Mike Robertson checked the guest suite carefully for the third time. Joanne Leigh was due within the hour, and he knew that if something were less than perfect, she would be vociferous in her complaint. Joanne Leigh, niece of his employers, was approaching 35, was still unmarried, knew the biological clock was ticking away and seemed to behave more like a spoiled brat the older she got. Mike smiled to himself, and slightly disarranged the towels in the bathroom, thinking that once she found something to criticize, she would be happy. He could almost hear her say, "Michael. The towels in my bathroom were all over the place when I arrived. I'm sure that my Uncle and Aunt would be devastated to hear about it.". As it was, professional pride took over and he tweaked everything back into place with a sigh.
Joanne arrived, and fussed over the removal of her bags from the back of the car which had brought her from the airport. "I have no cash, Mike, will you please see to the driver?" she said, not making eye contact as she tottered into the house on her Manolo Blahniks. Mike raised his eyebrows as he slipped the driver a $20 bill. The driver deftly pocketed it, and drove off leaving Mike amongst the Luis Vuitton luggage. Struggling slightly as he maneuvered the heavy bags onto his cart just inside the door, he saw the grinning face of his friend, Lenny, the Chef. "Struggling, mate?" asked Lenny – a rare creature, an English chef – in his cockney accent.
"Yeah." said Mike. This designer stuff weighs a bloody ton before you put anything in it. It's obviously designed for people who don't ever have to carry their own bags." He took the bags to the guest suite, where the housekeeper was waiting to unpack. As he prepared to leave, he saw Joanne prowling round on a tour of inspection, and sensed that she seemed a bit put out that there was nothing that she could criticize.
For the next few days, Joanne made life very difficult for the staff. She ordered lunch for one o'clock, and then didn't come back for it until 3. She calmly announced half an hour after Citarella had closed that she was expecting 3 dinner guests, and after Lenny had sweated blood preparing the meal she calmly announced that she and her friends would eat out after all. She told Mike to make bookings at three or four restaurants for the same evening, and then decide at the last minute which one to which she would go. It took all Mike's diplomacy skills to pacify irate restaurateurs. Lenny was furious, and railed at Mike that they shouldn't have to put up with this kind of behavior. Mike was trying to shut
When at home, Joanne spent a lot of time by the pool, and seemed to sense when Mike was at the far end of the house so that she could complain about the amount of time it took to respond to her calls. Most of these calls were for exotic cocktails, and Mike knew that she was trying to catch him out with either something he didn't know, or for which he was missing a vital ingredient. Luckily, the cellars at the house contained a good supply of every drink under the sun, and cocktail.com was bookmarked on the computer in Mike's office.
Lenny found it very difficult, as he saw one after another of his culinary creations ruined due to being over cooked or abandoned. He complained bitterly to Mike one morning, and Mike was gesturing him to shut up. Just as Lenny was saying, "What that bloody woman needs a damn good seeing to" Mike caught his attention. The phone system in the house was so arranged that instead of calling an extension, one paged it. On some extensions, when this was done, the caller could hear what was being said in the other room. Mike had seen the little red light that indicated a call on the kitchen extension, and, not knowing who was listening in, did not wish to make his thoughts, or, indeed, his presence, known.
By the time Mike's day off came round, he was more than ready for a break. He was just preparing to buff up his motorcycle prior to going out, when Joanne came into the garage to collect Mrs Leigh's Mercedes SL500 that she liked to drive. "What do you think you're doing?" she asked, somewhat taken aback by the sight of Mike in his leathers. "As it's my day off, Miss Joanne, I'm heading into New York. I'll be back tomorrow afternoon. I shall be staying in my apartment in the Penthouse tonight."
"Oh," she said. "I forgot it was your day off. Aren't you hot in all that gear?"
Mike smiled. "Yes, I am. But at forty miles an hour, this leather means the difference between getting back on the machine after coming off and needing skin grafts. I'll be uncomfortable for the next couple of hours, but not the next five years."
Joanne seemed to relax a little, and she leaned against the Merc. "Actually," she said with a smile, tapping her lips with the car keys "You look quite good in all that leather." Mike blushed a little, and muttered something self-deprecating. "Actually, I'm glad you're going to be in New York tonight, as I shall be, too. Now, I don't need to find a hotel. See you there later."
Mike muttered to himself grumpily most of the way down the Long Island Expressway. He had intended to have a relaxing evening well away from work, but now She would be coming to upset his plans. He emerged sweating from the mid town tunnel, and expertly swung his motorbike through the traffic until he got to the apartment building, where the valet parking guy waved him through to his parking spot. Greeting Mike as effusively as he greeted everybody associated with the more heavily tipping of the building's occupants, he asked how everything was. Mike told him that he was back for his day off, would be leaving sometime the next day, and that Mr Leigh's niece would be parking the SL 500 overnight. It would probably need valeting.
Mike went up to the Penthouse, turned on the central air conditioning, and went through to his own quarters. He took off his leathers and had a refreshing shower, then changed into some casual slacks and a shirt. It was his day off, and Joanne couldn't expect him to dress up in his full striped pants and black jacket that day. He did, however, go into the guest room and, out of professional pride, make sure that all was well in there before going out to the supermarket to lay in some essentials such as eggs, milk and coffee for the morning. He returned to his room, and was quietly reading his book when he heard the whirr of the elevator doors announcing Joanne's arrival. She sauntered into the Penthouse, dropped he purse on the hall table, and watched the doorman carry her overnight bag and suiter into the guest room. She patted pockets, and said, "Michael would you . . .?" and Mike smiled and passed a note to the doorman who rolled his eyes as he headed for the elevator, muttering, "Good luck, Pal."
Joanne looked at Mike, casually dressed and holding his book, and said in a surprisingly gentle voice, "OK, Michael. I know it's your day off. I shouldn't be any bother. I have a hot date tonight, and I'll just get changed and go out. What are your plans?"
Mike shrugged his shoulders, and told her that he had no real plans. He meant to use his time off to recharge his batteries so that he could ensure that the rest of her stay was pleasant, and would probably go out for a bite of dinner and .have an early night. He asked if Joanne needed a car service, and as requested, arranged for a car to pick her up at 7.
Once Joanne was safely off the premises, Mike went into the guest room and quickly tidied and serviced the bathroom, mopping out the shower and laying out fresh towels. He turned down the bed, and checking that all was well, he went out for dinner. He went to small French restaurant that he liked on Lexington Avenue and where the staff knew him well enough to give him a good table, and mellowed by a couple of glasses of wine, Mike made his way back through a light summer shower. He was in his sitting room catching up with "The Daily Show" when he heard the telephone ring. Forgetting for the moment that he was supposed to be off duty, he muted the TV, and picked it up. "Good evening, the Leigh residence. This is Mike speaking, how may I help you?"
