Chapter Fourteen
“Tell me everything,” I say to Sky as we sit cross-legged on my giant bed. She and Steven never came back to the table last night, so after eating my whole piece of Sacher torte and half of Jonathan’s—he must not have alerted his staff that he was leaving before dessert—I went upstairs all by myself. And by that, I mean Martin had to show me the way again.
“He’s not at all what I expected him to be like,” Sky says. “He talked about roses the entire time. Having grown up in Pasadena, you’d think I knew everything there was to know about roses, but you’d be wrong.”
“Were you bored?” Because, you know, it sounds boring.
“Not a bit! I learned all kinds of interesting things. Like, did you know that the Juliet rose took fifteen years to breed and cost an estimated three million dollars to get it where it is today?”
“I did not.” And while I don’t say so, I do wonder who actually cares about such things. Obviously, Steven and Sky. “Did he kiss you?”
She shakes her head. “No, we just talked about roses.”
“For three hours?” I fell into a Sacher torte-induced coma by ten thirty and Sky still hadn’t come back.
“He’s more wonderful than I thought he would be.” Sky sighs.
“I’m glad you think so. Jonathan said to tell you that Steven is very shy and that you shouldn’t take offense if he seems off-putting.”
“He was shy at first, but once he showed me his Overnight Sensation he really opened up.” Two things. Is Overnight Sensation a euphemism for something else? And if not, maybe Steven is the gay one? I wisely decide to keep my mouth shut.
Sky tells me that she’ll call an Uber to take her into the office so I can head out and look at a couple places that have popped up for Abril. “I want to soak in that bathtub for an hour before I go anywhere.”
“Have fun,” I tell her before leaving in search of breakfast. Following Martin’s instructions from last night, I take the elevator down to the first floor, then I turn right at the mahogany Hepplewhite sideboard, left at the gilded rococo antique mirror, and another right by the concert grand piano. I wonder if Jonathan plays.
As soon as I walk into the kitchen, Gerard greets, “I have a german apple pancake about to come out of the oven. How does that sound?”
“Delicious.” I tell him. “But how did you know I’d be down in time?”
“I didn’t. I was prepared to have Greta take up a tray.” He winks before saying, “I’ll serve it in the dining room if you’d like to go sit down.”
“Why can’t I eat here?” I ask.
“You can eat anywhere you want,” he tells me, although he seems nervous at the prospect of my staying in his domain.
“And because Mr. Fancy Pants isn’t here, maybe you’ll sit down and keep me company.”
“Mr. Fancy Pants?” he laughs.
“How do you work for that guy and keep a straight face?”
“It’s not hard. After all, I’m a chef, and he’s my boss.”
“How much can you possibly cook for him? He’s one person.”
“It’s the perfect job because I don’t have to cook that much. It leaves plenty of time during the day to work on my screenplay.”
“You’re a screenwriter?” How exciting.
“Not yet, but I’m working on it.”
“Maybe Jonathan will make a movie of your screenplay. Ravenswood Films is huge.”
Gerard shakes his head. “Not a chance. In this town, once you’re pigeonholed, you stay pigeonholed. I’m probably going to have my agent submit the final script using another name.”
The timer rings on the oven, and Gerard announces, “Time to eat.”
He dishes up a gorgeous pancake for me, instructing, “Squeeze the lemon wedge on top and then dip it in the powdered sugar.”
“Won’t you sit down and eat with me?”
Gerard looks around like he’s worried the Gestapo might be nearby. Then he shrugs his shoulders and announces, “Why not?”
We sit at the island counter together and are having a grand old time when Martin walks in. Gerard jumps to his feet as though he was just caught committing a war crime. Martin looks torn between giving Gerard a stern talking to and sitting down and joining us.
I kick out another stool. “Sit down and take a load off, Martin.”
“I shouldn’t, madam,” he says, standing so tall he looks like he’s had a steel rod implanted in his spine.
“I won’t say a word to Jonathan. When he comes home, you guys can be as formal as you want, but until then, I say we have some fun.”
Martin calls out, “Come on in, Greta,” before sitting down with us.
The sturdy German housekeeper walks in and pours herself a cup of coffee before asking, “Why are you so nice to us?”
“Why wouldn’t I be nice to you?”
“You are a friend of Mr. Jonathan,” she says cautiously.
“He’s not my friend. We’re just switching houses for a while. You’ve seen my house Greta; you know it’s nothing compared to this.”
“It’s very small and dirty,” she tells Martin and Gerard. Ouch.
No one asks what Jonathan is doing at my house and I don’t offer any details. Instead, I say, “How about if I make us dinner tonight?”
“What do you want to make?” Gerard asks.
“Boxed macaroni and cheese with bacon crumbled on top.” They give me a look that suggests they don’t find this an exciting proposal. I might have to add some fresh parmesan and up my culinary game.
I enjoy getting to know Jonathan’s staff while I hoover down the apple pancake. Once I’m finished, I ask, “Is there a coffee cup I can take with me?”
Gerard fills a thermos and hands me a paper bag from the fridge. “I took the liberty of making you lunch.”
How nice is that? “Thank you,” I tell him sincerely. “I’m never going to want to leave here if you keep treating me so well.”
Greta and Martin share an indecipherable look, which conveys the feeling they’re up to something.
Grabbing my purse, laptop, coffee, and lunch, I announce, “I’ll be home by six and plan to have dinner on the table by seven. Now, do I need to know anything special to get out of the gate or will it just open?”
“It opens on its own,” Martin tells me. “But it opens inward, so don’t get too close or it’ll hit your car.”
“Sky is taking a bath, but she’ll be leaving soon. She doesn’t have a car here, so will you make sure to let the Uber in to pick her up?”
“We’ll take good care of her, madam.” Martin stands and bows at the waist.
“Martin, my name is Emily and that’s the only name I’m going to answer to. If you call me madam, I’m going to have to start calling you sir.”
“That won’t do at all … Emily,” he practically chokes on my name.
I just wave and say, “See you tonight! Make sure you’re all hungry.”