“A Mr. Hayes or Halls. Sorry, kid. I don’t really remember.”
I tell him goodbye and walk back out of the building.
“So, that was weird,” I say, walking back over to Shelly. “He said Mr. Hayes paid off my entire lease already.”
I’m not sure what to make of Mr. Hayes’ extremely generous gesture. I guess I’m wondering why he did it and how he even knew that I had a lease I had to pay off. Also, why wouldn’t he mention it to me?
I say goodbye to Shelly, promising her I’ll give her contact information to Hank, then I head back to the suburbs to pick up Eleanor from her grandma’s house.
“It’s really so kind of you to pick her up on your day off. I have no problem driving her over,” Mrs. Hayes says to me as I step inside her beautiful home.
“Not a problem at all, Mrs. Hayes. I was on my way back from the city anyway.”
“Please,” she says, reaching out and touching my shoulder. “Call me Margaret.”
I make my way farther inside, taking my shoes off and placing my purse next to them.
“Why don’t you come have a cup of tea with me. Eleanor is finishing up her movie. She’s watching Moana for probably the fifteenth time.”
I follow her to the kitchen where I help her assemble the tea tray, complete with a fine china teapot, saucers, and glasses that I’m sure cost more than my car. She grabs a few different types of cookies, cream, and sugar cubes.
“Wow, this is so fancy. I feel like I’m having tea with the queen.”
“You’re too sweet. Here, come sit. Let’s get to know one another.”
I glance around the room that looks similar to Mr. Hayes’ sitting room, only smaller. I’m nervous holding liquid while sitting on the crushed red velvet love seat that also happens to be sitting over what I assume is a real Persian rug.
“Your house is stunning, Mrs. Ha—Margaret,” I correct myself. “Did you decorate yourself?”
“Oh no, darling. I hired a designer. I don’t have an eye for that sort of thing.” She picks out a few cookies, placing them on a plate and handing it to me. “So, do you have anyone special in your life?”
I shake my head no, chewing the bite of cookie in my mouth.
“Really? That’s a shame. Such a beautiful, young thing like yourself.”
“I dated someone in college pretty seriously and it didn’t end well so I’m just taking time to focus on myself.” It’s a lie. That was the reason why I didn’t date for the first year after college, but I’ve been out for three years now. It’s just been a total dry spell on my part because of a complete lack of trying.
“Graham is very impressed with you, you know?” I choke on the cookie I just popped into my mouth.
“Um, no, I didn’t know that. Did he—did he say that?” I try not to stumble over my words, fearing she’ll see right through my childish crush. I will my cheeks not to turn pink, but I can feel the heat already setting in.
“He did. He said that Eleanor is absolutely enamored with you and that she’s coming along on the piano.” She lifts her tea to her lips, her pinky finger extended perfectly.
“She’s a little natural on the piano. So far we’ve learned hand placement, middle C, and she’s even gotten pretty good at ‘Row, Row, Row Your Boat’ and ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb.’ I don’t even have to remind her to practice.”
“She needs a mother in her life,” she says, taking me completely off guard. “If only my son would realize that and stop wasting his time with silly women only after his money.”
That makes my stomach knot. I haven’t seen any women at the house besides Miss Perry and me, but that doesn’t mean much. I’m sure if he was dating someone, he’d most likely not share that information with me or bring her around the house. I want to ask her what she means, but I know it would seem rude to intrude on something so personal. Instead, I just sip my tea, hoping she elaborates on her own. And to my surprise, she does.
“I told him that last woman was a gold digger through and through. I appreciate that he doesn’t bring women home in front of Eleanor, but I don’t feel like it’s much better taking them to work functions and charity events so they’re photographed on his arm like a trophy.” She wrinkles her nose and I’m suddenly curious about who these women are.
I make a mental note to look through the Google images that came up earlier today. I was completely distracted by the one of him shirtless on the yacht and I didn’t even notice the others.
“Miss Margot!” My thoughts are interrupted when Eleanor comes waltzing into the room.
“Hi, sweetheart. I was just talking with your grandma. How was your movie?”
“Good,” she says, already distracted by the cookies on the tray.
I spend another thirty minutes chatting with Margaret as Eleanor eats her cookies and cleans up her toys. The conversation never ventures back to Graham and instead she asks me about my teaching career and where my love of music came from.
We say goodbye and I drive the short distance home. Eleanor already had dinner and her bath at her grandma’s house. I walk her upstairs and help her change into her pajamas before reading her a short story and tucking her in for the night. It’s still my day off but I enjoy these little moments with Eleanor, and her grandma is right; she needs a mother figure in her life.
I walk back to my room, exhausted after my day out with Shelly. My mind is being pulled in two directions. I’m still wondering when Mr. Hayes paid off my lease and why, but mostly, I wonder who these women are that his mother spoke about.
I lie across my bed on my stomach as I open my phone and go back to the image search results from earlier. I scroll down a few rows. Most of the images are professional headshots for magazine interviews or internet articles, but then I see one. He’s in a tux, a beautiful, willowy brunette on his arm. He’s whispering something in her ear and there’s a megawatt smile spread across her face.
I keep scrolling. There’s another picture of him exiting a restaurant with a leggy blonde on his arm this time. Both women look manufactured, like they’re perfectly designed fembots meant to make the rest of us average women feel awful about ourselves.
“Do people actually look like this?” I say to myself as I zoom in on the photo. I toss the phone to the side, deciding it’s enough torture for the night.
But truthfully, it’s the reminder I needed that this isn’t a fairy tale where the sexy, rich billionaire falls head over heels for the average help. This is reality and I’m just a convenient fantasy for a man who is probably still mourning the loss of his wife. I’m sure if I disappeared tomorrow, he’d probably never think twice about me again.
10
GRAHAM
I drag my thumb across the gold embossed lettering of the invitation in my hand, flipping it over for the sixth time. It’s for an upcoming charity event this weekend that I still have yet to RSVP to.
Normally I’m not this indecisive on things like this, but this one is different. It’s for a charity that raises funds for underprivileged and inner-city schools, to enhance and develop their music and fine arts programs.