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“Arthur, do you have any idea how dusty and filthy those places are? And the work involved?” Rowena thought he truly had no clue.
Arthur took in a big breath, walked to the console, and poured himself a drink. Instead of sitting behind his massive desk, he took the chair next to where Rowena was sitting. He took a few sips. “Look, I know I’ve been a bit of a jerk, but this could kill us.”
“Do you know for sure that he changed his will?” Rowena kept hoping all of this was just an overreaction from Arthur, and that maybe Randolph had simply made a few adjustments, added a few bequests, and the like. Not the total disinheriting that Arthur feared.
Arthur kept his temper. “Rowena, we need to know exactly what he changed. Remember, he more than hinted we were going to have to move. He wanted to sell this place.” Arthur made a grand sweep with the hand holding the tumbler.
Rowena sighed. “OK. Let’s get this show on the road. You’re going to have to pick out something else besides that Brioni suit you’re wearing. Maybe there is something in the gardening shed.” Rowena got up. “I’ll go check. Meet you upstairs.”
Rowena left Arthur to finish his drink and ponder what was ahead. She went through the rear kitchen door that led to the outside facility area where the garden shed stood. It contained all of the equipment necessary to maintain the twenty acres of land on which the manor sat. She stepped around a small tractor and a few different lawn and leaf machines and reached the built-in cabinets on the far wall. She opened the doors one by one. Fertilizer. Gravel. Weed killer. Mulch. Finally, overalls. She plucked a pair from the hook. They looked a little the worse for wear. She held them up and took a sniff. At least they were clean. Not that it mattered. They looked large enough for Arthur’s growing girth.
She folded them up and put them in a plastic bag. She didn’t want any of the remaining staff to see what she was carrying.
As she returned to the kitchen, one of the maids stopped her. “Hello, Mrs. Millstone. Is there something I can help you with?”
Rowena resisted the temptation to scream at her. Instead, she smiled, and said, “No, thank you,” and kept on walking, hoping she didn’t pique anyone’s curiosity. It was a rare occasion for Rowena to enter the kitchen, let alone use the rear door. “Just checking to see what herbs were left over.”
“Is there something in particular you were in need of?” The maid kept pushing, but not with any agenda. She simply wanted to be sure Rowena’s needs were being handled. Heaven forfend if they weren’t.
Rowena decided to expand on the ruse. “I saw a wonderful cocktail with fresh mint. I was hoping there was some left.” Such bull.
“Oh, I could have taken care of that for you, Mrs. Millstone.”
“It’s fine. I needed a breath of fresh air anyway.” Rowena lied her way out of the kitchen.
She hurried up to Arthur’s bedroom suite. He was standing in the dressing room in his boxers. Rowena almost gagged. Not a pretty sight.What the heck has happened to him in the past three years?He turned sixty and went to pot. She thought about all the men his age and older who looked terrific. Denzel Washington, Kevin Costner, Richard Gere. And then there was Bruce Springsteen. He was older than Arthur and could play a three-hour concert.How did I go so wrong? Duh. The money, of course.
“Here. Try this on.” She handed him the overalls. He took them cautiously, as if they were contaminated.
“What am I supposed to wear underneath?” He sounded like a child.
“For heaven’s sake, Arthur. A shirt. I’m sure you have one that you won’t mind tossing into the trash later.”
“How cold or warm is it in that place?” Arthur was referring to the storage unit.
“I’m sure we’ll both be working up a sweat, so find something lightweight.” She started opening drawers, hoping to find something appropriate. The only thing she came up with were his golf shirts. “Pick one of these.”
Arthur grabbed the first one he put his hands on. Rowena knew he wasn’t happy about any of this. “I told the kitchen we wouldn’t be having dinner here tonight.”
“Well, what are we supposed to eat then?” Arthur struggled with the brass buttons on the side of the overalls.
Rowena wanted to say, “Doesn’t look like you need to eat anything for a long time.” But she suggested picking up sandwiches at the Gourmet Kitchen instead.
“Call them so we don’t have to wait. I’ll have pastrami with Swiss cheese and mustard on rye.” Arthur tried to suck in his stomach. “And don’t forget the pickles.”
Rowena dialed the local shop and placed their order.A big fat sandwich for the blowhard,“. . .and a spinach salad for me.”
Arthur looked at himself in the mirror. He looked like the guy in that show from the 1960s,Green Acres. He didn’t know what to think except thatthis was going to be a long night.
Rowena excused herself to change into her polyester blend of who knows what that was labeledMADE IN CHINA. She was surprised it didn’t have a warning sign saying to keep away from an open flame. With the number of cigarettes she was smoking lately, that could be a problem. She remembered there was a fire extinguisher at the storage unit. She pulled on a pair of baggy pants and a T-shirt and tied a sweatshirt around her waist. She pulled a brush through her hair, lamenting the $150 she had spent on a blow-out a few days before. She pulled it back behind her ears and slapped on one of the baseball caps. She wanted to cry. It was odd. She couldn’t remember the last time she had actually cried.
Rowena appeared in Arthur’s doorway. “Well, aren’t we the pair? You look like you’re about to milk a cow, and I look like a soccer mom who just rolled out of bed. Nice.” Rowena frowned. “I hope we don’t run into anyone we know. Oh, heck. The Gourmet Kitchen. I’ll have to wear a raincoat over this. Ugh. My hair. No one has ever seen me in a baseball cap.”
“Rowena, will you please stop chattering. I’ll call them and ask them to deliver it to the car. I’ll give the guy a big enough tip, he won’t notice you’re a Red Sox fan. At least you didn’t buy a Yankees cap.”
“What are you talking about?” Rowena had no idea the Yankees and Red Sox were sworn rivals.
“Nothing.” Arthur didn’t want to talk anymore. What he really wanted was a stiff drink and a cigar, but he was driving. It would be horrible if he got pulled over, especially looking the way the two of them did. “Ready?” He looked at Rowena.
