The Undomestic Goddess
Page 87
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“You’ve met Melissa, have you?” he says as I set down the tray on a wrought-iron table. “Our little star? Our legal eagle?”
“Yes, I have. Your coffee,” I add, handing the cup to Melissa. “Just as you asked for it.”
“Melissa’s under a great deal of pressure,” says Eddie. “It’s up to us to make things easy for her.”
“You can’t imagine what the strain’s like,” says Melissa seriously. “I’ve been working into the evenings and everything. My social life’s, like, gone out the window.” She takes a sip of coffee, then turns to me. “By the way, I meant to say …” She frowns. “What’s your name again?”
“Samantha.”
“Yes, Samantha. Be really careful with my red beaded top, OK?” She takes another gulp of coffee.
“I’ll do my best,” I reply. “Will that be all, Mrs. Geiger?”
“Wait!” Eddie puts his cup down. “I’ve got something for you. I haven’t forgotten our little conversation the other day!” He reaches under his chair and produces a brown paper bag. I can see a couple of shiny books poking out of the top. “Now, you’re not going to get out of this one, Samantha. This can be our little project!”
Oh, no. Please do not let this be what I think it is.
“Mr. Geiger,” I begin quickly. “It’s really nice of you, but—”
“I won’t hear another word!” he interrupts with a raised hand. “You’ll thank me one day!”
“What are you talking about?” Melissa wrinkles her nose in curiosity.
“Samantha’s going to take some qualifications!” With a flourish Eddie pulls two workbooks from the bag. Both are brightly colored, with big jazzy letters and illustrations. I can see the words Math and English and Adult Learning.
I’m totally speechless.
“I’m sure Melissa will be delighted to help with anything tricky,” chips in Trish. “Won’t you, love?”
“Of course,” says Melissa with a patronizing smile. “Well done you, Samantha! It’s never too late.” She pushes her full cup of coffee toward me. “Make me another coffee, will you? This one’s too weak.”
By the middle of the following day I have had just about enough of Melissa. I’ve made her about fifty cups of coffee, half of which she hasn’t bothered to drink. I’ve brought her chilled water. I’ve rustled up sandwiches. I’ve washed all the dirty laundry, which it turned out her suitcase contained. I’ve ironed her a white shirt to wear in the evening. Every time I try to start on one of my regular jobs I hear Melissa’s high-pitched voice summoning me.
Meanwhile, Trish is tiptoeing around as though we have Cherie Blair herself in the garden, working on some vital human-rights case. As I dust the living room, she’s watching Melissa, sitting at a table set up on the lawn.
“She’s working so hard. Such an intelligent girl, Melissa.”
“Mmm,” I grunt, noncommittally.
“You know, it’s not easy to get into law school, Samantha. Especially the best one! Melissa had to beat hundreds of people just to get the place!”
“Fantastic.” I flick my cloth roughly over the TV. “That’s great. So … how long is she staying?” I try to ask the question casually.
“It depends,” replies Trish. “Her exams are in a few weeks, and I’ve said she’s welcome to stay as long as she likes!”
A few weeks? It’s only been one day, and already she’s driving me mad.
I spend the afternoon in the kitchen, pretending to have selective deafness. Whenever Melissa calls me, I turn the blender on, or the radio up, or clatter around with baking trays. If she wants me she can find me herself.
At last, she appears at the kitchen door, her cheeks flushed with annoyance. “Samantha, I’ve been calling you!”
“Really?” I look up innocently from the butter I’m chopping to make pastry. “I didn’t hear.”
“We need a bell system or something.” She exhales in impatience. “This is ridiculous, me having to stop what I’m doing.”
“What did you want?”
“My water jug is empty. And I need some kind of snack. To keep my energy levels up.”
“You could have brought your jug into the kitchen,” I suggest mildly. “Or made your own snack?”
“Look, I don’t have time to be making snacks, OK?” snaps Melissa. “I’m under a great deal of time pressure right now. I have piles of work, I have exam deadlines … you have no idea what my life is like.”
“Yes, I have. Your coffee,” I add, handing the cup to Melissa. “Just as you asked for it.”
“Melissa’s under a great deal of pressure,” says Eddie. “It’s up to us to make things easy for her.”
“You can’t imagine what the strain’s like,” says Melissa seriously. “I’ve been working into the evenings and everything. My social life’s, like, gone out the window.” She takes a sip of coffee, then turns to me. “By the way, I meant to say …” She frowns. “What’s your name again?”
“Samantha.”
“Yes, Samantha. Be really careful with my red beaded top, OK?” She takes another gulp of coffee.
“I’ll do my best,” I reply. “Will that be all, Mrs. Geiger?”
“Wait!” Eddie puts his cup down. “I’ve got something for you. I haven’t forgotten our little conversation the other day!” He reaches under his chair and produces a brown paper bag. I can see a couple of shiny books poking out of the top. “Now, you’re not going to get out of this one, Samantha. This can be our little project!”
Oh, no. Please do not let this be what I think it is.
“Mr. Geiger,” I begin quickly. “It’s really nice of you, but—”
“I won’t hear another word!” he interrupts with a raised hand. “You’ll thank me one day!”
“What are you talking about?” Melissa wrinkles her nose in curiosity.
“Samantha’s going to take some qualifications!” With a flourish Eddie pulls two workbooks from the bag. Both are brightly colored, with big jazzy letters and illustrations. I can see the words Math and English and Adult Learning.
I’m totally speechless.
“I’m sure Melissa will be delighted to help with anything tricky,” chips in Trish. “Won’t you, love?”
“Of course,” says Melissa with a patronizing smile. “Well done you, Samantha! It’s never too late.” She pushes her full cup of coffee toward me. “Make me another coffee, will you? This one’s too weak.”
By the middle of the following day I have had just about enough of Melissa. I’ve made her about fifty cups of coffee, half of which she hasn’t bothered to drink. I’ve brought her chilled water. I’ve rustled up sandwiches. I’ve washed all the dirty laundry, which it turned out her suitcase contained. I’ve ironed her a white shirt to wear in the evening. Every time I try to start on one of my regular jobs I hear Melissa’s high-pitched voice summoning me.
Meanwhile, Trish is tiptoeing around as though we have Cherie Blair herself in the garden, working on some vital human-rights case. As I dust the living room, she’s watching Melissa, sitting at a table set up on the lawn.
“She’s working so hard. Such an intelligent girl, Melissa.”
“Mmm,” I grunt, noncommittally.
“You know, it’s not easy to get into law school, Samantha. Especially the best one! Melissa had to beat hundreds of people just to get the place!”
“Fantastic.” I flick my cloth roughly over the TV. “That’s great. So … how long is she staying?” I try to ask the question casually.
“It depends,” replies Trish. “Her exams are in a few weeks, and I’ve said she’s welcome to stay as long as she likes!”
A few weeks? It’s only been one day, and already she’s driving me mad.
I spend the afternoon in the kitchen, pretending to have selective deafness. Whenever Melissa calls me, I turn the blender on, or the radio up, or clatter around with baking trays. If she wants me she can find me herself.
At last, she appears at the kitchen door, her cheeks flushed with annoyance. “Samantha, I’ve been calling you!”
“Really?” I look up innocently from the butter I’m chopping to make pastry. “I didn’t hear.”
“We need a bell system or something.” She exhales in impatience. “This is ridiculous, me having to stop what I’m doing.”
“What did you want?”
“My water jug is empty. And I need some kind of snack. To keep my energy levels up.”
“You could have brought your jug into the kitchen,” I suggest mildly. “Or made your own snack?”
“Look, I don’t have time to be making snacks, OK?” snaps Melissa. “I’m under a great deal of time pressure right now. I have piles of work, I have exam deadlines … you have no idea what my life is like.”
