Flynn, love, his mother said, then paused to sigh wearily.
Flynn braced himself for what he knew was coming.
I know you are quite cross with Iris, but the poor dear has been pining since you left. Dont you think you could just ring her up and speak to her?
Iris had not pined for him in two years, but his mother was far too naive to understand a woman of Iriss nerve. If Ive time, perhaps.
You can very well make the time and you know it.
Yes, I suppose I do. But Im really astoundingly busy at present.
Oh, darling, Iris is frightfully upset about your misunderstanding, she purred.
What a lovely way to put an unpleasant turn of eventsa man comes home early from a business trip and discovers his fianceacute;e in bed with another man. Both wearing dressing gowns, mind you, and both having a bit of a post-coital smoke. What part, exactly, had he misunderstood? It was hardly a misunderstanding, Mother, Flynn said. Delicately put, Iris was shagging another man in my absence.
She didnt mean to! You were away so long and she rather forgot herself! Mum insisted. It wont happen again.
Flynn removed the phone from his ear and stared at it for a moment, wondered which puffy little cloud his mother had descended from, and put the thing back to his ear. How can you be so sure?
She gave me her word! Mum said earnestly. I hardly think shed lie at this point, do you?
Of course he did! But it was hardly a debate he wanted to wage with his mother of all people, so Flynn did what he typically did in these situations with his mother. He lied. All right, Mum. Ill give her a ring.
Thank you, darling! Shell be thrilled! Now. When are you coming home? Weve been invited to the Farmingham Fall gala. Its rather important that we all attend, as they are our cousins after all.
They are not our cousins, Flynn said calmly. They are only distantly related through several questionable liaisons.
Thats not true! his mother cried hurtfully. We are related through the Duke of Alnwick. How I wish youd take it more seriously, Flynn! Something horrible and catastrophic could happen and we could very well be called to Buckingham!
Mum, Flynn said patiently, even if we were related to the Farminghams in some believable or even traceable way, we are roughly 1,536th in line to the throne. We will not be called to Buckingham, with the possible exception to hoover their bloody floors!
Oh! Mum exclaimed crossly. I shant listen to this at all! Now please come home before the yuletide holidays because I will not allow the Olivers to snub the Farminghams. Do I make myself quite clear?
Exceedingly, he said. And if theres nothing else, I really must get to work.
All right, then, darling. And dont forget Iris. Shes very sad.
Good-bye, Mum. Hello to Dad for me.
Hugs and kisses, sweetie. Ta-ta! she trilled and hung up.
Flynn hung up the phone and shuffled off to the shower, where he seriously contemplated getting a new number. Perhaps at a maximum security loony bin or someplace likewise exotic and far away from England.
RACHELS mood did not improve the next day.
Three days of maniacal typing had yielded a whopping $108.33 after all the tax and PICA were removed. It wasnt even enough to cover the utility bill-thank God Moms check had arrived for that.
Which meant, after depositing the stupid check, she had exactly $163.13 in her account to pay for phone and cable (which she was cutting just as soon as they saw the last episode of this seasons Trading Spaces) , and to fill an empty pantry.
So, to review: It was a good thing Flynn had not called the last couple of days, because she was really too busy squeezing blood from a turnip to even think about going out with him.
Standing in the Turbo Temp office front, Rachel shoved the check into her satchel and turned around, walked back to the counter. The girl who had handed her the check was still sitting there, chewing a huge wad of bubble gum as she stared at the computer screen. She did not look up when Rachel reappeared at the counter.
Rachel waited politely for the girl to at least notice her, which she would not do. Even moving around a little, from one foot to the other, got no reaction. So Rachel very carefully poked the little bell ringer.
The girl looked up. Yeah?
Ah I dont suppose you have another job in there?
Its Thursday already.
Right. Yes, indeed it was Thursday already, but for the life of her Rachel couldnt see what that had to do with the price of tea. So is there anything else you might have?
What I mean is, until next week, there wont be anything. This, she said without even looking at the computer. But she did blow a big pink bubble.
Man, Rachel was tempted to pop that thing, but asked instead, Could you just look? Maybe theres a day thing I could do until next week.
The girl acted as if shed just been asked to get her toothbrush and soap and get after Mt. Rushmore. With a very loud sigh, she pulled herself around to the computer and punched a couple of buttons. She sighed again for good measure as the thing loaded. Several boxes popped up on the screen that Rachel couldnt quite make out. The girl stared intently, then said, Got nothing this week.
Nothing?
Nothing. Like I saidcome back Monday.
Dejected, Rachel turned to go.
Unless
She whipped back around. Unless?
Theres this big party in the Blackstone neighborhood. One of those mansions over there. The caterer could use some help.
Okay!
No, not okay. Your quals dont match up. Im not allowed to send you out if your quals dont match up.
I beg your pardon, my what doesnt match up?
Your quals . Qual-i-fi-ca-tions, she articulated scornfully. Course, I dont have anyone else to do it.
What exactly do you not have someone to do? Because
I am sure I could do it, whatever it is, Rachel said, anxiously leaning over the counter to see what the girl was looking at. But the girl didnt care for that and gave Rachel a look from the corner of her eye as she angled the monitor away from Rachel.
The thing is, even if you can do it, Im not allowed to send you to the job site if your quals dont match.
What do I have to do to make my quals match?
The girl fixed a look on her that gave Rachel the distinct impression she thought she was dealing with a moron. They have to be on your resume. Here She punched a button and swiveled around to the printer, retrieved a paper when it finished printing, and handed it to Rachel.
Caterers assistant. Ability to help serve food and drinks to party of 50-100 persons. Knowledge of meal courses, including appetizers, entrees, and desserts. Knowledge of cocktails and wines. Physical requirements: Ability to lift up to 25 pounds. Black attire required, including shoes. Apron will be provided . ,,
Rachel looked at the girl. Are you saying Im not qualified for this ?
It dont say so on your resume! she reiterated, a little too adamantly. Your quals dont say food service.
Rachel looked at the paper again. How much do they pay?
The girl glanced at the screen. Hundred for Saturday night. About six hours of work.
So, Rachel said, drumming her fingers on the counter, what would it take to get food service added to my quals ?
With a slight shrug, the girl blew a bubble and popped it, then said, A ten ought to do it.
She had to resist the urge to wrap ten fingers around her skinny throat and dug in her bag, unwrapped a wad consisting of a five and four ones, found four quarters in the bottom, and pushed it all across the counter to the girl. Add food service to my quals, will you? she asked, and still clutching the paper, she marched out the door.
HER phone did not ring that night either, dammit! She did, however, get some e-mail.
Subject Re: Whats going on? From: Rebecca Parrish lt; [email protected] gt; To: Rach lt; [email protected] gt; CC: Robbie lt; [email protected] gt;
WHAT GUY!?!?!? You cant drop a little tidbit like that and just leave it hanging! And I assume you are KIDDING when you say you and Dagne used witchcraft because I KNOW you wouldnt get into something so going-to-hell as witchcraft, RIGHT, RACHEL???
So anyway, whats he like? Is he nice? What does he look like? Have you actually gone out on a date, or are you angling for one? Where did you meet him? Does he know youre rich? You know thats the first thing Mom and Dad will want to know. Write back and tell us whats going on!
By the way Mom called the other day and seems to think I should talk to you about finishing school and getting a job. So, here is me telling you to finish school and get a job. :)
Bec, whos dying to know about the GUY!
Subject Re: [FWD: Re: Whats going on?] From: lt; [email protected] gt; To: Rach lt; [email protected]; CC: Rebecca Parrish lt; [email protected];
First of all, what KIND of witchcraft? If its the weird kind, youre dead. Do you have any idea what Grandma would do? Im tempted to call her just for the entertainment value alone. Okay, so who is this guy? Why cant you ever just send an e-mail with all the information instead of making us jump through five million hoops to find out whats going on?
Okay, back to me. I checked out the link you sent on (let me get this right) TAN-TRA, and it didnt have any pictures. Come on, dont you have a book or something? Maybe a video? That would actually be better because Jake and I arent big readers. Rob.
Subject RE: RE: [FWD: Re: Whats going on?] From: Rebecca Parrish lt; [email protected] gt; To: Robbie lt; [email protected] gt; CC: Rach lt; [email protected] gt;
Oh right, I meant to ask you about that tantric thing. Can Matt and I get a book, too? But not a video. I would die if a video like that showed up and Grayson plugged it into the TV. Anyway, I dont think its legal to send that kind of video through the mail. Bec
Subject RE: RE: [FWD: Re: Whats going on?] From: lt; [email protected] gt; To: lt; [email protected] gt; CC: lt;[email protected] gt;
News Flash maybe one of the reasons I dont send long e-mails is because of the response I get from my older sisters (e.g., please see thread below). First okay, you guys, let me try this again. TANTRA is an eastern mystical science and its all about understating the universe you live in. It is not a sex manual, for Gods sake. If you realty want to get into it, youre supposed to study flow to connect with the universe and become more complete in ALL aspects of your life, not just the bedroom, you sex-starved dolts. But okay, part of that connection is an awareness and release of sexual energy. So if yall will promise to at least read about the mystical science of Tantra, I will send you a little pocket companion book I have that talks about the sexual energy part and how to release it. Do you promise????? Im not sending it unless you say you promise .
So as for the guy, its really nothing. I was just filling up the white space on the screen so I wouldnt be accused of not giving enough info. Really, hes not that spectacular or anything, and Im not sure Im interested. Its too much trouble at this point, anyway. I mean, I have to get a job and finish school. I really dont have time for a relationship right now. Speaking of jobs, I have to go. TTFN Rachel
P.S. And its WHITE magic, although I am sure I will have to explain that, too. :)
When she finished answering nosey e-mails from her sister, Rachel went to bed, and lay there, staring at the ceiling for a long time.
The next day, she tackled the clutter of her house. Sort of. She was actually looking for the little gift book on tantric sex someone had given her so she could send it to the maniacs in Texas, but she couldnt find it, which forced her to dig through the clutter and tidy up.
It was easy for her house to become cluttered; it was very small for one thing, and she had a bit of a pack-rat habit. There were lots of things she recognized she had kept too long, but could not bring herself to throw awaylike the ferns and ivies and herbal baskets that hung in sev-eral corners of her house. Most of them had lived past their prime, but Rachel refused to give up on living things and would diligently nurse them back to life after long winters. She did, however, rearrange them.
And there were the many hand-woven, thick wool rugs scattered about the wood floors, all from her weaving classes, and most of them projects abandoned by her less-industrious students that she had finished. There were so many of them that they almost formed a carpet.
She had a lot of furniture (and wind chimes), too, the result of one overly enthusiastic spending spree in search of feng shui. In her one living area were two overstuffed couches, an armchair, and a huge ottoman. There was also a large wood frame on which was her latest needlework projecta copy of a fourteenth-century French tapestry. Reduced in size, naturally. Which accounted for the sheets of paper and the calculator nearby as she figured proportions from the original.
And of course, on every conceivable surface, there were books. Stacks and stacks of them, some read, some intended to be read. School books, reference materials, old dusty-paged tomes of medieval history and ancient languages. There were stacks of fiction books, too, which Rachel knew she would never get around to reading as much as she would like to, but was loath to give away, just in case something catastrophic happened, like she had a horrible accident that required an extensive period of recuperation during which shed be confined to bed and could do nothing but read. God forbid she should come up short on books if that happened.
So she just kept moving the stacks around, dusting over them and around them and adding to them every time she came within a five-mile radius of anyplace that sold books.
There were also the odds and ends that kept ending up in her house. Some were her own doingevery time she went to England, shed come back with a bagful of trinkets, most of which she could never remember why she bought.
She found lots of stuff, toolike the four hand-painted teacups and saucers, which she was certain had come from Myron, but couldnt remember having received from him. And now, on the dining room hutch her mother had insisted she have, a new collection of little thick-glassed bottles and bowls, all thanks to her dabbling in Dagnes witchcraft.