Reed’s handsome face breaks into a wide smile at my implicit acceptance of his invitation. Beaming a huge smile at me, he says, “Georgie, I just realized your bag isn’t nearly big enough to hold everything you’ll need this summer. I know you need a bathing suit. Probably some more workout gear. What else do you need?”
I’m buzzing. Tingling. Breathless. “No, no. I’m fine. If I need anything, there’s a Target?—”
“No, no, I insist. Amalia, do me a favor and give Georgie the house credit card for a shopping spree. Also, let’s make her feel at home. Stock up on her favorite snacks and toiletries.”
“Of course.”
“Reed, I truly don’t need anything.”
“Georgina. You’re staying for the summer. Not a week or a month. You need to feel completely at home. Which means we’re going to make sure you have whatever your little heart desires.” He winks. “Whether you like it or not.”
37
GEORGINA
Reed heads to his home office to make a few calls before it’s time to leave for his attorney’s office, so I hang back in the kitchen to help Amalia clean up from breakfast. In part, because I genuinely want to be helpful. Reed and I made the mess, after all, and I’d be embarrassed to leave it for someone else to deal with. But, also, because I’m dying to talk to Amalia about Reed. What was Reed like as a little boy? What is he like as an adult boss? And, also, what can Amalia tell me about Reed’s relationship with his mother? I can’t yet envision all the themes of my eventual article, but Reed’s lovely relationship with his mother brings a whole new depth to him that people never see, and I’m thinking maybe I’ll use it as a touchstone in my article... if, indeed, it’s everything Reed said it was. I was probably imagining it, but I thought I noticed a strange tightness in Reed’s demeanor, just for a moment, when he was telling me about his mother’s happy life in Scarsdale last night. And I’m curious to know if Amalia might be able to shed any light on the topic for me.
Amalia and I are standing side by side at the sink. She’s the washer in yellow rubber gloves. I’m the dryer, holding a towel.
“When we’re done here, how about we make your list?” Amalia says, her tone as warm and maternal as her body language.
“I’m sorry... My list?”
She hands me a cutting board to dry. “The list of whatever you’d like to have in the house during your stay. Your favorite foods and snacks and toiletries. Like Reed said.”
“Oh, that.” I wave at the air. “Thank you so much, but I don’t need anything.”
Amalia smiles like I’ve said something amusing. “Reed was very clear. He won’t accept ‘Georgina said she doesn’t need anything’ as an answer from me, I’m afraid.”
I protest. She insists. So, I say, “How about you do for me whatever stuff you normally do in situations like this?”
She looks at me blankly. “In situations like what?”
I take the pan Amalia hands me. “You know, whenever Reed has a house guest for an extended period. He mentioned he sometimes invites bands to stay here for weeks, even months, at a time, right?”
“Well, yes. But he’s never once asked me to roll out the red carpet for a band the way he did for you. Quite the opposite.” She chuckles. “When it comes to musicians staying here, Reed pretty much always says, ‘They’ll take what I give them and like it.’”
I chuckle with her. “That sounds like him.”
“Yes, it does. Which makes what he said about you all the more remarkable.” She stops scrubbing the plate in her hand and looks at me. “Honestly, this is uncharted territory for me. Reed has never once asked a woman to stay here with him for an extended period. And he’s certainly never asked me to roll out the red carpet for one.”
My lips part in surprise.
“Oh, goodness. I hope I’m not out of line telling you that,” Amalia says.
“No. Not at all.” My heart resumes beating again. “Thank you for telling me. It’s a wonderful thing to know.”
“You’ve obviously made quite an impression on him.” She flashes a sweet smile. “And I can certainly see why.”
Color rises in my cheeks. “Thank you. Reed has made quite an impression on me, too.”
Amalia clearly likes that answer. Smiling, she resumes her work at the sink. “What do you do, Georgina? Are you in the entertainment industry? An actress or model?”
“Oh, no. I’m journalist.” My soul swells with pride to be able to say that sentence. “I write forRock ‘n’ Roll.The magazine about music?”
“Yes, I know it. How wonderful.”
“I’m working hard to get onto the writing staff of this other magazine owned by the same company, a publication devoted to in-depth interviews and investigative journalism.”
