The Butler(22)

“I love it. I just don’t know if I should be doing this, renting an apartment for a year.”

The agent gave her the expected sales pitch, that they rarely got apartments as nice as this one, it was a terrific deal, and she didn’t have to spend much to furnish it. It had a big master bedroom, a smaller second one, decent closets, two good marble bathrooms, a pretty living room, small dining room, and kitchen. It had everything she needed, and it was nicer than her apartment in New York. She worked all the time and never entertained, and she used her apartment there to crash after eighteen-hour workdays, not to spend leisure time in. She could see herself entertaining in this apartment in Paris. It would be fun to furnish it. She could always ship the furniture to New York at the end of the year when she went back. It opened up countless horizons, and she wasn’t sure what to do when she reached the street.

    “I’d like to think about it overnight,” she told the agent, who then told her that three other potential clients were seeing it that afternoon. She refused to be pressured and took a long walk, thinking about it on the way back to the Left Bank. Somehow it felt like a real commitment to spend a year in Paris. On the one hand she wanted to, on the other hand, she was scared to death, and felt slightly insane to be considering it. She had wanted to live her life, but maybe this was going overboard. But she loved the idea of living there for a year, or even longer. She knew that a year from now, if not sooner, she’d have to go back to work at some job or other, in New York. She felt as though she were becoming another person, being in Paris. It was not an entirely unpleasant sensation. It felt like a new lease on life—but whose life? Hers or someone else’s?

The agent had suggested that she hire an assistant to help her furnish it, get all the necessary services signed up, gas, electric, and have the Ikea kitchen installed. It sounded like a big production. But she had a point. She gave Olivia the name of an agency to find someone to help her, and a cleaning lady, which she would need as well.

    To confuse matters further, when she got home that afternoon, after buying groceries, she was still going around in circles about the apartment. It was so appealing, but a real commitment to stay for a year. She normally wasn’t impulsive but felt as though she was being so now. Deciding to come to Paris had been spur of the moment, and renting an apartment for a year would be an even bigger leap. Just for the hell of it, she called the agency the realtor had referred her to, to see what an assistant and a cleaning person would cost. If it was insanely expensive, that might make the decision for her.

She called the number, almost hoping they wouldn’t answer. She felt as though she were being pulled along by a relentless invisible force that she couldn’t resist and wasn’t sure if she should. Was this her destiny or was it folly? She had enough money to live on for a year, a little longer if she was careful, but after that, reality would hit. She couldn’t hide from it forever.

The domestic agency answered on the second ring. Olivia asked hesitantly if the woman spoke English, and she said she did. Not well, and with a heavy accent, but they understood each other. Olivia told her that she was thinking of renting an apartment for a year and staying in Paris, and if she did, she would need an assistant, at least to help her set it up, and someone to clean it, for a year. She said that the assistant would be short-term since she probably wouldn’t need her once the apartment was up and running.

“Is there construction to do?” the woman asked her.

“Not really. I need to put in a kitchen, and it needs furniture. And I’ll need to set up gas, electricity, phone, Internet, and I don’t speak French.”

“I understand,” the woman said, making rapid notes of the address, the size of the apartment, and Olivia’s contact information. “I don’t supply assistants for an office. Only household help. The cleaner is easy. The assistant more difficult. Perhaps you need a secretary.” That made sense to Olivia, and then the woman had an idea. “This may sound strange to you, and not what you are looking for. I saw a candidate today. He is looking for a temporary job here for three or four months. He is overqualified for your job, but he is very capable. You might want to meet him or try him. He’s a trained butler and was seventeen years in his last job, which just ended when his employer died. He ran two large homes for them in England, with full staff. He’s Argentine, speaks four languages, and is legal to work in France, or anywhere in Europe.” Olivia could easily imagine that he probably also cost a fortune, was undoubtedly ancient, and all she could think of was Carson in Downton Abbey, in white tie and tails. She wasn’t Lady Mary, and this wasn’t 1925.

    “That sounds a little rich for my blood. I don’t need anyone that trained. And I have no idea what I would do with a butler. He’d want to serve me breakfast on a silver tray. I need someone who could help me get the apartment organized if I rent it. I’m sure he’s much too fancy for me. I don’t even know what butlers do, except in the movies.”

“I realize it’s a problem, and will be for most of my clients,” she said. “He’s trained for formal service, and very few people still want that here. It’s not adapted to today’s way of life, particularly in France. People don’t want a great deal of help, or formal training. He’s aware of that. He says he’s flexible, and it would be fairly short-term, so a project like this might work for him to set you up.”