Friends with Benefits (6 page)

Esme shuddered. Thank God for birth control. If she got pregnant . . . She'd handled a lot in her life but that would be too much. Of all the awful things about it, the worst would be that she wouldn't know if the baby was Junior's or Jonathan's. God, how had she turned into the kind of girl who wouldn't know who the father of her baby was? Her eyes slid again to Junior, who had gone into the back of the ambulance to prepare for their call and was just now returning to his seat. He deserved better than her.

Possum turned into an alley that Esme hadn't even seen. “On the right, up there,
esa,
” Junior told Possum, hitching a thumb to the right.

A little girl stood on the small patch of dirt in front of a stucco house that had probably once been white. The heavy black bars over the windows and the front door were ornately filigreed, as if that would fool people into thinking they were there to make the house look good and not to keep the junkies out. The girl saw the ambulance and waved for it to stop. When she jumped up and down her long, inky braids jumped with her.

“¡Mi hermana, mi hermana!¡ El bebé viene!”
she yelled, lower lip trembling.

Junior was out of the ambulance in a flash.
“No te preocupes,
todo será bueno,” he assured her. “¿Donde está ella?¿Y cómo
se llama?”

“En su cuarto, en la casa. Se llama Esmeralda.”

Possum and Junior got the gurney from the back of the ambulance and the girl led them inside. Esme waited by the ambulance. Some teen girls eyed Esme as they sashayed by with their we're-all-that struts; too much eye makeup, lips outlined in dark pencil and filled in with light lipstick, long hair hot-rollered to fall in waves over their shoulders; tricked out in short, frilly skirts that twitched this way and that at each stiletto-heeled footfall.

Looking at them, Esme felt disdain. They were such fools. Then her chest tightened. Was she really so different from those girls? What right did she have to feel superior? None. None at all.

For such a tiny girl, Esmeralda the pregnant fourteen-year-old had a big set of lungs. She screamed and cried for her mother and her savior, and cursed her boyfriend as Junior and Possum wheeled her into the rear of the ambulance. Her long, naturally dark hair had been bleached an unnatural brassy blond. Esme noticed an inch of black roots.

A hard-faced skinny woman with rollers in her hair and a cigarette seemingly glued to her lower lip came out of the bungalow next door. Junior asked if she knew where the girl's mother was. The woman explained that the mother worked nights and never got home until morning, and that was only if she didn't put in overtime. The baby's father? The woman just shrugged and sucked on her cigarette.

They got back in the ambulance—Junior let the younger sister ride in front with Possum. He and Esme stayed in the back, talking to the pregnant girl, calming her during her contractions, checking her vitals, stroking her hair, assuring her that everything would be fine.

Esme knew that Junior was a sucker for kids. She knew he'd be an outstanding father. The knot in her stomach was shame over her own behavior.

They took the girl to County General because no way did she have insurance, and the city hospital at USC wouldn't give her a hassle. Once they wheeled Esmeralda inside, Junior let Possum handle the paperwork while he joined Esme back in the ambulance.

“How is she?” Esme asked.

“If it's a girl she's naming her Jessica,” he reported. “Her boyfriend says he loves Jessica Simpson, that she's the most beautiful girl in the world.”

“That's why Esmeralda bleached her hair blond, I bet,” Esme said bitterly. “To look more like Jessica.”

“Ain't nothing wrong with trying to please your man.”

Esme lifted her heavy hair off her neck; it was a hot night. “Too bad she can't bleach her skin for him too, eh?”

Junior's dark eyes fixed on her. “Why you come out with me tonight?”

Esme shrugged. “I thought it would be fun. We never get to see each other anymore.”

He reached for the bottle of water that he always kept under his seat, uncapped it, and took a long drink. “Everything's different now. You know that.”

“I'm so sick of that, you say it every time you speak to me,” she replied crossly.

He held the water bottle out to her; she shook her head. “So maybe you don't want me to speak to you, eh? If that's it, Esme, you just gotta say the word.”

She threw her head back against the hot headrest. “Stop putting words in my mouth.”

“Then stop acting like a little bitch,” he shot back. “You want to be with me, you treat me with respect,
chica.
”

She didn't reply. He was right. She was treating him horribly, all because of her own guilt.

“Lo siento, tengo la culpa.
It's my fault. I'm just tired,” she fibbed, then leaned over and kissed him. “Mrs. Goldhagen is making me insane with all the plans for this big fancy party she's giving on the
Queen Mary.
”

“You going?” Junior asked. His tone was offhand, but Esme knew him; it was not an offhand question.

“I gotta go. I have to take the girls.”

Possum lumbered out of the emergency exit and climbed back into the driver's seat. “Chow time,
esa.
” He pulled the ambulance away from the hospital and headed down Marengo toward a taco stand at the corner of Daly and Alhambra where he and Junior always ate in the middle of a shift.

Junior looked straight ahead, as if Esme wasn't even there. She couldn't figure out what was going on with him. He couldn't possibly have wanted her to invite him to the FAB party? No, that made no sense. This was Junior. He wanted nothing to do with that world—he didn't fit in there and never would. He knew who he was and wouldn't try to pretend different. She loved and respected that about him.

“I'm just the hired help,” she added aloud to him, as if he had challenged her.

His glance at her was cryptic. It was almost as if he could see inside her mind, to the images of a smiling, rich gringo boy who sent shivers down her spine.

Damn Jonathan, anyway.

9

TODAY'S SCHEDULE FOR MARTINA AND JIMMY

(Lydia—do not adjust schedule without checking with me— Anya)

6:30—Wake children. Shower, dress. Apply SPF 30 sunblock to all exposed skin.

6:45—Power walk around property. Make sure children wear proper shoes.

7:00—Breakfast. Soy granola, banana for Jimmy, berries for Martina, soy milk.

7:30—Read front section of Los Angeles Times. Quiz children on current events.

8:30—Math on computer. Please supervise.

10:30—LEAP Center in Northridge. Do not be late.

12:00—Lunch at Center. No sweets, fried food, or milk
products. See Martina's menu.

12:30—Socializing. Please supervise. See separate schedule.

2:30—Tennis lesson for Jimmy, aerobic dance for Martina.
Make sure she does full hour, no slacking off.

Lydia pulled the neatly typed schedule off the bulletin board just outside the moms' kitchen and shook her head, then shoved it into the back pocket of her cutoffs. Of all the lipstick lesbians on the planet, why did Aunt Kat have to marry the one who channeled a five-star general in the Russian army?

Lydia stepped into the kitchen itself, a state-of-the-art facility with stainless steel everything and a mosaic tile floor. The moms' young, hippie-ish nutritionist, Alfre, was already at work, dropping fresh fruits and vegetables into the Vita-Mix Turbo blender. Lydia knew from experience that eight ounces of protein powder would soon join the mix. Alfre concocted sixty-four ounces of power drink daily; it was kept in the refrigerator for the kids and consumed instead of Dr Pepper or Coke. Anya expected the drink container to be empty by the time the children went to sleep. Usually Lydia ended up dumping most of the contents down the disposal just to keep Anya happy.

“Morning,” Alfre called cheerfully. She was a slender young woman in pristine white yoga pants and a T-shirt, so constantly serene that Lydia couldn't imagine her having actual bodily functions.

Lydia sort of grunted and poured herself some coffee. It was far too early for conversation. She wouldn't even be in the kitchen except that she was too lazy to fix coffee in her guesthouse. It was enough that every morning in the rain forest it had been her responsibility to go to the river for water, and trap a turtle if they wanted protein for lunch. Lydia figured she had extra do-gooder points stored up. Her experience in the rain forest might have built character, but it also made early morning her least favorite time of day, unless of course she happened to still be up from the night before. That the previous night hadn't concluded the way she had hoped didn't faze her in the least. One of the lessons she'd learned from turtle trapping was the virtue of patience.

As she slurped the moms' preferred French roast coffee with a touch of cinnamon and plopped down at the kitchen table, she mused on the day ahead. She hadn't heard from Nina, though she'd left two additional messages. She knew she needed an alternate game plan.

The day before at the club, and then on an afternoon window-shopping expedition to the Beverly Center, she'd chatted up every girl in sight who looked remotely possible as nanny material. A cute girl from Barbados named Marie seemed promising until she shared that she was about to elope with her still-married boyfriend. A chubby girl in diaphanous purple named Chandra said she'd have to consult with her guru, her astrologist, and her numerologist before discussing a possible job. A girl Lydia met in the Beverly Center restroom—Lydia never did get her name—seemed sane and perky, two good qualities for a nanny, until she lifted her lavender silk Lanvin jersey and chiffon feathered T-shirt to demonstrate how she could make her breasts twirl in opposite directions at the same time. She proudly explained that she'd learned the skill dancing at the Spearmint Rhino in Van Nuys.

Crap. Lydia took another long sip of coffee. She had to find her savior quickly, or her get-rich-again-quick scheme was doomed.

“Can I get you something else?” Alfre asked, as she did every morning. Of course, in this case, “everything” meant disgusting crap like whipped beet and carrot juice. Compared to that, roasted grubs were appetizing.

“No thanks,” Lydia replied. She checked the aquamarine quartz wall clock—6:25 a.m. She had to wake the kids in five minutes. They would moan and groan and want to sleep in. Lydia would have been happy to let them, but Anya—who clearly wore the pants in the family, especially compared to easy-going Aunt Kat—had a preternatural ability to ferret information out of the household staff. Lydia had learned this her second week on the job, when one of the maids reported that Lydia had allowed the kids to eat Cracker Jack while watching a rented horror movie. Anya had practically burst a blood vessel, she'd been so angry. Kat had taken her niece aside to explain that she didn't want discord in her home; Lydia had to follow Anya's instructions as if they were her own. If Lydia couldn't do that . . .

The implication was clear. She could go right back to the Amazon. Lydia shuddered at that prospect. Maybe down the road, when her nanny agency business took off, she could risk losing this gig. But until then, this was Anya's gulag, and the rest of them just lived in it. It meant that Lydia would have to cheat with care.

Speaking of. “Where's Anya?” Lydia asked, knowing that Kat was in New York for a production meeting about Wimbledon. Once that championship was under way in a week or so, Lydia would be alone with Anya and the kids for almost two weeks— not Lydia's notion of a good time.

“Out for a run with Oksana. You know, the Russian tennis player she's training? They're doing ten miles this morning. Did you hear? She's seeded fourteenth for Wimbledon.”

That was nice. Oksana had befriended Lydia when she'd first arrived in L.A. Of course, she'd wanted to be more than friends, but Lydia found that bisexuality didn't really speak to her. Now she went to the fridge and rummaged: soy milk, protein powder, fruit, vegetables, and fresh fish. She knew the freezer wouldn't look any better. Was the occasional pint of Ben & Jerry's too much to ask for? In the cheese compartment, though, she was pleasantly surprised to discover a thick wedge of brie. She broke off half and munched on it as if it was an apple, knowing she had to finish before she woke the kids. Supposedly they were both lactose intolerant. Of course, Lydia had snuck them both milk products many times and neither had gotten the least bit sick. Breaking this news to Anya, however, would be the height of folly.

Time to wake up the kids. Lydia went to Martina's room first, since the girl was a notoriously heavy sleeper. Her room was young and girly, with tea-party toile wallpaper, thick pink carpeting, and an enormous array of stuffed animals. As Lydia watched Martina sleep from the doorway, she imagined Anya tearing down the wallpaper, burning the stuffed animals, and putting up posters of Amelie Mauresmo and Maria Sharapova.

Martina had just finished fourth grade but from the neck down was already fifteen. Of course, she made sure that people rarely saw her from the neck down, hiding her very developed breasts and rolls of baby fat under oversized sweatshirts. Her posture didn't help, either; shoulders caved in, bowed head hiding a pretty face behind lank brown hair.

Yesterday, an edict had come down from the moms . . . well, from Anya. Martina needed to drop twenty pounds, pronto. Anya handed Alfre and Lydia what she called a “healthy weight loss” regimen that included daily private aerobics, Tae Bo classes in their home gym, and a portion-controlled, low-carb, sugar-free meal plan.

Lydia wished she could tell the moms what a truly terrible idea this was for a fourth grader. One thing that had really struck home on her return to so-called civilization was how skinny the girls were in Los Angeles. What looked good in magazines looked kind of scary in real life. Her Amazonia friends ranged in size and shape from very skinny to very chubby. Girls were encouraged to eat, to be strong. One never knew when you'd have to skip a meal or two or three, when a pounding rainstorm ruined the fishing or the squirrel monkeys were too busy copulating to cooperate in the hunt.

“Wake up, sweet pea,” Lydia said softly, then opened the pink and white color-block shades. Martina's room faced east; bright sunlight flooded the bedroom.

Martina groaned and turned over, burrowing into the pillow.

“I'll be back.” Lydia left her to awaken Jimmy. He'd just finished sixth grade and was a good three inches shorter than his sister. Anya had recently decreed that he get a buzz cut for the summer, which made his face look rounder and his skin pastier. By his own choice, his room was strangely institutional, free of personality. Plain white walls; bare wood floor; a simple wooden desk, chair, and dresser; a single bed with one woolen summer camp–style blanket.

Lydia sighed as she looked at him. These kids had no apparent friends. They enjoyed no particular activities other than eating, and then only when Lydia snuck them something that actually tasted good. How could they possibly be her cousins? They might as well have BIG LOSER tattooed on their foreheads. Still, this could change, Lydia was sure of it. It was just a matter of finding the one thing that rang
their
chimes instead of the moms' chimes. She was sure she was just the woman to do it.

The road to find that one thing could be a really long one.

Four and a half hours later, Lydia stood in the spartan waiting room at the LEAP (Creative Leap Educational Activity and Play) Center in Northridge, out in the farthest reaches of the San Fernando Valley, and peered through the glass. Inside, Martina and Jimmy attempted to scale a climbing wall under the watchful tutelage of a young climbing instructor. The idea was for them to build confidence and strength at the same time. There were eight or ten kids at the wall, each with an expectant parent in the waiting room or standing at the glass.

Getting the kids ready to climb had been an ordeal. If not for the climbing instructor—a Cal State–Northridge phys ed major named Krissy whose clingy LEAP T-shirt revealed a pair of consistently perky nipples—Lydia doubted that Jimmy would have even put on his climbing safety harness. As for Martina, she got into her harness just fine, but each halfhearted attempt at climbing required a fifteen-minute pep talk from Krissy.

Since Krissy was in the midst of one of these pep talks, Lydia turned away from the glass window and went to the modest snack bar, where she selected a bottle of strawberry-mango juice from the fridge and brought it to the cashier.

“Wow, nice bag,” the cashier commented as she put Lydia's money in the register and handed over her change. “It's a Fendi limited edition, right? How'd you score it?”

“Friends in high places,” Lydia joked. She'd taken the bag from Kat's closet right before leaving for LEAP. The cashier grinned. She was fresh-faced and apple-cheeked, with glossy blond hair held back neatly by a tartan-print headband. She wore a white T-shirt with the LEAP logo and carpenter khakis. Everything about her screamed
Healthy! Normal!

Lydia made a snap judgment. Definite nanny material.

“So, what's your name?” she asked casually as she cracked open her juice.

“Alexis. You?”

“Lydia. Nice to meet you.” Lydia flashed her best Texas beauty queen smile and took a swig from the juice bottle. “You like working here, Alexis?”

“Yeah, sure. The people are nice. We even have a softball team. Kicked the butt of Burbank Twenty-four-Hour Fitness.”

Lydia smiled as if she found this information captivating. But the last thing on her mind was fitness.

“Want anything to eat with your juice?” Alexis asked. “The menu is on the blackboard. We've got bean sprout and wild mushroom sandwiches, soy bars—”

“Oh, no thanks.” Lydia patted her stomach. “I filled up on trail mix before I got here.” This lie was rewarded with an approving nod from Alexis.

So far, so good. Lydia snuck a look over her shoulder. No one was in line—all the other mothers were gazing at their little darlings through the glass. Lydia leaned forward conspiratorially against the counter. “So, Alexis. I guess this job doesn't pay all that well.”

Alexis shrugged. “It's okay. Steady. I need to work my butt off all summer—the tuition for Santa Monica College just went up again.”

“What are you studying?”

“Early childhood education. I love kids.”

Pay dirt.

Lydia set her open bottle on the counter. “I happen to know of a fantastic job working with kids. I'm guessing it pays a whole lot better than here.”

“Huh.” Alexis cocked her head at Lydia with interest and lowered her voice. “What is it?”

Lydia reached into her purse and tore off the corner of Martina and Jimmy's schedule, then scribbled her name and number on it. “Call me. This is totally for real.”

Alexis held up the paper with a dubious look. “You don't even know me.”

“I'm
real
in tune with the universe,” Lydia said, careful to look as earnest as possible. “I have a strong vibe about you. So call me.”

“Okay. Thanks.” Still unconvinced, Alexis stuck the paper into her pocket.

Hmmm.
Time to change tactics. “I can tell that you're not going to call me.” Lydia shrugged. “Oh well. Your loss. See ya, Alexis. Have a pleasant life.”

As Lydia returned to the observation window, she saw Alexis take out the scrap of paper with Lydia's phone number and study it.

Dang. It was almost as easy as finding edible hellgrammites.