Page 66 of Dark Ugly Places

There’s a long pause as she takes me in. Her hands fidget slightly in her lap. “Well, I can see you’re smart, and you speak English just fine. You’re obviously American. I’ll need your documentation, though, if I decide to hire you. The thing I need to understand about you, Martha, is really …” Bambi fidgets again. She turns in the chair and straightens herself. Something changes in her face. I spot a flaw on her left thigh, a tiny dot of color I hadn’t noticed before. She’s angling away from me so that I can’t see it, but it’s there.

“I need someone I can count on. For everything. Not just ordinary things, like errands, et cetera. I need a solid individual who will come to understand certain things about my life, my situation, and just take care of whatever I ask you for. Confidentially. Privately. No questions asked. Do you understand?”

“I think so, Mrs. Redfern.”

“And one other thing. My husband isn’t aware I’m hiring a personal assistant. He’s not to see you, and you’re not to see him. Ever. Understand?”

I nod, the full picture forming. “Of course. It’s understandable that you don’t want your husband’s fame to disrupt my work for you.”

Her eyes enlarge for a moment. “Correct. You work for me, not for Jason. He doesn’t come into the picture. Do you get that?”

“Absolutely.” My neck itches again, and I resist the urge to claw my skin that’s rubbing against the cheap, clingy fabric.

“Have you seen any of his films?”

“I don’t get out much.”

She gives me a quizzical look.

“What I mean is … I work a lot.”

“But you know who he is?”

“Yes,” I answer honestly. “But I don’t see many movies. My work is my life. I have a sister who is … unwell, and a niece. I’m like her only parent.”

Bambi’s eyes change, a mist of sadness. “How old is she?”

“She’s fourteen, going on twenty.”

“Where is her father?”

Nicola jets forth, a rash of heat against my throat. Don’t!

“He’s dead,” I say, a little too loudly. Bambi stiffens, like a rod. I lower my voice. “He was very tragically killed, I mean.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

I look down, as if hiding my eyes from her. I wipe a fake tear. “He was the breadwinner and took care of my sister. When he died, I had to step in and help. I’ve always been good at taking care of people, so now that’s my job.” I meet her eyes. “It’s my only job.”

Bambi nods and twists her wedding ring back and forth, the diamond as large as a hard candy on her finger. For a split second, the woman behind the ring and the designer shoes and clothing emerges. She stares out the window, pressing her lips together and separating them. The splotch of color on her leg grows a little, deepening in color. It’s red like a little teardrop.

“Mrs. Redfern, I think you’re bleeding.”

She glances down at her leg, a circle of red forming under her skirt. She gets up and returns with a tissue, placing it over her leg.

“So do you understand what I’m saying, Martha?”

“I think so, yes.”

“Good. I need someone I can turn to. Who can simply assist, get the things I need done with discretion.”

“Of course.” I lean forward. The spot of red soaks through the tissue and oozes to the surface. She’ll need another one soon. I reach into my bag, searching for a tissue. I don’t have any. Bambi—Mrs. Redfern—eyes me. I stop.

“Mrs. Redfern—” I turn my eyes from her, inclining to the apparent wound. “Is your leg all right?”

Her eyes widen ever so slightly.

“I’m fine.” Her cheek flinches, a nervous twitch. And there it is. A flicker of the emotion that I could smell the first moment the front door opened, lingering in the air among the lavender and clean linen, clinging to things the way the scent of a stale, unused bottle of cologne clings to clothing long after it is sprayed. The one sitting underneath the sterile scent, as if someone had been trying to wash it out over and over with bleach. You cannot erase such a strong thing, the nights and hours of it emanating from a feral place inside. Fear is funny that way. It lingers long after happiness and even sadness have left. Fear leaves something behind.