Chapter 13: Dell
By midafternoon, we’re back home surrounded by an outrageous amount of stuff.
Arianna goes through my spare bedrooms, finally choosing the most neutral one for the baby. It’s pale green and light brown and has a bathroom that connects to another spare bedroom, which can be for the nanny. Nobody has to be traumatized by the African masks.
Bernard helps us shove all the gear into the room. I open the baby swing first, connecting the base to the stand and attaching the accessories.
When Grace lies in it the first time, her face bright and happy as she reaches for the light-up toys, I get a sense of satisfaction that is unfamiliar.
I think about this. I’ve done much bigger, more important things. Acquired sinking companies and made them profitable. Built an empire of investment start-ups. I even snatched a clever little animation firm right from the clutches of Pixar, just because I could.
But pleasing this child provides a pleasure from an entirely different space. It’s curious, and somewhat unsettling.
Arianna sits on the floor and unpackages the clothes to be washed. Bernard has already called in help to clear all the debris and prep everything. The housekeeper, a bright Scottish lady in her sixties, is here, as well as the woman who does the shopping, a tall energetic brunette in her forties.
Grace’s presence has changed the demeanor of pretty much everyone in my employ. Before today, the few times I’ve crossed paths with the housecleaner or the shopper, they’ve been formal and serious.
Now they cluck over the baby, kneeling down to make faces and silly noises. The housecleaner holds up all the little outfits as she prepares to launder them.
“How long until the first nanny arrives?” I ask Arianna.
She glances at her phone. “Ten minutes.”
The room is mostly clear of boxes and trash. I want it all to look good for the nanny, like this won’t be a difficult gig. I need one of them to step in immediately.
“How many are coming?”
Arianna frowns. “There were three, but one asked to reschedule until tomorrow. So two.”
“I guess keep the third in case I can’t handle the one I choose by morning,” I say.
“You probably want to give her more of a chance than that,” Arianna says. “She’ll be settling in, trying to figure out a routine. Things might not go smoothly.”
“No,” I insist. “I’m very good at learning people. Like that Penelope woman you have. She’s good. But when someone is not going to work out well, if they are not confident and communicate clearly, you know that within minutes.”
“I disagree,” she says, her expression set. “I have a few employees who blossomed over time. Take Maria. She started out in housekeeping, did great, and moved up to organization. Now she’s in the baby room.”
“It doesn’t matter if they clean floors or buy airlines, it’s all in that first impression.” I believe this completely. It’s never steered me wrong.
Arianna won’t let it go. “I think there is an entire subset of people who don’t interview well, and relating to someone in a position of power doesn’t come easy. But they are still great to have on your team.”
The housecleaner and shopper make their excuses and leave the room. We’ve obviously spooked them with our argument.
“You’re wrong about that,” I tell her. “If a skill is critical, like interviewing, you learn it. You master it. If you don’t, then you’re not going to succeed.”
Arianna picks up the little bucket of baby shampoo and washing items near her feet. “You do what works for you, Mr. Brant,” she says. “I’ll do what works for me.”
And she disappears into the bathroom.
I look over at Grace in the swing. She’s still awake, but her eyes are heavy.
“That’s why your friend here is stuck with a single business that she has to micromanage,” I tell the baby. “She can’t confidently delegate to her substandard workers.”
“I heard that!” Arianna calls out.
Grace’s eyes snap open.
“You woke the baby!” I shout back.
“You started it!” she says.
Bernard appears in the door frame. “Sir, a Helen Montgomery is here to see you.”
“Send her in,” I say. “Let’s see how she reacts to the baby.”
When Bernard steps aside, I realize she was right behind him and probably heard the entire exchange between Arianna and me.
I jump up from the floor. “Hello, Ms. Montgomery. Welcome.”
The girl is barely twenty, wisp thin, with blond hair down her back. She wears a pair of jeans and a striped shirt.
Not generally interview gear, but maybe she was already in the city when she got the call. I decide to overlook it.
We shake hands. Her grip is light, just the fingertips. I let this go as well. This is not a business transaction.
“Nice to meet you…” she trails off.
I realize she still doesn’t know my name. This is for the best. I don’t fill it in. No use having her spread gossip if she isn’t hired.
“Nice to meet you as well,” I say.
She spots the baby and makes a small ooooh sound. She kneels beside the swing to touch a white socked foot. “Such a pretty dress,” she says.
“Thank you,” I say. “So what work have you done with children?”
“Are you the father?” she asks.
I do not have an answer for that. Thankfully, Arianna saves me.
“Helen?” she says, stepping from the bathroom. “I’m Arianna Hart, owner of Del Gato Child Spa. My assistant Taylor contacted you.”
The girl seems relieved to see Arianna. “Yes. Thank you. I’ve subbed for you a few times. In the preschool. I’m getting my degree in early childhood education.”
“Wonderful,” she says, taking a seat on the bench again. “Has your experience working with children been a good one?”
“Oh yes,” she says. “I have six brothers and sisters. I’m the oldest.” She rolls her eyes and flutters her hands. “So it was like job training from when I was old enough to hold a baby.”
I sit back. It’s interesting to watch Arianna take charge.
“Is that what motivated you to seek an early childhood degree?” she asks the girl.
“Sure,” Helen says, turning to look back at the baby. “It’s what I know best.”
Now a sense of annoyance rises in me. “Don’t you want to branch out?” I cut in. “See what else is out there? There’s more to life than spit-up and diapers.”
Both women look up. I’m towering over them, arms crossed, like a damn prison warden.
Arianna looks like she wants to ask me to leave, but technically, this is my interview.
“Oh, I agree,” Helen says. “But this is a good place to start.”
“Where can you go from here?” I ask. “Run a kiddie spa like Arianna here?”
Arianna stands up from the bench. “Mr. Brant has this interview under control.” She leans down to shake Helen’s hand. “Good luck.”
And she storms through the door without a backward glance at me.
Well, damn. “For the record,” I say to Helen as I also head for the door, “I didn’t say it was a bad thing. It was just a question.”
I take off down the hall, catching up with Arianna near the front door. “I didn’t mean that as an insult,” I say.
“Oh, really?” she shoots back. “Is my ‘kiddie spa’ too low a net worth for you? Are the only important people in your world the ones who are arrogant, rich, and total jerks?” She jabs my chest with each of the last few words.
I take her arm and pull her across the living room and into the study to avoid the sound carrying down the hall. “Arianna, you’re saving my skin today. I would not insult you.”
“You just did!”
Her color is high, cheeks flushed pink. I wonder if this is what she looks like after an orgasm. I have to shove that thought in a box to get it out of the way.
“All right. Then I apologize. I’m not used to being surrounded by people like you.”
“Oh my God,” she says. “People like me. Underlings. Lower class. Working Joes.” She turns to leave the study, then stops and whirls around. “I’ll have you know I vacation in the Hamptons! I went to Brown! And my family has a building named after it too!”
“Arianna, wait.” I reach out to her again. I’m totally captivated by this version of her. Strong. Unyielding. Mad. And I had no idea she had a background like that, although it makes sense now. The classic look. The confidence. Instilled by her parents, no doubt.
She lets out a long breath. “You’re in good hands. I think you see that the Helen girl is fine. So you’re all set!”
“She’s in school, Arianna. What do I do with the baby during classes?”
“Maybe she’s taking a break. Maybe it’s online. Ask her. It’s an interview.” Arianna reaches for the study door, and this time she opens it.
“Good luck,” she says over her shoulder. “I hope the answer you get on Monday is what you’re looking for.”
She storms through the living room, picking up her bag as she passes the sofa. Bernard is waiting by the door. He bows a little as Arianna passes.
When he closes it again, he says, “Well, that’s done, sir. Now what are you going to do?”
“I’m probably going to hire that girl in there. Can you keep her entertained while I interview the next one? I don’t want to let her out of my sight, really.”
I sink on the sofa. At least I have someone here. She’s probably still sitting by Grace, cooing her silly noises. For the first time today, I can totally relax. I prefer employees, people I pay. Not those doing favors who tend to argue and do as they like.
Bernard pinches his lips in an unhappy line. “That is unfortunately not possible,” he says.
“Why?” My body rushes cold.
“She left. Said she didn’t get a ‘good vibe’ but to thank you for the opportunity.”
“Shit.” I leap from the sofa and barrel to the door, praying Arianna is still at the elevator. Or Helen. I can buy her out. Pay for her college. She’ll stay.
But the hall is empty. Both are gone.
Damn.
Stupid penthouse. I’d run down the stairs but no way I’d catch them. It’s forty floors.
I don’t have Helen’s number. But I know where Arianna is.
“Um, sir?” It’s Bernard standing by the door.
“Yes, Bernard?”
“I think you are forgetting something.”
“What?”
“The child. It is wailing.”
“Can’t the shopping woman do something? They were all fawning over her earlier.”
“She isn’t here. Wanted to get some dishwasher insert for the bottles.”
“What about that housecleaner?”
“Went with her. Wanted to get some special detergent for the baby’s clothes.”
I glance over at the elevator. It’s down around the sixth floor. Why doesn’t this damn penthouse have a dedicated elevator?
“Can’t you watch her just for a minute? I’m trying to save our skin.”
Bernard stands a little straighter. “It’s not in my contract, sir. You know that.”
Shit.
I reluctantly head back into the penthouse. I can only hope the second nanny shows and she’s a winner.