the master has to have it

“Seltzer, could you come here?” Jennifer called as she rifled through the make-up drawer for the right shade of eye shadow.

When there was no reply she stepped out of the bathroom and shouted, “Seltzer!”

Across the room a tall blond man, who reminded Jennifer of a young Brad Pitt, appeared in the doorway. He paused as if waiting for her to invite him in.

Pulling her long red hair back, she secured it with a rubber band. “There you are, Seltzer.” She returned to the bathroom to finish applying makeup. “Come in, I want to ask you a few things.”

The man entered the room in graceful strides. “Schweitzer, ma’am.”

“What?” Spreading a smoky gray color across one eyelid then the other, she stepped back from mirror over the sink to admire her handiwork.

“My name, ma’am, it’s Schweitzer, as in Albert.”

She stopped applying blush and stared at him. “Your first name is Albert?”

“No…you know, like the German philosopher…"

"Who?"

"Never mind. What is it you’d like to ask me, ma’am?”

She made a few more passes at both cheek bones and put down the brush. She checked the results before facing Schweitzer again. “Is the Master awake?”

 “No, he was up late last night, waiting for you.”

Jennifer pushed past him to the bed where a narrow black belt lay and picked it up. “I wish he hadn't. I was with a client. That’s the reason I slept downstairs, so I wouldn’t disturb him when I came in." She omitted the part where she'd gotten the Master’s permission before she left.

After placing the belt around her tiny waist and securing it, she walked to the full length antique looking glass in the opposite corner of the room. There she smoothed out the wrinkles of the black Chiara Boni envelope dress. She turned first one way and then the other trying to gage how the back looked. Satisfied, she caught Schweitzer’s intense gaze in the mirror and smiled.

“Was he upset?”

Schweitzer, apparently embarrassed to be discovered looking at his employer in an unempolyee-like way, blushed, averted his eyes and mumbled, “Not really. He was preoccupied.”

Amused by her housekeeper’s discomfort, she walked to the dresser where the rest of her accessories waited. “Playing with his toys?”

Schweitzer raised his head and nodded. “I suppose so, I retired before he did. You told me not to interrupt him when he’s in the game room.”

She held up a thin gold chain from which a karat sized diamond solitaire dangled. “Would you help me?”

Schweitzer closed the space between them and took the necklace. Jennifer spun around so he could fasten the chain around her neck, and he deftly worked the clasp.

She faced him. “Thanks. Yes, it’s best not to disturb him when he’s with his toys.” She stopped short of telling him the toys were more for her benefit than the Master’s. He would figure that out on his own, if he managed to work there long enough.

Schweitzer, clearly uncomfortable standing close enough to his boss to get a whiff of Chanel No. 5, took a step back. “Is that all you wanted to ask me?”

She returned to the dresser and grabbed a Fendi black leather tote, opened it and examined the contents. “What about the Master’s breakfast?” She snapped the purse shut and started for the bedroom door.

“There’s a little problem with that, ma’am.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’re out of Nutella.”

“Is that all? Just call the market. They’ll have it here in ten minutes.”

“I did. They don’t have any.”

“Call another one. I shouldn’t have to tell you that.” She stepped into the hallway with Schweitzer following.

“Ma’am, I did. I called every market in Beverly Hills. All of them told me the same thing. They’re sold out.”

By now they were standing in a large kitchen. Jennifer stopped and glanced at her watch. If she didn’t leave in the next five minutes she’d be late for an 8 o’clock appointment. But, as usual the Master’s needs superseded her own. “What do you mean they’re sold out? Did they explain why?”

“They did, but you’ll find it hard to believe.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“It seems a few months ago a billionaire in Germany bought 241,000 tons of cocoa beans, virtually cornering the market. He’s not selling until manufactures meet his prices. The company that makes Nutella refused to buy. They were negotiating but it's reached an impasse. While they're waiting for it to be resolved the reserved stock has dwindled down to nothing.”

Jennifer shook her head. “You’re right, I don’t believe it. Can one person really do that?”

“Evidently billionaires can do anything they want.”

“But the Master…he always has Nutella and toast for breakfast. He won't be happy.”

“Surely, we can substitute jam…”

She searched her tote for her cell, then placed the bag on the counter with a thud. “No, we can’t substitute anything for it. You haven’t been working here long enough to know the Master doesn't like to deviate from an established pattern. If I don’t find some, our lives are going to be harder than you can imagine. There has to be at least one jar left in L.A.” She stared her watch again then punched a number into her cell.

“Hey, Ricky, could you move my first appointment to ten? Wait, is Steven around?” She closed her eyes and crossed her fingers hoping the junior realtor was there. When Ricky replied that he was Jennifer said, “Good! Ask him to take it. I should be through by lunch and can make the two and four o’clock.”

She hated to reschedule, especially the 5.6 million dollar listing she was pushing off on Steven. The couple were close to deciding, one more look at the property should do it. Steven wasn’t as good a salesperson as she was, but the deal was almost in the bag, all he had to do was show them around the property. Surely, he could do that.

Ricky repeated what Jennifer wanted him to do and rung off. She grabbed a laptop from the butcher's block in the center of the kitchen and opened it. After about fifteen minutes googling and calling markets, she found a Vons in Echo Park still had a few jars. Elated, she ordered all they had and was in the middle of reciting her address when the clerk at the other end told her they didn’t deliver and hung up. After dropping a few thousand f-bombs in her head, she logged on to MapQuest. The quickest route revealed heavy traffic and a forty-minute drive, which meant a ninety-minute round trip.  

While she was busy with the computer, Schweitzer made coffee and poured it into a travel mug to take with her. Giving him instructions on what to tell the Master if he awoke, Jennifer picked up her coffee cup, deposited her cell in her purse and flew out the door.

The clicking of her stilettos on the concrete driveway beside her Spanish-style mansion usually made her feel powerful, but today the sound seemed desperate as she walked swiftly to her car. The gray Maybach Mercedes gleamed in the sunlight like a polished rock. Normally, the sleek lines of the sedan against the lush foliage lining the driveway took her breath away. This morning she barely noticed, nor did she appreciate the leather seat’s welcoming hug. She was laser focused on her mission.

Five minutes later, she was on Melrose Ave. going east. MapQuest was right, traffic was brutal and she crept along at thirty miles an hour. When she pulled onto the 101 going south, a few miles from the market, road construction brought her to a complete stop. As she waited for the red Corvette in front of her to move, Jennifer absentmindedly rubbed the diamond solitaire between her thumb and forefinger.

The necklace had been a birthday gift from the Master. It was a complete surprise because he rarely remembered her birthday. When she’d thanked him for the third time he broke down and told her it was the housekeeper’s idea. She should have been angry, and would have been if it had been anyone else besides him. She couldn’t fault him for anything, in her eyes he was perfect and there was nothing she wouldn’t do for him. Like fire the very housekeeper who who helped him with the necklace because he decided he didn’t like her any more.

He always left hiring employees to her, and Schweitzer was the first male to apply. He arrived dressed in a suit just expensive enough to be in good taste but not too expensive to imply he didn’t need a job. His complexion was so fair, she thought a case of nerves might be making him ill. That bothered her as he sat a chair in front of her desk and she took her seat behind it. If he couldn’t take the pressure of an interview, how was he going to deal with the Master's demands?

Then he smiled. It was a warm smile that sparked his deep blue eyes and colored his cheeks a healthy pink. When she asked him a question, Schweitzer leaned in, listening attentively, and responding without hesitation. After explaining the terms of the employment, she told him the Master made the final decision.

 “The Master, is that what I’m to call him?”

While the other applicants were placated by a simple yes, Schweitzer was not.

“Why do you call him the Master?” he asked.

She might have thought it impertinent had his voice not held a tone of genuine curiosity.  “Because the first time I saw him, I knew I'd be his slave for life."

His face didn’t register shock or surprise as he nodded in understanding.

Delighted with his reaction, Jennifer hoped he would please the Master, too. That was a week ago and so far it seemed a perfect match. She even suspected the Master let Schweitzer into the game room a time or two.

When the Corvette suddenly lurched forward Jennifer eased the Mercedes into gear and followed. Ten minutes later she was in Vons parking lot. She chose a space far from the front entrance with empty spaces on either side. She grabbed her bag and got out, locking the car with a beep as she crossed the asphalt and into the store.

Jennifer went to the first employee she saw; a tall slim cashier whose dour expression said he didn’t like his job but probably couldn’t do any better anywhere else. He was busy checking out an elderly woman. She tried to get his attention with a polite, “Excuse me.”  When the cashier ignored her, she raised her voice, “Excuse me, I just want to ask you a question.”

He stopped scanning a bottle of orange juice and looked up. He smiled, flashing teeth the color of weak tea. “Yes?”

She gave him her most charming smile. “Where can I find Nutella?”

He closed his eyes and titled his head as if someone were whispering to him. Then his eyes popped open. "I think it’s on aisle 7a with the peanut butter and jelly.”

“Thank you,” Jennifer muttered, and started toward the food aisles.

“Wait!” the clerk called after her.

Jennifer stopped and looked over her shoulder. “Yes?”

“We sold out a few minutes ago."

“Why didn’t you tell me…” She looked at her watch.  “Oh, never mind…” she said, walking out of the store.

Preoccupied with making an unnecessary trip and not looking forward to going home without the Master’s breakfast spread, Jennifer didn’t hear the Hispanic man behind her until he’d said, “Hey, Lady, “a second time.

She turned to see a chunky young cholo a few inches shorter than her, dressed in a white wife beater tee, baggy Dickie work pants and Chuck Taylor Converse tennis shoes. He wore black Ray Ban sunglasses so she couldn’t see his eyes, but by the sparseness of his droopy mustache and smattering of acne she estimated his age no more than twenty. His round face, exaggerated by the absence of hair, glistened with sweat. Any other time she would have ignored a stranger, but the boy’s lopsided grin encouraged her to reply.

“What do you want?” she asked, taking a step back when the youth stepped forward.

The boy stopped and held up his hands as if Jennifer had produced a weapon. “Don’t get me wrong, Lady, I want to help you.”

Jennifer smiled. “How can you help me?”

He lowered his hands and said,“I heard you in the supermarket. I know you need Nutella and I got a shit load."

Though the boy looked and dressed as a street wise cholo, his accent was pure Californian, which prompted her to trust him. She glanced around the parking lot. "Where?"

“Around the back of the store. Come with me and I show you.” He gestured to the left and headed in that direction.

Nothing in the boy’s manner suggested he was anything but a high school kid so she felt safe following him into the alleyway. He led her to a candy apple red 64 Chevy Impala lowrider parked beside a small loading dock. As she and the boy walked past the front of the car to the back, Jennifer noticed the tiny tires boasted impressive spoke rims and Aztec art covered every inch.  What she assumed was a swan taking flight on the trunk, became a phoenix rising from flames upon closer inspection. It had a built in spare tire cover held by a special bumper. The boy slipped a key into the lock beside the wheel cover and lifted it.

Nestled inside was a huge cardboard box full of jars. Jennifer cocked her head. “I didn’t know gangs were into black market Nutella.”

The boy's face flushed and his voice raised an octave. “Gangs? Who said gangs? I ain't a member of no gang, Lady."

“Oh, so, you’re a lone wolf black marketer.”

The boy laughed. “Yeah, whatever. Do you want to buy some or not?”

Jennifer glanced up and down the alley nervously. It was empty. She examined roof lines for cameras. There were none. She leveled her gaze back on the boy. “You know this is illegal, right?”

“I bought it, what I do with it now is my business.”

“Aren’t you afraid of being caught? Vons wouldn’t like you selling so close to their store.”

“I’m not staying here. They just finished loading it and I was paying when I heard you. I decided to make a few dollars before I went home.”

She knew there were a million reasons why she shouldn’t do this but one reason outweighted them all: The Master would be waking up any minute. “Okay, how much?”

“50 dollars a jar.”

“What? That’s a hundred percent markup!” Jennifer exclaimed, knowing price was irrelevant. She just didn’t want the boy to think she was a push over.

“Take it or leave it, Lady. From what I hear, there isn’t any anywhere and won’t be until after Christmas.” He grasped the lid, poised to close it.

“I’ll take ten jars, but you’ll have to wait until I can find an ATM…unless you take checks.”

“No checks. And you don’t have to go to an ATM.  You got plastic?”  The boy produced a credit card reader and attached it to a smart phone.

Jennifer smiled, got her wallet out and handed him a black Visa card.

After the sale was complete, the teenager placed the ten jars in a smaller cardboard box and offered to carry them to Jennifer’s car. On the way she asked him how he knew to buy out Nutella.

“My dad’s a stockbroker. When he told me about the guy in Germany buying tons of cocoa beans I saw an opportunity.”

When they got close to the Mercedes, Jennifer clicked her key fob and the trunk popped open. She lifted the lid and waited as the boy placed the box inside.

“I like your ride, Lady.”

“I like yours, too,” she said, slamming down the lid.

The boy and Jennifer shook hands and she got in the car. She started the Mercedes and watched the young cholo saunter back to his car with a swagger he’d hid when walking with her. She smiled, thinking the boy had a bright future in business.

As soon as she hit the 101 her cell rang and she answered by pressing the phone icon on her steering wheel. Ricky’s voice came though the cars speakers, telling her Steven had closed the deal.

“That’s great!”

“There is a little bit of bad news though,” Ricky said.

What now? “Bad news?”

“You’ve postponed this couple so much they’ve decided to let Steven handle the closing.”

“Seriously?”

Ricky sighed. “Seriously. When clients can’t count on you to meet them for appointments they lose confidence in your ability to finish the deal.”

Jennifer winced. She had rescheduled these clients a lot, always because the Master required her elsewhere. Letting Steven handle the closing meant she would receive a tiny portion of the commission. It couldn’t be helped; the Master's needs were her number one priority.

Ricky’s voice brought her back to the moment. “Jen, are you still there?”

“Yeah, just absorbing the shock of losing 100k. I’ll see you in a bit.” She hung up before Ricky could say any more.

Jennifer was annoyed but not crest fallen over her loss. Between her generous divorce settlement and the Master’s equally generous trust fund, she didn’t really need to work. It wasn’t necessity that pushed her to sell million dollar listings, but the challenge.

It was a little after 10 am when she finally returned home. As she retrieved the box from the car, she hoped the Master hadn’t woke to find her gone and no breakfast waiting. Carrying the cardboard box, she entered the mansion though a side entrance that opened onto a mud room next to the kitchen. She put the box on the counter nearest the pantry and noticed the kitchen was empty. Good, she thought, the Master must still be asleep.

As she was about to place the jars in the pantry, Schweitzer entered the kitchen.

“I thought they only had a couple of jars left,” he said, appearing at her side to take over.

“Long story, I'll tell you later. Is the Master awake?”

“He just got up. He’s brushing his teeth,” he said from inside the pantry.

“Good. I’ll start breakfast." She took a loaf of bread out of a bread box on the counter. She then went to the refrigerator for butter and eggs. She put two pieces of bread in a toaster on the counter next to the stove, then reached to get a skillet hanging down from a rack over the burners.  

The toast popped up as the eggs started to sizzle. Jennifer reduced the heat, grabbed the toast and liberally applied Nutella with a knife. As soon as she finished with that, the eggs were ready and she arranged them with the toast on a plate. She placed it on the butcher’s block between the silverware and glasses of orange juice and milk that Schweitzer had set out moments before. She stood back and admired the food she'd just prepared. Now, all that was left was to wait for the Master to appear.

A moment later the door of the kitchen swung open and a six-year-old boy clad in pajamas and a robe walked into the kitchen pushing a forelock of strawberry blond hair from his green eyes.  

“Hi, mom.”

She rushed to the boy and hugged him. “Did you sleep good?” she asked holding him tightly.

He nodded.

“Are you hungry?”

“I sure am!” the boy squealed and hurried to where his breakfast sat. Schweitzer was there to pull out the tall stool the Master used for meals and helped him onto it. He unfolded his napkin and looking down at the plate before him, frowned. “Mom…”

Jennifer went to her son’s side. “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

The boy picked up a piece of toast and showed it to his mother. “I don’t like Nutella anymore. I want the special honey Adam let me taste yesterday.”

“Adam?”

“Me, Ma’am. I’m Adam,” Schweitzer said from the sink where he was running water over the skillet.

Jennifer tried to remain calm. “So…Adam…I don’t suppose you have any more ‘special honey’…”

Schweitzer, scrubbing the skillet now, said, “Canadian Raw Honey. And that was the last of it. I used to have to buy it online.”

She took a deep breath. “Used to? Does that mean you found it in a store? One that was close and delivered?”

Schweitzer put down the skillet and faced Jennifer. “Not exactly. There’s a young cholo in Echo Park who sells it out of the trunk of his lowrider…”