“But they taste good!”
“Okay, you’ve got me there.”
“Also, did you know The Tribune Times just called Ryan Blythe the third most eligible bachelor in the world?”
I laugh again.
“That’s awesome, but I doubt he’d be into me. You know I can’t lose weight, and guys like that aren’t into curvy girls.”
“No more of that!” my friend says sharply. Her tone softens and she says, “You’re perfect just the way you are. I hate when you put yourself down. And I’m telling you this again.”
I sigh.
“I know, Denise, but really. I’m just here for the job.”
“Okay, okay,” she concedes. “But if he’s actually a troll in real life, tell me, okay? You know they have make-up people, hair people, and perfect lighting. Ryan Blythe in real life could be five foot two and insanely ugly. Maybe it’s all movie magic.”
“Thanks Denise,” I say wryly. “That sounds terrible.”
She brushes me off.
“Anyway, girlfriend, I wanted to wish you well on your first day. I really am super excited for you.”
“I’m excited too,” I finally admit. Maybe I won’t get swept off my feet to a castle in the clouds, but it does feel good to have a steady, well-paying job while living in such a gorgeous home. Then again, they probably have me in the servants’ quarters in the basement. I could be going into a damp, dark cell reminiscent of a maximum-security jail.
“Apologize for calling yourself fat,” Denise demands.
I sigh. There is no way out of this exercise short of hanging up on her, and there’s no guarantee that even if I do hang up on her, that she won’t be here in half an hour, banging on the door and demanding to see me.
“Okay, I’m sorry. I’ll call you later, okay?”
“You better!” Denise says, “I want all the details!”
“Goodbye, Denise,” I say, laughing again. She hangs up, and I glance at the clock. She’s eaten up ten or twelve minutes for me. I still have fifteen minutes to go, but that’s okay. I’m not so desperately early now that it will seem weird if I show up.
Quickly, I review the children I’ll be caring for in my head. There’s Rico, at twelve years old the oldest of Ryan’s children. Next comes Ronnie at ten. Rebecca is nine. The brood is completed with the twins, Rachel and Rufus, seven years old and the youngest of the group.
I’m not worried about caring for so many children at one time because I love kids. Five may seem a lot to handle, but I have experience. Granted, my last family, the Portnoys, only had three kids, but that’s okay. Two more will be no trouble. I wish the Portnoys still lived here in Iowa, but they moved away, and left me behind.
I glance at the clock in my dash and jerk forward. Oh shit! All this hanging out in my car has made me practically late for my first day. How ironic. When I got here, I was thirty minutes early, and now I’m going to be late.
Quickly, I scramble out of the vehicle and grab my bag from the trunk. With quick steps, I make my way up the rotunda before standing in front of the massive oak door. My future has arrived, and I’m more than ready.
2
Ryan
I don’t miss my ex-wife Sandy, at least not from any emotional perspective. We had an intense relationship, but then it petered out. At least, I thought it was good at the beginning. But when she left, she said she didn’t think she ever loved me. What the fuck? Where did that come from?
I guess it hurt my ego though, and I’ve been licking my wounds since. There are a million women I could call, and sometimes I do. I admit, I’m a dog on occasion, and I like getting my bone stroked. So long as no one gets hurt, I’m okay with it. It’s convenient and provides a release that I’d otherwise be doing with my hand.
Suddenly, something bumps into my leg. It’s about waist-level and brandishing a plastic sword.
“Have at you, monster!”
My second son, Ronnie, is a monster slayer and he yelps while he parries and blocks, defending his imaginary castle. Suddenly, there’s a blur of movement beside me bringing my oldest, Rico, into focus. The twelve year-old’s eyes are wide with exasperation. “Dad, will you deal with him?”
I frown at Ronnie.
“Ron, stop attacking your brother,” I admonish.
“But he’s saving me, Daddy!” says a third voice. I sigh and turn around. Rebecca, my third oldest, smiles at me. She’s wearing her princess costume from last Halloween and the frilly puffs of pink fabric make me laugh.
“He can save you from an imaginary monster in the playroom,” I say. “Why don’t you guys go play there?”
“But what about breakfast?” Ronnie asks.
“Ursula will…” I stop and take a deep breath. Shit. Ursula’s off. “Give me a minute. Where are the others? Are they awake?” My three oldest shrug and go on with what they’re doing. Fuck. It’s barely nine in the morning, and it’s already pure chaos in my house.