As far as Emma was concerned, it was a done deal.
After spending two hours with four-year-old Meredith and two-year-old
Mallory, she wanted the job. Taking care of those two adorable, motherless
children would be a job made in heaven.
"Call me later this afternoon and I’ll give you their father’s
name and address," John McCurdy had said as he’d settled the
girls in his car for the drive back home. The four of them had spent
two hours in City Park riding the carousel, watching the ducks wade
in the lagoon, and eating chocolate-swirl ice cream cones. It had been
love at first sight between Emma and the children.
It was fine with her.
Emma plucked a pencil from the plastic cup decorated with scenes of
last year’s Mardi Gras, and hastily scribbled the meeting date,
Sunday, January 2, while her caller continued.
"His name is Sam Stone. He’s presently head of the Department
of Anesthesiology at City General."
John--he’d insisted before they parted yesterday that she address
him informally--was on the phone now, asking if the following Sunday
afternoon was a good time for her to meet the children’s father.
She wrote Dr. Stone, Sam, anesthesiologist, next to the date,
followed by two p.m., which John suggested, and she quickly accepted.
"There’s still that one condition of employment Dr. Stone
will discuss with you in person before the job is yours," he reminded
her.
No problem there.
Certainly, the yet to be revealed job responsibility couldn’t
be that difficult or distasteful. And it certainly couldn’t be
illegal.
John McCurdy had picked up the tab for a lawyer to act in her behalf
to check out his client’s background. A confidential agreement
between both counsels had allowed her lawyer to conduct the check without
divulging the client’s identity to her. She had been assured by
her lawyer that her prospective employer’s character and reputation
were above reproach.
"I’ll call a day or so before the meeting, just to confirm
it," John said, signalling an end to the conversation.
He could save himself the trouble. It wasn’t likely she’d
forget. Smiling, Emma hung up the phone, walked into the living room
and opened the middle drawer of the desk that had seen more than its
share of late night studying these past ten years.
She riffled through the contents of the drawer until she found the
newspaper clipping. Even now, weeks after she had answered the ad, it
still seemed like a dream. She read the ad again, even though it was
already committed to memory.
Widower, well respected in the community, seeks refined, educated
young woman to care for two pre-schoolers for a minimum of two years.
One year international travel mandatory. Luxurious home, full room and
board, generous monthly wage, five-and-a-half day work week. Valid driver’s
license required. Specific duties to be discussed at personal interview.
Twenty-five thousand dollar bonus at end of completed two-year contract.
Twenty-five thousand dollars. And a year of travelling abroad to boot.
It still made her head spin.
Emma re-folded the piece of paper and slipped it back into the drawer.
All that was left now was for her to meet the illustrious Dr. Sam Stone.
According to John, the Stones were one of the oldest and wealthiest
families in New Orleans. Old money, old name. Aristocratic, he
had called them. And Sam Stone, John had assured her, was the most genteel
of them all.
Working for a wealthy socialite was not a job she would have sought
on her own, having heard too many stories about the snobbery of the
blue-bloods who lived on St. Charles Avenue. But after losing her heart
to the children, she was willing to take a chance on their father. After
she met him, she might feel differently. Until then, she would be guardedly
optimistic.
She was in no position to pass up an opportunity for a good job and
a place to live. Not when she would soon be out of a job and her apartment
building was being converted into condominiums that she couldn’t
afford. If she got this job, she would bend over backwards to please
her new employer in spite of his social standing.
As far as she was concerned, unless Dr. Stone kicked dogs and swung
cats by their tails, she would forgive his being born with a silver
spoon in his mouth.
She might even try to like him.