Ze hesitates. "This is going to mean absolutely nothing to you," ze says, with a self-deprecating smile. "But this is Thaïs."
Then ze gets out zir phone and shows you a couple of pictures of a hand-drawn character in an outfit of white and cream, with long curling hair that is also blonde to the verge of whiteness.
"Okay, clearly I need to get into this hobby as well," you say. "Because I would look phenomenal as a character like that."
Ze giggles.
"What?"
"Oh, no, I mean, I'm sure you would," Ax says. "It's just, you know, Platinum has you dress very…corporate. Or no, corporate isn't what I mean. You look like you maybe work for an upscale ad agency. Like, expensive and a bit stylish. You don't work for a law firm or a bank, but you're not taking any risks that would scare anyone off. Which. I mean. That makes sense."
Next
Your room at the Edgewater
5:30 that afternoon
"Can you hear me?" Platt is trying to catch up with you on Skype, and the internet isn't behaving. "I think I've dropped audio again—there, that's better. Good first day? What's your impression of Ax?"
"I could do with a little insight," you say. "Since you've been in this business a long time."
"Well, remember, Caskchild," Platt says. "The most important thing right now is establishing trust and rapport with the principal. Everything else can come later. Don't push too hard on any spending and social-agenda items until you've established that personal connection. Don't worry. I'm sure you're doing just fine. But keep me posted on anything that you consider a big concern, and we'll mobilize some more Platinum resources to assist you."
Next
The next week is something of a blur. There are calls to and from Ax. There are arrangements to be made and entered in the Platinum system. There are your own daily records to make.
You can't trust Felix with much of the work, because you know he will sabotage you the first chance he gets. You'd spend just as much time double-checking his arrangements as you would making them yourself.
Something has to give.
It's ridiculous, in a way—you're incurring these costs because you're working for Platinum more than full-time, and Platinum just isn't giving you the kind of support you need to scope your own workload. But then some of the things you need taken care of are just your own personal business, paying bills and getting your laundry done, making sure someone is cleaning your condo…all that kind of stuff.
You have to spend money to make money, right? Maybe this investment will pay off later, somehow. At any rate, it slightly reduces your current level of panic, and that has a value all by itself.
Next
A week later
After many, many Elite Concierge tasks
You're sitting in your hotel room at the Edgewater. It's 11 a.m., and you've been at work since your breakfast at 6, keying in Ax's latest requests. You're halfway into a particularly thorny batch of budget detail assignment when your phone buzzes. Again.
The most irritating request you've received so far this morning was definitely:
This from a client specializing in online searching. Ze could Google this in five seconds if ze wanted to. Fama could probably crank out a whole portfolio on the media perceptions of Jared Leto's pets.
But fine, you go and look. And then it turns out, irritatingly enough, that Jared Leto has owned multiple huskies and that one of them had to be tragically put down. Two of them have been named Judas and Lucifer, which rather subverts the whole loyalty-of-dogs concept.
Which of these dogs does Ax have in mind with zir question? Hard to say.
If ze were a friend texting you, you could text back "You mean the one that got put down, or his current dog(s)?"
But thoroughness and professionalism are Platinum watchwords. After sixty-seven minutes of internet investigation, you have prepared a brief dossier on every dog ever owned by Jared Leto, their breeds, and sources to buy similar dog breeds should Ax want one.
"Oh god, no, don't buy one, where would I put a dog," Ax says, when you give zir the useful news. "I was just trying to remember if it was Sky or Storm."
Cool. Definitely a good use of your time.
What now?
So now yet another text has come through, and you can't exactly feel surprised. This time it is:
"My mother has moved in."
"Come move her out again."
That's not a problem that you can solve from the comfort of your desk.
When you arrive at the Williams penthouse, you find the living room filled with new furniture. The spare bedroom, which was full of Ax's costumes and wigs, has been redone, and its contents exiled to the hallway. The bedroom itself is furnished with an antique twin bed in a walnut frame, a shelf of classic novels and daily inspirational readings, and several framed photographs of a much younger Ax.
In the closet are dresses suitable for a woman in her fifties. Three worn pairs of identical low-heeled black pumps. A green polyester cardigan.
A woman's voice comes from the living area. "This isn't easy on me," she's saying. You come through into the front area. "You haven't given me a lot of guidance. About what I should tell people."
That would be Ax's mother.
You haven't met Ax's mother yet, but you've heard the legend.
Eileen Williams is, you would guess, in her early sixties, with a muscular build, either naturally or thanks to weight training. She is dressed in a flattering but hard-to-place outfit, a tailored dress exactly fitted to waist and shoulders, in a shade of pale blue linen that's not at all in fashion.
It looks good on her, but she can't have gotten it off the rack.
She wears no jewelry but a vintage gold wedding ring set, the engagement ring a tiny rose-cut diamond.
What is going on here?