School of Fortune (27 page)

“I desperately need a new majordomo with impeccable credentials.”

“We have a long waiting list,” Olivia lied.

“This is an emergency. I'll pay you a fifty thousand finder's fee.”

Leigh Bowes shot to the top of the nonexistent waiting list. Olivia forced herself to sound mildly bored. “Describe your requirements.”

“All-around superior household management skills. Must make perfect martinis. Above all, I do
not
want an attractive woman. My husband is a disgusting lecher.”

“I understand completely, Signora Bowes. My ex was the same.”

“This weekend I'm hosting a celebration with three hundred friends. They are the cream of society. The event must go perfectly. If you get me someone by then, I'll pay an extra ten thousand.”

Olivia nearly swallowed Villeroy. However, she managed to say, “Leave your number on my Web site. Please attach a personal recommendation from Dusi Damon.” Olivia had never heard of her. She hung up. “Is something the matter, Lotus?”

“Did you say Dusi Damon?” Pippa gulped. “She's rather bad news.”

Olivia didn't care if she was the Antichrist. Sixty thousand dollars!

She was so blown away she could barely deliver her next lecture, History of the Fork, in the library. “Logan,” she said finally, giving up. “Prepare lunch while Maisie and I review Adult Incontinence. We'll all meet in the dining room at one. Lotus, what are you writing back there?”

“I'm taking notes for the exam.”

Olivia's phone rang. As she plunged into a bitter altercation with a real estate lawyer, the doorbell rang. “Get that, someone.”

Pippa went to the door. “Car for Ms. Polo,” a man said.

A blue Maserati, the exact replica of Lance's drowned pride and joy, was parked at the curb. Damn it, that should have gone to Officer Pierce weeks ago! Sheldon had changed the license plate from HUDDLE to LOTOPO. Seething, Pippa signed for it and drove the man to the airport. She got back to school just in time for Advanced Place Setting in the dining room.

“Identify these dishes, class,” Olivia announced, picking up various pieces of china from the table.

“Main course plate. Salad plate. Consomme cup. Butter dish. Salt well. Fish plate. Bread plate. Ramekin. Sauceboat. Caviar dish.” Olivia was pleased to see that Lotus knew her away around a place setting. She pointed to an odd porcelain chalice. “And what is this?”

“Individual spoonbread dish?” Maisie guessed.

“Personal spittoon?” Logan tried.

Pippa raised her hand. “That is an eggcup, ma'am. For ostrich eggs.” Rosimund had purchased four hundred of them for the Henderson Ball.

“My God, Lotus! You
must
give me the name of that school in Switzerland.” If only Lotus were male, Leigh Bowes would have her majordomo by sundown! “When I say go, class, create an eighteen-piece place setting. All the dishes you need are on the sideboard. Careful! They're antique Sevres.”

When Pippa finished first, Olivia thought she'd break into hives. She led her students to the bar, there to learn that Pippa could identify every variety of her twenty Waterford glasses. Her voice barely above a whisper, she asked, “Can you make a martini, dear?”

“I've been making them for my mother since I was eight years old.”

Weak-kneed, Olivia told everyone to study the Forbes 400 list until tea.

Olivia's evening class, Advanced Napkin Folding, was continuously interrupted by calls from lawyers and Leigh Bowes. Around midnight Dusi Damon sent an e-mail threatening to close down the school should Olivia fail to send a household manager to Las Vegas at once. Stressed, Olivia ate half a cheesecake. She awoke at dawn feeling like a rectangle of cream cheese. She had no sooner stepped off the scale when her bank called to say her mortgage payment was overdue.

She put a bow in her bouffant and entered the kitchen with a smile. Today Olivia wore a brown wool dress with six pockets down the front. A teacup poodle nestled in each pocket, giving her the appearance of a marsupial who had just birthed sextuplets. “Good morning, class. Today we will be dusting antiques, starching collars, and drawing baths.” As she served herself a stack of crepes suzette that Cornelius had made, the doorbell rang. “Get that please, Brenda.”

Brenda ran out and returned with a large FedEx package. “For Lotus.” She threw it with unnecessary force on the table.

Everyone watched with great interest as Pippa unwrapped, and nearly dropped, her souvenir MatchMace. “Miss Ortlip occasionally likes a good cigar,” she explained, cursing Sheldon anew. He had sent ten thousand dollars cash in a plastic sandwich bag. Pippa also got a cell phone and five Chanel suits, which she didn't even try to explain.

Olivia watched in silence. First a Maserati, now this: Ginny Ortlip would rather lose an arm than lose Lotus. Domestics of her caliber came along once in a lifetime. Barely able to concentrate, Olivia gave every student a feather duster and told them to get the cobwebs out of the banisters while she and Maisie took a few turns around the wheelchair course in the basement.

Pippa adjourned to the driveway to call Sheldon. “The Maserati arrived yesterday. I thought we had agreed to give it to Officer Pierce.”

“Couldn't find him. He disappeared after getting fired.”

No! “For what?”

“Let's not even go there. You needed a car and it was taking up garage space. What do you think of LOTOPO? I tried to get TORPEDO but it was taken.” Hearing no reply, he continued, “How's servant school going?”

“Fine. The diploma is a lock.”

As Sheldon hung up, Pippa could hear him laughing.

Olivia was polishing off the last of the cheesecake when Leigh Bowes called for the tenth time that day. “I'm very close to making a decision,” Olivia reported. “You will have to be patient.”

“This is a desperate situation, Signora Villarubia-Thistleberry. I need a new majordomo by noon tomorrow. An extra five thousand for you if he arrives before midday.”

“You will not be disappointed. Goodbye.” Olivia could barely get the last forkful of cheesecake past her constricted throat. She had to think of something fast,
sixty-five thousand dollars
fast. Her phone rang again. It was Ginny.

“I must have Lotus back this afternoon. Alberto Tomba is visiting from Italy.”

Olivia homed like a smart bomb onto the desperation in Ginny's voice. “I assess a fee for missed classes, Miss Ortlip.”

“I'll pay you a thousand bucks to release Lotus at three o'clock.” “Two.

“Two o'clock is even better.”

“I meant two thousand dollars, madam. At four o'clock.” “Damn, you're tough! All right.”

Olivia hung up. Miss Ortlip . . . Cedric . . . Lotus . . . Las Vegas . . . plans were coagulating in her brain like amoebas in the primordial soup. She summoned Pippa to her parlor. Her little dogs wouldn't stop barking until Pippa picked them up. “Miss Ortlip has requested your assistance this afternoon. It seems she has planned a dinner party for Alberto Tomba.”

“But I'll miss class.”

“Never mind. We're covering Advanced Dogwalking Techniques and, to my knowledge, Miss Ortlip has no pets. Except you, of course.”

Pippa sighed. Ginny wanted to party and this was payback time. “I'll finish as soon as possible.”

“I need to ask a favor. Miss Ortlip was at that nasty Walker wedding, wasn't she?”

Pippa nearly dropped Sub and Zero. “Ah—yes. She was a bridesmaid.”

“Could you get her feedback regarding Cedric and Mrs. Walker? I might transfer him to Las Vegas but that could be difficult if he's servicing the lady of the house.”

“That's outrageous! Thayne Walker is happily married!” Realizing that she was shouting, Pippa forced herself to calm down. “At least that's what I hear.”

“You've been misinformed, Lotus. Thayne Walker's husband has been golfing in Morocco ever since the wedding collapsed. It seems highly likely that Cedric has wormed his way into the master bedroom. Believe me, I know how he operates.” Olivia couldn't figure out why Lotus looked so upset. She poured them both a glass of sherry. “Anyway, dear, could you please extract this information from Miss Ortlip for me?”

Pippa swallowed hard. “But doesn't Mrs. Walker need Cedric? You can't just rip him out from under her like a rug. Even if he is . . . you know . . . under her like a rug . . . which I doubt. Thayne Walker would never consort with the help.”

Olivia looked oddly at her. “What's your interest in this, Lotus?”

“I know Margarita the maid. If Cedric left, she'd bear the brunt of everything. She's got a weak heart and bad bunions.”

Olivia plopped onto the sofa and somberly stroked Reed and Barton. “Please extend some sympathy to me as well, Lotus. I am a single woman desperately trying to survive.”

“Yes, ma'am.”
It's the diploma, stupid!
“Forgive my in sensitivity.”

“I know you'll do your best. Do be back by eight. We're covering an important chapter on Etiquette at the Morgue.”

“Thank you for excusing me, Signora Villarubia-Thistleberry.”

Ginny no doubt meant well but it was time to let her know that a billion bucks were riding on graduation from school. Pippa looked carefully in all directions before dashing to the Maserati parked at the curb. She crawled fifty feet down the street then donned the yak hat, cataract sunglasses, mustache, and the Swiss Army coat she kept in the trunk in case that paparazzo was still snooping around Aspen. Pippa drove down Olivia's hill, through the village, and up Ginny's hill. She was drenched in sweat by the time she reached the Ortlip compound. Again Pippa looked in all directions before leaving the car. After ringing Ginny's bell she peeled her mustache off and stuck it to her cataract glasses.

Ginny, cocktail in hand, opened the door. She looked flushed: maybe Alberto Tomba really was here. “You're wearing
that
again?”

Pippa rushed inside. “Where's the VW guy?”

“On a wild-goose chase to Nebraska. Relax.”

The house was set up for a party but Pippa sensed something off. The big
WELCOME BACK
sign over the fireplace was in English, not Italian. “When's Alberto getting here?”

“Screw Alberto!”

Twenty people, led by none other than Lance's lover Woody and the vile Kimberly, gushed out of the kitchen. “Surpriiiiiiiiiiiiise!”

Pippa bolted down the front steps and gunned the Maserati out of Ginny's driveway. She thought her head would explode. Blinded by the mustache stuck to her glasses, she nearly hit a trailer full of canoes on Main Street. She was dimly aware of pedestrians shouting obscenities at her as she blitzed through town. How could Ginny be so crass as to throw a surprise party for her? How could she invite Woody and Kimberly, of all traitors, or remotely think such a reunion would be
beneficial?

Olivia was alone on her porch, having sent her students to Snow-mass to return the four German shepherds she had borrowed for Advanced Dogwalking Techniques. One ear to the phone, Olivia tossed homemade biscuits to her poodles as she tried to stall Dusi Damon, an even worse shrew than Thayne Walker. “Harassment will get you nowhere,” she said. “If you must know, I'm still checking the credentials of Leigh Bowes. Not to mention your own.” Olivia hung up as Lotus's Maserati squealed into the driveway. A derelict staggered out of the driver's seat. “Excuse me! May I help you?”

Pippa whipped off her hat. She looked extremely distraught. “I've got to talk to you.”

“Lotus! Come in. Take that foul coat off.”

Pippa fell onto the couch in the parlor. “Something truly awful has happened.”

“Did you scorch Miss Ortlip's newspaper?”

“It's a personal matter,” Pippa croaked. “I just quit. I must leave Aspen immediately. I so wanted a diploma, signora! You have no idea how much I wanted one.” Pippa began to wail so dejectedly that all six teacup poodles started howling along with her.

Olivia's brain went into overdrive. Ortlip was out of the picture. Lotus was out of a job. There must be some way to convert this tragedy into a sixty-five-thousand-dollar sitcom. “I can help. But you must have an open mind.”

“Just make it quick.”

“In lieu of class, you could do an internship at a wonderful home in Las Vegas. The woman of the house seems to be concerned about an upcoming fete. If that goes well, you shall have your diploma. I promise you.”

“What's the catch?”

“She requests a male.”

“Do you think I look even remotely like a guy?” Pippa shouted. The harshness in her voice set the dogs howling afresh. “Sorry, it's a touchy subject at the moment.”

“You've already got short hair. You're tall and slender. In the proper uniform and underwear, I'm sure we could pass you off as a rather iffy male.”

So Olivia proposed sending
her,
instead of Cedric, to Las Vegas. That would spare Thayne another rupture: an offer Pippa couldn't refuse. She unpeeled the mustache from her sunglasses and stuck it on her upper lip. “Does that help?”

“Very much.” Frankly it was a stretch, but Olivia was willing to gamble. “Dry your eyes and come upstairs.”

Olivia had a closet full of uniforms, remnants of the glory days when she and the ex had a staff of ten. “Saint Laurent designed these for me. Their inspiration is a Gainsborough portrait of the third Earl of Thistleberry, the cockroach's ancestor.” Olivia removed the plastic bag from a gray military jacket with thirty brass buttons. Many loops of iridescent green-purple rope hung from the epaulets. The silk harem pants and porter's cap matched the ropes. “The colors of an English pigeon. Beautiful, no?”

“Do you have a summer uniform? Las Vegas is in the desert.”

“Yes, of course.” Rummaging in another closet, Olivia found the short-sleeved, short-pants version of the pigeon costume. She located several boob-flattening sports bras that had belonged to a maid who eloped with a ski bum. She found a pair of gray Rockport nubucks and gray socks. “Try these on, Lotus.”