Page 19 of Man of the Year

Nick hasn’t responded to my texts. Bummer. I have a feeling I won’t be seeing him much.

Muffled voices come from some distance away. As I walk to my car, I squint at the structure about forty or so yards away—a garden shed. As I approach my car, the voices go quiet, but I can discern two figures by the shed and smoke in the air. It’s Sagar, the maintenance guy, and probably the gardener I haven’t met yet. Both are staring at me from a distance.

Tomorrow, I will make a point of introducing myself to the gardener. Maybe he’s friendlier than the house manager. I’ll get to Julien, I promise. I’m good at establishing work connections.

I turn on the car, roll down the windows, and, while driving toward the gate, let out a heavy sigh—one day down.

When the entrance gate doesn’t open to let me out, I honk and squint at the booth but don’t see the guard. I honk again, and this time, the gate starts opening, revealing an unfamiliar guard on the other side.

“C’mon-c’mon-c’mon!” He motions frantically with his arms. “Move it!”

I assume this is the other security guy, Steve. When I pass the gate, I see Dave on the sidewalk outside the fence in a struggle with a man.

Interesting.

I pull over to the curb to see what’s going on.

“I said move!” Steve barks at me from ten feet away.

I’m in no hurry and very curious, so I stick my head out the window. “Is everything all right?”

“I will tell the police!” the man shouts as Dave punches him in the face.

“Yeah, wow,” I say, watching the two from a distance. “Whydon’tyou call the police?”

Steve stomps toward my car, scowling and motioning for me again. “Young lady, I said,move!”

Rude!

Suddenly, there’s a pained yelp, and I see Dave curled up on the ground. The stranger runs across the road ahead of me. “Tell Rosenberg he needs to talk to me!” he yells as he stops at a safe distance. “Or I will tell the police what he did!”

Dave scrambles to his feet and makes a move in his direction, but the man starts running away, up the sidewalk, and disappears into the darkness.

Steve leans into my open window, his face twisting with anger. “Which part of ‘move’ don’t you understand? Nothing to see here. Come on!” He angrily motions for me to leave.

Oh, gee, Team-We-Suck-At-Our-Job.

“Good night,” I say with a fake smile.

As I drive off, intentionally slowly, I frantically search the side of the road. When I finally see the guy peeking from around the thick bushes just a little ahead, I slow down even more. It’s dark here at night, in the suburbs, but I see his face clearly in my headlights. His eyes lock with mine as I pass him. I stare at the rearview mirror, and just before the night swallows his silhouette, I see a quick flash in his hands—I’m pretty sure he just took a picture of my car.

I don’t know what the fight was about, but the security guards were in no hurry to call the police on him. Odd, to say the least.

Only now do I notice that my heart is racing as the stranger’s words ring clear in my head.

“I will tell the police what he did.”

DAY 2

THIRTEEN

NATALIE

Trixy the Rat throws suspicious leers at me when I check myself out in the living room mirror.

It’s six in the morning, Friday. At my previous job, this would’ve been one of the busiest days of the week and most profitable when it comes to tips. The job of a housekeeper is humbling, but I don’t remember the last time I was so uneasy about my job.

My uniform is definitely uptight. Black dress pants, black slip-on shoes, a black button-up, plus the stupid white neckerchief that I bought at a dollar store. My dark hair is neatly swept back into a tight ponytail, loose strands secured by hairpins. Minimal makeup.

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