“Leah,” Caleb says in a clipped voice. “This is Cammie Chase.” The nanny smiles — one of those smug, puckered smiles where one corner of her mouth dips in. I immediately dislike her, too.
“And this is Sam Foster.”
Sam extends his hand towards me.
“How do you do,” he says slowly, maintaining uncomfortable eye contact with me. His hands, I notice, are rough and calloused; something I’m not used to feeling. The men who run in my circles have the smooth skin of businessmen, their only work being to type rapidly on keyboards. His hand lingers in mine, and I have to pull away first.
I offer them something to drink. Sam declines, but Cammie smiles boldly at me and requests a Perrier. I look from her employer to her and wonder if he will reproach her for such a rude request, but he is talking to Caleb and doesn’t notice. I decide to play nice. I’m not going to give her the job anyway, so why not send her away with a few sips of Perrier.
I excuse myself to the kitchen and come back with a tray carrying the green bottle of sparkling water, a glass and two frosty beers — one for Caleb and one for Sam — even though he declined a beverage. They look at me as I set it down on the table.
As soon as I’ve taken a seat, Cammie looks at me expectantly and asks: “Do you happen to have a wedge of lime?”
It takes all of my control to keep my mouth from falling open. Surely this time Sam will say something. But, he smiles at me politely and ignores the little witch’s outlandish request.
“We have some in the drawer of the fridge,” Caleb presses. I glare at him for encouraging this sort of behavior from the potential help and stand up to get it.
When I return with my neatly sliced wedge of lime, Cammie takes it from me without even saying thank you.
I sit down in a huff, not even bothering to smile.
“So—,” I say, turning my body away from Cammie and directing my attention to Sam, “ —how do you know my husband?”
Sam looks confused. His brows dip together and his gaze shifts from Caleb to me.
“I don’t,” he says. “This is the first time we’re meeting."
I blink in confusion.
Caleb, who is reclined casually on the loveseat like he is visiting with old friends, smiles at me knowingly. I know that smile. He is amused at my expense.
I look at everyone’s faces and slowly the picture pieces together. Cammie’s audacity, the expensive clothing …
I try not to let my shock show as everything suddenly makes sense. We are not interviewing Cammie for the position of Estella’s nanny — we are interviewing Sam!
I can see on their faces that they know about my mistake. It's embarrassing. The little blonde bitch, who I see in a new light now that I know she owns her own company, smiles, showing her teeth for the first time. She is evidently delighted by my blunder. Sam looks slightly more abashed. He looks away from me politely, and I clear my throat.
“Well, I suppose I got it all wrong,” I say generously, though I am inwardly fuming.
There is collective laughter — the loudest being from Cammie — and then Caleb turns to Sam.
“Tell me about your experience,” he says.
Sam rises to the challenge, listing his childcare experience. He has a Master’s Degree in child psychology from the University of Seattle. He practiced clinically for two years before deciding that he didn’t like the politics of being a counselor — how cold and impersonal it felt. He decided to move somewhere sunny — South Florida — and get a new degree in Music, which he intended to use when he opened a rehabilitation center for abused children.
“Music heals people,” he says. “I’ve seen what it can do for a broken child, and I want to heavily incorporate it into the center, but I need to have a degree in it first.”
“So,” I say more skeptically than I intend. “You spent seven years getting a master’s degree and now you want to be a nanny?”
Caleb clears his throat and takes his arms off the back of the sofa where they were resting. “What Leah means is, why not practice part-time while you finish up the degree? Why nanny when the financial benefits aren’t nearly as great?”
I lift my nose and wait for his answer.
Sam laughs nervously and rubs the hair on his face.
“Actually, being a counselor doesn’t exactly line your pockets, if you know what I mean. I did it for reasons other than money. And, I don’t come cheap as a child care provider,” he says honestly. “Notice I’m sitting in your living room, which is a significant step up from middle-class America.”
I sniff at his mention of our money. I was taught it was bad manners to point such things out verbally.
“I have a daughter,” he adds. “Her mother and I split up two years ago, but you can say I am well versed in taking care of babies.”
“Where is your daughter?” I ask.
Caleb shoots me a warning look, but I ignore him. I don’t want some wild kid running around my house on the days that he has her. And besides, she might get the baby sick. Something I can’t point out in lieu of my latest escapade.
“She’s in Puerto Rico with her mother,” he says.
I picture a beautifully exotic Latin woman that shared his home, but not his last name. Their daughter would probably have her mother’s hair and her father’s light eyes.
“Her mother moved back there after we split up. That’s part of the reason I chose to come to Florida — so on weekends I can fly over to see her.” I wonder what type of woman takes her child so many hundreds of miles away from her father, especially when she can use him as a babysitter on the weekends.
“Sam,” Cammie finally speaks up, “is my cousin. I promised him my best job, and when Caleb called I knew it would be a perfect fit.”
“And, how do you know Caleb?” I say, finally getting the opportunity to address the question that’s been on my mind.
For the first time, Cammie looks unsure of how to answer. She looks to Caleb, who smiles at me indulgently.
“We went to college together,” he provides simply. “And, frankly, Sam, if Cammie recommends you — family or not — I believe you’re the best.” He winks at Cammie, who raises her eyebrows and smiles.
An alarm goes off in my head. Caleb was a hotshot basketball player in college. He slept his way through the cheerleading squad, and then went on to meet that home-wrecking bitch Olivia. I narrow my eyes at Cammie. Did she know Olivia? Had they competed for my husband? My questions are left unanswered, as money becomes the topic of conversation.