The Life She Wants Part 17

Emma had to concentrate very hard just to keep up with the rest of her team so for the first two weeks in her new job she saw very little besides the dust and dirt she was waging war on. It wasn't just important that she be flawlessly thorough, but also fast. Clients had an expectation of not only a perfect job, but an on-time job, too. In most of the houses no one was home and it was usually planned that way; people didn't like being underfoot while the house was being cleaned.

Nick came by a couple of times as she was working to check on her. He was a happy and energetic guy in his early thirties, and two things were immediately clear-all the women liked him and he had eyes only for Makenna. He joked with her, complimented her, asked her a lot of questions, but she kept moving and gave him mostly short answers. Emma was amused by the way she tried to ignore him. Makenna was much friendlier with the women, though she was their superior. If Emma knew her better she might tease her, but she really didn't dare.

In fact, there wasn't much she dared. She very much wanted to prove she could clean as well as she could supervise a household staff. That first week, she didn't notice much, but there was one thing that drew her attention. The trash in the wastebasket of a fifteen-year-old girl. It appeared she'd thrown away some clothing. Emma didn't mean to inspect her trash, but she couldn't help but notice the price tags still on the clothes. She pulled them out-two pair of pants, three tops, a scarf, a blazer-all stuffed into the trash can. A wad of gum was stuck to a brand-new Free People long-sleeved knit top that sold for eighty-five dollars. There were designer labels on the other items. Prada. BCBG. Christian Lacroix.

She smoothed the clothes out on the girl's bed.

"What are you doing?" Makenna asked.

"She must have made a mistake," Emma said. "She threw away brand-new, very expensive clothing-these still have the tags on."

"It's not a mistake," Makenna said. "They're in the trash."

"But..."

"And please, don't talk to Dellie about the clothes in the trash. Dellie has three daughters, no spousal support and seeing this careless treatment would be hard on her heart."

Emma frowned. "But why?"

"Because her ex is an a.s.shole, why else?"

"No-why are these things in the trash?"

"Some of that stuff we don't see, Emma. Her parents are never around, her mother's a.s.sistant buys the clothes, Bethany doesn't want them. In fact, she resents them and does it out of spite. But they can't end up on an employee's daughter. Who knows how much trouble that could create."

"Shouldn't her mother know?"

"Do you know her mother?" Makenna asked, lifting her dark brows.

"Well, no, but if I-"

"Don't project. Don't extrapolate. Telling her mother might only create bigger problems for us."

"How?"

"She'll fire us and hire a new service merely because we looked too closely and presumed to know more about her family than she does. Trust me. Or, to keep from getting in trouble with her mother, sweet little Bethany will claim we stole the clothes."

"Doesn't she care?" Emma asked Makenna.

"I don't know. And neither do you." And with that, Makenna stuffed the beautiful clothes back into the trash can and handed it to Emma.

Emma did as she was supposed to do and emptied that trash can into the big plastic bag she was carrying from room to room. She so hoped she'd see some of those expensive new things on a homeless person. "If she were mine..."

"I'm sure you'd care enough to take her shopping, listen to her likes and dislikes and be a perfect mother. Congratulations to you."

"I bet there are some homeless people who'd like to know where the best trash cans are," she muttered when she was out of Makenna's earshot.

She didn't say another word but she could begin to see how you could become hard, cynical. If the dirt the clients left behind wasn't enough to turn you, the private lives they thought no one could see might.

"We need to be invisible," Makenna reminded her. "We can't afford to be enmeshed with the client. It's not good for business."

Emma was surprised no expose had been written by a member of her Manhattan household staff. Had she and Richard been more clever in concealing how obscene their private lives were? Looking back she thought she'd been a very decent mistress of the house but it was true; she didn't remember the names of all the people who served them. She knew the housekeeper, the driver, the cook, her part-time a.s.sistant. The cleaning people changed regularly, the florist's delivery people were always different, she'd had seven different personal shoppers in five years.

They had been invisible to her.

At the end of the second week on Friday afternoon, she went with Makenna back to the office to pick up her car.

"Here's your schedule for next week. Meet your team here. You can take a van to your appointments. And Riley asked me to tell you she'd like to see you if you have some time."

She was the boss. How could Emma not have time?

When she got up to the second floor, Jeanette was gone for the day and Riley's door was ajar. There was laughter coming from inside. Emma tapped lightly.

"Come in, come in," Riley called. "Well, you look pretty decent for a Friday night."

"I do?"

"You do," she laughed. "Emma, this is Brazil Johnson, our accountant and CFO. We go way back. Brazil, this is Emma Shay and we go back even further-we first met in fourth grade."

Brazil, a tall, lanky African American woman in jeans and crisp blouse with a scarf tied around her head, stood and put out a hand. "Emma," she said. "I like that. Emma. Is it short for anything?"

Emma shook her head. "No, and I wasn't named for anyone that I know of."

"I used to clean houses with Brazil," Riley said. "We were almost the original team."

"I'm happy to meet you," Emma said.

"Come in and sit," Riley invited. "Brazil isn't around the office too much and when she is I like to take advantage of her stories."

"My mother is an invalid now," Brazil explained. "I work from home as often as I can so I'm there for her. Most days she drives me out of my mind. But it's very good practice for me-might make me conscious of what it's like and keep me from burdening my daughter with the same." She shook her head. "Woo-eee, Denise wouldn't put up with a tenth of what Mama gives me!"

"Denise is an attorney," Riley said. "Also a single mother. So many of us."

"Do you have children?" Brazil asked Emma.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "It's just me."

"Well, your old friend Riley has created a company that welcomes single parents and makes it easy for them to work at a decent wage. She should get a medal."

"I'm thinking a statue in the town square," Riley said with a laugh. "How's work going? Any problems or revelations?"

Emma was a little uncertain. She bit her lip for a moment. "Work is fine. Is there a suggestion box around here?"

Riley's eyebrows were raised in question. "You have a suggestion? Already?"

"Just a thought," Emma said with some trepidation. "I understand why it's a bad idea to accept used clothing from clients..."

"It can be disastrous," Riley said.

"I was wondering, if it was managed and there was a receipt from the donor so there wouldn't be any misunderstanding..."

"I don't think it's a good idea to have our clients think we're needy, Emma."

"I understand, but the client doesn't have to know where donated clothing goes. In fact, we could send out a notice to clients saying that if they choose to donate to a variety of worthwhile outlets from shelters to dress for success organizations that help to clothe people for job interviews..."

"The clothes you were forced to throw away wouldn't have made it into donation, Emma," Riley said. "That screwed up fifteen-year-old girl's clothes wouldn't have been donated. She was making a statement when she put them in the garbage."

"You know about that, huh?" Emma said.

"There's very little I don't hear about," Riley said. "I'm sorry, Emma. I think it's a bad idea."

"If someone came to you and said, 'Would you like to donate these nice clothes?' what would you think?" Brazil asked. "You'd think, 'Why's that cleaning woman picking through my trash?' that's what."

"Our clients want to think their cleaners don't need charity. They like thinking we don't see their castoffs, that we don't notice things like that."

"Tempting though, ain't it?" Brazil said.

"It is," Emma said.

"Look the other way, Emma," Riley said. "Anything else on your mind?"

She shook her head.

"I'm glad it's going well for you. Makenna tells me you're doing a very good job."

"Thank you," she said. "The team does a very good job. They're good girls. Women."

"That's all I have for you," Riley said. "I just wanted to check in with you. And here's your check," she added, handing Emma an envelope. "From now on Brazil will have your pay deposited in your account and Nick will give you the stub showing your deductions. Welcome aboard."

"Thanks," she said. And took her leave.

Emma had been in touch with Adam every day without fail. On those few nights they weren't together, they talked on the phone. Tonight Emma was going to Adam's house for dinner. When she was there, which had only been twice so far, she put her car in his garage so that if Riley drove by she wouldn't see it. When she arrived, he was busy in the kitchen, slicing and dicing, garlic being sauteed in the pan on the stove.

"It already smells wonderful."

"I have something to tell you," he said. "My mother asked me if I happened to have a phone number for you. She's planning to call you. I gave her the number. I hope you're okay with that."

"Will she tell Riley?" Emma asked.

"You can ask her not to, Emma. I don't think Riley finding out we're seeing each other will be as much of a problem as you think."

"It will be a problem for her, I guarantee it."

"I hope you're wrong, but we'll do things your way. My mother wants to see you. She knows Riley has your number and she didn't ask her."

"I don't know what's going to p.i.s.s her off more-us being together or hiding it from her."

Every time Emma's phone rang, she jumped. She looked at the caller ID and it was either Adam or Lyle. Then on Wednesday while she was working, her phone vibrated in her pocket and she didn't dare answer it, even though the home owners were not home. When they took their break between houses, she listened to the message.

"Emma, it's June Kerrigan. Adam gave me your number and I've been looking for a time I could ask you to dinner when it would be just us so we could talk, catch up with no interference from eavesdroppers or others. Maddie is having a sleepover Friday night so her mother will have to stay home with them. How I got out of sleepover duty, I'll never know, but finally the house is my own. Can you come to dinner? At about six? When you were a little girl you loved my fried spaghetti-it was your favorite and your little feelings were hurt if we had it without you. If I make fried spaghetti, will you come? I think I've waited long enough!"

Tears came to her eyes and she sniffed loudly enough that Shawna turned from the front seat and asked, "You okay, girl?"

"Yes, sorry. I just got the sweetest message from an old friend..."

"It your birthday or something?" Shawna asked.

"No," she said, laughing. "She's going to make my favorite dish from when I was a little girl-fried spaghetti with pesto, black olives and pepperoni."

And both women oohed and ahhed.

On Friday afternoon, immediately after work, she went to the flower shop. She'd called Lyle and asked him if he'd make a Christmas centerpiece for her to give to someone special. When she got to the flower shop the guys were both there. With the holidays upon them, they were keeping the shop open a little later and Lyle hadn't gotten around to her centerpiece.

"Who's getting my masterpiece?" Lyle asked.

"You have to promise not to tell," she said. "June called me and invited me to dinner, just the two of us. Adam gave her my cell number."

"Adam?" Lyle and Ethan said in unison.

"Yes, Adam-and you have to keep him a secret, too. It started out that he was a very nice and helpful friend. You know, a little gla.s.s of wine, a cell number in case I needed a hand with anything, lunch at a vineyard bistro, then..."

They were leaning toward her. "Then...?"

"It got a little...you know...romantic."

"OMG, she's doing Adam, the love of my life," Ethan said, swooning into Lyle.

"Get a grip," Lyle said. "He's straighter than my hair."

"He actually is," Emma said. "Could you get on my page here? I'm reuniting with June tonight and I need a centerpiece. A lovely centerpiece. One that says I'm grateful for everything, for accepting me without questioning about Richard's crimes, for missing me, for welcoming me back, for still loving me."

"I've had a crush on Adam since the first day I met him," Ethan said.

She looked at Lyle. "What's going on here? Is Adam his hall pa.s.s?"

"It's completely meaningless," Lyle said. "Adam couldn't be less interested in Ethan. Come on back to the playroom, Emmie. You can supervise my creation."

"I'd love that," she said.

"And why are we keeping Adam and June secret?" Lyle asked.