Endangered Hearts, page 2
“This is the foyer.” She pointed skyward. “That is the chandelier you will have to clean. I hope you aren’t afraid of heights?”
There was no question that the chandelier was extraordinary. Like hundreds of small diamonds bent upon themselves, the light bounced flawlessly from the sponge-painted limestone and the tall ceiling fixtures. And the crystals provided ample light for the extravagant paintings that hung in what could have been real gold frames on the walls, taller and possibly heavier than Emilia herself.
Once Emilia’s eyes tuned in to the beauty of it, she blinked. “Heights? Ah—no, heights aren’t a problem.”
“Good.”
Mrs. Levkin walked past Emilia as she continued to stare upward, and it was only as her footsteps began to echo away that Emilia awoke from her stupor and rushed to follow.
“The house is so quiet,” she marveled. “How old are the children?”
Mrs. Levkin immediately tensed at the mention of little ones, and Emilia realized that perhaps she had touched on a sadder subject. She made a mental note not to do so again.
“There are no children in the house,” she said, and Emilia cringed at the sternness in her voice.
“Oh, ah…” She felt her palms begin to sweat. “Sorry, I didn’t realize Mr. and Mrs. Zafar didn’t-”.
“There is no Mrs. Zafar.”
Emilia wanted to hit herself. In less than thirty seconds, she’d stumbled into two personal subjects that she wasn’t meant to step in. Luckily, if they were complete forbidden, Mrs. Levkin didn’t say as much and continued to scroll the screen of her phone.
“Sorry.”
Mrs. Levkin sighed impatiently, but maybe when she looked back up, she saw how genuinely nervous Emilia was and decided it was better to be kind. “Don’t fret, dear. If you do what you’re told, and act accordingly, then you’ll be fine.”
She would be fine? Emilia already knew that. If this guy was as bad as everyone said then she would tell him so and not come back. The worst-case scenario was that she would get fired, maybe even dismissed from Green and Clean in general. But even then, she could always find another job cleaning somewhere else, right? Besides, it wasn’t as if Emilia hadn’t already been called every name in the book. Threats aside, this guy couldn’t physically hurt her unless he wanted the police knocking down his door. What was there possibly to be afraid of?
“What are you doing with those, by the way?”
She was glad Mrs. Levkin finally acknowledged the supplies she carried, as Emilia’s shoulder burned with the weight, and where she gripped the handle, her fingertips ached from the plastic digging against her skin.
“Oh no.” She shook her head so intensely that Emilia waited for the bun to come undone, but not a single hair budged. “Mr. Zafar insists on his own cleaning products being used. Large parts of the house are marble and chestnut, so certain chemicals would be damaging.”
“Right.” Though Emilia smiled, she seriously doubted Mrs. Levkin’s word that everything in the house was as it seemed. But keeping the customer happy was essential, and even though business management was Emilia’s worst class, even she’d managed to take away that much.
“I told your employer that previously.”
“Sorry,” Emilia said. “She didn’t mention it.”
Emilia dropped the caddies gently on the floor now, feeling nervous, wondering if she should’ve taken her shoes off first. How embarrassing would it be if Mrs. Levkin asked her to and she revealed the discolored socks beneath? She searched her mind, but couldn’t ever remember her boss telling her about the cleaning supplies, or the other girls mentioning it. What if they had and she simply had not been paying attention? Emilia felt around in her shoe—there was at least one hole in her left sock, and her insides cringed.
The noise that interrupted her thoughts came like glass breaking, sudden and shattering. Emilia looked at Mrs. Levkin but the older woman’s expression offered nothing. She looked above where the noise continued to echo. Finally, Emilia thought, some life in this dusty house.
Aasif was reading out loud again, a habit of his, Kasper had come to realize—despite its abominable annoyance—that was incurable. He would rack that little mind of his over ginger tea (Tea—ha!) and mumble and grumble like an angry adolescent, which, Kasper thought, only made him look older while he squinted to see the fine print.
To properly ignore him, Kasper reached for the glass beside him and returned to the drafting table. The cognac was smooth going down but warm once it reached his innards, almost too warm. September was half through and it was still as humid as it had been in July, making his prosthetics uncomfortable, and his temperament all the more bleak. His stomach implored him to reconsider as he brought the glass to his mouth again, but he did so anyway. Instinctively, the body will do anything to survive, to keep going, even if it is just for another minute.
He finished the remainder of the glass in one swallow.
“Honestly, Kasper, it isn’t even four o’clock yet.”
“Perhaps if I didn’t have to worry about the state of my affairs so much—”
“Your affairs are just fine.”
“Fine? Fine? You call this fine?”
Aasif sighed and did something with that device of this, the one that if it was not blinking, it was beeping.
Kasper needed another drink.
“You have more money than Allah himself and will for the rest of your days. This patent is of little importance and you know it.”
“That is not the point!” He withdrew to the service table and poured himself another glass. “I want credit for what is mine. And I will have it, with or without you.”
He took a moment to adjust his face, the rapid movement of functioning muscles causing his mask to slip just slightly. Kasper walked towards the window to be slightly less obvious, but like most things, Aasif was aware and knew not to acknowledge it, making no mention of the flaw.
“As if you could find another attorney to put up with you.” Like some knee-slapping imbecile, Aasif laughed. Though Kasper wanted to thrash the life from him then and there, he was weary—the lawyer did have a point. Because of certain… debilitations and his general condition, Kasper found it impossible to deal with people. Even more difficult was finding anything even remotely related to competent.
Yet just because he was not going to physically harm Aasif did not mean he would get off so easily. The man forgot his place too frequently and regularly needed reminding.
“If you think there are not a hundred good lawyers ready and willing like any good, common street whore to work for me, you had better rethink your position here.”
Aasif calmed himself and became serious. “Perhaps. Yet they would also have to tolerate you. That limits your options a great deal.”
“You forget what country we are in now, Aasif. All Americans are willing to do just about anything for the right price.”
He opened his mouth to retort but Kasper held up his hand to silence him. Taking a brief look at the glass in his hand, he sniffed the rich liquid inside, relishing the strong, warm scent. It was only when he looked up that he saw an image emerging from a hill beyond the drive: a cross between a woman and a girl, angel and darling.
He bit down on his false teeth. Hard.
“That.” He stabbed at the glass pane until the skin between his fingers bent backward, giving them that lizard-like effect he so hated. “What is that?”
“Hmm?” After another minute, Aasif stood up and glanced out the window Kasper so impatiently tapped at. “She’s probably just the new housekeeper. I told you, and I know Katherine told you, they were sending over someone else…”
“Yes. Yes. Yes.” Kasper waved him away, concerned with the fact that she was gone from his sights now, having walked to the back of the house and vanishing like she had never been there at all.
Aasif continued to talk as he left the room, giving Kasper warnings about civil suits and reminders of how many scrapes he had gotten him out of… the importance of treating all of his employees better.
Kasper went into the security room without taking the time to tell him to be quiet. Aasif Shiraz had lectured Kasper on all of this before and would do it again, for surely he would not listen, because without freedom of speech, what good was this country?
The monitors came on promptly, and though Aasif did seem to express some curiosity at his client’s doings, he didn’t question them, only continued to prattle on about the importance of the employer/employee relationship.
“If I cannot criticize the nature of my employees, then what is the point in obtaining their services?”
“It’s not that you do it, it is how you do it.”
For the briefest instant, Kasper saw her again, her image as dictated by the camera in the hall. In that particular light she looked different, magnified by the computer monitor. As much as Kasper hated those wretched devices, he had to confess to being rather fond of them in that moment.
Despite his lack of knowledge about both computers and the cameras themselves, Kasper managed to focus in on the girl as she and Mrs. Levkin moved to the foyer. Yet his moment of victory was only fleeting after a message came up on the screen to tell him that there was an error between the keyboard and computer. He inspected the attachments but could see nothing out of sorts. The moment he clicked out of the message however, it reappeared once more, alerting him to an error he could not see.
“Oh, will you shut up?” He wrenched the keyboard from its place and threw it against the wall. Clearly, he would have to see this apparition for himself.
Being certain to secure his wig, he also fixed the shirtsleeves he had rolled up before, and reaffirmed his facial mask and the tight hold of his gloves. Naturally, he would not allow her to see him, but Kasper was not foolish enough to leave the third floor without the security of his disguise, either.
“If you intend to refile this patent, then you have to sign the renewal.” Poor Aasif prattled along behind him, oblivious, it seemed, to Kasper’s new undertaking.
“Don’t you have a stamp for these things? What in the world am I paying you for if you are not intelligent enough to replicate my signature?”
Mrs. Levkin stopped talking once she was made aware of her employer’s presence. And through the fiddling of her bony hands, Kasper could see her trying to busy herself as she looked toward the girl—of which he then became astutely secure in the knowledge that she was not a figment of his cognac-induced imagination.
Kasper immediately decided henceforth that he must have missed the girl’s flinch.
He had concluded long ago that, at the discovery of his appearance, there was a hierarchy of reaction, the most minimal being the recoil or a widening of the eyes. This had led him to conclude that people were unaware of their own bodies, how they gave themselves away. Americans were especially guilty of this; even when they were disgusted by him they wanted to be polite and always tried to conceal their initial reactions with falsified smiles and extra compliments. Yet, those Western manners were only lies. And Kasper could always see the liars with their recoil from him or the rapid blinking of eyes.
It was only once he saw how quickly individuals recovered from their flinch that he could determine how talented of a liar they were—a helpful factor in deciding whether or not he would do business with them.
Above recoiling was the other, more visible reaction. Those with more weak constitutions tended to exhibit this reaction, paling once they realized he was not wearing a mask as a part of some joke or the extra material of his gloves was not some extended exaggeration. Sadly, Kasper had seen this from even the most industrious medical professionals, so that even when losing color, they shivered from goose bumps in the dead of summer, or their breath and pulse became visibly rapid. Still, it did not compare to the audible reaction.
Among the degrees of disgust, it was the audible reaction that he despised the most. More than one or two females had fainted upon viewing his visage, and still there were those who gasped, startled out loud then begged pardon, or squealed like little mice. Of course the children almost always gave a slight scream or even a laugh before the adults shushed them.
Yet Kasper would rather have the children scream than laugh, the women swoon than giggle… he would have easily given them something to cry about rather than something to be bemused over, a real reason to fear him.
Yet, she did not cringe as Kasper descended the staircase—his intent to remain completely unseen gone somehow. Surely he must have missed it, being slightly distracted by her charms. Or then again, maybe the girl did not have good enough eyesight to notice anything amiss. And wouldn’t that be just like Mrs. Levkin, to test him with a beauty who could not see? If the humor of it were not lost on him, he might have thought to laugh.
Of course, Kasper had seen beautiful women before, but this girl was not entirely a woman. Now that he could see her up close, it seemed that she was not the ravenous beauty he originally thought, though not so plain as to be considered unattractive, either. Her skin was pale and clear, hair the color of a ripe peach and much too long. She was an over mature child at best, as evidenced by her warm cheeks and bright eyes. Kasper searched for a deficiency in the pupil there, slightly amused to find one of the blues darker than the other.
Strangely, he found her staring back at him. Few people had been capable of holding his stare over the years, so he hardly knew what to do in this situation. Even more peculiar was the slight smile that crossed her face when she politely greeted him.
“Hello.”
He thought momentarily her casualness may have indicated she was completely blind. Yet he quickly realized this theory made little sense. Even so, the palpitations began in his chest again, inflaming the insides surrounding his ribcage all at once. He considered reaching for his medication, but a display of weakness in front of this stranger was not something Kasper intended to divulge. Fortunately, however, the girl did not seem to notice.
“A salaam alaikum.” Aasif did not reach out his hand to introduce himself, but Kasper found himself wondering what would have happened if she had. The mere idea of touching her flesh made his breathing stick like tack in his lungs.
Focus.
His eyes wouldn’t move from her. She smiled at Aasif unseemly, not put off by that wretched smell of ginger and the staleness of his turban. It was not a flirtatious smile, nor a nervous one, perhaps, simply, a polite smile, one that offered something, and nothing at all. Her body moved just a little then, and the world moved more slowly, as small hands with broken fingernails tucked her hair behind her ears.
“Well, don’t be rude, Kasper—”
Kasper violently removed Aasif’s hand from his shoulder, but even then, the girl didn’t startle. “I will be whatever I damn well please!”
Katherine Levkin’s eyes darted from Aasif back to Kasper, a silent question hanging in the air.
“Perhaps you should introduce yourself to the young lady?”
“Unless she is a complete nitwit, I presume she has already assessed I am the procurer of the house and therefore the signature on her paycheck!”
Emilia’s body language changed when Kasper snapped those words. Her shoulders stiffened back and her lips lapsed into a frown. And for a moment, he could have sworn… did she roll her eyes at him?
“I assure you, sir, that while I am not the most intelligent individual in the world, I am smart enough to have figured that out.”
“Oh, really? Smart enough, eh? Then why in the world did you bring that?” Kasper pointed out the array of cleaning vessels at her feet. Emilia quickly recovered herself, going back to her smiling disposition. Nevertheless, he had to make sure that she would learn not to challenge him.
“I was unaware—”
“Unaware, indeed.”
Mrs. Levkin and Aasif both jumped in at that juncture like a rescue team on a mission. Little did they know they were not needed. Emilia had dealt with her fair share of financially wealthy individuals who looked down on her, believing they had a license to treat her poorly. And perhaps it was the power in numbers—having possible other disgruntled employees next to her—or maybe it was the potential of simply being fed up with the “upper” class that made her so bold. Regardless, Emilia acted before thinking and, for once, said what she truly thought.
“If I’m not here for cleaning, then what am I here for? Given your reputation, I didn’t exactly come here to enjoy your company.”
“No, I imagine not.”
“You’d have to pay me a great deal more than ten dollars an hour for that.” She mumbled the words before she was able to stop them, and while she thought they were quiet enough for her ears only, Mr. Shiraz erupted into laughter and Mrs. Levkin began smirking under her hand. Despite their reaction, however, Emilia immediately blushed and let her eyes find the floor. What was she thinking?
“Why, you foolish, insolent girl! Do you have any idea who you are talking to?”
In between his bouts of laughter, Aasif managed to explain, “I am afraid you’ll have to sign waivers and the like prior to employment. They take a day or two to process.”
Kasper saw red, both in her face and in the spots before his eyes. This girl, some idiotic child, had the nerve to insinuate something so lurid in front of his face? In front of his people? Now she was all apologies, rushing with words of explanation, and nervousness. “I’m so sorry,” she stammered. “I was way out of line. I d-didn’t mean it.”
Mrs. Levkin made a mediocre attempt to comfort her, though how it could have been taken seriously when she, too, was laughing, was beyond him! At least when the phone rang, it forced Aasif to regain control of himself, or enough of it to leave the room and answer the machine with enough dignity to suggest he was a professional and not the keeper of a madhouse.
