Chapter 9

May, 1, 2012

I was holding a dozen red roses while standing at the international arrivals area at JFK waiting for Cecilia. Our once a day conversations became twice a day. She'd call me before she went to bed (about 2 or 3 pm New York time). Often she had her computer on her lap in bed, and she would tell me about her day. To my delight and frustration, she mostly wore a clingy black silk slip to bed, and she had augmented the camera on her laptop with something more, shall we say "high definition" and her hard nipples were often on display pushing against the silk material. She never displayed more than that, but that was enough. Finally we decided that dating via Skype was too frustrating, so it was a mutual decision that she would come to New York. We just couldn't wait any longer to be together – August was too far away.

Waiting at the airport, my heart beat overtime with nervous excitement. I felt like I was on my first date. In this cynical world with so much false sophistication it was an amazing feeling – the feeling of being in love and not caring about what people would think if I was being foolish. Over the months, our conversations and the random texts with photos attached, and the loving cards that appeared in my mailbox gave me lots of time to think about Cecilia. It also allowed me to get used to the fact that this beautiful woman, nine years my junior, could really be in love with me. She also appeared to love all three girls. She knew and accepted that they were an essential part of my life, and she told me that was something she loved about me – my unselfishness and willingness to take chances to make others safe.

It saddened me that James Anderson had to die for that to come about. Had I failed Kate and my children because James Anderson lacked those qualities?

As I nervously fidgeted, I thought about the last few months and my new and blended family. Amazingly the relationships between six unrelated people living together had jelled beautifully – well actually it was eight. I had hired a live-in cook, and then added a driver bodyguard for my girls. And if you counted the ever-present and indispensable concierge, Michael, that would make nine.

These days he and Robyn appeared joined at the hip, or for those of us with more active imaginations, joined at other places too. I did miss her in my bed though. She had started out with me as an over the top very physical lover who counted orgasms like she was scoring goals in soccer or points in volleyball. I didn't complain, but one night I had tied her to the bed with some soft cuffs and taught her the joys of the giant orgasm brought about by gentle loving and exploration of her erogenous zones. She was young, with a beautifully toned and muscular body, and she still liked the fun of a physical contest, but after I taught her about tender and loving sex - many nights, and some afternoons and mornings, her urges for hard fast sex were tempered by her desire to please me and to take it very slow.

I don't know how she and Rachel came up with the schedule, but they traded off. They didn't appear in my bed each night but about four times a week. Rachel loved the tenderness of our love-making and with her libido not always in high gear like Robyn's, some nights we did nothing but sleep spooned together. It was inconvenient that Rachel had to leave early each morning to make sure she was in her own bed when Sophie awoke, but that was soon rectified.

We moved Sophie in with the other two girls. Rachel and I had agreed that Sophie needed to be with the Roksana and Airlea, so the two beds in their room became two bunk beds. My daughters quickly included the just turned ten year-old Sophie in everything. They became the three musketeers. I was surprised that, other than an occasional meltdown caused by nothing other than being pre-teen girls, they seemed to get along perfectly. Sophie even started calling me Dad.

And Rachel? She was an amazing woman with a head for business. She should have been heading up some major corporation. Too bad world, I got her first! I was pleased that I had acted on instinct in hiring her, and that instinct had paid off. After a couple of weeks of decent healthy meals, daily trips to the health club with Robyn and the girls, a new wardrobe and no more worries about her living situation, she blossomed into the beautiful self-assured woman that I knew she was. I liked to think that sharing a bed with me had helped too. But these days being newly in love, but sadly not with me, put a whole new smile on her face.

The first thing Rachel did after reviewing all my assets and giving me hell about my atrocious tax situation, was to incorporate me as R.A.S. (Roxana, Airlea, Sophia) Incorporated, a Texas Corporation. Why Texas? They're a whole lot more business friendly than New York. What that means was less taxation and fewer stupid laws and regulations. Rachel had also worked with Grace's tax attorney to get the corporation set up, and with Grace's real estate contacts, to buy a sprawling ranch home with a large indoor pool and its own airstrip, on some acreage 45 minutes from San Antonio, to establish domicile for me and mine. We had to get out of New York before the end of June so we could claim Texas residency for the year. Texas also had the advantage of a state without personal income tax. She also had me make a loan to R.A.S. to purchase the New York condo where we were living and then to purchase the condo next to mine. It was smaller with only three bedrooms. We were tipped off by Michael that it was going on the market as part of an estate of an Oregon couple. Rachel flew to Portland and met with the attorney for the estate who had misgivings about the low offer we were making and advised his clients, squabbling siblings, that they should decline or counter. Fortunately, they were greedy for cash now, as opposed to maybe months of waiting plus having to subtract real estate commissions, so they took our offer.

Why buy the condo next door, other than it was a fantastic investment? Until the move to Texas, I wanted my staff close by and had run out of room at my place. At first I had borrowed a couple of rooms from the extra condo Grace had next to her where her security people stayed while she was in New York. She would have been happy enough with that arrangement indefinitely – there was plenty of room, but I felt I had imposed enough on Grace so buying the second condo was just what we needed.

As I had planned, the first extra staff brought on was a cook, and I did hire the woman referred by Rachel, Gina Benedetti. I didn't know what I had expected when she arrived for her interview, but certainly not a forty-something model-tall and thin blonde who was gorgeous. She appeared wearing an obviously expensive taupe silk blouse and skirt combination and very high heels. With the heels she was probably over six feet tall. So much for my vision of a mousy-looking plump and greying Italian!

Gina was very candid with us. (She was interviewed by Robyn, Rachel and I). She lost her investment banker husband on 9/11 and was left with two children to raise on her own. She took some of his insurance money to go to culinary school and worked her way up.

"Mr. Burns, I kept myself so busy with my children and working that I wouldn't let myself grieve. My husband Tom, was a wonderful man and husband, but I told myself he would have simply told me to get on with my life and be the best mother and provider I could – so that's what I did. I was hollow inside without him and also filled with impotent rage over the fact he was taken from us in such a senseless and unexplainable act of violence. I kept that rage bottled up. Then my children started leaving. Right out of high school, my son got an appointment to the Naval Academy. He's now a Marine officer in Afghanistan."

I almost slipped up and told her that I was a Marine at one time too, but that was the late James Anderson.

"I pretty much held it together until my daughter went off to college at the University of Virginia. I had occasional bouts of depression and would fly off the handle for no reason, but my bosses covered for me. What they should have done was force me to get treatment – they were only concerned that their loyal customers were paying for meals prepared by 'Gina'." At that she smiled ruefully and added, "I was ridiculous and cruel, and so even more people wanted to work with me, and the competition was always trying to hire me away."

She paused, taking a sip of water. Robyn and Rachel just stared at her, their thoughts obvious – no way was this woman going to get near our children.

"Two years ago when my daughter graduated she took an assignment in Africa with the Peace Corps, so she wasn't even in the country, and my son was always deployed outside the US – that's when I lost it. Depression swallowed me up."

At that point, she looked at the three of us, gauging our reactions. Robyn sat back on the sofa and folded her arms across her chest. Her answer was obvious. Rachel on the other hand had softened her expression. She knew about the loss of a spouse, and with her own tenuous financial and living conditions she'd experienced some pretty dark days.

"So what happened?" Rachel asked in a sympathetic voice which garnered a quizzical look from Robyn as if to say, why are we still even bothering with this woman?

Gina paused. "A chef who abuses her staff is called creative and temperamental, but one who treats the customers that way is soon unemployed. I'd never realized how close to the surface my anger was, and without the constraints of my children around and the loss of purpose once they left, it all boiled over. I was lucky ... my last boss ... the one who sacked me, also recognized the symptoms and referred me to a psychiatrist who specialized in grief and loss. She was a godsend."

"Are you still seeing her?" I asked.

Without hesitation she answered, "Yes, but these days only about every other month ... she calls it 'check in meetings.'"

Then Robyn asked rather nastily, "So, if you go off your medications ... what would we be dealing with ... some crazy suicidal woman with a butcher knife?"

I was shocked, and it appeared Rachel was too. I had seen a brief flash of anger in Gina's eyes, and I was about to apologize when she replied calmly, "Ms. Weiss, my doctor believes in treating the cause not the symptoms. She has never prescribed medication, nor have I taken any."

I was even more surprised when that answer caused Robyn to smile broadly. Gina looked at her for a couple of seconds, and then she relaxed and smiled too. "Did I pass?"

Rachel and I looked at each other. What was that all about?

Robyn said with some amusement in her voice, "Yes, you passed, but can you cook plain old family meals, and why would you want to?"

Gina thought for a moment then gesturing toward the kitchen, she said, "If I might demonstrate."

We followed Gina into the kitchen which was really part of the great room that made up the kitchen, dining and living rooms. The kitchen was separated from the dining area by a long counter. We sat at the counter on high stools and watched her work.

First she took an immaculately white chef's jacket from her oversized bag along with a pair of flats and then she pulled her short blonde hair back in a ponytail. She looked the part; that was for sure. Then she rummaged through the pantry and refrigerator. As soon she had a number of items out, she put two skillets on the stove along with a large pot filled with water. We watched in amazement as she set to work. Without a wasted motion, she had garlic cloves crushed and sautéing in olive oil, followed by sliced artichoke hearts and sundried tomatoes. On the counter behind her, she assembled a fresh spinach salad in a large metal bowl. While she was doing that, she heated granulated sugar in the other skillet and then added walnut halves to make candied walnuts. She tossed dried cranberries in with the spinach. Plates had already gone into the refrigerator to cool as well as larger plates into the oven to warm. She then added multicolored vegetable corkscrew pasta to the boiling water.

Three curious girls wandered in from their classroom, and Sophie was the first to ask, "What smells so good?" Gina looked up from her preparations to see her audience had grown by three. Her light blue eyes sparkled as she said, "Oh just a bit of garlic and some other things. Are you girls hungry?" They nodded in unison, seemingly unfazed by the appearance of a tall beautiful woman dressed in chef's whites working in their kitchen. Gina took the dishes from the refrigerator and put the spinach salad on them in equal portions, then applied just a drizzle of the dressing she had put together, then topped the salads with candied walnuts and crumbled blue cheese. She set the plates on the counter, and then turned to the wide-eyed girls and asked, "Would you set the table please?" They hurried to comply, getting out placemats and silverware and glasses.

Gina drained the pasta and returned it to the pot to which she added the garlic, sundried tomato and artichoke olive oil mixture from the skillet. Finally she chopped some black olives and added them along with a small jar of capers, and stirred. She took the warm plates from the oven and put a generous helping on each and then topped each serving with some grated Romano. It was amazing watching her, and the food was delicious.

Roksana asked, "Have you ever been on the Cooking Channel?"

Gina modestly admitted that she had appeared once or twice. Well, the girls were sold, and once we had eaten and were back in the living room, Robyn asked her question again, "Why do you want to cook for us?"

Gina, still wearing her chef's jacket, relaxed in the big chair nearer the windows, thought about her question for a few moments, and said, "because I'd love to be part of a family again, and from what I've seen this is a pretty special family."

So we hired her. All her references, especially the folks at the shelter and the Rescue Mission where she had volunteered for the last year or so, had nothing but glowing things to say about her. Even her old boss, the one who had fired her and got her into treatment, admitted he'd now hire her back without thinking twice about it if she applied.

Gina became our three meals a day cook and once I convinced her she was part of the family and not just the cook, she began eating with us. She could have had Saturdays and Sundays off, but more often than not she was around, and she'd enlist the three girls to help her fix brunch on those days. Those brunches would last us through the day, and in the evening there was always a pot of soup or stew on the stove. Once in a while Robyn and Rachel would take over for weekends to give Gina a break, and I think they just enjoyed keeping their hands in, so cooking became a family event. Gina was more than happy to supervise and instruct. Occasionally, I was asked to make my homemade spaghetti sauce, but the most common request was for fresh bread which I loved making. Of course with Gina by my side that skill expanded into a passion which included breads with exotic ingredients and shapes, cinnamon rolls, pastries, pizza dough, and all manner of fun bake and eat items. The staff at the Parc also benefitted, and soon it just wasn't Michael who was looking out for us. Visits to the gym increased for all of us!

Almost immediately Gina joined us on Saturday for movie and popcorn night. We had purchased a large sofa for the school room for the purpose of watching movies. During the week, it was pushed back against the wall, but on Saturday it was front and center along with bean bags and other casual comfortable furniture in front of a 55-inch LED. Unsurprisingly, Gina did magic with ordinary popcorn.

Gina also replaced Robyn twice a week in the classroom to teach Italian language and history as part of the curriculum. More often than not, I was in that class too. Everyone knew we would be visiting Cecilia in Italy sometime after the court hearing about Airlea in August in Chicago. Robyn also convinced Michael to teach the girls Spanish. I figured I'd have to put Michael on the payroll pretty soon, although as smitten as he was with Robyn he'd probably join our little band without pay!

It was interesting to see how everyone but me took to their new languages with ease. Of course, I was the only one without a second language. Roksana had learned Polish from her mother, Airlea's first language was Greek, Robyn had learned German from her parents, and I was surprised to discover that Rachel's first language was Russian, which she had passed on to Sophie. Of course we all generally conversed in English, but soon it was not uncommon for the girls to have conversations with each other and Gina and Michael in Italian and Spanish, with some Greek, Russian and Polish thrown in.

The three girls took great pleasure in showing off their Italian to Cecilia during our early afternoon – saying goodnight to Cecilia calls. Unsurprisingly, Cecilia always wore a nice but modest robe for those calls, as she readied herself for bed.

And then there was Anton Assonov. As I stood in the waiting area at JFK looking at my watch for the hundredth time, I recalled the last time I was at an airport. It was in the middle of March, and I was at Newark to pick up Anton from Chicago. He was Russian, mid to late thirties, a widower and was Dmitri's younger brother. I didn't quite know what to expect except that I had already interviewed, it seemed, half the drivers in New York. They were a bunch of pampered prima donnas who felt entitled to demand sky high wages for very little work. And the more I saw, the more I was convinced that none of them would lay down their lives, much less experience any discomfort, to protect my girls – and when I said "my girls" that included Gina, Robyn and Rachel. Of course, we lost a number of applicants because they wouldn't take, or couldn't pass, a drug screening. Many took it as an affront that I would even demand such a thing. In frustration, I called Carolyn Peters in Chicago. We had a delightful chat, and I congratulated her on her engagement to her Michael, the doctor. They were getting married in late summer (wedding invitation to follow) and wanted somewhere romantic to honeymoon, so I put her in touch with Cecilia. Soon, they were booked into one of the rooms at the castle for two weeks.

Other than to check in, I had called Carolyn to get Dmitri's contact information. I had decided that I needed someone like him, especially since I figured Jason Stratham was tied up in Hollywood. I explained to Dmitri what I needed and the number of people in my household. I was just not happy with my girls running around Manhattan without a professional driver, and more importantly someone to watch over them. Robyn had already set aside Thursdays for visits to museums and other historical sites, plus there were the normal outings for shopping and such. Robyn had also planned historical outings to Boston and Philadelphia. I wanted protection wherever they went. Dmitri said he had someone in mind but needed to check on a few things. Carolyn told me later that part of that delay was checking on me and getting an idea of the people that his candidate would be driving for and protecting. A couple of days later he called and recommended his brother, Anton, who had emigrated from Russia in 2011 and was driving for him. He explained that Anton had trained as an engineer and had been working in the town of Beslan in the Republic of Ossetia-Alanis in the Russian Caucasus and had then joined the military after his wife, a teacher, died. He and Dmitri had then served together. Whatever unit Dmitri had served in, it was not some rear echelon outfit. From our couple of interactions in Chicago, I concluded Dmitri had special ops written all over him, Spetsnaz I figured. I had some misgivings, but I agreed to give Anton a three month trial.

Anton and I had talked on the phone before he left Chicago. His English was pretty good since his engineering degree had required a working knowledge, but he was a bit rusty since he had been in the military for six years beginning in late 2004, and hadn't had much chance to use it. When Anton left the military in 2010, he acted as a business representative for Dmitri for various enterprises he had going in Moscow, before he left Russia for the US.

I had seen a photo of Anton and was also holding a sign when he appeared. If the folks at MGM ever need a new Bond for their franchise, Anton was it. Dmitri was a larger version of Jason Stratham; Anton on the other hand, was a slightly younger version of Daniel Craig. He had the same close-cropped sandy hair, stood about five ten or eleven, had a scar on his forehead, and was thin and muscular, and moved with ease and quickness that made you think of Baryshnikov in his prime. It was his ice cold blue eyes that made you think particularly of Bond. There seemed a coldness there that could never be thawed. I knew Mr. Assonov would have no problem protecting my girls, but could we live with him? How could a man who lived with violence for a long time fit in with my family?