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You need money, plain and simple. You have been attending the local community college for almost four years now and you still have not found a career that you could be happy with. At this point you might as well be a “professional” student. Great.
Things were pretty tough right now, especially within your family. You were still dealing with the loss of your father; the cancer finally caught up to him after almost two years of chemo when the oncologist said that the disease was completely gone. It would be another three months after that when you all discover that the cancer in his lungs had actually spread through to both his liver and digestive tract. Currently you were living at home with your mother and your aunt, her sister; which had made it an easier commute to school but now that your father was gone, he had prior been the bread winner and it was now up to you to fill that void.
Circling a wanted advertisement you find in the local newspaper with a red marker, the details of the advertisement mention that it must be someone who can work for three days in the week, they must clean the house, do the laundry as well as provide light cooking. Living in was also optional. The address was provided on the following line as well as the mention of the terms of payment to be negotiable. There was no email or telephone number which you could call to confirm or arrange a meeting; that you find to be a little unnerving. You then decided to head to the address the next day after your 9AM class.
The following day, you wear one of the best though neutral outfits you own in your closet[1] and after your class you drove toward the address to find a charming two story house[2]. You then find that it has a large porch that easily supported a white and red cushion swing on the left side of the front door. Pushing the doorbell you hear an equally charming jingle[3] which causes a tiny smile to lift at the corners of your lips when a blond man answers the door, a lit cigarette hung at the right corner of his mouth, “Yeh?” he asked rather sulkily.
“Oh hi, my name is __________ __________, I’m here about the housekeeping position I read in the paper.” You say as you hold up the now folded newspaper, the red circle you drew around it the day before must have caught the man’s eyes for he looked at it before returning his eyes to look at you. The blond, rather thin and obviously surly man takes in your appearance. Those violet eyes of his sweep you from head to toe then back, “Come in then,” he moves aside as you hear the faint traces of an accent in his voice, French maybe?
“Will the lady of the house be joining us, sir?” you ask after you stepped inside and the man closes the door quietly behind you.
“She’s indisposed at the moment,” he says, his accent a bit more pronounced than earlier, “we’ll talk in here,” he says without another glance at you and you follow him to a large sitting room, its walls were dank, the curtains were still drawn and you could smell the old but sweet scent of cigarette smoke on the furniture as well as the air.
“I’m sorry sir,” you apologize awkwardly, “But this is the house of Francis Bonnefoy, isn’t it?” He sits in a large arm chair and takes up a half drunk glass of red wine from the edge of the coffee table in one hand, “Yeh this is,” he now looks to you with a bored expression at your question, “I am Francis Bonnefoy.” He takes a sip of the wine.
It must have been noon somewhere in the world…
At his reply, you feel your eyes widen and your cheeks hot with embarrassment, “Oh God,” you squeak and already you feel that you’ve gotten off on the wrong foot with this man, “I am so very sorry! I mean not about your name but because I just automatically assumed that I was being interviewed by a woman! I mean the only Francis I knew was Sister Eugene Francis and she used to teach Religion Studies back in my old high school!” you had started babbling which is something you did when you were nervous and you could also hear your mother’s nagging voice, ‘First impressions are always important!’
Francis snorts dismissively at your embarrassment which causes you to be quiet; this was when the interview began.
“So Miss—uh?” Mr. Bonnefoy began though it seems that he forgot your name already. “__________,” you say politely as you give him your last name. “Yes, Miss. __________, what are your experiences in cleaning houses?” “Well,” you begin and sit comfortably in the chair despite the smell, “I’ve never actually cleaned a house before sir, to be quite honest… but I am very tidy in my own house and I do most if not all the cooking as well. When I was in high school my father got me a job at the restaurant he worked at where I waited tables, washed dishes and cleaned the floors. He also taught me how to cook. He was the chef at Tavern,[4] that restaurant on San Vicente and Darlington.” After you had mentioned that, you could see how Francis’s eyes lit up, ah maybe he’s visited there while your dad was still working, “How long ago did your father work there?” “About three years ago.” “That would explain why the courses have changed since then,” he almost sounded disappointed then shakes his head and continues, “Now in terms of work days, I don’t care what days you work I just need you to be here three times a week and the payout is $650 for those three days. Reasonable?”
You nod slowly, “Er, I can work Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays due to my school schedule. I can come in early mornings on Fridays if you want, I don’t have classes that day. And in that way you can wake up to a nice breakfast.” “That’s fine,” he huffs and stands up to walk behind and face the book shelf where he rummages in a crystal glass bowl and takes out a key then hands it to you, “I will see you on Wednesday.”
“You mean I got the job?” your mouth drops astonished.
He said nothing and continues to hold the key out to you, one of his thick eyebrows rises questioningly and you take the key from him, your fingers gently graze over his. Looking down at the key you then added it to your house keys, “You didn’t need a place to stay did you?” “What?” you ask and already you feel your cheeks heating up. Francis chuckles at your reaction, then snuffs out the rest of the cigarette in an ashtray on the coffee table, “The advertisement did mention that living in was also optional.” “Oh, no thank you Mr. Bonnefoy, that won’t be necessary.” You smile until you remembered that you had a few questions to ask him as well, “Now I have a few questions for you, sir.” You say as politely as you can, from what you manage to gather, this man you were about to be employed by seemed to be a “no nonsense” sort of man.
Francis on his part slightly rolls his eyes then makes a hand gesture for you to speak again, “Go on then,” his accent light this time.
“Firstly Mr. Bonnefoy, what sort of work do you do?” “Excusez-moi?” he asked while his violet eyes narrow at you suspiciously, “If I were to tell you that I may just have to kill you.”
You stare at him for what seemed to have been a long time until you giggled slightly, “You don’t actually mean that.”
“Care to find out, demoiselle?” his accent became thicker this time which causes an alarm to go off in your head making you gulp audibly, you see him reaching for another cigarette from the box that rested on the coffee table as well, next to it was a lighter. He places the tip of the cigarette at the edge of his lips and lights it up with his zippo lighter.
“The reason I ask sir is because I want to know just how frequent will you be at home. I really wouldn’t want to bother you if you work from home or anything.” “I have an office here on the first floor of the house,” he replies dryly, smoke escapes from both his lips and nose as he spoke, “that is all you need to know.”
“Okay then,” you nod then proceeded with your other questions, “now when can I expect the lady of the house to be home, sir? You did mention that she was out?”
He paused for a moment and his eyes glazed over slightly, “I said that she was “indisposed” meaning that you should not expect her any time soon.” You could tell he was getting annoyed by your questions but why was he allowing you to ask them then?
“Divorced?” “It’s complicated.”
“Any kids?” you then thought of a cute little boy maybe around the age of six or seven, with a gap between his teeth and large violet eyes like his father.
“One, Mathieu, he’s seventeen.” “And he lives with you?” Francis breathes out more smoke and nods once, “Oui.”
High School right, okay that helps to put you at ease. At least you didn’t have to worry about scraped knees, snot bubbles, bloody noses and broken teeth. Or diapers. Yeah definitely no diapers.
“He usually arrives late in the evening so you may not see him until Friday; he leaves for school at a quarter to eight.” He interrupted your thoughts and you nod in reply that you heard him.
“So?”
“Oh!” it was like your brain restarted again and you shake his hand one more time, “Thank you very much again Mr. Bonnefoy and I will see you on Wednesday.” You walk with him to the front door where he opens the door for you and you walk out, give him one last smile in gratitude then walk to your car. Now to wait for Wednesday to come.
~*~
“Who the fuck are you?”
It was Friday morning and you had arrived at the Bonnefoy Residence a quarter to six to start on the breakfast which consisted of waffles with a side of eggs and bacon. You were currently mixing the batter in a large bowl and the waffle iron you’ve unearthed was currently warming up, the bacon you were cooking was in the oven. Turning to the entrance of the kitchen you spotted a tall lanky looking boy in his late teens, his long blond hair was tied back into a pony tail and he had a small curl that bounced slightly near the center of his forehead, his glasses glared with the morning light which was just peeking out from the kitchen sink window. “Good morning! You must be Matthew, I'm __________, your dad hired me to clean and cook.”
Matthew on his part approaches you slowly then looks at you up and down, “Since when?”
“He hired me on Tuesday... I only come Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Fridays are my early days since I don't have class at the community college. “Whatever,” he snorted then presumes to walk to the fridge next to you and opens it to stick his head inside; he then takes out a carton of orange juice.
You watch him for only a second, “I'm about to make some waffles, would you like a couple?” “I prefer pancakes but waffles are ok I guess,” he shrugs and pours himself a glass of juice then walks over to sit at the kitchen table. “That’s good to know, next Friday I’ll make sure to whip you up a short stack.” You smile and turn to him; you could see how intently he watches you, “How about some bacon and eggs?” you ask while pouring some batter on to the waffle iron and close the lid. “Yeh, sounds good.”
“So how do you like your eggs, scrambled or sunny side?” “Sunny side down,”
“You got it!” you wink and you take out the pan from the bottom pantry then place a thin slice of butter to grease the pan before breaking in the eggs, the bacon you had cooking earlier in the oven was now done and you take them out easily to the place them next to the unused portion of the stove. Reaching for a new plate above your head in the pantry, you lined it up with a paper towel in which you transfer the still greasy bacon onto the plate to give them a little pat to remove the extra grease.
“Mathieu? Did you make breakfast?” you hear Francis entering the kitchen, his voice husky from sleep and then you hear him yawn.
“Nope,” came the curt reply from the young man who now sipped at his orange juice. You turn toward him with a smile, “Good Morning Mr--!” once you take in his naked appearance your eyes grew wide, you blush and then you quickly turn your head to look at the pan you were cooking with. All words had escaped you and you mumbled the rest of your greeting.
“What the hell are you doing here __________?”
“Papa, put some clothes on, no one want to see that.” Matthew huffs disgusted, Francis was obviously unfazed, well you were in his house and he could be naked if he wanted to. Usually a man has to buy you dinner first before you even get a chance to see him naked, or you for that matter. “It’s Friday Mr. Bonnefoy,” you murmur without looking at him as you finish preparing Matthew’s eggs and then you slide them onto the plate you had set aside for him, “I mentioned on Tuesday that I can come in early on Friday and have breakfast ready for you.” You then place the hot waffle onto the plate as well as three slices of bacon.
“Right, whatever,” he grumbles and you can hear a shuffling of fabric. ”You may look now,”
Looking over at the older man, he was now dressed in a thick blue robe and you could see just a peak of his chest with a slight dusting of dirty blond chest hair. Your face was still just a bit pink as you address him again, “Would you care for some breakfast, perhaps some coffee?”
“Yes, anything is fine,” he says and sits before his son while picking up the morning newspaper you had brought in from the front porch when you first walk in this morning. You hear Matthew snort and as you turn to look at the teen you could see that he was eating his breakfast to his heart’s content, he had taken the plate from you while you had been staring at his father. You then go back to add more batter onto the waffle iron and break in more eggs onto the pan. Soon enough, Matthew finishes with his plate, had gotten up and ran it with some water from the sink before he places it in the dish washer without so much as a “thank you” for the breakfast.
Meanwhile you finished preparing Francis a similar plate you had made for Matthew and places it before him. You were pouring him a cup of fresh hot coffee when you noticed how he dug into his food; it only serves to make you wonder when exactly was the last time that the both of them had a decent meal. “Later, I'm going to hang out with M/RC after school today,” Matthew mumbles to his dad and picks up his backpack from where he had it sitting next to the chair he was at before.
“Remember she doesn't want your fuckin' cock in her,” Francis replied and takes a sip of the black coffee.
Matthew sneers at his father along with giving him an impressive glare, “Shows what you know, old man.” He then exits the kitchen door with a slight slam.
You on the other hand blushed again and slightly shake your head, really those two. How could they speak to each other that way? You would think they weren’t father and son at all! After preparing yourself some breakfast as well, you set it aside with a paper towel over it and you then begin to clean up the pans and the waffle iron. You then start on loading up the dish washer. “Are you not going to eat?” you hear the gruff sounding question and you turn to see Francis taking a sip of coffee while looking at the half folded paper, his plate licked clean.
You smile faintly and take his empty pate to wash it before putting it in the dishwasher, “Not until I clean up, that way I don’t have to worry about it as I eat.”
“Your food will get cold will it not? Eat it now that it is still warm.”
“Why Mr. Bonnefoy,” you smile in a teasing manner, “are you inviting me to join you for breakfast?” He snorts dismissively, “Qu'est-ce que l'enfer[5]? Would you just sit down and eat? Quelle question stupide…” “It’s not a stupid question I’ll have you know?” you say while bringing your already made plate right where Matt had sat in earlier so that you were now facing Francis, you could only see his fingers from where he held the folded newspaper he read. You may not have understood what he said at the beginning but you knew the word “question” and “stupid” when your heard it. Not matter what language.
Francis made a dismissive grunt at your retort as a silence now falls uneasily between you two. Taking your phone out of your pocket you checked your text messages from your friend Emma. You and Emma have been friends since elementary school and she was currently attending USC.
You first hear the soft clink of a zippo lighter follow by the smell of the bitterness in a cigarette smoke, you didn’t say anything despite that some people would find the scent of the smoke to be a horrid smell. You however, suddenly became nostalgic with memories of your childhood, especially with that brand of smoke; it made you think about your dad. The two of you sit in silence until Francis had both finish his coffee and newspaper then leaves both items on the table for you to clean up after, “I shall be in my office,” he mentions while exiting the kitchen, “I am not to be disturbed until noon.” “Yes sir,” you say with a nod after having a sip of your coffee.
~*~
After your breakfast you got started on the cleaning while finding bits of laundry along the way, which needless to say was a lot of. You were able to form a few piles between the colors and the whites as well as the distinction of sizes between Francis' and Matthew's clothes. While looking for the detergent you find that there was only enough for two loads of laundry apart from that you couldn’t seem to find any fabric softener. With a deep tortured sigh you climb up the stairs and knock on the office door. You hear a gruff, “Entrer,” and you turn the knob.
“Mr. Bonnefoy, I'm going to do the shopping, did you need anything while I'm out?” you ask after you poke your head into his office, you see Francis sitting in a large leather seat his ear was attached to a cordless black phone, his violet eyes take in your appearance.
“Dites-le Kraut à déplacer l'expédition demain soir, je ne veux pas d'erreurs cette fois. Non seulement vous aurez lui à traiter, mais vous pourrez aussi faire face à moi et aime à traiter avec moi pas jamais. Compris?” he spoke in rapid French, you couldn’t help but feel a bit turn on by his accent for how freely he spoke in his native tongue. Your face quickly heats up and you gulp, he sees your reaction and smiles non too kindly, “Bon, au revoir.” He says over the phone and hangs it up, “The list is by the door, take the money that's in the jar[6] and take my car[7].” He tosses you his keys, which you catch then look at. You then give him a small silent nod and he was about to say something else when the phone rings again, he answers it quickly, “Allô?” Francis once again began to speak a mile a minute in rapid French giving you the opportunity to close the door behind you.
Seeing the car for the first time causes your mouth to drops as you stare in awe at it. Never in your life have you seen such an impressive looking car, and you long to take it out for a real test drive. To see how fast the vehicle could go but alas you could not, you had a job to do and that was to drive to the market. Driving off you take notice of how every car you seem to pass seem to move out of your way…. How strange. The moment you reach the market you park in front easily then you take out the list, “Let's see...” you make a mental note that you were going to get the things you also needed first apart from getting the things on the list.
You walk into the supermarket to be greeted by a man in his mid to late 50’s, he gives you a semi shaken smile and you in turn smile back while taking a shopping cart from the train then you begin to walk down each aisle. Muttering to yourself while looking at the list, you didn’t notice that you were being followed until you were about to turn a corner. It was same older man who smiled at you the moment you had walk in!
“Um,” you start and look down at the name tag, “I'm okay...”Murray” you don't need to follow me.”
“You don't understand ma’am,” Murray spoke nervously, “you personally work for Mr. Bonnefoy and if you don't have everything he needs by the time you get back, it’ll be MY ass.”
“Oh!” you blush and hand the nervous man the list, “Here how’s about you get everything on this list for me and I can do my own shopping and we meet at the register?”
“You all heard the little lady, get to it!” the other three grocers nod and they quickly run to get everything Francis had earlier written down.
“Whew!” you sigh and you go about your business to each department to get the shrimps, pasta, vegetables, cheese, bread and fruits you needed for dinner tonight; you were going to make shrimp scampi and angel hair pasta. Reaching the register, you meet up with Murray who personally rings up the bill for you, “Thank you! That makes things a whole lot easier, didn’t it?” you say and smile kindly to him while you pay for the groceries. “Yes it did ma’am,” Murray smiles easily now, perhaps the previous maid wasn’t too friendly.
The Grocers help you take the paper bags to the car where they pack them in for you and everything! “What a nice service! I'll have to mention that to him when I get back.” You say with a smile and wave good bye to them.
“Please do!”
Giving the manager and the grocers a smile you drive off back to the house, unpack everything and continue on to your day.
~*~
Time progresses and you’ve worked at the Bonnefoy residence for nearly half a year and during that time you have done your best to keep the house running as smoothly as possible. You’ve even got along and made friends with Matthew. He may not react as much as normal kids his age, but you knew he liked you especially the way he would scarf down the food you gave him, his favorite thing of course being the maple cinnamon pancakes you would make for breakfast. The relationship with your employer however, it was still hard to say though at times you have noticed how his usual leers seemed less intimidating, as though he were studying you or something; it still creeps you out though.
Currently you were at the table sharing yet another breakfast with Francis and you were about to take a bite of the pancake on your fork when Francis slides something over to you. You eye the neatly wrapped package carefully.
“What’s this?” you ask gently dropping your fork back to your plate.
“How the fuck should I know?” he snips, making you sigh as you open it. Inside you find a pair of small ivory earrings. You blink and stare at them for a few moments, you just couldn’t believe it!
“A-Are these for me?” “Don’t flatter yourself, they were just lying about the house and I have no use for them. Just put them on and be silent about it,” you smiled as you put them on, you can see a small smirk on his face as he watches you.
You know it’s hard to read him or know what or how he felt about you but it was nice sweet queues like this that made this job and this life worth it.
…