Mother, you drink the poppy like water,
But it does little to dampen your thirst.
Eternally unsatiated, you fall quickly asleep
While the opium does your body and soul curse.
Taylor
On Monday Taylor arrives early to work, like a real Bostonian. In the back alley, she sees what she assumes is another construction van for the Knox, but as she reads the lettering printed on its side—Med-Ox—she realizes she’s mistaken. This is a medical equipment van and must be for one of the adjacent neighbors. It’s a good reality check; noteverythingin Beacon Hill is Knox-related.
Taylor lets herself in through the back entrance and slips into that terrible dark hall. This is what they should really be renovating, she thinks. She’s hurrying so quickly she nearly collides with Rose, who enters from the connecting basement space.
“Careful!” Rose snaps, as liquid sloshes from the pair of tea mugs she’s holding.
“Sorry!”
Rose scowls as she looks down at her now-wet khakis. “I’ll have to change my pants.”
“I’m really sorry,” Taylor offers again.
Rose simply shakes her head. She transfers both mugs to one hand so she can swing the door open with the other anddisappears back into the basement. She must also live next door, in the servants’ quarters, Taylor realizes. Of course.
Taylor continues down the hall, now at a much slower pace. When she spills out into the main space, she’s surprised to find everything back in place. The renovation of the basement room has apparently wrapped up. That was the quickest turnaround ever. She knows a thing or two about construction from the boys back home, and this, perhaps even more than the fancy crystal chandeliers, makes her realize how damn resourceful the Knox is.
In the kitchen, Taylor finds the coffeepot nearly empty. As she brews a new batch, she straightens her skirt—a black Zara knee-length purchase that hugs her curves just the perfect amount—and reapplies her lip gloss.
“Hey,” a man’s voice drawls from behind, startling her. “There you are.”
There’s a man in a cream silk robe grinning widely at her. His long, dirty-blond hair is pulled into a low ponytail; his eyes are bloodshot. The tops of his shoulders, angled and skinny, protrude like two doorknobs.
“Hi,” she says.
“Hey.” He continues to smile at her.
Does she know him? Or is she supposed to? The coffee machine grinds to a stop, and the aroma of the freshly brewed pot hangs in the air like a question. “Uh, you want some coffee?” she asks.
“Yeah, I do. That would beamazing.Thanks.” He runs his hands through his hair, revealing an elaborate dragon tattoo on one of his forearms. It kind of reminds her of that Chinese dragon water statue in the courtyard.
She wasn’t asking if she could fetch this man a coffee; she was simply trying to work out why he was standing there. But now,she pours some in a mug and asks the usual, because why not: “Do you take milk or sugar?”
“It’s such a good question. Do you?”
“Sometimes.”
“What does that mean, sometimes?”
“It means, if there’s milk and sugar available, then yes, I add it. But if it’s not, then I’ll still drink. Black, even, if I need to.”
“Iloveit,” he breathes, like she’s said the most amazing thing ever. His eyes are two black Saturns, a thin rim of surrounding blue. “What are you going to do now? Like, what if the milk and sugar are across the room? Does it have to be right next to the coffeepot for you to use it? Is there a spatial cutoff point of no return?”
Is he flirting with her, or just high as a kite? She shifts her weight from one foot to the next. She doesn’t find him attractive in the slightest, but he’s clearly some sort of member who’s just spent the night, and for that reason she has to tread carefully. “I’m just gonna go with black today,” she says, after a pause.
“Ah, I’ll do that, too, then. Well, cheers,” he says, lifting his mug.
She quickly pours herself a cup and holds it up.
“Cheers.”
