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Prima Donna
Talentless Musician
Idealistic Youth
Many other categories I can’t remember right now because a handsome man is staring at me like I am interesting
What category? All I know is, his eyes are like a golden bonnet tortoise shell. Brown, green, and yellow. Exceedingly rare, found only right here. My gaze starts on his T-shirt sleeve, and before I know it, I’m moving down that forearm to his wrist. I’m ravenous to see more of this perfectly executed living art. Under my eyes, his hand flexes like I’ve touched him. Without much air, I say, “He’s in the tattoo category.”
“You know that’s only a subcategory,” Renata says.
“He’s the son of the owner of Providence. He’ll be living on-site in the other side of my cottage for a little while. It’ll be very convenient—he can just pop up to your place whenever you need him.”
Renata whoops in delight. “So we’ve got ourselves a Richie Rich for my last-ever boy. I’ve been training for this.” There’s a short pause. “The owner’s son, did you say? Do I have to behave myself with this one?” It’s the first time she has ever paused to consider how her high jinks might impact me.
“He doesn’t want any special treatment,” I tell her with barely concealed relish. “Just do the usual interview.”
“I’m going to do the White Shirt Challenge. Haven’t done that one in a while. Send him up. What am I going to wear?” She hangs up.
To the dial tone, I reply, “No problem. See you soon.” I hang up. “Let’s go.”
“Can I come?” Melanie grabs her notepad.
“You need to stay here and answer the phone.” She wheels her chair back to her desk and slumps into it. “You really didn’t need to take notes, by the way.”
“I was just copying you and all your lists. Anyway, I hope you get the job,” Melanie says to Teddy. “It’d be nice to have someone young around here to talk to.”
His gaze flicks to me. “I think I’m older than Ruthie.”
She realizes how that sounded, covering it up with huffs and blustering. “There’ll be three young people here, of course that’s what I meant. So have you ever heard of the Sasaki Method? Of course you haven’t, because I invented it.”
“Based on the name alone, it sounds very legit.” He’s interested and grinning, leaning over to poke around in the junk on her desk. “I hope it’s not a pyramid scheme. I’m broke and gullible. Ah, what the hell? Sign me up.”
“You will not tell him about the Sasaki Method,” I counterinstruct.
Teddy picks up her notepad. “‘Baby bear’? Oh my God, kill me now.” He picks up a pen and scribbles that out. He reads out more of her notes. “‘Haircut. Crowning glory. Golf course facials.’ This is a useful record, good job. Wait, what does this mean? ‘Warn Ruthie off this one again.’”
Mel shrugs. “Just making sure my boss doesn’t get blinded by the hair.”
Teddy’s eyes cut to me and he strokes his head with his fingertips. His gaze holds mine. Stay bland, Ruthie. Hold steady. With zero shame, he smiles at me and crosses out that “Warn Ruthie” line in Melanie’s notes.
Melanie doesn’t notice all this somehow. She continues in her previous train of thought. “We have a maintenance dilemma here at Providence. Deciding whether Ruthie is high—or low—maintenance, for her dating profile. What do you think?”
“Dating profile?” He stumbles over this, but recovers and pretends to inspect me. “Hmm, let me think.”
Great, two giggling employees. The thing about being the butt of a joke? It’s funny at first. But after an entire child-olescence being Truthful Ruth the Reverend’s Daughter, it’s worn thinner than a contact lens.
Melanie says, “With the Sasaki Method, I will ensure that Ruthie—”
“That’s enough, Melanie,” I say in a voice that would make a golden retriever piddle. “Please get back to work.”
“Roger,” she replies, uninjured. To Teddy she says, “I hope you weren’t the one who hurt Ruthie’s feelings.”
He turns to me, surprise in his eyes, but I walk out. “I sometimes do that,” I hear him tell her with what sounds like genuine regret. “I’ve been told I can be a careless little asshole.”
“Just don’t do it again,” Melanie replies with steel in her tone. “Or I’ll kill ya.”
“Come on, you’ve got an interview,” I call out with dark glee in my heart. I hope Renata Parloni absolutely breaks this one.
