Ji-ae.

  “But you’re so handsome,” she says. “And you have your own apartment in Manhattan.”

  “Thank you for the…er…compliment.” Henry squirms. “But I’ve been single for quite some time and am likely to remain so in the foreseeable future.”

  Attention back on me, he waves his hands in the air. “I’m hiring you to supervise my sister’s nine-year-old son and to clean my house. Those will be your primary duties. You’ll have to pick Lucien up from school five days a week and look after him until eight pm. On those same days, I’d like you to come in the morning and clean the apartment, make me breakfast and dinner. I eat lunch at work.”

  “Sounds reasonable.” I crack my lips in a very forced smile.

  To be honest, that sounds like a shitload of work. Cleaning an apartment this big every day, plus dealing with a nine-year-old…oh, please spare me from that misery.

  “That’s good.” Henry takes another glug of coffee. I have to wonder why he’s drinking coffee at three pm.

  “I hope this isn’t too personal…but where do you work?” Ji-ae leans so close to him, her butt almost falls off the edge of the sofa.

  He places his iPad on the coffee table between us. His movements are elegant and sharp. “I’m a consultant. I have my own engineering consulting practice.”

  “Ah, an engineer. You must be smart. Well, Max here might not look too bright, but she’s been to Harvard. She should be able to help your nephew with his homework.”

  “I know,” he answers, in a flat tone.

  Shit…did he remember? Did he realize that I’m that Max?

  My heart gives a kick in my chest. I was beginning to warm up to the idea of cleaning this house, but I suppose it wasn’t meant to be.

  But before my panic can accelerate, Henry turns his iPad screen at us. “It says so on her resume. Class of ’10. Majored in drama.”

  “Ah, right.” Ji-ae shakes her head at me in a wordless compliment. “She put it on her resume. How smart of her.”

  Oh, please. As if I wouldn’t put that on my resume. Going to Harvard is pretty much the only thing of import I’ve accomplished in life.

  Henry now starts asking me the usual interview questions, like my philosophy with children and stuff. I don’t have one, so I make one up on the spot. Long ago, in my junior year of college, I took this course where I ad-lib lines for a character. It’s astonishing how much acting helps you in real life.

  There are further questions about background checks, references and the like, with Henry explaining that he would require my permission to run a background check on me if I were hired. Gaining trust as a nanny is a delicate matter, I realize that now. There are so many hoops to jump through.

  After ten minutes, he’s exhausted his
list of questions, and I’ve exhausted my reserve of lies, so we decide to end the interview.

  There’s a stiff and formal parting handshake. “Thank you for your time, Max. You’re the most promising among all the housekeepers I’ve interviewed today.”

  “It was great to meet you, too, Mr. Stone,” I say in a sickly sweet voice.

  Ji-ae and I traipse to the door, which was left open. Henry trails us. Behind me, his footsteps echo steadily, and I can smell the scent of something on him. It’s a hard to describe the smell, but it’s pleasant and comforting. Something deep inside me tugs, and I wish I could talk to him more and get to know him better. Ask what he’s been up to all these years.

  I quash that thought. What am I thinking? He’s Henry Stone. Why would I be interested in him? This is ludicrous. Still, I can’t deny that there’s something alluring about him now. Something I want to discover.

  Before my stupid thoughts can gain ground on me, I race to the door, but Ji-ae’s phone rings out of the blue.

  “Oh, I have to take this call. Max, stay and work out when you can start.” She slips out the door, leaving me alone with Henry.

  If she had her way, I’d start this very minute. Nobody’s more desperate to get me out of unemployment than Ji-ae, but I guess it makes sense. I’d be pissed too if my husband’s sister was staying in my two-bedroom apartment with paper-thin walls and ruining my sex life.

  Grinding my feet against the hardwood floor, I cast my gaze downward. “I’m sorry. Ji-ae’s very presumptuous.”

  Henry doesn’t say anything. Gazing into his eyes, I find two dark discs of mystery. God, this guy’s seriously mastered the poker face. I can’t read him at all.

  Pressing a hand to his forehead, he exhales a soft sigh. It takes me a while to make out that the expression on his face is pity.

  “So the Oscars dream didn’t work out,” he whispers. “Too bad.”

  My whole face burns up like someone threw boiling water on it. “I…you remember?” I choke on my own spit, palms suddenly clammy.