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Wally examined his finger nails while speaking, pretending to be bored of this conversation. I rolled my eyes.
I thought about how often I told Lisa that if I could only find a sugar daddy, my problems would be solved. My low-level, entry position at the publishing firm that was supposed to launch my career had swallowed five years of my life. I had been trying to work my way up the ladder, but it’s been a long and winding ladder. At the top, I’d be a lead editor for romance and mystery novels. But I wasn’t even sure that I wanted that.
My real dream was to get my own book published. I wanted to publish a mystery novel, end up on the NY Times Bestsellers list and sit on Oprah’s couch telling her how I came up with the idea. This money could buy me time to write. Right now, between the menial tasks of my job and the intense networking I had been doing to get any sort of promotion, I had no time or energy to write. At 29, I was feeling the heavy weight of trying to carry my dream while running in the rat race.
“Fine. But I have a condition of my own. I’ll stay here for 2 weeks. But if I don’t find anything during these next weeks, I’m out and you can sell the house to the highest bidder.”
“Well then,” Wally paused before sticking his hand out to me. “I guess it’s a plan, Helen.” He shook my hand and promised to stay in touch. He got inside his Mercedes and started the engine, when I remembered something.
“Wally – one more thing!” I said and he rolled down his window. It disrupted the layer of dust on his car from the drive up these hills, making him scrunch up his nose. “Does the inheritance pay the groundskeeper or what?”
“Pardon?” he said, looking confused.
“The groundskeeper, out back,” I said, pointing. “The sweaty guy, trimming the trees?”The one glistening in the sun,I thought.Wally’s face still looked blank. “I just want to understand how it works so I don’t step on any toes.”
Wally looked at the sky, staring into the distance. Then a smile of recognition spread across his face. “Ah - the bearded guy? From next door?”
“Yes,” I said, as an image of me running my hands through his beard involuntarily appeared in mind. “That’s him.”
“That is no groundskeeper, Ms. Washington,” said Wally. “That is most likely a nosy neighbor who has no business being on your property. And, based on what I know of your Uncles’ business dealings, he needs to be kept off your property no matter what.
He rolled up the window, waved, and left.
WTF was going on?
