A Perfect Life: A Novel (11 page)

When he left her room, it was in good order. She was putting on some music, and she wanted to e-mail some of her friends from school to see how they were. She loved her mother, but she hated being home. And she was beginning to hate Simon even more. He didn’t understand anything.

He went back to his own room then, and put away his things, and then appeared unexpectedly in the door to Blaise’s office. She
looked up in surprise. It was strange to see a man in her house. She always wondered now how she had lived with Harry, or thought she would marry Andrew and live with him. The idea no longer appealed to her at all, and the reality of Simon in her home even less. He felt like an intruder to her, and to Salima.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” Simon asked her, and she shook her head, wanting to tell him that he didn’t need to come to her office unless she called for him or there was a problem. No one had offered her a cup of tea in her own home in years. Not since she’d been married to Harry and they had help, more than ten years before. The housekeeper she had now only did laundry and cleaned, and left simple food in the fridge for her. She never offered her tea, or would even have thought of it. If Blaise wanted tea, she made her own. And she didn’t expect Simon to wait on her, any more than she expected him to cook for them, although he had offered. All she wanted was for him to keep Salima happy, whatever it took, and stay out of her way. With Salima’s arrival, her unavoidable needs no matter how much she loved her, and Simon in their midst, Blaise felt invaded in her own home, and they hadn’t been there for two hours. And at the look on her face, he withdrew immediately.

Blaise went to check on Salima an hour later. She was listening to music and lying on her bed, thinking of Abby, and there were tears rolling down her cheeks. Blaise sat down next to her on the bed and stroked her hair, and then kissed her.

“How’s it going?” Blaise asked, but she could see, not well.

“Horribly. I miss her so much.” And Blaise knew she always would. A bond like theirs was irreplaceable, even if they found
another competent caretaker in time. She had genuinely loved Abby.

“I know you do, sweetheart. Let’s try to do some fun things while you’re here. I’ll try to get some concert tickets tomorrow.”

“I don’t want to do anything,” Salima said sadly. “And I hate Simon. He’s a pain.”

“Yeah. Maybe. He seems a little pushy to me too, but this is all new to him, the apartment, us, that ridiculous little room we have for him. I think he’s just trying to be helpful. And he’s a guy. We’re not used to guys here.” Blaise smiled at her. There was no point in either of them getting wound up about him, although he annoyed her too. She enjoyed her peaceful home, and even having Salima there was a huge change for her. Having Simon put it out in the stratosphere somewhere.

“Why can’t we just have no one?” Salima said mournfully, sounding five and not nineteen. “You can take care of me,” she said hopefully, and Blaise felt instantly guilty.

“Remember me? I work. Or had you forgotten? And I travel all the time. What would you do if I got sent away on a story? You need someone here with you.” And Blaise couldn’t see herself putting toothpaste on Salima’s brush. She could learn to do that herself now, like a big girl, blind or not. It was the only thing he’d said so far that Blaise agreed with. Salima was used to having everything done for her. Abby had done it all.

Blaise wandered back into the kitchen around eight o’clock that night. None of them had eaten dinner, and she wasn’t hungry. Simon was sitting at the kitchen table with his computer, and looked up when she walked in. Megan had just sent him an e-mail,
telling him how much she missed him and how sad she was. He was too, but he had decided not to answer, and he turned off his computer and looked at Blaise.

“Can I make you guys dinner?” he offered, standing up. He felt as though he should be doing something for her, and Salima had made it clear she didn’t want him in her room, so he had nowhere to go, except the tiny maid’s room, and there was nowhere to sit there. So he had set up his computer at the kitchen table.

“I think I’ll order pizza,” Blaise said vaguely. At least Salima liked that, and might eat. “Or sushi.”

“Does an omelet appeal? Or pasta? I can whip that up pretty quickly.” The omelet sounded good, but she didn’t want to admit it, so she shook her head.

“We’re fine,” she insisted. She called for pizza, and he didn’t interfere. She asked him what he wanted, and he said a large with everything on it except anchovies, which sounded good to her too. And she ordered a small pizza margherita for Salima, and she called her when they arrived. Salima came out of her bedroom and sat down at the kitchen table. Simon watched her mother serve her a slice on a plate and set it in front of her, and the three of them ate their pizza and said not a word.

After dinner, Salima went back to her room, and to bed a little while later. Blaise had told him she’d check Salima’s insulin pump herself, so he didn’t go in to see her. And Simon could see the light on in Blaise’s office for a long time, but he didn’t disturb her. He stayed on his computer for a while, read two more e-mails from Megan that sounded increasingly desperate, didn’t answer her, and
finally went to bed. It had been a long, stressful day. And he was well aware of just how unwelcome he was in their home.

When the alarm went off at four o’clock the next morning, Blaise felt like she’d been beaten with a stick. The past few days had taken their toll. The shocking news of Abby’s death, her funeral, the school closing, Simon in the house. And Salima to take care of for the next few months. It was overwhelming. The one thing she was grateful for was that Simon knew all the protocols for Salima’s blood tests, monitoring her insulin pump, checking it at night, and dealing with her diabetes. He knew exactly what he was doing, which was a relief. But everything else he did unnerved her. His very presence in her home felt like an intrusion and rubbed her the wrong way. She was trying not to let it upset her, but it did. And she didn’t want to let Salima know how much. Salima disliked him enough already, and it would only make matters worse. Salima had objected strenuously to Simon moving in with them. And Blaise had told her they had no other option and she had to make her peace with it. She had to please her mother, but grudgingly. And Blaise couldn’t deal with a war in her home and didn’t want to. They were stuck with Simon, for now anyway, and had to make it work, like it or not. And Salima didn’t love it.

Blaise got out of bed slowly, not quite ready to face the day and all the stress she knew was waiting for her at work: Susie Q, and all the projects Blaise was working on and hadn’t finished when she left in a rush three days earlier. She would have to deal with all of
it today. She took a shower instead of a bath, trying to wake up, even though she wet her hair. The hairdresser on the set could deal with it when she got there. And her shoulder-length red hair was still wet when she walked into the kitchen half an hour later in a crisp white shirt and gray slacks, and no makeup. She needed a cup of coffee desperately, and had the newspapers in her hand when she walked in, and nearly screamed as she saw Simon at the kitchen table. He stood up and handed her a cup of steaming-hot coffee, just the way she liked it. He had noticed the way she took it the day before. Two sugars, no cream. She wanted to thank him, but she couldn’t as she took the cup from him. She didn’t want to talk to anyone at that hour, and he could see it instantly on her face.

“Sorry,” he said apologetically. “I couldn’t sleep, and Salima said you have breakfast at five o’clock every day. I figured I’d make myself useful.” He didn’t tell her that the bed was much too small and his legs hung off the end. He didn’t want to complain. It was hard enough having him there, and he knew it. Whatever he did, right or wrong, he wasn’t Abby. For Salima, it was a felony. For her mother, an unwelcome invasion. The barbarians were not just at the gate, they were in her home, and her kitchen. He could read it in her eyes.

“I like making my own,” she said simply, as she sat down at the kitchen table, opened the papers, and didn’t say another word. He felt as though he had committed a crime making her coffee. She never thanked him, she didn’t want to encourage him to do it again, and he had gotten the message, he wouldn’t. He planned to stay out of the kitchen in the morning from now on. He had read her loud
and clear, and he had to admit it was early. And he was a creature of habit too, so he respected that in her.

He heard the front door close when she left for work, and the apartment was silent. Salima was still asleep. The housekeeper didn’t come till ten. And Eric called him at eight.

“How’s it going?” He sounded optimistic but concerned. He was checking on all his teachers who had gone home with kids. So far, everyone was happy, and the parents were grateful and relieved to have help at home.

“A little rugged,” Simon admitted. “Salima is heartbroken over Abby. And I think her mother hates men, in her house anyway. She’s not used to having Salima here either. It’s a little dicey. We’re all adjusting. And Abby must have treated her like a five-year-old, more than any of us knew. She did everything for her except chew her food. She infantilized her completely. We have a long way to go here, just to get her up to speed. And no one is enthused about that project. Salima’s mother keeps telling me not to rock the boat.” Simon sounded exasperated as he explained the situation to him. He was trying to be zen about it, but it was a challenge.

“I’m sorry, Simon,” Eric said sincerely. “I know she babied her, and they had a very close relationship, so it’s hard to make changes. And it’s very soon. And I think that her mother liked Abby’s style. She never objected to how cocooned she was when Salima went home. I think it assuages some of her guilt for not having her at home, and having a demanding career.”

“Maybe,” Simon said thoughtfully. He was trying to figure it out and be patient. “The apartment really isn’t big enough for me. Or
even for Salima. It’s set up very nicely for a single woman. Salima is in Siberia, at the end of a long hall, and pretty isolated, and I’m in a maid’s room behind the kitchen, which is fine, but there’s nowhere for me to sit without annoying someone. I made a major faux pas this morning, and made her coffee at five
A.M.
before she left for work. She looked pissed. I guess she doesn’t like talking to anyone before she goes to work.” He was walking on eggshells, and Eric could hear it and felt bad for him. He was such a decent, capable guy, he hated to have them make him so uncomfortable, but he’d had no one else to send home with Salima, or he would have. And Blaise was right, a woman would have been easier, in close quarters with Salima and her mother.

“See how it goes and keep me posted,” Eric said, sounding concerned. He was wondering if he should say something to Blaise. He didn’t want Simon to quit, or just walk off the job, but he knew Simon wouldn’t do that, he was tenacious, and brilliant at what he did. Eric knew that if anyone could turn it around, he could. But they clearly didn’t appreciate his skills. He was the best teacher Eric had. He was a natural problem solver and creative thinker.

“Don’t worry, we’ll make it work,” Simon said, trying to sound hopeful, but he wasn’t. And the day got off to a bad start when Salima woke up and found her way into the kitchen, and she gave a start when Simon said good morning. She acted as though she didn’t expect him to be there.

“Did you sleep okay?” He tried to sound more casual than he felt. She looked ravaged, and was still in deep grief over Abby.

“Yeah, I guess,” she said, slumped at the kitchen table.

“What would you like for breakfast?” he asked cheerfully, ready to make her anything she wanted. He was a great short-order chef, but she had no reason to know it.

“Poison,” she said glumly, staring into space, and not looking in his direction. With his students, he always made them look in the direction of the person speaking. It was a good habit to get into, even if they couldn’t see them. But he said nothing to her. It was too soon.

“Sorry. I’m fresh out. No poison today. How about bacon and eggs? Or whole wheat pancakes?”

“Abby always made me special waffles. But we don’t have a waffle iron here. My mother doesn’t believe in keeping fattening foods in the house, and she always wants me on a diet for my weight and diabetes,” Salima said unhappily. Simon was aware that Blaise was very slim, but Salima wasn’t much bigger. And he was well aware of the diet Salima needed to follow for her diabetes.

“I can buy a waffle iron today and keep it in my room.” Maybe under the bed or in my closet, or on my head, he thought to himself. Salima looked in his direction then and smiled.

“She’ll get mad if she finds out,” Salima warned him.

“Then don’t tell her.” He was trying to find a way to ally with Salima, and if a waffle iron would do it, he was willing to risk her mother’s ire. “What are we going to do today? After breakfast.” He wanted to get some food into her first. She looked depressed, and he thought food might help.

“I just want to stay here.” She seemed lifeless as she said it.

“I have some errands to do, and I need your help. I don’t know the neighborhood, and I haven’t been to New York in a year.” She didn’t
look enthused at the prospect. “Which reminds me, I need a bunch of phone numbers, and things off the Internet. I’d like you to get them for me on your computer.” It was a way to get her involved.

“Can’t you do that yourself? I’m not your secretary,” she said tartly. He didn’t respond or react.

“I need some new CDs too. I forgot all of mine at school.” It wasn’t true, but he wanted to buy music with her and see what she liked.

As he chatted with her, he scrambled some eggs, cooked two slices of bacon, made some toast, and set it down in front of her. She could smell it cooking, and she looked unimpressed when he put a fork in her hand.

“Eat, get dressed. Then we’ll go out.” She didn’t thank him for breakfast, but as she started to eat, he could see from the look on her face that she liked it. She really was a child.