It was a little after three o’clock on Saturday afternoon when the doorbell began to ring incessantly. I put down the silver candlestick I’d been polishing unnecessarily, wiped my hands, removed my apron, and went to see who it could possibly be.
Junior Hammond. Carrying a case of Dom Pérignon 1985, five board games still in their shrink wrap: Parcheesi (Deluxe Edition), Sorry, Trivial Pursuit (Baby Boomers Edition), Checkers, and Chess. A suitcase of clothes. “Where are they?” he demanded. He had on a Hawaiian shirt, tent-sized trousers, and sandals with white socks.
“‘They’ who, sir?”
“Jackie and Armand. They didn’t think I was going to let them have an entire weekend alone, did they?” He pushed his way past me into the house.
“Mr. Weil left for Mexico City early this morning and Madam is in her studio. I’ll get her for you.” Junior drew in a deep breath and shook his big, jowly head.
“That stupid jerk.”
“Sir?”
“Armand. He has his priorities all screwed up. He’s going to lose her over some stupid painting.”
Unfortunately, I could not disagree. “I’ll tell her you’re here.”
Madam and Junior spent the rest of the weekend— Saturday afternoon through Sunday evening—laughing their heads off, sitting on the terrace during the daytime and on the floor of the library after dinner Saturday night playing the games and drinking the champagne. By the time he left after a late Sunday lunch, most of the champagne was gone and so was Madam’s anger at Armand. Junior had convinced her to forgive him.
On his way out the door, he handed me a twenty. His lack of class seemed unlimited.