"I'll give it to Mrs. Cukor, and we'll have a big party. The woman doesn't forget anything, no matter how small. This is Wade's office now," she said, pausing at another grand doorway. "Although Basil uses it whenever he wants. Wade's always complaining how he stinks it up with cigar smoke. Occasionally Wade meets with the company business manager in there. Neither of them smoke. Wade doesn't have any vices except one."
"What is that?" I asked before I could hold myself back.
"Me," she replied, and laughed. "I'm kidding, of course. He has his vices, and I have mine, and we don't share them." She laughed again, but it was a drier, more thoughtful laugh.
What an odd thing to tell me, I thought.
She opened the office doors, and we stepped inside. Large windows with shutters rather than curtains looked out on the north side, where I could see the pool, cabana, gazebo, and tennis courts. A pair of grounds workers were pruning bushes and cutting grass.
"His father's personal things are still all locked in that safe--jewels and guns and money and who knows what else. Wade doesn't even known the combination," she said, nodding at a standing safe that looked like it came from a bank.
The furniture in the office wasn't any less impressive than the furniture in the living room. The center-piece was the grand dark cherry-wood desk and the leather office chair. Everything on the desk looked neatly organized. There were bookcases here as well, computer equipment on separate tables, and another desk to the right and a fax machine. Behind the desk on the right were wooden file cabinets. The floor was slate with two area rugs. On the wall directly behind the desk was the picture of an attractive, elegantly dressed woman wearing a string of pearls. Dressed in an off-shoulder black gown, she was standing in what looked to be the front entrance of this house with a smile like the Mona Lisa's, a smile that fills you with questions.
The first question was obvious.
"Who is that?"
"That's Wade's mother when she was in her twenties. The stress and worry isn't written into her face yet."
"She was very pretty."
"Yes, but when a man has eyes that wander, a pretty wife makes almost no difference." She laughed. "Some men are just not meant to be in monogamous relationships. Of course, Basil always says he has so much to offer a woman, why waste it on only one? Typical remark from a male chauvinist. Sometimes I think men are born insecure from the moment the umbilical cord is cut, and they then have to spend the rest of their lives proving themselves bigger, smarter, better."
She held her gaze on the desk and chair as if someone was sitting there, and then she clapped her hands and turned to me.
"Why are we spending so much time on all this? Let's get right up to your bedroom. I can't wait for you to see it!"
We left the office and turned left to the gently curved stairway. It had dark wood steps and a beautiful mahogany balustrade with spindle inserts. As we approached the bottom steps, Mrs. Cukor appeared at the top. She stood there, looming over us. The sight of her, appearing as though out of thin air, stopped Ami instantly.
"Oh. Is everything ready, Mrs. Cukor?"
"All her things have been put away, and her bed's turned down," she replied.
"She unpacked my suitcases?" I asked.
"Of course," Ami said. "I told you. You're going to be spoiled here."
She started up.
"Wait," Mrs. Cukor cried, holding her hand out like a traffic policeman.
"What is it?" Ami asked.
"Let the girl go first," she said. "It's her first time coming up."
"Oh, Mrs. Cukor." Ami sighed and turned to me. "Her damn superstitions. Go on. Make her happy, or she'll end up sprinkling some sort of powder over the floor, and we'll never hear the end of it."
I smiled in confusion and then started up the stairs. All the while Mrs. Cukor fixed her eyes on me with great scrutiny. I had the sense that she wanted me to ascend the stairway first so she could concentrate on me. I didn't turn away. Instead, I met her gaze with my own. Suddenly, I saw her eyes widen and her eyebrows lift slightly as I drew closer. When I was very close, she stepped back quickly so I wouldn't brush against her. I heard her whisper something in her native language.
"Satisfied?" Ami asked her, following me up quickly.
Mrs. Cukor said nothing. She crossed herself and then hurried down the stairs.
"I've got to speak to Wade about her," Ami said, looking after her. "She's getting very odd in her old age, very odd. She's always talking to herself."
Maybe she's not as odd as you think, I thought. Maybe she could see through my eyes at the spiritual memories I kept locked within me.
"To your room!" Ami cried, and charged forward as if we were on an attack.