Chapter 149: Chapter 149 The boss Her boss was here? How can he still be in bed? At this hour?
Surely he was late for work.
Danica glanced at the piano, feeling cheated. Today was the day she was going to play. She didn’t have the nerve on Monday, and she longed to play. Today would have been the first time! In her head she heard Bach’s Prelude in C Minor. Her fingers tapped out the notes in anger, and the melody resonated inside her head, in bright reds, yellows, and oranges, a perfect accompaniment to her resentment.
The piece reached its climax and then diminished to a close as she threw a discarded T-shirt into the laundry basket.
Why did he have to be here?
She knew that her disappointment was irrational. This was his home. But focusing on her disappointment distracted her from thinking about him.
He was the first naked man she had ever seen, a naked man with vivid green eyes, the color of the still, deep waters of the ocean on a summer’s day.
He had looked directly at her. Thank God he didn’t wake. Taking the laundry basket, she tiptoed to his half-open bedroom door and paused to see if he was still asleep. She heard the sound of the shower in the bathroom.
He was awake!
She contemplated leaving the apartment but dismissed the idea. She needed this job, and if she were to leave, he might fire her.
Cautiously she opened the door and listened to the tuneless humming that echoed from his en suite bathroom. Heart racing, she ducked into the bedroom to collect his clothes that were scattered over the floor, then hurried back to the safety of the laundry room wondering why her heart was pounding.
Danica took a deep, calming breath. It was a surprise finding him here asleep. Yes. That was it. That really was all.
It had nothing to do with the fact that she has seen him naked. It has nothing to do with a fine face, a straight nose, full lips, broad shoulders...muscular arms. Nothing. It was a shock. She never expected to encounter the owner of the apartment, and to see him like that was unsettling.
Yes. He was handsome.
All of him. His hair, his hands, his legs, his backside...
Really handsome. And he had looked directly at her with such clear green eyes.
Kneeling down, she loaded the dirty clothes from the laundry basket into the washing machine, as the former housekeeper, Ximena had showed her. She went through the pockets of his black jeans and pulled out the loose change and the customary condom that he seemed to carry in all his pants. In the back pocket, she found a scrap of paper with a phone number and the name Heather scrawled on it.
She slipped it with the change and the condom into her pocket, tossed one of the detergent capsules into the wash, and switched on the machine.
Next she unloaded the dryer and set up the iron. Today she’d start with the ironing and stay hidden in the laundry room until he was gone.
What if he doesn’t go out?
And why was she hiding from him? He was her employer. Perhaps she should introduce herself. She had met all her other employers, and they weren’t a problem, apart from Mrs. Kingsbury, who follows her around criticizing her cleaning methods.
She sighed. The truth was all the people she had worked for were all women, except him, and she was wary of men.
She had always be told by the sisters at the orphanage to be careful of men.
‘Some men could ruin your life’ That was what they always told her.
“Bye, Ximena!” he called, startling her from her thoughts and the shirt collar she was ironing. The front door closed with a muffled bang, and all wad quiet. He was gone. She was on her own, and she sagged with relief against the ironing board.
Ximena? Didn’t he know that she had taken Ximena’s place?
An agency organized this job. Haven’t they told him about the change of staff?
Danica resolved to check this evening if the owner of this apartment has been informed. She finished another shirt, hung it on a clothes hanger, then went to check the console table in the hall and found he had left her money. Surely that meant he won’t be returning?
Her day brightened, immediately, and with renewed purpose she ran back to the laundry room and grabbed the pile of freshly ironed clothes and his shirts and headed to his bedroom.
Her boss’ suite was the only nonwhite room in the apartment: all gray walls and dark wood. A large gilt mirror hangs above the biggest wooden bed that Danica had ever seen. And on the wall facing the bed, there are two large black-and-white photographs of women, their naked backs to camera. Turning away from the photography, she assessed the room. It was in complete disarray. Quickly she hung his shirt in the closet, a closet that was bigger than her bedroom, and placed the folded items on one of the shelves.
The closet was still a mess, and it had been like this since she started here with Ximena last week.
Ximena always ignored the mess, and though Danica wanted to fold and put away all the clothes, it was a big project, and she didn’t have time now, not if she wanted to play the piano.
Back in his room, she opened the curtains and glances through the floor-to-ceiling windows. It had stopped raining, but the day is gray; the street, the river, the trees in the park beyond were all muted grays, so unlike anything she had ever seen before.
How do people be so rich while others remain dirt poor?
She always wondered.
Just as how she always wondered how it felt to grow up with parents.
Danica ignored the sadness that rose like a tide within her and places the items that she retrieved from his pockets into a dish on the nightstand. She then began to clean and tidy his room.
The last job in the bedroom was emptying the wastebasket. She tried to avoid looking at the used condoms as she dumped the contents into a black plastic trash bag. It was a shock the first time she did this, and it was still a shock now. How can one man use so many?
Ugh!
Danica moves through the rest of the apartment, cleaning, dusting, and polishing, but avoiding the one room she was not allowed to enter. Fleetingly she wondered what was behind the closed door, but she didn’t try to open it.
Ximena was very clear that the room is off-limits.
She finished mopping the floors with half an hour to spare. She put the cleaning caddy away in the laundry room and transfers the washed clothes into the dryer.
She removed her housecoat and undid her blue scarf, stuffing it into the back pocket of her jeans.
Carrying the black bag full of trash, she deposited it by the front door. She’d take it to the dumpsters in the designated area in the alley beside the apartment block when she headed home. Anxiously, she opened the front door and checked up and down the hallway. There was no sign of him.
She could do this. She wasn’t brave enough the first time she cleaned here alone. She was afraid he might return. But since he left and said good- bye, she’d take the risk.
She rushed down the hallway into the living room and sits at the piano, pausing to enjoy the moment. Black and shiny, it’s lit up by the impressive chandelier that hung above it. Her fingers trace the golden lyre logo and the words beneath.
MORETTI
On the rest there was a pencil and the same half-finished composition that had been sitting there since the first day she came to the apartment with Ximena. As she studied the pages, the notes sounded through her head, a sad lament, lonely and full of melancholy, unresolved and unfinished in hues of pale blue and gray.
She tried to connect the profound and reflective tune to the indolent but handsome naked man she saw that morning. Perhaps he was a composer. She glanced across the wide room to the antique desk in the corner cluttered with his computer, a synthesizer, and what might be a couple of sound mixers. Yes, they look like they belong to a composer. And then there was the wall of old records that she had to dust; he was certainly an avid music collector.
She pushed these thoughts aside as she stares down at the keys. How long has it been since she last played? Weeks? Months? A sudden, acute feeling of anguish stole the air from her lungs, making her gasp, and tears form in her eyes.
No. Not here. She will not break down here. She clutched the piano in an effort to fight off her heartache and her loneliness, realizing it had been more than a month since she last played. So much has happened since then.
She was still getting used to being all on her own.
She shuddered and took a deep breath, forcing a feeling of calm. She stretched her fingers and stroke the keys.
White. Black.
The mere touch soothed her. She wanted to savor this precious moment and lose herself in her music. Gently, she pushed down the keys, sounding an E-minor chord.
The sound rang clear and strong, a bold and verdant green, the color of the Boss’ eyes, and her heart filled with hope.
The piano was tuned to perfection. She launched into her warm-up piece, “Le Coucou”; the keys moved with ease and a smooth, fluid action. Her fingers fly across the keyboard vivace, and the stress, fear, and sorrow of the last few weeks faded and finally mute as she lost herself in the colors of the music.