Tag Archives: service entrance
The Mrs. was crazy. There could be no doubt about that. The upstairs maids from Honduras, the downstairs maids from Guatemala, the Puerto Rican house boy, the two Dominican drivers, the Cuban security guards, and the three Colombian nannies all referred to our mistress as The Mrs.—as if she were a flamboyant character straight out of a Telemundo telenovela. Between her collagen-inflated lips, her Botox-smoothed forehead, her surgically enhanced boobs, and her temper tantrums, The Mrs. had all the talents of a trashy TV temptress.
Before I even knocked, the castle-like doors parted and Frank, a beefy security guard and former NYPD officer, greeted me. He had been monitoring my approach via a network of security cameras. I was escorted into an entryway with gleaming white marble floors, an imposing staircase and, everywhere I looked, pumpkins. Big, real pumpkins. And cobwebs. And tombstones. And bats. It looked like the set of a Halloween-themed Broadway production. Frank could sense my surprise.