The Rhythm Method (Stage Dive 4.80)

“Um, all right. Send her up,” I said. “Thank you.”

A young blonde woman was standing at my door a couple of minutes later. She had blunt edgy bangs and a nose piercing. “Mrs. Ferris. Hello. It’s lovely to meet you.”

“Hi,” I said, bewildered. “My husband sent you?”

“Yes. I met with him and his associates this morning. And it was agreed that so long as you’re happy with the arrangements, I was to start work immediately.”

She was smiling at me, so I smiled at her and… “Huh?”

Her smile dimmed. “Ah, I’m your new housekeeper slash nanny. If you’ll have me. I have a printout of my resume for you in my handbag. And of course I’ve already signed an N.D.A. and so on.”

“You’re my new housekeeper slash nanny?” I stared off at nothing. “Wow.”

The woman held a small bundle of papers in her hands. “They didn’t tell you?”

“Not a word.”

“Okay. What’s the best way to handle this…let me think.” She took a deep breath. “Hi, my name is Jude Darcy. I’m twenty-five years old. Born and bred in this fair city. I’ve worked for the last two years for a well-known family down in Los Angeles. So I’m familiar with dealing with celebrities and fans and security and so on. I have references, and you’re very welcome to give them a call and check for yourself.”

“Did my husband already do that?”

“No. A person by the name of Martha, I believe.”

“And she was happy with you?” My eyebrows rose. “You must be good. Okay. Carry on.”

“Can I ask a question?”

“Go ahead.”

“Do I really have to become proficient on the drums as part of this position? I’m pretty sure that was a joke, but I just want to make sure.”

“Malcolm Ericson was at your interview.”

“Yes.”

I nodded. “No, you wouldn’t have to learn the drums.”

“And the speaking fluent Greek and fire twirling…”

“Likewise, unnecessary.”

“Got it,” she said. “Phew.”

“Come on in, Jude. Let’s talk.”

“Let me first ask: Are you open to having someone help out?” She gave me a small smile. “If not, I don’t want to waste your time. I realize this has been sprung on you.”

“It sure has.” I took a moment and thought it over. I should probably be furious that all of this was organized behind my back. But honestly, why bother? Who had the energy? When (not if) David came home, we weren’t going to suddenly magically start coping. Stress was a big problem. For him and me. We could afford the help, so why not?

I wouldn’t be less of a woman or mother or whatever because someone was picking up the slack in the condo and helping with the baby. If she was the right person to let into our home. It was a risk. She was pretty, if not beautiful, and much more pleasant to be around right now than me. I mean, she actually had the energy to wear makeup and coordinate outfits. Even if that outfit was just jeans and a button-down shirt. And I bet her boobs didn’t leak.

But I trusted David. He regularly travelled without me and had women throwing themselves at him. And we wouldn’t know if having her around would help unless we tried. “The fact is, I think we could really use some assistance.”

The woman beamed. “Great.”

Me: House Keeper/Nanny?

David: What do you think?

Me: We should have discussed it first. But I like her and it is a good idea.

David: Good. We were lucky to get her. One of the bodyguards met her on a job and was impressed. She was thinking of taking a position in France.

Me: How’d you talk her into it?

David: Left it up to Martha and Jimmy.

Me: And money?

David: There was a healthy signing bonus.

Me: When are you coming home?

David: Soon. Just give me another day or so. I promise I’m working on things.

Me: Like what? I need more than that. Please. We’re feeling pretty damn abandoned here.

David: I know and I’m sorry. My head isn’t where it should be. I’m going to fix it and get back to you as soon as I can.

Me: You’re talking to someone?

David: Yes. I’m getting help.

Me: Ok

Me: Any ideas for our son’s name yet?

David: No. Is he ok?

Me: Yeah he’s good. He misses you.

David: I love you.

Me: I love you too.

I first realized I was low key in love with Jude Darcy the next day. She was folding laundry with the baby lying on a rug nearby. Jude was quietly singing Nine to Five by Dolly Parton, and the scent of something delicious filled the air. The condo didn’t look like a bomb had hit it. What a miracle. The woman was magic. We had someone in to clean the condo once a week. But you could amass a lot of mess in that time.

“You’ve been cooking?” I asked.

She smiled. “Just chicken pot pie and a garden salad. Nothing fancy.”