All About Yves by Ryan Field Read Free Book Online Page A

plug in her curling iron. Then she put on a vinyl cap and took a three-minute shower. After that, she brushed her teeth and rinsed with watered-down hydrogen peroxide. She spruced up her hair last. She went to a little hair salon on the lower east side every Thursday for a wash, a brick set, and a comb out. She'd been going to the same salon since l975 and she always had her mousy brown hair done the same way. All she had to do was fix a few flattened curls with the iron and spray them until they were slick and firm again. When her hair was done, she'd put on some red lipstick and a small pair of pearl earrings and she was ready to go anywhere.
    Jane Francis had this down to a science. She even laid one of her simple cotton dresses out every night before she went to bed. The entire routine took less than twenty minutes. It was a good thing she wasn't one of those vain woman who spent hours in the bathroom, primping and prodding. Taking care of Marco Denny and Frazier North was like having two full-time jobs and there wasn't a moment to waste. They depended on her for everything, from arranging their appointments to keeping their home organized.
    Then Yves moved into the penthouse and things changed. The first morning he was there Jane Francis walked into the kitchen to start the coffee machine and found him rummaging through the pantry in her kitchen (it was her territory; she did most of the cooking). At first she was petrified. Yves's back was toward her and she gasped.
    "I'm calling the cops,” she shouted and made a fist.
    "No, don't.” Yves turned fast and lifted his arms in surrender. “It's only me. Yves."
    It was the young man who'd told the sob story the night before in Marco's dressing room. He was fully dressed in a black T-shirt, a pair of baggy jeans that hung low on his slim hips, and heavy black boots. His long brown hair was slightly damp and his face smooth and clean. He must have just shaved; there was a faint musky aroma of men's shaving cream.
    "What are you doing here ?” Jane Francis asked.
    "Marco and I went for a bite to eat last night,” he said, “and he offered me a job as his assistant. I'm sleeping in the little room off the master bedroom."
    " Assistant ?” She put her hands on her hips and frowned. As far as she knew, she was Marco's assistant.
    "Marco said he'd been thinking about hiring someone for a while, because you're so overworked,” Yves said. “I hope you're not upset. I'm only here to help out and to make your life easier."
    Jane Francis took a deep breath and sighed. “I'm not upset,” she said. “But it would have been nice if someone had let me know. You scared me half to death.” Actually, she was upset. Though she complained about being overworked, Jane Francis loved her life and her job and she didn't need anyone else horning in on her territory. But Yves was such a nice, polite boy she didn't want to hurt his feelings.
    "I'm sorry,” Yves said. “You're right. I should have waited in my room until Marco told you about me. I just didn't want anyone to think I was a slacker who stayed in bed all morning. I'm an early riser. I'm up at the crack of dawn and ready to work."
    Jane Francis crossed to the coffee machine and opened the lid. He seemed like a decent kid, but she wanted to set the ground rules. “Let's just get a few things straight,” she said. “This is my kitchen and I take care of things in here. I don't know what Marco has in mind for you, but you'd better just wait until he wakes up to find out.” Then she pointed to the kitchen table. “Now go sit down and I'll make your breakfast. You look like you need a good meal. You're skin and bones."
    "Ah well,” Yves said. “I never eat in the morning. I don't eat lunch either. I only eat one meal a day. And I never snack."
    "One meal a day?"
    He nodded. “I used to be overweight as a kid and I watch everything I eat. I don't want to get fat again. I'd rather be dead than fat."
    Jane Francis reached for