The Gig
“Are you Therese?” Lifting his sunglasses, Fred Haymes glanced at the idle, young woman sipping a takeaway coffee. Not expecting to meet anyone just yet, Therese nodded knotting her brow. “You have everything you need and you know what I’m here for?” His car waited on the curb.
Therese took a careful look at the tall man and cleared her throat. “Yes, the gig you hired me for – for this weekend.” She picked up her bags ready to go.
“Good.” Fred smiled but it seemed perfunctory at best. “Can I help you out with your stuff?” he continued motioning towards her luggage.
“No, I’m fine,” Therese declined keeping her belongings all to herself.
“So you’re aware what’s expected of you this weekend?” Fred asked as they’d left the immediate Manhattan traffic behind.
“I am,” Therese said, “It’s not like I’m doing this for the first time.” She hated when she was being treated as a total, inexperienced moron.
“Well, I’m certainly glad to hear that,” Fred confirmed. “A client like this will set a precedent, you know? Leave a favourable mark and more will certainly come your way.” Therese seemed unsure whether to believe him or not. “You do this one right, Miss Belivet, and I’m sure you’ll have it made.” He winked his eye at her.
“What do you mean?” Therese asked slightly put off by his overt enthusiasm.
“Well,” Fred laughed stunned by a question he found improbable, “Everyone will want you of course.”
They had driven for a considerable while already when Fred noticed Therese unmistakably stiffen. Here it comes, he thought trying his best to appear just as cool as ever. Even though his professional years had taught him a lot about how to deal with people in calm and collected manner, he was nevertheless most thankful for his shades as Therese’s sideway glances started to become more and more frequent.
“It just occurred to me that you never gave me the exact address of this place we’re heading for,” Therese said icily. She stared at Fred with such open hostility he would’ve certainly blushed up to his ears had he been the type to do so.
“I didn’t?” Fred wondered clumsily, “Really? I’m sure I did.” All he could do was to play for time.
“No, you didn’t.” Therese stared ahead drawing in a series of calming breaths and closing her eyes to soothe her upset mind. “But I sure as hell have an idea of where you’re taking me.” She sank back at the passenger’s seat without another word. To Fred’s surprise she didn’t put up a fight of any kind or question his somewhat deceitful tactics.
Abby had called Fred and invited him to a Sunday brunch. That had happened only five days ago. She had asked him to help her in hiring Therese to shoot pictures of her estate – “in order to put the house on the market etc. etc.” Abby had explained to him.
“Are you for real, Abigail? About selling the estate?” He’d been nothing short of shocked at first.
“Of course not, Freddy! Do you think I’m daft or something? I’d rather throw myself in the Hudson than sell my inheritance,” Abby had scoffed amusedly. “I’m just sick and tired of listening to Carol either whining miserably over Therese or spitting venom because of her rash action over the damn portrait.”
Hearing her out, Fred had gotten truly curious over what Abby had obviously been plotting in her mind. “I thought you didn’t believe in meddling in other people’s business?” he had asked quizzically.
“Normally she doesn’t,” Genevieve had admitted, “and I am very thankful for that, but this time even I have had quite enough with these two idiots.” She had pinched Abby’s cheek lovingly. “My little busybody…” Gen had murmured her mouth sweetly puckered up.
Fred had promised to hire Therese for the non-existing job, and she had accepted the assignment gratefully. The work would be performed over a long weekend, and when Therese had inquired a reason for the prolonged stay, Fred had simply stated that the owner was hoping some family photos could be taken over the weekend as well. After all they were ‘giving the place up for good’ and now was maybe ‘the last moment to capture the fondness everyone felt for it’.
When Fred and Therese finally reached the mansion, both Abby and Genevieve were waiting for her outside. “Welcome,” Genevieve said taking her hands affectionately into hers. “I’m glad you could find the time in your busy schedule to come and do the job Abby needs to get done.” Therese shot a look at Abby who had taken her time before stepping forward.
“Where is she?” Therese asked Abby sharply, her eyes darting around the main house and its surrounding area.
“Carol’s not here,” Abby said drily. “I didn’t hire you to not have sex with her this weekend. You have come to take pictures, not socialize, got it?” Abby could be quite adamant and even frightening if she wanted to. “You may go and do as you please as long as you fulfil your work order,” she elaborated. “You’ll find it in your room.”
Seeing the confusion creep up on Therese’s face she continued. “There will be no formal meals served but the housekeeper will certainly provide you with adequate food,” Abby explained. “It’s up to you to have it either up in your room or in the dining hall. Suit yourself.”
“Okay.” Therese couldn’t think of anything to say. What Abby had just stated had certainly taken her by surprise but she wasn’t about to let it show. She picked up her bags and started towards the house. The memory of the last time she had approached its front door should’ve given her the creeps but just as she was about to step in, she turned her head to look over her shoulder. The sight of the storage house revived the memory of the kiss, the one so hopelessly unfinished.
Thursday evening was getting late, and Therese had hardly started with the photos. She did like to plan her work beforehand, and the work list Abby had left for her didn’t exactly stress her out. She’d get most of it done by tomorrow, she thought, kicking her shoes off and jumping on the generous double bed.
It had taken Therese a while to really fathom Carol’s absence as well. At first she’d expected to bump into her if not in her room then at least in one of the long corridors or downstairs living areas. She’d even kept to her room to avoid such a thing from happening. And what a gorgeous room it is, she mused juggling two mandarins and a small granny smith in the air.
Therese had been quite alert about possible visitors as well. Genevieve or Abby were bound to show up, she thought picturing the perfect standoffish manner to send them away. That Haymes fellow had departed, though.
An hour, two and three, went by and nobody knocked on her door. It was past dinnertime, and Therese realized that she was hungry. Food is in the fridge. Help yourself. Abby’s short note was indeed self-explanatory.
Don’t mind if I do, Therese thought sneaking out of her room silently. She made sure no one paid attention to her entering the huge kitchen.
“Well, HELLO!” A grey-haired woman greeted Therese cheerfully, scaring her almost half to death. “You must be Therese?” The woman in her sixties had been just about to leave when Therese had appeared. “And you must be famished!” she smiled secretively. “I’d happily warm up a portion for you – it’s nothing special, just your basic coq au vin, but I find it so soothing in an evening like this… I’m Margaret.”
Therese never knew why Margaret found coq au vin especially relevant on that particular Thursday night but she did allow her to set her a plate in the kitchen; Therese categorically refused to have her supper in the dining room. “Help yourself to some wine – there’s some perfectly decent Zinfandel on the counter,” Margaret instructed before leaving Therese to dine in peace.
Therese ate her meal quietly, thoroughly savouring every bite of the luscious, braised chicken cooked with red wine, lardons, button mushrooms, pearl onions and garlic. She tasted the thyme and the parsley, the touch of the elusive bay leaf in the thickened sauce. She sat on the rustic stool and imagined having sat on it dozens of times before – make it hundreds of times, she entertained herself. The full-bodied red wine she’d poured in her glass warmed her blood – it kindled her cheeks and dappled the pale skin on her chest.
When she’d finally finished and placed her dishes dutifully inside the washer, Therese was sure she would retire to her room for the rest of the evening. To her own astonishment she found herself standing on the threshold of the parlour looking in, her eyes irresistibly wandering over the bookshelves and the old world patina of the room’s furnishings – the buttoned leather armchairs and sofas like tiny deserted islands huddled under the lambent lights of the lanky floor lamps.
Both Abby and Genevieve were absorbed in their reading, and to see them so focused built up Therese’s courage. She went in, convinced of her sudden ghostlike invisibility, and picked up a rare first edition she’d admired the last time she’d been in this lovely room. She took a seat a bit further apart from the amicable couple. Even if Therese was a bit self-conscious for a while, it melted away in next ten minutes. When Abby some time later placed a tumbler of Scotch on the little side table right next to Therese, the brunette, so relaxed already, hardly noticed it or her at all.
Abby and Genevieve had gone to bed what seemed like hours ago when Therese raised her eyes from her book. Hers was the only source of light in the room left – the soft, warm halo of a quaint little lantern stretching its neck curiously over the pages.
Therese ascended the stairs apprehensively reluctant to leave the parlour. She knew she couldn’t stay there all night, it just felt like an appropriate place for – waiting. If I lived here, I’d wait in the parlour, Therese thought. Always in the parlour surrounded by these books like old friends keeping me company, whispering ‘she’ll be here in a minute, she’s alright’ right into my ear.
The quiet of her room pressed heavily against her from all sides, and she let out a sigh not for its own sake but to poke a hole in its fraying vacuum. Before Therese fell asleep, a passage she’d just read repeated itself in her mind. She closed her eyes and drifted off trying the revelation on as a dress she’d long forgotten but was suddenly happy to find again.
“As the pain that can be told is but half a pain, so the pity that questions has little healing in its touch. What Lily craved was the darkness made by enfolding arms, the silence which is not solitude, but compassion holding its breath.”
When Therese went downstairs the next morning she didn’t know what she’d expected but whatever it had been, the reality didn’t match it at all. Both Abby and Genevieve had had their breakfast, and according to Margaret, this had happened already several hours ago.
Having fortified herself with coffee, toast and assorted jams, Therese decided to get on with her work. She took her camera as well as all the other necessary equipment and joined Abby and Gen outside. They were busy tending to gardening and other grounds work – or at least that’s what it looked like to Therese.
She set up her camera to get as good an overall picture of the main house as possible. As always, Therese spent an endless time fine-tuning her angle and mulling over the composition. The way she hovered over her mounted camera looked frustrating enough to bring Abby over to question what it was she was currently fretting about.
The short exchange was pleasant and even jovial to the extent it allowed for a smile to enter on Therese’s face. The way Abby made gentle fun of Gen’s weeding while kicking the gravel around appealed to her as well. She felt at ease in their company.
“Is she coming?” Therese blurted out interrupting Abby’s amusement over Gen’s unorthodox way of planting tulips and its all too obvious outcome. Both women ceased their work.
“Not that I know of,” Abby replied wryly paying close attention to Therese as she said it. “Are you expecting her?” Genevieve cast a look at Therese, and it spoke volumes should Therese only choose to read what was on her mind.
“Why would I expect her?” Therese balked. “How would that even be possible?” Abby and Gen exchanged glances and left her alone. For some reason, their leaving irritated Therese more than any question imposing on her privacy.
The lunch was delicious – and uneventful. Therese had thought about downloading her digital files and working on them further when she spotted Abby standing in the parlour with a drink in her hand.
“Can I have one of those?” she asked Abby nodding towards the tumbler with red liquid in it.
“A Negroni? Sure,” Abby said and mixed her one as well. The equal measures of gin, sweet red vermouth and Campari had a strong impact on Therese who nevertheless enjoyed what she tasted. More than that it gave her the last bit of courage she seemed to need.
“Yes.” Therese said casting her eyes downwards.
“Yes what?” Abby interrogated knowing very well what Therese meant.
“I am expecting her.”
Abby turned to look at Genevieve who’d come to listen in to their conversation. Just a quick nod from her partner, and Gen was on her way to accomplish the one final thing needed to end this unnecessary misery.
Five hours later the headlights belonging to Fred Haymes’ Mercedes swept the yard facing the stately limestone house.
It was dinnertime, and the dining room table was set for four.