Hired Wife. Karen Van Der Zee
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her, and she felt fifteen again. She was an idiot.
“I’m impressed,” he said. His voice was deep and resonant, a wonderful voice, that would wrap itself around your heart and give you warm fuzzy feelings. Actually maybe even more than warm fuzzy feelings. Oh, shut up, she said silently to herself. He’s not your type. He’s too cool, too self-contained.
“And she comes cheap,” her brother was saying, as if he were selling her off like a slave trader, he a graduate of Harvard Business School.
Kim glared at him. “I am not cheap,” she countered. “I insist on being paid fairly for my services.” She groaned inwardly as she heard her own words. She sounded like a call girl. This whole exchange was beginning to have farcical overtones, which was not a good omen. She needed to present herself as serious, efficient and competent if she wanted to have any chance with the imposing Sam, the successful international business executive.
The problem was that, although she was perfectly efficient and competent, she simply didn’t look it. Curly blond hair, big baby blue eyes and dimples just didn’t add up to a serious appearance. She had trouble sitting still and she laughed too much. And nature had given her full breasts that were hard to hide. The truth was that efficiency and competency weren’t qualities that came to men’s minds when they first met her. It was a cross to bear sometimes.
Sam glanced at his watch. “I’ll have to think about this,” he said noncommittally.
He was not a man of many words, obviously; he hadn’t been eleven years ago. Whatever he was really thinking now, he wasn’t telling. Kim was annoyed. She liked people who were easy to read, easy to know. People who were not afraid of saying what they meant or felt. Sam was not one of these people.
What had she expected? That he’d say, Excellent! You’re exactly the person I’ve been looking for! I’ll have someone get your tickets tomorrow, and let’s talk, you and I, over dinner tomorrow.
No, he was still the same introverted, reticent person, with those same eyes that often seemed impenetrably black, but sometimes glowed with sparks of secret amusement. He did have a sense of humor; he was just so…quiet about it. Often his face gave nothing away. You’d just have to guess what went on in his mind. She didn’t like all that still, deep water stuff.
But when he smiled at her—not the most exuberant smile she’d ever seen, but a smile nonetheless—her heart flipped.
“I have to go now,” he said. “It was a pleasure seeing you again after all these years, Kim.” It sounded sincere enough.
Two days later Kim still hadn’t heard from him. All she had thought of for the last forty-eight hours was Indonesia, the job, feeling suddenly hungry for adventure. Ah, to eat nasi-goreng again, to hear gamelan music, to see the emerald rice paddies!
And she’d thought about Sam.
This was a mistake, of course, she was well aware. In spite of her teenage crush, in spite of the fact that he was stunningly handsome, not to speak of successful and well-manicured, he was not her type. He was too serious, too formal. And it took him much too long to get back to her with an answer. She was beginning to feel nervous and irritable. How long did it take to make a simple decision?
She decided to call him, which was easier said than done, but eventually, after verbally wrestling herself past a series of receptionists, secretaries and assistants, she got the busy man on the phone.
Her heart was beating fast. “Good morning, Sam,” she said, trying to sound businesslike. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but I was wondering if you’d had time to consider giving me the job. You’re leaving soon and it would be good to get started on some preliminary work as soon as possible.”
A silence ensued. A short but noticeable one.
“Good God,” he said then, “you weren’t serious, were you?”
Her heart began a nervous rhythm. “Oh, yes, very,” she said in as solemn a tone as she could muster. He thought they’d been joking. Well, she could hardly blame him, considering the way the conversation had developed, and the fact that he’d probably never taken her seriously in the first place. To him she was just Marcus’s silly little sister who’d had a crush on him. Oh, Lord, she hoped he didn’t remember the stupid, naive things she had done to get his attention, all those years ago.
“You want to come all the way to Java to set up house for me? Buy pots and pans, arrange furniture?” he asked, as if he were talking about scrubbing public toilets and mucking out pigsties.
“Yes, I would love to.” She bit her lip.
Another brief silence as he was digesting this. “I don’t believe that that would be what they call ‘a positive career move’ for you.”
“I’m known for my bad career moves,” she said impulsively. “Just ask my poor suffering father.”
“Ah,” he said succinctly, meaningfully.
“But somehow they always work out very well for me,” she explained. “When I make decisions I use my intuition, my creative instincts, rather than my rational mind.”
“And that is supposed to reassure me?” he asked with dry humor.
She kicked herself mentally. “I suppose not. I imagine your life is ruled by logic, reason, common sense and intellect.”
“Employing those tends to work to my advantage, yes.”
Kim made a face at the receiver. He had to be the most boring person in the universe, no matter how handsome he was.
“Well, don’t worry,” she said reassuringly. “I know exactly what I want and—”
“This is craziness, Kim,” he said, interrupting her. “I’m not going to facilitate one of your harebrained schemes. I’ll hire someone locally.”
Kim grew hot with sudden anger. He was talking to her as if she were a child, not a grown woman who could make good decisions for herself.
“Sam, I’m not fifteen anymore,” she asserted tightly, trying to control her anger. “This is not a harebrained scheme. I know what I want, and I want to go to Java and—”
“Kim, I have no time for this nonsense. I have a meeting to go to.”
“Sam! I—”
“I must go,” he argued. “Please, do excuse me.”
And the busy man hung up.
Kim was so angry, she could scream. Who did he think he was to hang up on her? To not take her seriously? How dare he!
And who did he think he was going to hire locally? she thought later that day. The frustrated wife of an American contractor or consultant maybe. Someone with time on her hands because she couldn’t get a work permit and have a job of her own. Somebody with no taste and no sense of design, Kim thought, sulkily, who’d cover the walls and beds and furniture with purple cabbage roses and put gaudy plastic flower arrangements everywhere and choose frilly pink lampshades and ruffled pink pillowcases. It would serve him right.
She visualized Sam’s dark, manly head lying on a frilly pink pillow. In spite of her anger, Kim laughed.
Somehow she had to get Sam’s attention. Kim lay in bed, wide-awake, staring up into the dark rafters, plotting, just as she had done when she was fifteen.
Phoning wouldn’t work; he’d just find an excuse to end the conversation. She had to do it face-to-face, with no other people around to distract him or to use as an excuse to get away from her.
She’d ask him out to dinner.
Brilliant!
Not too forward a gesture, really. After all, she was no stranger. He knew her family well, had enjoyed much hospitality in her parents’ house. He would be too much of a gentleman to refuse her invitation, surely? And once she held him captive, eating dinner in a public