Blind Rage (6 page)

If ever someone could do a strip search by simply staring, she’d be the first. I was about to suggest the TSA might be very interested in talking to her about replacing their scanners at airport security when she offered a faint smile and put her hand out.

“Mr. Moncrief, won’t you come in, please? My name is Alice. Alice Pemberton.”

“Call me Oliver, please.”

Anything but Ollie.

I shook her hand—she had a firm grip—and stepped inside a foyer that was two stories tall and tiled in Italian travertine marble. I recognized it thanks to an art history class—the travertine marble part, at least. The Italian part I deduced, since that’s where a ton of the stuff comes from, and a guess that whoever built the house wouldn’t settle for less than “the best.” Don’t ever let anyone tell you that you don’t learn anything in college. A sweeping, curved staircase in warm cherry wood rose up to the floor above.

She looked past me, then turned to me with a puzzled look.

“Where is your car?” she said.

“I don’t have one. I biked and bussed.”

For a moment her brow furrowed in annoyance, but she shrugged it off and closed the door.

The entry opened out into a three-story great room with floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out onto the lake and the mountains beyond. Not easily impressed or taken to using words like
breathtaking
, even I have to admit the view made me forget to breathe for a moment. The room was tastefully furnished in modern pieces with clean lines, nothing garish or foo-foo. My entire living quarters could easily have fit into one of the room’s sitting areas.

Alice led me down a long hallway filled with framed black-and-white photographs and colorful paintings and past a huge kitchen with so much stainless-steel-and-white cabinetry it looked like a hospital operating theater. Alice stopped at the doorway to a small room just beyond it and gestured inside.

“Please, have a seat.”

The room was laid out like an office, with a desk, filing cabinets, a bookcase on one wall, and two chairs. I took the chair closest to the wall and perched on the edge of the seat as Alice rounded the desk and sat across from me.

“Did you bring a résumé with you?” she said.

“It didn’t seem appropriate. I have nothing to put on one.”

“You really have no work experience at all?”

“I worked in one of the campus dining rooms for a semester. I don’t think I’m suited for a career in foodservice. But I was a TA in my master’s degree program. It was a requirement.”

“Teacher’s assistant?” she sighed. “Well, that’s something. Quite a lot, actually.”

“I can give you names of several professors who can serve as references. Do you want to see my transcripts?”

“No, that’s fine, Oliver. We will, of course, conduct a thorough background check before we offer you the position—if we decide to, that is. Since you can’t tell me about your previous jobs, tell me about yourself. Are you from the area?”

I gave her the abbreviated version of my life, skipping all the family history, and answered a bevy of questions as honestly and enthusiastically as I could. She stumped me with one about what I want to be when I grow up. I think that’s why I’d been a professional student for so long—not because I didn’t want to grow up, but because I didn’t know what I wanted to be. Alice looked at me for a very long minute before she nodded her head.

“Barring any criminal activity or other unsavory behavior turned up by the background check, I think you’ll do,” she said.

“I’m sorry, but I missed the part where you described the position,” I said. “What, exactly, will I be doing?”

“I guess that’s a fair question.” She paused, as if trying to figure out what to say. “There’s a young lady in this house who was ill for some time. She’s a student, like you, and she’s about to return to school for the first time in a year. She needs a personal assistant who can help her organize her schoolwork, take notes in class, serve as her secretary and type her papers, tutor her if necessary, and in general act as her escort and companion. You’ll be responsible for getting her to and from school. We’ll have to add you to the insurance policy as a driver and let you use one of our cars.” She scribbled a note to herself. “And you’ll take her wherever else she needs to go—errands, shopping, extracurricular activities, to visit friends, etcetera. Do those duties sound as though they’re within your abilities, Oliver?”

“I think so, ma’am.”

What she was describing sounded like a gofer to a spoiled little rich b____ (rhymes with “itch”)—excuse me,
girl
. But slackers can’t be choosers. And how hard could it be, really?

“Shouldn’t I meet the person for whom I’ll be working?” I said.

“That’s not necessary. The decision isn’t hers to make. It’s mine.” She paused “She’s already observed most of this interview, anyway.”

Alice half turned and waved up at the corner of the room. Like a wart, a small, dark Plexiglas dome protruded from the flat ceiling, no doubt concealing a video camera.

“Wow,” was all I could think of to say. “So, you’ll call me . . . ?”

“In a few days,” Alice said. “When we’ve completed the background check.”

“So, I guess that’s it, then. I’ll wait to hear from you.”

Alice rose and came around the desk. “I think this will work out nicely.” Her eyes trod all over me in hiking boots again. “Yes, I think you’ll be just the ticket.”

Two days later, Alice Pemberton called and offered me the job at a ridiculously low starting hourly wage. But she indicated that if things worked out, I’d be put on salary. She told me to come back to the house the next day at an hour when normally the only thing I see is the back of my eyelids.

I showed up at the appointed time, and Alice escorted me to the capacious kitchen. She sat me down in a breakfast nook and offered me a choice of eggs or pancakes. A large Latina woman in a white apron stood at the stove and nodded, a wide smile on her face, encouraging me to order. I asked for eggs, sunny-side up.

“You wan’ choreee-zo with that?” the woman asked in heavily accented English.

“Sure,” I said. “Why not?”

“This is Rosalita,” Alice said. “Rosalita, meet Oliver.”

Rosalita beamed even more and nodded, letting loose a stream of Spanish far too rapid for my limited linguistic skills to keep up. I smiled and nodded back, trying to be gracious.

As I sat down, it occurred to me that I knew very little about the person I’d been hired to assist except that she was female and a student. I didn’t know if she was fat or thin, smart or dumb, a princess or a witch. I didn’t even know what Alice’s relationship was to the mystery woman. They could have been mother and daughter, but I got the distinct impression that Alice wasn’t married and never had been.

“Miss Pemberton,” I said. “Is it Miss or Missus?”

“Alice will be fine, since you may be with us for a while.”

“Alice, then. I wondered if you could tell me more about the person I’ll be assisting. It could help me prepare how I approach both her and the manner in which I assist her.”

“I want you to keep a open mind, Oliver. Your client will tell you as much or as little as she wishes about herself.”

She must have seen the look on my face because she added quickly, “Don’t worry. I think you’ll get along just fine. And given your educational background, you should have no problems with your duties.”

Rosalita brought over a steaming plate of huevos rancheros on a warm tortilla, with a side of chorizo. She set it down in front of me and stood, waiting until I’d taken a bite, arms folded across her ample chest. Impressive biceps bulged from her short-sleeved white cook’s blouse. She looked the part of Rosa, but I was having trouble with the “lita” part. Fortunately, I’m a big fan of Mexican food and spicy food in general. She looked momentarily disappointed when smoke didn’t come out of my ears, but lit up when she saw sweat break out on my forehead and a smile on my burning lips.

“
¿Es bueno?
”

“
Muy bueno
,” I said. “
Muchas gracias
.”

“
De nada
.”

She walked back to the stove, singing in a soft voice.

“Rosalita likes to have fun at our expense sometimes,” Alice said, eyeing my red face. “You can ask for something different if that’s not to your liking.”

“It’s good,” I said. “Spicy. It’ll wake me up faster than coffee.”

Alice turned her head toward the door, and I caught the sound of footsteps approaching. I swiveled in my seat. A short, older Japanese man in khakis and a work shirt escorted a young woman on his arm. A girl, really. She couldn’t have been more than eighteen, and she was drop-dead gorgeous. Long, black hair framed an oval face with a straight, upturned nose, wide mouth, and eyes the color of crystal-clear, azure water off a Bahamian beach.

“Ah, there you are,” Alice said. “Guess who’s here?”

“Good morning,” I said, jumping to my feet.

With a small cry, the girl wrested free of her escort and fled back the way she’d come, arms waving in front of her as if feeling her way. I frowned, wondering if I had chorizo stuck in my teeth. What I’d seen slowly registered in my awestruck brain. The girl who’d just freaked out on me wasn’t tripping on the way I looked.

“She’s blind,” I said to no one in particular.

“Very observant, Oliver,” Alice said.

I faced her. “You hired me to be her guide dog?”

Tess was horrified. She stumbled down the hallway, heard her flat heels hit the hard stone of the entry, and madly waved her hands in front of her until she found the wall that would lead her to the foot of the stairs. She raced up as fast as she dared, grasping the banister, slipping once and barking her shin on the edge of a stair. Sobbing, she reached the top and almost fell into the wall across the hall. Placing one hand in front of the other, she made her way down the hallway, counting doors as she went, tears running down her face. Finally, she reached the safety of her bedroom—a place where she knew every square inch. Even so, after a few faltering steps she put her hands out to feel for the soft duvet on her bed before throwing herself on top in frustration. In the distance, she heard Alice calling her from downstairs.

“Tess Barrett, you get down here for breakfast right now! You don’t want to be late on your first day back!”

What difference could it make?

Tess was already a year late for school. The accident had caused her to miss the last few months of her junior year and most of her senior year. Technically, she
was
a senior. Once Alice had seen Tess accept Yoshi’s gentle instruction, Alice had also stepped in as Tess’s tutor, and had homeschooled her, riding Tess hard so that she passed equivalency tests for junior year and kept up with her classmates throughout senior year.

As much as she sometimes resented Alice, Tess had to grudgingly admit that Alice’s cajoling and her unrelenting focus on Tess and her studies had given Tess the impetus she needed to keep going. Tess had found some of her former drive to excel. With Alice’s help she’d even sent applications to several universities, including Brown, Stanford, Pepperdine, USC, and Cal Poly—where her parents had met. To her surprise, USC had turned her down, but she’d received her first acceptance letter from Brown. She hadn’t heard from the others yet. Stanford was her first choice, but she liked Brown.

But a condition of attending college was proving that she could physically navigate school again in her condition. So, she was going back for the last trimester so she wouldn’t miss the experiences of a high school senior, like the prom she hadn’t attended junior year, and all the end-of-year senior traditions . . . So, fine. Now she’d be the same age as kids in her class instead of being the youngest. She’d been gone for a
year
. She dreaded the awkward looks, the stilted, forced conversations with the people who’d left her behind, both friends and enemies. And she was even more stressed about having to start over as the new kid again. She’d already done that, and had the scars to prove it.

Worse, she’d just made a fool of herself. This guy Alice had hired must think she was a complete basket case.

Soft footsteps padded into the room, followed by the faint scents of wisteria and green tea. Tess lifted her head and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

“Oh, god, Yoshi. I’m such a mess,” she said.

“You frightened, missy,” he said. “Is no shame in knowing fear, only shame in hiding from it. You must face your fear.”

“You make it sound so easy. Try being blind for a while.” The words tasted bitter in her mouth.

“We are all blind in our own fashion,” he said softly.

“You? What are you afraid of?”

“Many things, missy. But I choose not to give in, not to show my fear. Now, come. We try again.”

“Do I have to, Yoshi? Can’t I go tomorrow? I just want to crawl back into bed.”

“No, today a good day for school. And very handsome boy come all this way to take you there. You don’t want to disappoint him, no?”

“He’s taking me to school because we’re paying him to. It’s not like some huge sacrifice for this guy.” She paused. “You think he’s good-looking? He’s not, like, a nerd, is he?”

“I not have a chance to know him yet, missy. But Alice not let just anyone have job.”

Tess sighed. “Guess you’re right. He can’t be a complete loser.”

He’d sounded nice, too, in his interview with Alice, Tess recalled. But that didn’t mean she had to like him. Alice was forcing this on her—both going back to school and taking a chaperone with her. She sighed and let Yoshi take her hand, steadying herself as she climbed off the bed. She let him lead her downstairs once more. Halfway to the kitchen, she stopped and tugged at Yoshi’s sleeve.

“Do I look okay?” she whispered.

A year earlier, she’d obsessed about her appearance. It had taken her an hour to apply makeup and do her hair before school. The cupboards in her bathroom had been full of cosmetics and skin care products. Her collection of lip gloss rivaled the displays at some department stores—drawers lined with scores of colors from dozens of brands. Now it didn’t seem so important.