Bonjour Neverland

A Novel This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, persons living or dead is coincidental and is a product of the authors' imagination.

Mr. S

Sophie handles the turn from Sunset Boulevard to Foothill in the most prized and coveted addresses in the world. I tremble as my life flashes, like a bad dream  'two hard headed individuals meet and find a way to survive after losing millions.' We are driving to our first interview to work for a super rich person, Mr. S.

“I can't fathom we are applying for a job as servants,” I dry my sweaty hands on my pants as I look at Sophie.

“Don't wipe your hands on your pants, are you nuts, I have spent so much time to get you the right clothes for this interview?” Sophie slows down the Mercedes, a token left of a blown up fortune,

“I can't stop reminisce of all the mistakes I have done in my life.” I clinch the edge of the seat for safety as if a buoy.

“Too late to think about it now. At your age be thankful that you can still find a job " thanks to me.” Sophie squashes her cigarette in the ashtray.

We continue our drive through hills, winding streets and lavish estates, most of which can't be seen, hidden at the end of long gated driveways, guarded by centennial trees, mammoth bougainvilleas, exotic plants, and beds of perennial flowers. Mr. S's house is the one at the end of the cul-de-sac.

“Whoa..” I can't help a surprised exclamation.

“This must be a house from the Thousand and One Nights.”

“We are in Hollywood, ain't we?” smiles Sophie.

“This is a darn big house; there are columns all over. Are you sure, you want to go talk to these people?” My muttered words are barely audible in the quiet afternoon.

“The electric gate is open, they expect to see us. Let's meet the man who lives in this castle.” Sophie brings the Mercedes to a stop in a stall labeled “Guests.”

“OK, I'll let you do the blabbering'; what's the name of the secretary?” I ask.

“Eglantine,” says Sophie.

“That sounds like a French name, we are going to be able to understand each other,” I reply.

“On the phone, she did not sound French, at all.”

We walk up large marble steps to face a gigantic carved wooden door.

I press on the electric bell " silence.

“I wonder if they heard us?” I can't stop clapping my hands.

“Come on, relax. If this job doesn't work out, the agency has four or five others lined up for us.” Sophie is at ease with our decision " Is she?

The oversized carved oak door opens; a middle-aged woman dressed in black with a white collar appears. She is small, her face is serious more like a high school teacher, a pair of coral glasses are perched on top of her nose. “Good afternoon,” she says, “You must be the Richards?”

“Yes, we are... Here is our introduction from the agency.”

“Thank you, my name is Eglantine. Please come in.”

The frail woman shows us through a large entrance, opening on a lobby surrounded by a dozen Byzantine marble columns. A grand rotunda dominates the hallway, with a massive dôme, which draws the eyes upwards and around.

Sophie look stupefied by the painted angels blowing trumpets, neighbors to cherubs in search of loving hearts to hit with an arrow; while lightning flash through the clouds. Dozen more angels, are in charge of this incredible ceiling, copied from the Sistine Chapel at the Vatican in Rome.

“Amazing isn't it,” she smiles looking at our stupefaction.

“Mr. S commissioned a French artist, flown in from the 'Beaux Arts' in Paris, who hand painted the ceiling like Michel Angelo. It took six months to make it an art piece. Ain't they stupendous?”

Sophie and I look at each other speechless. Our guide leads us trough white marble steps, a long and huge hallway, and more marble floors, to her office. After a brief interview on our past, present, goals and expectations. We fill out the paperwork to set up our new positions as a live-in couple to take care of Mr. S. Sophie will be the chef, my job: Majordomo.

We are introduced to Mr. S. a small fifty-something, bulgy man. After a quick handshake, our new boss removes his glasses, as he turns to Eglantine, “can they start right away?” Our now boss turns in our direction. “I am leaving for Hawaii this weekend. You will be able to get accustomed to the house while I am away?”

Mr. S wipes his sweaty bald head, with a Gargantua colored handkerchief.

We have no objection to starting right away. Eglantine shows us to our quarters, a large and comfortable, one bedroom apartment " attached to the main house.

Eglantine gone, Sophie turns around with a sigh, “Mr. S. is Jewish, isn't he?”

“Yes, why?”

“So many angels... why?”

“When you have money you can buy as many angels as you want,” I say.

As we unpack, Sophie opens the window.“What a view... the whole city of Los Angeles is spread out in front of us. I feel like we are millionaires  --  It's our house!”

“Not quite, it is for now, and thanks to you. If you did not come up with this idea to work as a live-in couple... I could never get a job... at my age.”

“I do it for you, so you find a reason to live... I love you.”

Later on Eglantine convey the specific instructions from Mr. S. For breakfast, he wants to be presented with three different fresh squeezed juices. None of those juices to be repeated, but new ones have to come to play every single day. Sophie will have to juice whatever that comes through her hands with such requests. She might even have to squeeze, turnips, sunflowers or even pasta. Who knows, with demand, ingenuity shines.

For dinner, Mr. S is specific, he wants three different vegetables, never the same as those of the previous day.

“Eglantine, mentioned that the house was built by some Saudi Prince. Easy to tell, with all those columns and marble floors, and marble walls everywhere.” Sophie swings her thin body around in a fantasy waltz, a bow and arms spread out: “My prince are you ready for a walk around our new pad?”

I can't help myself, “Columns, more columns, encore columns.”

“You have a problem with columns,” laughs Sophie.

“The Greeks and the Romans had no choice but to use columns to support their ceilings. They did not know about reinforced concrete.”

“Yeah, yeah.. you always say the same thing when you see columns.”

“Don't tell me this is your dream house?” I frown.

“No for sure, this is what I call 'Nouveau Riche,' or bad taste in its full splendor.”

This one level, fifteen thousand square foot home is shaped as a U, with an Olympic size indoor pool and Jacuzzi.

“It reminds me of the Hearst castle,” says Sophie.

I interrupt with a timely comment.“He wants dinner at seven sharp, it is already five O'clock. Eglantine mentioned an artichoke and said, that punctuality is primordial.”

“I have a feeling why he wants an artichoke,” says Sophie

“Why?”

“This is a test, I know it. He will not draw me into his game.”

“What game?” I question.

“He is an Israeli... My first husband was Israeli, I know the way they like their artichokes to be cooked " in chicken broth, white vinegar, lots of lemons.”

“Eglantine gave me all the credits and gas cards for our daily needs. We have time to go to 'Gelson' for shopping. Let's do it.” I walk to the kitchen door, without giving Sophie any time to fuss around as she usually does, whenever we are heading for an errand.

The dinner is served in the dining room. A few paintings of unknown artists hang without sense of balance or purpose on the walls of the main dining room. An outside metal curtain rolls down to cover the dining room main window, activated by a remote control. I play a few times with the gadget.

“Instead of fooling around, why don't you set up the table,” utters Sophie from the open kitchen door, next to the dining room.

The table has to be set for two, according to Eglantine. This in case someone might stop by. The master of the castle can invite this impromptu guest for dinner. As I am standing in the middle of the formal dining room I can see through the large windows the beautiful sun glittering in the sky, the sunset is spectacular. I stop motionless for a few instant mesmerized " nature has so many beautiful facets. I close my eyes, with a deep breath as I absorb the warmth of the fall sunset.

At seven sharp Mr S arrives and seats at the head of the table, he opens his mouth for the first time since we where introduced.

“Lower the curtain, please, Pierre.”

I am astonished that he wants, to block the view of such natural beauty. I press on the remote, the last sun rays of the evening sneak through the patterns of the curtain. Small flickering shapes of reds and yellows lights flash on this stranger's face. Mr S looks like the devil in person.

“This curtain is bullet proof, designed to my specifications,” mention Mr S. I can't help making an obnoxious statement.“Are you afraid of a sniper?”

“It could happen anytime,” is the rash answer.

The bell rings, the artichoke is ready, I rush to the kitchen.

“Serve the hot mustard vinaigrette on the side,” are the specifics from Sophie.

Before I can serve the tantalizing dish, we hear screams from the dining room. “My glasses.. Where are my glasses?”

I rush to the rescue, something happened? “What's wrong, sir?” The master of the palace stands, waving his arms in all direction, screaming, “I want my glasses, my glasses... I want them.”

“I beg your pardon.. your glasses?”

“Yes, I want my fancy glasses. I bought them, they cost a lot of money. Please Pierre, place them in front of me on my table. If I can't appreciate them now. I might die without ever see them.”

On my way back to the kitchen, Sophie inquisitive eyes tries to decipher the plot. “What have you done to him... Pierre, this is our first job, don't mess it up.”

“I have done nothing, he wants his glasses... I do not understand what kind of glasses he is talking about?”

“Eglantine left for the day " What should we be looking for?”

Sophie and I search the kitchen, the pantry the wine cellar for glasses... “Any idea what those glasses look like?” Sophie is overtaken by the weird request.

“Not a clue,” what else could I say?

“Here on the top shelf, here... a cardboard box, it might be what we are looking for.”

“Sophie you are the best, you have the keenest eye sight.”

Saved, they are here all wrapped up in cellophane and tissue papers. The Lalique glasses of various shapes and colors are now in front of our host.

“Aha.. Yes, My glasses... My beautiful glasses. Pierre, I want to see my glasses every time I seat for dinner.” What a scene to witness this middle aged man caressing glasses as if they where flesh and blood. “Now, I need wine to go along with my beautiful glasses.” Mr S looks contented, satisfied and at peace.

“Which wine do you want, sir?”

“Bring me a bottle of the Cabernet Sauvignon, the one, which came yesterday. The red one " Please.”

Back in the kitchen, “Guess what?” I murmur, “on top of it all, he doesn't even drink out of those fancy glasses.”

“You mean he drinks out of the cat's dish?”

I serve the artichoke on a silver platter, pour the wine in a regular Burgundy glass. Our boss devours Stella's art piece.

“This is delicious... It is even better than my sister's cooking.”

I burst in the kitchen. “You pass the test. It is stupendous. He loves it.” By the time he finishes diner it's around eight O'clock Mr. S relaxes, in the living room over looking the all lit up downtown and West Los Angeles, while sipping a Cognac and smoking a Havana.

Ding..Ding..Ding... “He needs you, go.” Sophie gives me a wave from the hand.

A large bag in front of him, Mr S digs out several remote controls and place them at random on top of the large coffee table.

“Pierre, I have new remotes for the living room TVs and some for the salon.”

“I am sorry sir, but... I am confused... with all those remotes. Which one to use?”

“Get rid of the old ones and use the new ones. I have plenty in my bedroom.”

Some of those gadgets dim lights, some lit chandeliers, other the hall way, or control the music. There are several of remotes for every room. I am lost on which one does what to who? Trying to figure out, what each one of those devices is for, becomes a challenge. We are drowning in remotes control.

This might take a PhD in computer sciences to sort over a couple hundred remote controls of all types. I have a hunch that our Mr S has a fetishism with remote controls.

Sophie and I clean the kitchen and make it ready for breakfast.

“Go back and ask him at what time he wants breakfast?”

“What time do you want your breakfast, sir?” I ask while pouring a second glass of Cognac.

“I'll call you. The food was excellent thanks you. Good night.”

I get a call by six thirty, still in bed half awake. “Pierre I am in the Jacuzzi, please bring me my juices.”

Rush... no time for shower, shave... nope. Dress... first thing first. “Sophie, my underwear?” No answer from the heap occupying three quarter of the bed. The old ones will do, what the heck... this guy gets up too early.

As prescribed, I bring an assortment of juices to Mr S squeezed last night as I expected a rushed morning " Won't catch me to the wake up game.

Our frail Mr S is squat in the Jacuzzi with torrent of bubbles and white foam. Three nymphs carrying amphorae spew jets of water, from their n*****s and vaginas on top of the bald head honoring this surreal scene. This mesmerizing breakfast, stops me for a few seconds, without knowing if I should burst out laughing or jump in the water with him.

As per instruction Mr S, picks one selection of juice, as if honoring a powerful god he downs a grapefruit juice. With a wink, he adds in my direction.“To tell you Pierre, when I seat at my table, reserved all year around; it' s the first one when you walk in the Bistro Garden. Those women down bellow when they walk in, they see me first, they dearly appreciate my fit figures.”

I can't wait to tell the latest comments from our Adonis, to Sophie, I know she will love that.

“He is a pig, he has no respect for women, I hate men like him.”

“Relax, he leaves on his trip this weekend " we too are on vacation for two weeks anyway.”

Our daily routine is simple. Mr S is seldom in for lunch, he is too busy building shopping malls all over the city, more where you need none. This gives us plenty of free time. After dinner, Mr S disappears in his bedroom until next morning; where I usually find him in the Jacuzzi, waiting for the juices selections of the day.

Vacation is on its way. Sophie's time is consumed to organize the suitcases for the Hawaiian trip.

The morning before the departure for his trip Mr S all dressed up as if going to meet his lawyer about important matters. “I will have lunch at the house today. Ask Sophie to fix, something light.. a salad will be fine.” Mr S doesn't look like himself this morning.

“O.K. What time will you be in for lunch?”

“I am not sure. I am on my way to buy a Rolls.”

“Oh, how exciting. I thought you already have one in the garage.”

“Yes, but.. I am bored. I wish I had something to do until tomorrow. You might have noticed, I am rebuilding the garage for ten cars. I need to fill it up with more vehicles.”

“Great project, enjoy your shopping, sir.”

This break from building shopping malls might take care of the boredom, which has over taken Mr S's life. The women down below, did not seem to respond in a positive manner to Sophie's selection of juices and fresh vegetables.

It did not take long for my sleuth, dressed as Sophie to find the truth. Sophie is the best at putting one and two together. A few words with Eglantine. A phone call received stating that the lady to accompany our boss is on her way and to have her check ready. Sophie's report: A high class call girl is Mr S's company for the Hawaiian trip.

“No one ever come to visit him, not even his son calls to inquire about his father's well being. This man is lonesome as can be,” that's the report about our employer from my private eye Sophie.

Our mission while Mr S frolics in Hawaii is to take care of the old Rolls. “Let's go bring the car for service, after the oil change, we can pay a visit to third street in Santa Monica. Do you want to drive the Rolls.”

“Heck, no... My first husband and I had one of those. I always hated that car. Its a car for old folks, who need to impress the Joe Schmucks.”

“O.K. Honey, I'll suffer I'll be your chauffeur.” I pick up a navy captain's cap from Mr S's costume, when he hosts parties at the Marina's Yacht Club.

“This way Madame, where to?”

“Let's take the car to Tijuana, the “Amigos” will give us “Mucho Dinero” for it,” Sophie laughs.

“We claim that the car is stolen while shopping,” I too laugh out loud.

“If it was a Honda, Toyota it will be O.K. A Rolls, won't be so easy to get rid of.”

“O.K. It is a suggestion... don't like it. James take me to the ball game.”

While driving Sophie opens the glove compartment, “Look at this?”

“A piece of paper with a number, 2,376... so...what is that?”

“It is in the glove compartment. This is the mileage of the Rolls,” that's my suggestion.

“I don't understand? Oh... you mean he wrote the mileage to see if we are using the car while he is gone.”

“Let me change the mileage on a new piece of paper I will add 20,000 miles to his 2,376 miles, just to see him jump.”

“You won't.”

“Oh, yes I will... he thinks he is so smart " let's have fun.”

Time for a party, we ask Eglantine if it is O.K. For us to invite a few friends for dinner, while our boss is away.

“I don't see why not?” Eglantine smiles, “can I come too?”

“With pleasure,” says Sophie.

“I am just kidding, you guys have fun.”

Let's call our friends " why not the people we met while watching the 'Stanley Cup Play Offs.'

Mr S's wine cellar is not the greatest, a few drinkable bottles among a slew of California wines, but enough for a nice dinner party. “There is always Gelson's for any urgency,” I say.

“Did you see the caviar in the backroom refrigerator?” Winks, my private eye.

“Caviar you say.”

“Yes, and plenty of it. They are in eight ounces cans. Tons of it.”

“Easy to serve, it will request work on our part to help clear this obnoxious inventory.”

We will start with caviar. Our employer had the decency to store a few decent bottles of French Champagne, in the four sub-zero refrigerators. What a relief, it is not bubbly from Napa, Sonoma.

Our first party is a success, Sophie outdid herself as usual with a great menu. We start with two bottles of 1991 Charles Krug champagne, then a 1979 Nuits St. Georges with the Scallops, foie gras. Followed by a 1978 Pomerol with the entrée, duck “à l' orange,” with caramelized sweet potatoes. A mash salad with Sophie's dressing, to finish a tray of French cheeses. For dessert nothing less than a chocolate soufflé, and Sophie's favorite, a bottle of Dom Perignon. Our guests are ecstatic, thanks you Mr S, enjoy your Hawaiian vacations, we do too.

For the next two weeks we have easy sailing, while Romeo is entertained with private showings of the abysses on the Hawaiian islands. We learn from Eglantine that Mr S is sick during the whole stay in Hawaii. Did the girl, not want to put out or our Mr S, is an hypochondriac?

On our employer's returns, things start to go sour as Eglantine avoids to talk about finalizing our contract after the try out period. Officially we have an agreement when hired, with the provision that Mr S agrees with our deal. Sophie gets antsy when Eglantine is cornered regarding our continuous employment agreement.

“If Eglantine doesn't get us an interview with Mr S to talk about our situation soon. I will burst in his room and get a face to face confrontation.”

“Calm down, he just got back from vacation two days ago.”

“We need to know what goes on. Why he doesn't want to talk about completing our employment?” Sophie is easily stirred up, she is my Don Quixote.

There is a party on Friday night. Eglantine mentions cold cuts, wine and beer, popcorn and sodas.

As Sophie and I ponder on the plan of action for Friday night with a dozen of guests to feed. The party will be simple for us, plain colds cuts as we understand Mr S has no intention to feed those folks with fancy foods and French wines " The Gallo wineries will do. Eglantine informs us Mr S doesn't like to spend money on those people " he is aware why, they come to see him. To take advantage of his connections. The cheapest the best, so it will be " No Nelson, Ralph's will do.

“A party tray. Bread, crackers, a few dips, salsa and chips.” That's the plan, Sophie seems satisfied.

“We can set up a stack of plates, silverware and napkins,” I won't even have to serve them.

On Friday the first guests arrive around six thirty, Mr. S is no where to be found. What should I do? Entertain his guests? The heck, no. I hide in the kitchen with Sophie, who is giving the last touch to three silver trays with cold cuts, adorned with grape leaves, apples, and orange slices, walnuts and figs.

“Great looking trays, hon.”

“Well, there ain't much I can do to cold cuts.”

“I can't stand his friends, they are obnoxious.”

“What do they do?”

“The way they address me. I am not use to this kind of treatment. Remember I was my own boss for thirty more years.”

“Too bad, you should not have lost your money. Then we will be on the French Riviera, instead of Beverly Hills, working for this jerk.”

“O.K., O.K. I'll manage,” as I walk away with my head in between my legs.

Most of the guests are in by seven thirty, when Mr S appears from behind the two Eastern marble columns. Guests are spread out in the grand salon on Moroccan poufs or Louis the XIV 's love seats, eating awkwardly with plates on their knees. Eclectic furniture, marijuana and cigar smells, give an exotic atmosphere to this Arabian palace.

The grand finally is to come, as our employer will perform on the terrace, he will play the organ for his guests. Mr S is not a run of the mill type of a guy, always full of innovations. His organ is attached to a modern sculpture, metal, plastic, lights, sound effects, water jets. Whenever he touches a note, jets go up, sideways, down, strobe lights come on or off, in different colors as per the music score. This is quite a show, a model for the Bellagio in Las Vegas years ahead, way before the casino was ever build.

My job, when all the guests are on the balcony is to lock the door behind them, to prevent anyone from leaving before the end of the concert. Regardless of the knocks becoming louder and louder as people want to get the hell out of this painful ordeal. I stand by my orders, no one will leave before Mr S hits the last note.

As I open the door, disheveled, red in the face and angry folks pour out of the balcony heading for the front door. This party will not end in the teeny hours of the night. Thanks, Mr S we can go to bed early.

The next morning is a confrontation day in every order. “Guess what happened this morning.”

“What?” Says Sophie.

“Some guy, a sub contractor I guess, walks in to talk to Mr S”

“And?”

“As far as I could tell, it was about a contract... The guy was asking for his money.”

“Yeah, I heard screaming, it was about half and hour ago.”

“Mr S grabbed a television set and threw it at the guy.”

“I heard a loud noise.. you mean.. He threw a television set at some one?”

“Just like that. The darn TV set did not even blew off. I can guarantee that this TV set, is made in the good old U S of A not in China.”

“I told you, our man is nuts. What the other guy did?”

“He left swearing at Mr S”

I pick up the intercom as it buzzes. “Eglantine wants to talk to us,” I wave a thumb up to Sophie. As I replace the receptor on its support.

“I have to talk to you guys,” that's what she said.

“Yes, we'd like that very much,” says Sophie. “Let's have a talk, today is the day.”

Eglantine seats behind her desk as for protection. She appears very uneasy, no smile, as she does every day, like clock work. She doesn't even look at us straight in the eyes.

In a solemn voice she says,“Mr S doesn't need your services anymore. Here are your checks, less one week. Mr S feels that since he was away for two weeks, he will cut the pie in two and retain one week.” 

Neither Sophie or I know what to say? There is no explanation of the whys and hows of this sudden turn of event.

“I want to talk to Mr S, right now.” Sophie's voice fills the office.

“Mr. S is not available, he is sick, he is resting, he is in bed.”

“What sick.. in bed.. I'll show him, who we are. Nobody kicks us out like a dog. We are the best couple in all of California.”

“He promised to try this English couple...”

“What are you talking about... An English couple, how can they be better than us?”

Without ado, calm as a cucumber Sophie walks towards Mr S's bedroom.

“You can't.. You can't do that. Mr. S is sick. Do not disturb him. Please,” Eglantine is all shook up as she sees Sophie advance towards the master's lair.

Eglantine in a despair move crucifies herself against her boss's bedroom door. She is no challenge to my Don Quixote, who pulls her away from the door with a swag of her left arm.

Sophie burst open the bedroom door. The closed shutters with angled slats of the louvers let small streaks of daylight come through. To the right, a huge aquarium lit with exotics colored fishes give an eerie atmosphere to the scene. This is a better setting than my favorite movie, Sunset Boulevard.

Eglantine in a last stand, maybe a reminder of the Alamo, embraces the little bald man to protect him. Half crouched on top of his bed the pale Adonis with haggard eyes stares at Sophie.

We are in for excitement " I know my cast well, an hypochondriac, and a hot-tempered woman, my woman.

“What's all this mash ma-round. Why are you getting rid of us. When the other day you said that we were the best couple you ever had?” Gesticulates Sophie.

“I have a head... sorry... ache... but..”

“There is no but here. I want an explanation, now!”

“Well.. I promised this English couple to try them.”

“This is complete bull. You mean we are too expensive for you?”

“Well, I did not say that.”

“Pierre, help me. He is trying to cheat us of our money.”

“You and the two of us agreed on a sum, do not tell me you do not remember,” is my only involvement in this exciting affair.

“I was on vacation for at least two weeks, I do not remember,” the trembling voice of our sick man is barely audible.

“Don't even try this crap. It will not hold in court,” screams, Sophie.

“Eglantine, give them their check, please leave me alone. I am sick.”

“I bet you are sick. Anyway, we are too good for you. You are sick in your head, you have no respect for anyone, you are a s****y guy. You don't even respect yourself. As a matter of fact we do not want to work for an a*****e like you.” Sophie makes a one hundred and eighty degrees and walks away from the room, to the stupefaction of Eglantine, who looks like she is ready to pass out.

“Well, goodbye, no hard feelings. Whenever you are in the area, stop by for tea, we'll talk,” Mr S waves the sponge from his forehead.

As we walk to our car with our check, I can't help. “Do you think this guy is for real?”

“I, do. We were too expensive for him, he can get the English couple for half price. And on top of it, he doesn't want to pay the agency's fee. Eglantine mentioned that the new couple comes from a newspaper add.”

“I bet you, the hooker he took to Hawaii, cost him more than he expected.”

“Ahaha... ah... stop by for tea, can you believe it " This has been an exciting month,” Sophie grabs my hand and smiles, “I love you... to our next adventure.”

word count: 5124

Author's Note

This novel is based on the life of the authors. This is only the first story of fitted to complete "Bonjour Never Land."