Thor

I called the number. Anything would be an improvement over what I had. Besides, who knows? It might be a real offer.

A woman with a very smooth voice answered. "I'm calling about the ad in the real estate magazine for a caretaker."

"Just a moment, please." About a minute later, the voice came back with just the smallest additional bit of enthusiasm. "I'll put you through to Mr. Westerfall." After a shorter moment, "Thurston Westerfall here, I'm told you are inquiring about the caretaker position."

It isn't like I've never done this before, so I said in my most professional voice, "Yes."

"Let's get together and talk about it. I need someone reliable and pretty quickly. Where are you?"

"In Las Vegas." Where else would I be, I wondered?

"Wonderful. Can we meet, say this afternoon?"

If I did that, I would probably be fired, not showing up for my five til midnight shift at the local burger drive through. I'd been working there for two weeks now. But what the hell, I was looking for work when I found this job, and besides, they might hire me back when they find out they haven't got anybody else to call. The job wasn't one with a long line of aspirants. So I told Mr. Westerfall once more, "Yes."

"Fine, let's meet at the Golden Sunset Hotel, say at two-thirty?"

"I don't have a car." I also didn't have cab fare and had no idea where the Golden Sunset Hotel was. I had no suggestions.

"No problem. I'll pick you up. Where are you?"

So that was the idea! Or maybe it wasn't. I didn't care. You have to take chances, besides I'd never heard this approach before. Not that I've had all that many approaches, but he had no idea what I looked like or how old I was. It was his blind date as much as it was mine. How many women do you pick up from an ad in the real estate blurb? So I said yes again, and told him where I live.

"I'll send somebody over there to pick you up and meet you at the hotel."

"Send somebody over there to pick me up?" Did he really say that? Not understanding quite what was about to happen, I changed out of the burger-flipping uniform and into street clothes, such as they were. At one-thirty-five a limousine pulled up to the curb in front of my apartment house and a guy in a uniform got out. He headed for the door and I met him on the sidewalk in front of it.

"Are you Miss Yates?"

I nodded, confusion roaring through my brain.

"I'm your driver. We're going to the Golden Sunset, I believe."

"Yes," I said. It was getting to be my favorite word. He escorted me to the limo and installed me very carefully into the back seat. I wouldn't say I was amazed. Not right then. I was still in shock. Amazement takes time to grow. It was all I could do to look out the window and keep my mouth closed as we rolled smoothly and quietly downtown. We pulled up in front of the hotel as though we owned the place. He opened the door, and I saw a guy in a suit walking towards me.

"Miss Yates?"

I answered with my favorite word, trying not to let it sound like a question.

My name is Westerfall, Thurston Westerfall. Welcome to the Golden Sunset. It's a nice quiet place for an interview."

And maybe for some other things, I thought, darkly. But then, it didn't seem to be going that way. He wanted to sell me something, I could see that, but what it was I couldn't guess. But salesmen sell, it's natural for them. This might be the way he approaches everyone. I followed him inside.

Once in the hotel lobby, I was introduced to a rather nondescript wife waiting there. Her name was Elaine and she was happy to know me. Mr. Westerfall walked confidently to the front desk. We followed. I had to change my mind about things. Nothing in my life could ever be this kinky.

"Is anyone in the small conference room?" The guy sounded like he owned the place. So did the clerk behind the counter.

"No, sir, it's not scheduled."

"Good. We'll be in there, and can you order us some coffee? He turned to me. Are you hungry? We are. Haven't had lunch."

I used my favorite word again. I was getting used to this. I had no idea what was coming, but I hadn't eaten yet today hoping for something at the burger place where I didn't show up.

"And get us something from the kitchen, will you? Whatever's left over will be fine. Some sandwiches and fruit and, well, you know, whatever they've got."

"Yes, sir."

The guy did own the place! Well, that answered some of my concerns. That plus the wife.

The small conference room was so tiny my entire apartment would hardly fit into it. I wondered vaguely what the large conference room would be like? What took place in there? Basketball? The center of the room was dominated by a huge mahogany table with mahogany chairs all around it. I tried not to count them. There were eight. We sat down on three of them at one end.

Before you could say "Jack Robinson", or at least before I could, a liveried waiter served a coffee setup in silver that dazzled in the light of the chandelier. He didn't stop with putting the tray down, either. He put out cups and saucers and spoons, then poured and offered sugar and creme. I'm not sure, but I think I have never seen anything like that before in real life. I almost laughed at the seriousness of it all, but didn't.

He was immediately followed by yet another liveried servant bearing lunch sandwiches and fruit and I don't know what else.

Once we were all properly sandwiched and coffeed the two waiters slipped out as soundlessly as any cat ever did, and we got down to business.

"My name is Thurston Westerfall. This is my wife Elaine. We own a rather large house, estate really, about an hour and a half from here, out in the desert. It is unfortunately unoccupied. I need a caretaker, somebody responsible to live there and take care of the place."

The dominant idea I got from what followed was that he was a desperate man. The interview was like nothing I have ever experienced before. He got almost no personal information from me. Even the phone number he asked for was going to lapse in a week or so from lack of payment. He seemed curious about the art degree, but didn't comment. He sure didn't care what jobs I had held since then. After about ten minutes of useless chatter, he got serious.

"Ms Yates, I have some concerns, some things we need to discuss. I like the idea of you being the caretaker. From what you say, you don't have any other responsibilities that would make it difficult for you to live there and manage the estate."

"No, Mr. Westerfall, I don't. I want to live alone, this situation would be ideal for me. I have no serious alliances and do not intend to form any. The farther I am from society the better I like it. I guess I'm just strange that way."

"You wouldn't have to do all the work yourself. I would expect you to hire done anything that needs doing beyond basic housekeeping. I especially insist that you supervise a swimming pool maintenance company currently on contract to keep the pool ready for use and in good repair at all times. That was part of the problem with the last people I had in the house. That among other things."

I looked inquisitively at him, and he continued.

"They didn't stay in the house. They left it empty, or I suppose empty, for weeks at a time. Not to mention trashing the living room to such extent that I had to have it remodeled when I threw them out."

"They? You had two women as caretakers? Or a couple?"

"I had two men. They said they were in town for some business deal or other and would be there for six months. I was desperate by then. I needed someone, so I accepted. I can't live there right now. My wife wouldn't be happy there by herself and she would be, because my work takes me all over the world often for weeks and sometimes months. I asked her if she would stay there if there were a caretaker with her and she said no to that too. So I have to have someone, someone I can trust, someone who can take responsibility and deal with things as they come up to live out there."

He talked very carefully and at some length about the unique experience of living alone, being responsible for security and maintenance, and being reliable. He said reliable several times. He didn't say anything about pots. I did.

"I am a potter," I told him boldly, and somewhat wishfully, then explained in more detail. "I make pots. Will it be possible for me to do that while I am caretaking your house?"

He looked at his wife, puzzled. She raised and lowered one shoulder slightly to indicate "OK, so what?" He turned his face back to me.

He said, "Of course." He smiled. His face said, "Why not?" Or it might have said, "This woman is crazy, but so is everyone else we've interviewed, and this one at least looks clean and can talk."

"Then what looks like a serious problem to you looks like a wonderful opportunity for me. If you're offering, I'm accepting."

"I am offering. The line of applicants isn't that long, and you seem to be, well, I think I can trust you. You have the job. When can you move in?"

So I was hired. It was further agreed that I could set up a pottery workshop, with a wheel and a kiln, in the garage, at his expense. I was astounded at how easy it was. I wondered vaguely and uselessly who else he had talked to. What must they have been like?

"We'll show you the place tomorrow. It's too late to make the trip today. You can follow us out there so you will know where it is."

"I don't have a car," I said.

That stopped him again. He looked at me, but somehow I didn't think it was looking at me so much as it was just thinking. Then he looked at his wife.

"She can use the van," she said. "It stays out there anyway. Why not?"

Why not indeed, I thought. As the silence continued for a few more seconds, it dawned on me what was happening here. I was going to be truly isolated out there, wherever out there was. But what the hey? Wasn't that just exactly what I wanted to make pots? Time and space? This whole idea might seem impossible to him, but it sounded good to me. I smiled encouragingly at him.

"Of course you can use the van. It's a fairly nice van, not much used."

"I can move in tomorrow. I haven't got much to move. I can be packed and move in when you take me out there." It was a change from just yes. I think that really settled things in their minds. I had by now figured out that this place was a distance away from where we were and that trips back and forth to the big city weren't going to happen too often. That was worrying him a lot more than it was worrying me. What does he know about potters, anyway?

" OK, we'll pick you up tomorrow morning if that's OK with you."

"Yes."