4. Andi
Chapter 4
Andi
M y brain slowly switches on, and I arch beneath the sheets, stretching my back and arms. For a moment, I don’t know where I am, still half in a dream. Then it all comes flooding back…the smoke pouring from my Jeep’s engine, the handsome stranger who came to my aid. Captain Stone.
Then I remember the days spent in my car and Ryder’s cruel words said to and about me at the worst possible time. Ryder was at a dinner with a bunch of producers, people who had power and money in the industry, and he called me to bring him his baggie of party favors that he forgot. While I was there, I got to talking, attempting to make my own contacts since he hadn’t helped me in the three years I’d worked for him. But he didn’t like me taking any of the spotlight away from him. So, he put me down with a few words and a smarmy smile.
He dug his elbow into his friend’s side, raising his voice so everyone heard as he made it obvious to the entire party who I was to him. Insinuating I was nothing more than a paid blow job. Even though I’d never touched him.
“Her face is plain, but she’s got those cock-sucking lips. ’Cept even those can’t help her get her shit together. Worthless. Consider this your notice, Halton. Unless any of you wants to put those lips to good use.”
I know I’m not worthless, but it still hurts. To be degraded and demeaned.
And the fact that I’m currently stranded with no idea of what I’m going to do with my life doesn’t make me feel any better.
Lifting my phone from where I have it charging, I read the time, a few minutes after eleven. I suppose I needed the sleep since I haven’t slept in like this in a long time, and my first instinct is to think that I need to do something. When I worked for Ryder, my schedule was not my own, constantly at the beck and call of his mercurial whims. If he wanted a special-order smoothie at six a.m., I got it for him. If he needed me to kick a woman out of his house at three in the morning, I did it.
And now that my life is my own once again, I’m at a loss.
So, I pull up the contact of the one person who I know will understand and FaceTime her. She answers immediately.
“There you are, mama! I miss your face already!”
I smile at my best friend of six years. Dahlia Ruiz let me live in her house rent-free for the last year, and she’s the singer who gives life to my words. “I miss you and your cuddles.”
Dahlia always let me snuggle her. Over the years, we’ve spent hours playing with each other’s hair or scratching each other’s backs, and I especially miss it first thing in the morning, when she’d come into my bed. Then Vic would almost always join us, the three of us like a pile of puppies.
The thought of never having that again makes my heart ache.
On my phone screen, Dahlia pouts. “Vic misses you too. We don’t know what to do with ourselves.”
I snort a laugh. I’m sure that’s not true. I’ve been the third wheel in their relationship for a long time. No matter that he’s like a brother to me, I know I was starting to cramp their style. He all but told me so when he said he planned on proposing to Dahlia soon. The puppy pile had to end at some point.
Yet another reason for me to pack my bags. Usually, a person needs only one or two signs to make a decision. I got, like, seven to know Los Angeles just wasn’t for me anymore. If it ever was.
“So, when did you get home?” Dahlia asks, and I roll over to set my chin in my hand as I hold my phone up to keep myself in frame.
“I didn’t.”
Her eyes widen, and I turn the camera to show her my room. “I’m at a bed-and-breakfast in West Chester, Pennsylvania.”
“Where’s that? Why are you there?”
I recount the story of what happened, and by the time I finish, she’s practically frothing at the mouth. “Andrea May Halton. You were rescued by an actual hot firefighter and didn’t get any more information from him? How can you finally break your dry spell without knowing how to find him?”
“Ma’am.” When she eyes me critically, I try on my best scowl. “First of all, it’s not a dry spell?—”
“Your cuca’s drier than the Mojave,” my best friend says, and I scoff.
“You are so rude.”
“Is it rude if it’s true?”
“To point it out, yes.”
“So, you agree?” she says in her best impression of Regina George, eyeing me with a smile. “You need to get fucked.”
I don’t answer. I was raised in a conservative small town, going to church on Sundays and attending bible camp during the summers. I was taught to believe sex before marriage was bad, and while I may have removed myself from that world a long time ago, I haven’t ever been able to dig myself out of the hole I’d been shoved into when it came to sex. Even with Dahlia’s influence.
But when I tell her about how my vibrator went off while Captain held my bag, I have to wait almost a full five minutes before she calms down from her laughing fit. “Oh, it’s too good. I’m sure he went home and fantasized about that all night.” She points her finger at me. “You need to find him. Mission one while you’re there.”
“I would have no idea where to start.”
She shrugs and suggests, “With a fire?”
I can’t keep the amusement from my face, even as I try. I bring my phone into the bathroom with me, and we talk about her upcoming gigs while I pee and brush my teeth. On her end, Dahlia makes breakfast, and it almost feels like I’m still in California and not 3,000 miles away. When I’m fully dressed, Dahlia moves closer to the screen, like she always does when she has something important to say, speaking almost nose to nose.
“Seriously, what’re you going to do?”
I flit my gaze to the windows of my room, where the sun shines outside. Something tugs inside me to follow it. “I’m not sure,” I tell her, “but I think I’m gonna stay here for a while.”
“You know you can always come back,” she reminds me, and I nod, although I’m not so sure that’s true. I don’t have anything to go back to anymore.
“I love you,” I say, and she blows me a kiss.
“Te quiero.”
I tuck my phone away and loop my purse over my shoulder to go exploring. West Chester is a quaint and quiet town, more walkable than I’m used to. I pass a few parks, a university, and eventually find myself downtown with cobblestone sidewalks and boutique shops. I check out the pet store with homemade dog treats, browse around the record store, and try on but ultimately decide against buying the super-cute bell bottoms in the secondhand store. I need to save all the money I have to pay for my car and the bed-and-breakfast.
Even so, I wander into a lingerie shop called Lux & Lace, drawn in by the colorful window display.
“Hello, there,” a bubbly voice says, and I turn to find a woman about my age with a Sabrina Carpenter vibe. “Can I help you find something today?”
“Oh. No, thank you. I’m just looking.”
She flicks her hand. “That’s what they all say.”
“It’s actually true for me. I’m sort of checking everything out around here,” I say, motioning behind me, to the whole of the town.
She leans her elbow on the rack. “Oh yeah? You here visiting or…?”
“Or…” I trail off and then laugh at myself. “I’m not really sure. My car broke down yesterday, and I’ve suddenly found myself here. I think I might be staying for a while.”
“Well, hi!” She lights up, introducing herself. “I’m Clara, one of the owners here, along with my wife.” She points to a Black woman behind the counter, who is busy on the computer. “That’s Marianne, and we’d be so happy to give you a tour and answer any questions you might have.”
At her name, Marianne lifts her attention. “What are you volunteering me for?”
Clara drapes her arm around me protectively. “Helping our new friend.”
Marianne sets down her pen and crosses over to shake my hand. “Don’t let her steamroll you.”
“Oh no. I’m fine. It’s nice, actually. Great to meet y’all since I don’t really know anyone.”
“Good thing we know everyone,” Clara stage-whispers, earning a playful eye roll from her wife.
As Clara fills me in on where to buy coffee and that I need to try a cinnamon bun from Sweet Cheeks, Marianne continues her business, and I relax in their presence, enjoying the easy rapport with each other, not to mention how helpful they are. I find myself answering all the questions they ask, about where I’m from, how I got here, and what I do for a living.
“About that,” I say with a hopeful smile. “You aren’t hiring, are you?”
“No, sweetie, sorry.” Clara frowns then she sets her hand on her hip, tossing a look I can’t read to Marianne, who turns to the front windows in thought.
I follow the direction of her gaze to the shops across the street. “Are any of them hiring?”
“I don’t think so,” Marianne says before pivoting to me again. “But we happen to know someone in need of a nanny.”
“A nanny? Of children?”
“Yeah. Nanny of children.” She laughs and moves to stand next to her wife, both of them eyeing me curiously, as if mentally saying to each other Are you thinking what I’m thinking?
I have no idea what they’re thinking, and I lean into them for a clue.
“It’s a bit of an emergency. The last one up and quit yesterday,” Clara tells me.
I wrinkle my nose. “Without notice?”
They both nod, and while I’ve never exactly had a nine-to-five, I know that’s not very professional. Just like it’s not professional to fire someone in the middle of a party with important people everywhere, embarrassing your employee.
“I’m sure the parents aren’t very happy about that,” I say, and Clara nods.
“Would you be interested in the position? It pays well, and we know he’s looking to fill it quickly.”
Am I interested in being a nanny? I like kids fine, but I don’t have experience working with them, unless you count some babysitting I did when I was younger. And Ryder.
Who is basically a child. I think about his temper tantrums and ridiculous demands. I controlled his schedule and booked all of his meetings and appointments, not to mention the odd housekeeping chores I did here and there, picking up after his messes and smoothing over the waves he made when he threw a fit. Hell, if I opened my purse right now, I’d find a couple packs of his favorite snacks, Dunkaroos—the chocolate ones with chocolate dip, which were very difficult to acquire—and orange Starbursts, because he truly is the devil. That’s along with Flintstone vitamins because the man couldn’t swallow pills—though he could snort them just fine—and a notebook that I kept handy because he liked to order me to write down random thoughts of his like they were brilliant nuggets of information or inspiration, even though he never referred to them again.
If I could handle Ryder St. James, I can certainly handle a kid or two.
I tell Marianne and Clara I’m interested and exchange cell phone numbers with them so they can forward me the information. An hour later, after I’ve sent off a bit of a padded résumé and letter of interest to Griffin at [email protected] and bought myself a cup of coffee, I’m surprised to receive a reply.
Griffin informs me that Clara and Marianne are vouching for me, and while my résumé is a bit atypical, he’s impressed with my first aid and CPR certifications. I’m glad he noticed because I took it seriously. After a scare at a party Ryder threw that involved broken glass and the pool, I immediately signed up for classes. While I thankfully never had to use those skills, I wanted to be prepared for anything after that.
Griffin tells me he is a single dad with two kids, and that this is a live-in position. He explains that he’s away for entire days at a time because of his work, and the nanny would be responsible for essentially keeping the kids watered and fed, which I can easily do.
Although I find his question at the end of the email funny.
What would you do if you were locked out of the house with the kids inside and you didn’t have access to a phone?
With my experience, I don’t think there’s a test I can’t pass with these left-field scenarios, so I give him an honest answer.
Well, I suppose it depends on the ages of your kids and their abilities. If they couldn’t unlock the door, I’d try to communicate how to open it, and if that didn’t work, I would pick the lock. I learned how to do it during my previous employment when my ward was left incapacitated in a house that he’d inadvertently locked himself in. Google and YouTube are amazing resources for learning new skills.
A few minutes later, his reply arrives in my inbox with an invitation to come to his house to meet. I happily agree.