Chapter 5
FIVE
LORENZO
Winnie Smith’s very plain electric car was in the driveway when Lorenzo pulled his Lamborghini next to it Thursday evening.
He’d have to ask her to park in the garage, because a gray hatchback with a few dings and four shark-positive bumper stickers did not fit his home’s aesthetic.
He could’ve alerted her that he was coming home a day early and sent her home, but he wanted to surprise her in case she was sprawled on his couch, eating potato chips and scrolling through her phone.
He could send her home after he assessed her work.
She didn’t seem to be there, however.
“Ms. Smith?” he called. No answer. He supposed he should call her by her first name, ridiculous though it was. Who named their child after a fictional bear?
He opened the door. The house smelled…different.
Pleasant. Lemony, perhaps, with a hint of yeast. It was immaculate.
Well, it was always immaculate, but Lorenzo appreciated the fresh cleanliness.
Often, the air felt stale, since the house could go unoccupied for two or three weeks.
But today, the windows were open to let in the salty, fresh September air.
Also, she’d opened each window six inches exactly, he judged (and he was a surgeon, so he could guess distance to within a half millimeter). The symmetry was pleasing.
The maple end tables, bookcase, and coffee table gleamed in the golden light of the late afternoon.
There was a vase of red dahlias on the dining room table (on a coaster, he was glad to note, because that table was an original Mies Van Der Rohe, and if she left a water stain, he’d have to fire her).
Another vase sat in the middle of the kitchen island, the blood-red color pleasing against the black and white of the kitchen.
On the counter was a glass bowl of lemons and, on the other side of the sink, a narrow wooden tray with four orangey-red tomatoes in a line, stems down, and a round loaf of bread under a cake dome.
It looked almost like someone lived here. Hm.
He opened the fridge and saw that it was stocked with the items he’d requested.
The asparagus was sitting in a wide-mouthed mason jar, the ends in water, as appropriate.
Same with a healthy bunch of parsley. Bottles of mineral water were lined up precisely.
A dozen brown eggs sat piled gently in a green ceramic bowl, more pleasing than seeing them in an egg carton.
A glass bottle held what appeared to be skim milk.
There was chicken, carrots, kale, radishes, plain yogurt, everything neatly arranged.
Though he hadn’t asked for it, there was also a glass pitcher of water with cucumber slices.
He’d never had cucumbers in water. It might be refreshing.
In the cheese drawer, there was a selection of cheeses, though he didn’t often eat cheese.
The pantry was also stocked with his requested items. In addition, there was a bottle of Brennevin, the Icelandic liquor he enjoyed, though he didn’t drink often.
He frowned. He hadn’t put that on the list, and it was not an obvious choice of alcohol.
There were also three bars of Tony’s Chocolonely 70% dark chocolate, the wrappers tawdry and bright.
“Hello,” came her voice.
Lorenzo turned. Winnie Smith stood in his kitchen, her straight hair pulled back in a severe ponytail.
Though she stood a good five feet away, he caught a hint of her soap—clean, sharp, and simple.
It triggered a memory of his childhood. Ivory soap, that was it.
Noni had kept bricks of it in the linen closet to discourage moths.
When he’d first come to live with his grandmother, he’d hidden in that closet so she wouldn’t see him cry.
Not a pleasant memory, so he dismissed it and continued to look at his new assistant.
Her face was devoid of makeup, and she wore a white shirt and jeans that stopped above her ankles. On her feet were sandals.
“Please don’t wear shoes in the house,” he said.
She bent down and slid off her shoes, then straightened, holding them in her hands. “I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow,” she said.
“Yes. A surgery was canceled.” Irritating, really…
the patient had come down with a fever, and the surgery was a McKeown esophagogastrostomy, which Lorenzo always enjoyed, since he got to open the neck, chest and abdomen in one procedure.
Plus, complications were common—a leak at the anastomosis or pulmonary issues.
Lorenzo had yet to have a patient suffer any, which was always a point of pride.
“You have a long weekend, then,” Winnie said. “Would you like me to go?”
“Don’t you work for me now?” he asked. Surely there were things to be reported. He wasn’t used to having a personal assistant. It seemed that she should, oh, have something to do here.
“Yes. But if you want to be alone, I can go—”
“How do you know I drink Brennevin?” he asked.
“—back to Wellfleet and work from home.” She scowled as she talked through his interruption. “In answer to your question, I asked your brother what kind of things you liked, and he said Brennevin, so I got some. You had nothing fun to eat or drink on your list, so I thought I’d add a few things.”
“Chocolate?”
“Dark chocolate. It’s good for you.”
The sun on her hair made it look reddish-gold, and her skin was lightly tanned, her cheeks looked freshly pink. He should warn her about sunscreen. Then again, she should already know. The whole world knew. “Dark chocolate is not good for you,” he said.
“It lowers your blood pressure and helps with brain function.” She folded her arms across her chest.
He scoffed. “So candy manufacturers would have you believe. Actual science has debunked that myth.”
She blinked pointedly. “Okay,” she said, her tone implying he was being irrational. “I’ll pay you for them and eat them myself.”
“Good.” Actually, dark chocolate wasn’t exactly bad for a person if you ate an ounce here or there. Maybe he’d keep one bar.
“I just emailed you a list of things I’ve done today,” Winnie said. “Why don’t you check it and see if there’s anything else you need from me? If not, I’ll head home.”
Again, she was telling him when she could go. Irritating. “Why did you buy flowers?” he asked.
“Because they were pretty. I thought they would cheer the place up.”
“The place doesn’t need cheering up. It’s an architectural gem.”
She raised an eyebrow, but said, “It is. Even so, flowers make everything nicer. Again, if they bother you, I’ll pay for them and take them home.”
“And that bread? Where did that come from? I avoid processed foods.”
“I made it.”
That explained the yeasty smell in the air.
“Why did you buy cheese?”
“In case you had people over, since the weekend is almost here, and I know your family lives nearby. Maybe you have friends. This way, you could offer them something other than an asparagus stalk or a basil leaf.” She paused. “I also bought a few bottles of wine in case you did have company.”
He had no plans for company. Nevertheless, she had only started yesterday, and already his fridge was full, his house was clean, and his favorite alcohol sat waiting.
“Let me review your list,” he said.
“Sure. Would you like something to drink?”
“Water, please. You’re welcome to have some, too.”
“Gosh, thanks,” she said. She poured them each a glass from the pitcher. “Would you like a glass of whatever Brennevin is?”
He considered it. He did indeed have a long weekend.
“Yes, please. Again, you’re welcome to some as well.
” Drinking with employees was probably not a good idea, but A) she was his brother’s sister-in-law, and B) it was 4:42 p.m. He supposed she was off the clock, though they hadn’t discussed her hours or, for that matter, her pay.
“What is your hourly rate, by the way?” he asked.
“Two hundred dollars an hour,” she said.
“Fine. Bill me weekly, please.”
She spun around. “Oh, I was joking, Lorenzo. That’s too much.”
“Is it?”
“Yeah. I’d guess the going rate is somewhere closer to fifty.”
So he’d pay four times the going rate and hopefully get four times the quality and commitment. “Two hundred is fine.”
“Um…okay, well, I guess you can be the judge of that.” She poured them both glasses of cucumber water, then took a martini glass out of the freezer, then opened the Brennevin.
A chilled martini glass. Very 1950s. He approved. “If you make my life run more smoothly, it will be money well spent. Please, come sit in the living room while I look over your list.”
“Let’s go out on the deck. It’s a gorgeous night.”
He didn’t like being directed in his own home, but she had a point.
He took the water and the martini glass and followed her outside.
The smell of the ocean and sunshine, the blue of the sky and the call of the birds reminded him why he bought this place.
The cushions on the deck furniture were clean and plumped.
More red dahlias in a vase. “I don’t want that vase being knocked over by the wind,” he said.
“I put rocks in the bottom to weight it down. Barring a nor’easter, it’ll be fine.”
He wasn’t sure he wanted rocks in a rare McCoy emerald green vase, but at least she’d had the foresight to secure it. She sipped her water and smoothed back a strand of hair the wind had freed from her ponytail. Definitely some reddish hues in there.
Lorenzo sat down, took a sip of his drink and looked at his phone, calling up her email.
Contacted carpenter about deck stairs. He can start on Monday and is coming by tomorrow to measure for materials.
Restocked pantry and fridge (itemized bill attached).
Fresh sheets and towels in all upstairs bedrooms / bathrooms, since you said it’s been about a month since you fired your housekeeper.
Picked up dry cleaning.
Cleaned house (dusted, vacuumed, washed floors, cleaned first-floor windows).
Reorganized linen closet.
Called three landscaping companies to come by for quotes. One will come tomorrow morning, the others on Monday. Made sure they all do weeding, pruning, spring and fall cleanup, and snowplowing in addition to lawn cutting.
“How did you fold the towels?” he asked.
“In thirds.” She didn’t seem to think it was an odd question.
“Two hundred dollars an hour it is,” he said, putting away his phone.
“It really doesn’t seem fair. Doctors make less than that.”
He almost laughed. “That’s not true.”
“Ask my sister. It is true.”
Well, Lark was only an emergency room physician, but even so. Lorenzo took another sip of Brennevin, the warmth of the alcohol a perfect balance to the cooling fall air.
“You seem very efficient,” he said, looking at Winnie. “Why did you leave your last job? You had your own business. Being a personal assistant, even for someone at my level, seems like a step down.”
She gave him an undeniably irritated look. “‘Someone at your level?’”
What had he said that earned that look? “Yes. I don’t have a self-esteem issue, that is true. Why did you close your company? Or did you sell it?”
“I closed it.”
“Why?”
“Personal reasons. I still have some events to do. My brother’s getting married, and I’m their wedding planner. I’m putting together an anniversary party in October for an older couple. But it’s a small job. I’m barely even charging them. It won’t get in the way of my work for you.”
“Why aren’t you charging them?”
“Because it’s their sixty-fifth anniversary, and they’re fifth-generation Cape Codders. He wants to surprise his wife, and based on their house and car, it didn’t seem like he could afford much, so I told him my fee was a hundred dollars.”
“And how much would it cost them if he was wealthier?” he asked.
“Maybe two grand.”
“Sounds like a very weak business model, charging five percent of what your time is actually worth.”
She looked at him, her face devoid of expression. “It’s not about profit in this case. I wanted them to have a nice party, so I’m donating my services. It happens among us humans.”
Ah, the old robot innuendo. Certainly not the first time someone had used it. “I also donate my services,” he said, his tone chilly. “And my services cost hundreds of thousands of dollars, so please adjust your tone.”
“Do you need anything else from me?” she asked. “Or can I go?”
He paused. “I thought you’d be staying here. Aren’t contractors coming over tomorrow?”
“You can’t handle that yourself?”
“Winnie, the entire point of your employment is so I don’t have to handle those things myself. You can go back to Wellfleet if you want, but it’ll be a forty-five-minute drive each way. What time are the contractors coming?”
She paused. “Eight-thirty and nine.”
“And were you planning to stay here if I was still in Boston?”
“Yes.”
“Then stay. You have your own quarters, don’t you? Have you chosen a bedroom yet?” She’d slept here for the past two nights, according to her notes.
“The smaller one downstairs,” she said. “Overlooking the beach.”
“Well. Do what you want. It doesn’t matter to me, as long as you’re back here before the contractors come.”
She got up, then sat back down. “Fine. I’ll stay. My car is electric, so I have to pop into town and charge it, anyway.”
“Your car is also rather ugly. Would you mind parking in the garage?”
She gave him that look again, irritated and falsely patient. “Sure. I’ll leave you to your evening, then, and I’ll come back around…” She glanced at her watch, an inexpensive, Luddite kind, with hands and no access to the internet. “Around seven. Text if you need me.”
“I won’t,” he said. “Enjoy your evening.”