"Mostly poetry skills, but sometimes people come to me."
"People come to you?" I have no idea what she's talking about, and I regret asking her a question I don't really want to know the answer to.
"FDR, Mandela, and other notables. One time, Ernest Hemingway came to me and told me that Shakespeare considered me to be the greatest living poet." She closes her eyes and sways back and forth. "The bard made my day, he did." Her voice changes to a British accent, and I wonder if Amethyst is someone I will have a lot of contact with. I sure hope not. She’s batty.
"Well, I should be going. Today is my first day, and I don't want the Waverlys to think that I'm late or anything."
"Come on, dear. Let's go inside. Come on, Bear Gryllis, pee-pee time is done." The dog ignores her, and I watch as he runs down the driveway toward the gate. "Bear, come here," she calls out, but he doesn't stop. "Would you mind getting him?" she asks, rubbing the top of her thighs. "My legs don't move like they used to."
"Uh, sure." I start running down the driveway after the dog, questioning every life choice that got me here today. Maybe thisis my karma for acting like a fool last week, pretending I was in the FBI. I feel myself getting winded as I chase the mini goldendoodle, who seems to think this is some sort of game because he's not slowing down, even though he keeps glancing over his little shoulder to look at me.
"Bear," I call out loudly, and then stop suddenly because I see a half-naked man pushing a lawnmower. "Damn," I mutter under my breath as I admire the man's physique. I am trying really hard not to stare, but he doesn't have his shirt on, and even though he's over twenty feet away from me, I can see that he has the most muscular body I’ve seen in a long time. He's a TEN in all the right ways, and he has abs that go on for days. The man looks like a million dollars, though I can’t see his face well, as he has on a cap and dark sunglasses. I wonder if he's the gardener. I'm about to go over and introduce myself to him, even though he's not paying attention to me, when Bear comes running up to me and jumps on me.
"Hey, Bear," I say, trying not to scowl at the dog. Now he wants to come up to me? When I’ve finally got a reason to just stop and enjoy the view?
"Come along, dear. Come along. Let's get you inside," Amethyst calls, and I groan under my breath because right now, I would like to meet the hot guy in the yard and not what may be a bunch of weirdos inside the mansion.
I mean, I do have to admit that I'm excited to see what the home looks like, but I want to meet Mr. Hottie first. I’m long overdue for a meet and greet with a sexy man. It's not like I've never been in expensive houses, because Emma's family has the most expensive, grandiose house I've ever seen, but the Waverlys were next-level rich.
"I'm coming," I say, and I watch as Bear runs toward Amethyst, tail wagging, tongue hanging out. Bear is one of the happiest dogs I’ve ever seen in my life. Amethyst giggles like aschoolgirl as she picks up his wiggling body and waves me to come along. Her skirt and hair are swaying in the wind, and it suddenly hits me that this lady is living her life to the fullest, on her own terms. I can respect that. Even if she does appear to be slightly kooky.
I peek back at the man with a hopeful glance, though he doesn't appear to have seen me. He certainly didn’t spy me and think that he had to make my acquaintance before I got away. I’ve watched far too many Hallmark romance movies.
"Oh, well, if he works here, I'll get to meet him later," I mumble under my breath. I'll have to make sure that I remember to put on makeup and blow-dry my hair each morning, just in case I come in contact with him. I suddenly realize that I didn’t pack any makeup but lip gloss, and I have zero cute outfits. I need to rectify that immediately. Now that I know I will be working with a hot gardener, I have to step up my game. Even if nothing comes of it, at least I’ll be able to engage in some fun, flirty banter. I need something to get me out of my funk about Patrick.
"Thank you very much for running to get Bear. I do appreciate it." Amethyst’s voice is airy as we reach the front of the house. "What did you say your name was again? Tina?”
“It's Gina. Gina Spellman.”
“Gina, such a pretty name. Well, let's go inside." She walks ahead of me, and she sure is a sight to behold, with her colorful skirt blowing in the wind and the dog trying to scramble out of her arms. I follow her up the wide stone stairs. She walks slowly and carefully, with her head held high. "I cannot wait for you to hear my poetry. Did I tell you that Shakespeare?—”
“Yeah, you mentioned that he came to you in a dream and told you that you're the best poet on earth, or something like that."
"Well, not quite. Not the best poet on earth." She smiles and shakes her head, like she’s being modest, but actually believes it to be true. "Wouldn't that be nice, though?”
"Yes, I suppose it would be." I don't really know what else to say because, to be frank, I've never heard her poems, and I want to reserve judgment. Maybe she would blow me away with her amazing talent. I learned a long time ago not to judge a book by its cover. Maybe she would become my favorite poet in the world. Not that she has much competition, as I don’t read poetry. The last poem I can remember reading was Robert Frost’s,The Road Not Taken, because we had to read it in high school. “I look forward to hearing one of your pieces.”
“And hear them all, you shall,” she bellows back at me as the enormous French doors open, as if by magic. I want to clarify that I don’t want to hear all of her poetry, but as I step inside the mansion, all thoughts of her creative writing float away. The fragrant smell of peonies pleases my nostrils as I look around. I have to ensure that my jaw doesn’t drop as I take in the beautiful interior of this home. The hallway is large and wide, with light-gray marble floors and clean, ivory-textured walls. Famous pieces of impressionist art hang tastefully down the corridor, and to the right of the entrance is a large oak console table with a tall, elegant gold mirror on top of it. Sitting on the console is a bouquet of fresh gardenias and roses that look like they were recently picked and are still in full bloom.
"Come on, dearie. Let me introduce you to the folks." Amethyst sounds excited. “They will be so happy to meet you. We love new members of the group.”
"Of course," I say as I bite down on my lower lip. "Thank you for the offer, but I’m actually here for a job.” My voice trails off, but she ignores my comment. I continue to follow her down the gilded hallway into what appears to be some sort of living room. She bursts in, holds her hands up, and lets Bear jump to theground. She points toward me dramatically and claps twice to capture everyone's attention.
"Everyone, come here. Come near. Don’t be in fear. I'd like you to meet a lady. She’s not a deer. She’s near. She's finally here. The lady, my friends, and not the deer.” She looks at me expectantly, and I offer her a wan smile. If this is an example of her poetry, I’m not impressed, though I immediately feel guilty for my unkind thought. Maybe she’s better when she has time to curate her poems and think about word choice. Maybe only the poems made up on the spot were shit.
“You may be wondering what is going on, but do not worry, I will not burst into song. And I will let you into a secret: I am not wearing a thong. Oh my, did you hear the gong?” She pauses, and I try not to let my jaw drop. I’m close to bursting into laughter. My internal questions have been answered for me. Her poetry is crap. I would be willing to bet a million dollars that I don’t have that she will never be a poet laureate. I stand there with a half smile on my face and watch as a small group of people rushes toward me. All looking like misfits. I pinch myself to make sure I’m not in a dream.
"Hi," I say, holding my hand up and waving. "I'm Gina. Gina Spellman." I wonder how many times I will have to introduce myself today. I stare at the ragtag group in front of me, who are all staring at me like I am an alien creature that was found in the desert and brought to the science lab. Which is exactly how I feel. "I don't suppose Mr. or Mrs. Waverly is here?" My voice sounds nervous.
"No. Enid has gone to get some sandwiches." An older man with a gray, bushy beard steps forward. "Preston is in his study. He’s not a part of the group.”
“I see.”
"I'm Captain Joe," the older man says, holding his hand up. "Nice to meet you." He looks like he just got off a fishing boat, with his sailor cap and ripped shirt.
"You, too. Thank you.”
"I used to be in the Navy, and I like to write about the feeling of solitariness when in the ocean and?—”
