But then he shoots Victor another look and says, “So I hear you’re really into Justin Bieber music. I think I saw him host a Saturday Night Live once.”
Is Phantom…? The notion is so far out there, given what I know of him, I can barely construct the mental question. But…is Phantom trying to make conversation?
“Yeah, people made fun of it, but I liked that episode he hosted,” I answer, playing along as best I can. “I don’t watch much SNL, though. I’m more into anime and reality shows, like Rap Star Wives or American SuperStar.”
Phantom rubs a hand up and over the back of his head as if he’s on fire and doesn’t know how to put it out. It legit sounds like he’s choking when he woodenly says, “Oh, yeah? Tell me about Rap Star Wives. I want to hear about that.”
Before I can answer, Victor stands up to sign, “I have much to do today. But please let any of the staff know if you need anything else.”
And then he leaves. He just leaves without giving me a chance to talk with him alone. Strangely, Phantom gets up and goes too, almost immediately after that. So I end up eating breakfast alone.
I’m not sure what to do with myself after I’m done eating, but then an older Latina woman walks in and introduces herself as Yolanda. Apparently, she’s going to be my assistant for the next two weeks.
“Why would I need an assistant?” I ask her. “It’s not like I have anything planned other than recovering.”
Wrong. Yolanda has me scheduled out from morning to night. First, prenatal yoga classes in the home gym with an instructor who assures me we won’t be doing anything that will exacerbate my concussion.
That’s followed by a masseuse who says the same thing before turning me into a grateful pool of jelly.
After that, there is lunch, which is brought to my room, so that we can do some online maternity clothes shopping.
When I protest about having clothes bought for me when I’ll only be here for two weeks, Yolanda says, “So you would like me to pick the clothes out for you then?” Like that’s the only other option.
Well, no, I don’t want that…I do have my own aesthetic, after all. So that’s how I end up shopping for most of the afternoon.
Then comes a drive into downtown Westerhaven for what Yolanda describes as an itty-bitty checkup from Victor’s concierge doctor and his concierge OB.
“Victor has a concierge OB?” I asked skeptically.
“Now he does,” Yolanda answers, her tone glib.
She finally leaves around 6 o’clock that evening after having dinner with me in the dining room. Me and no one else. When I ask why Victor isn’t here, she responds with, “business, I’m sure.”
Victor becomes a hard guy to track down over the next few days.
The conversation on Monday is the longest one I have with him compared to the ones that take place the next few mornings. Every other time I come down to breakfast, he and Phantom just happen to be on the verge of leaving, even the one time I try to trick them by coming down half an hour earlier than usual. Victor’s never around for lunch or dinner. And the few times I manage to slip away from Yolanda, he never seems to be in the office he showed me during our tour.
Yet, he’s always there in some form. The clothes, the yoga, the daily massage appointments—which okay, I don’t hate.
I also can’t bring myself to dislike Yolanda. Yes, it often feels like she’s running me down like a dog so that I have less energy to pursue my talk with Victor. But she quickly proves herself to be indispensable.
She sets up a daily check-in with Lucy and types out all my notes and emails the first few days so that I can do my job without having to defy doctor’s orders not to look at too many screens. She makes and keeps my schedule and ensures I’m plenty occupied. Which is great because I thought I’d be screaming with boredom with no work and no screens.
Then on Thursday, after the concierge doctor clears me to go back to work, she dramatically reveals a downstairs office space she’s set up for me. Save for the outer glass wall, it looks exactly like my one at Yinz Entertainment. I mean, down to where I keep the stapler on the desk and everything.
Apparently, she’s been consulting with Lucy about it over the last few days.
“Explain to me why your ex is Voldemort again,” Lucy says when I called to thank her for helping out on my new phone—also provided by Victor. “Because I’d suck the devil’s dick for an assistant like Yolanda.”
“Wow, Lucy,” I say.
“Seriously, have you asked her about moving out to Pittsburgh? Tell her we’ll make it very worth her while. Like, a very generous middish five-figure salary which would go a long way in Pittsburgh.”