Dirty Red (Love Me With Lies) (8 page)

I can see his profile in the mirror. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, and he rests his forehead on his thumb.

“I have to interview the nanny,” he says. “We’ll talk about this later.”

He strides from the room without a backward glance.

I refuse to hide when Caleb interviews Estella’s potential nanny. I dress in a blush colored Chanel suit and park myself in the formal living room to wait. Whoever Caleb called the other night is coming with the nanny candidate, and I want to see who he was speaking to with so much familiarity. I wonder if this person was a part of his life when he had amnesia. There is so much I still do not know about that time in his life, and I’m consta
ntly wondering what he got up to without my supervision.

The doorbell rings. I stand to my feet, smooth out my skirt. Caleb eyes me suspiciously as he walks through the foyer. I hear him greet them warmly, and then seconds later, he appears around the corner. I see the man first. He is shorter than Caleb and stocky. He bears a striking resemblance to Dermot Mulroney
— that is, if Dermot had a goatee, shaggy hair and dressed like a slob. I eye his jeans and tucked-in button down. He has one of those distasteful sleeve tattoos — which is peeking out of his cuffs. I immediately dislike him. He is a most unlikely owner of a nanny agency. He should at least iron his clothes.  

The girl that follows behind him gets my catty seal of approval. She is a petite blonde with a pretty oval face. She looks innocent enough, except that she has heavily lined
come hither eyes. Unlike her sloppy employer, she is wearing Dolce’s newest pants suit in sage green with an exact pair of snakeskin Louboutins that I have in my closet. How can a nanny afford to buy such expensive clothes? And then I realize she probably has one nice suit that she saves for interviews to impress potential employers. I won’t let her wear makeup like that when she’s with Estella. I don’t want my neighbors thinking that I got my nanny from an escort service. And besides, in my house, I get to be the most beautiful woman. I make a mental note to tell her that her uniform needs to be khaki pants and a white polo, and then I smile at them politely.

“Leah,” Caleb says in a clipped voice. “This is
Cammie Chase.” The nanny smiles — one of those smug, puckered smiles where one corner of her mouth dips in. I immediately dislike her, too.

“And this is Sam Foster.”

Sam extends his hand towards me.

“How do you do,” he says slowly, maintaining uncomfortable eye contact with me. His hands, I notice, are rough and calloused; something I’m not used to feeling. The men who run in my circles have the smooth skin of
businessmen, their only work being to type rapidly on keyboards. His hand lingers in mine, and I have to pull away first.

I offer them something to drink. Sam decli
nes, but Cammie smiles boldly at me and requests a Perrier. I look from her employer to her and wonder if he will reproach her for such a rude request, but he is talking to Caleb and doesn’t notice. I decide to play nice. I’m not going to give her the job anyway, so why not send her away with a few sips of Perrier.

I excuse myself to the kitchen
and come back with a tray carrying the green bottle of sparkling water, a glass and two frosty beers — one for Caleb and one for Sam — even though he declined a beverage. They look at me as I set it down on the table.

As soon as I’ve taken a seat,
Cammie looks at me expectantly and asks: “Do you happen to have a wedge of lime?” 

It takes all of my control to keep my mouth from falling open. Surely this time Sam will say something. But, he smiles at me politely and ignores the little witch’s outlandish request.

“We have some in the drawer of the fridge,” Caleb presses. I glare at him for encouraging this sort of behavior from the potential help and stand up to get it.

When I return with my neatly sliced wedge of lime,
Cammie takes it from me without even saying thank you.

I sit down in a huff, not even bothering to smile.

“So—,” I say, turning my body away from Cammie and directing my attention to Sam, “ —how do you know my husband?”

Sam looks confused. His brows dip together and his gaze shifts from Caleb to me.

“I don’t,” he says. “This is the first time we’re meeting."

I blink in confusion.

Caleb, who is reclined casually on the loveseat like he is visiting with old friends, smiles at me knowingly. I know that smile. He is amused at my expense.

I look at everyone’s faces and slowly the picture pieces together.
Cammie’s audacity, the expensive clothing …

I try not to let my shock show as everything suddenly makes sense. We are not interviewing
Cammie for the position of Estella’s nanny — we are interviewing Sam!

I can see on their faces that they know about my mistake. It's embarrassing. The little blonde bitch, wh
o I see in a new light now that I know she owns her own company, smiles, showing her teeth for the first time. She is evidently delighted by my blunder. Sam looks slightly more abashed. He looks away from me politely, and I clear my throat.

“Well, I suppose I got it all wrong,” I say generously, though I am inwardly fuming.

There is collective laughter — the loudest being from Cammie — and then Caleb turns to Sam.

“Tell me about your experience,” he says.

Sam rises to the challenge, listing his childcare experience. He has a Master’s Degree in child psychology from the University of Seattle. He practiced clinically for two years before deciding that he didn’t like the politics of being a counselor — how cold and impersonal it felt. He decided to move somewhere sunny — South Florida — and get a new degree in Music, which he intended to use when he opened a rehabilitation center for abused children.

“Music heals people,” he says. “I’ve seen what it can do for a broken child, and I want to heavily incorporate it into the center, but I need to have a degree in it first.”

“So,” I say more skeptically than I intend. “You spent seven years getting a master’s degree and now you want to be a nanny?”

Caleb clears his throat and takes his arms off the back of the sofa where they were resting. “What Leah means is, why not practice part-time while you finish up the degree? Why nanny when the financial benefits aren’t nearly as great?”

I lift my nose and wait for his answer.

Sam laughs nervously and rubs the hair on his face.

“Actually, being a counselor doesn’t exactly line your pockets, if you know what I mean. I did it for reasons other than money. And, I don’t come cheap as a child care provider,” he says honestly. “Notice I’m sitting in your living room, which is a significant step up from middle-class America.”

I sniff at his mention of our money. I was taught it was bad manners to point such things out verbally.

“I have a daughter,” he adds. “Her mother and I split up two years ago, but you can say I am well versed in taking care of babies.”

“Where is your daughter?” I ask.

Caleb shoots me a warning look, but I ignore him. I don’t want some wild kid running around my house on the days that he has her. And besides, she might get the baby sick. Something I can’t point out in lieu of my latest escapade.

“She’s in Puerto Rico with her mother,” he says.

I picture a beautifully exotic Latin woman that shared his home, but not his last name. Their daughter would probably have her mother’s hair and her father’s light eyes.

“Her mother moved back
there after we split up. That’s part of the reason I chose to come to Florida — so on weekends I can fly over to see her.” I wonder what type of woman takes her child so many hundreds of miles away from her father, especially when she can use him as a babysitter on the weekends.

“Sam,”
Cammie finally speaks up, “is my cousin. I promised him my best job, and when Caleb called I knew it would be a perfect fit.”

“And, how do
you know Caleb?” I say, finally getting the opportunity to address the question that’s been on my mind.

For the first time,
Cammie looks unsure of how to answer. She looks to Caleb, who smiles at me indulgently.

“We went to college together,” he provides simply. “And, frankly, Sam, if
Cammie recommends you — family or not — I believe you’re the best.” He winks at Cammie, who raises her eyebrows and smiles.

An alarm goes off in my head. Caleb was a hotshot basketball player in college. He slept his way through the cheerleading squad, and then went on to meet that home-wrecking bitch Olivia. I narrow my eyes at
Cammie. Did she know Olivia? Had they competed for my husband? My questions are left unanswered, as money becomes the topic of conversation.

I half listen as Caleb offer
s Sam a generous salary, which he accepts, and before I can protest that I would prefer a traditional female nanny — preferably one with both a large ass and a large facial wart — Caleb is standing up and shaking Sam’s hand.

It is decided. Sam will take care of Estella five days a week, with evenings off to attend class. He will start tomorrow, as Caleb leaves in two days on another business trip and he wants to make sure Sam is settled before he goes. Which is code for
: My wife doesn’t know what she is doing, and I have to teach you how to coerce her to use the breast pump.

I sigh, defeated, and
remain seated as Caleb walks them to the door.

Well, I got my way
— kind of.

Past

I was not a commitment girl. Until Caleb rejected me
— then I was. We’d had the talk, the one where I asked him where we were going, and he looked at me like I was a space alien.

“You knew,” he’d said. “You knew when you got involved with me that I wasn’t looking for commitment.”

I countered that I hadn’t been looking for anything, either. That things change when people
click
.

But, Caleb had remained firm. He wasn’t ready. He didn’t want me. He wanted her. He hadn’t exactly said that, but I knew it down to my marrow. I knew it by the way he always looked away when I brought her up. He wouldn’t even tell me her name. Whoever had ruined him had ruined everything for me.

I felt like a small piece of regurgitated potato skin. He just wanted to fuck me. I was curled up on my own sofa, after leaving his place in a fit of rage. I wanted to do something destructive. I called every single one of my slutty, ho bag friends and arranged to meet them for drinks.

I walked into the bar and had three numbers within an hour. Normally,
I didn’t give any of the douchebags who approached me the time of day, but there was a doctor with an accent I found attractive. I tucked his number into my purse and had another drink.

By the time I left the bar
, I was sufficiently sauced. Nothing new for me. I climbed into my car after bidding my girlfriends goodnight, and hadn’t driven five blocks when I crashed into a parked SUV. I sped off before anyone could notice me, but I was severely shaken.

I called my mother.

Her voice was impatient when she answered.

“Mom, I got into an accident. Can you come get me?”

“I’m in bed.”

“I know.
I’m sorry. I’m drunk. I need you, Mom.”

She sighed heavily. I heard my father’s voice in the background and her snap
— “It’s Leah. She’s gotten into some sort of trouble. She wants me to go get her.”

They exchanged words I couldn’t hear,
and then she was back on the line. “Did anyone see you?”

I told her no.

“Good,” she said.

They spoke some more. My father sounded angry.

I waited patiently, massaging my head. It had hit the steering wheel on impact, and I felt the beginnings of a headache.

Her voice came back on the line. “Daddy is sending Cliff. He’ll bring you to the house.”

Cliff was my father’s driver. He lived in a little apartment on their twelve-acre property. I thanked her, trying to hide the disappointment in my voice, and gave her directions to where I was.

What had I expected? My mother hopping in her little, red Mercedes and driving to my rescue? A hug? I wiped the tears from my face and shrugged away the hurt feelings.

“Don’t be such a fucking little baby,” I told myself.

Cliff arrived ten minutes later. He parked his pickup in an empty lot and jumped in the driver’s seat of my car. I looked over at him gratefully.

“Thanks, Cliff.”

He nodded and shifted the car into drive. The good thing about Cliff was that he wasn’t a talker. When we pulled through the gates of the mansion, all of the lights were out. I stumbled through the front door — which was left open for me — and felt my way up to the spare room. No mother waiting, no father waiting.

I cle
aned up in the bathroom, put a band-aid on the cut on my forehead and swallowed three Advil for my headache. Crawling into bed, I drifted off, thinking of Caleb.