“What’s a herper?”I manage.
“Someone who loves snakes.”
“Then definitely not.Are you sure your employer is sane?”
“Kid’s crazy,” Daryl concedes, “but decent.I’ve worked for worse.”
“How’d you meet him?”
“Answered an ad.”
“And how long have you been with him?”
“Five years.”
“Seriously?He’s owned this place since he was like, twenty-one?”
“Exactly.”
Daryl exits through French doors to the outside courtyard, where there’s a massive, kidney-shaped pool, featuring a slide and volleyball net.Also, an inflatable unicorn.I have no idea.
The impressive landscaping offers several large palo verde trees for shade and a striking collection of barrel cacti, saguaros, and aloe plants set among red rocks and gray stone.I can just make out a screened-in area to my right with a shimmer of water.Petunia’s private patio with designated swimming hole.But of course.
Daryl leads me to an adobe structure featuring more French doors.The pool house, I’m thinking.But instead:
“Here you go.”He ushers me into a cool interior featuring a dark wood ceiling fan whirring above a massive California king bed.Spanish-style headboard and bedside tables.An antique dresser across the way, topped by a giant flat-screen TV.Stone fireplace to the right.Door leading to a master bath to the left.
If the snakes hadn’t already robbed me of words, this would’ve done it.
Daryl walks me through a brief tour, including the expansive walk-in closet, a minibar featuring a half-fridge and Italian coffee maker, and a master bath complete with a double sink and steamshower built for six.Thick towels and high-end toiletry products round out the extravagance.
Maybe this place really is a luxury resort.Except I’ve never stayed in any hotel this nice.
Daryl is already crossing to a panel set in the wall next to the French doors.It features a speaker and a column of buttons.
“Whole compound is connected,” he states, his deep baritone resonating across the room.“Button one, the kitchen.Jenny’s there most days, eight to six.Sundays off.”
“Jenny?”
“Cook, housekeeper.Genni, G-E-N-N-I.”
I nod my head to acknowledge the unique spelling.
“Buttons two through four are for the kid.Don’t worry about them.”
“Okay.”
“Button five, me.Need anything, anytime, you ring, I’ll answer.”There’s nothing lascivious in his tone, just basic reassurance.Which I truly appreciate at the moment.
“You live here, too?”
He nods.
“Another bungalow on the compound?”
“Mine’s a little bigger.”First crack of a smile across his broad face.“Seniority.”
“What do you do when Bart’s away?”I ask curiously.“Since, you know, you bailed on the care and feeding of snakes.”
