A loud knock on the front door roused me from my thoughts. Scotch in hand, I made my way over. The door swung open to reveal Vic standing at the entrance, a defiant smirk across her heavily made-up face. Had she always worn so much makeup? It might simply be in contrast to Annie, so unadorned and naturally gorgeous, but Vic looked like she’d applied paint for a photo shoot.
“I bet you thought I wouldn't come.” She gave me a wink as she walked inside. Hastily, I glanced out into the darkness. I hadn't heard any return, and I couldn't see the car Annie used parked outside, so maybe I was catching a lucky break.
“Hello! I'm over here.” Vic sounded annoyed.
Weary already, I let the door close behind me and turned to face her. “Vic, it was not a good idea for you to come out here.”
“Why not?” There was that pouty, childish tone to her voice again. Not appealing. “It's been so long since I've seen you,” she whined. Not one to waste time on pleasantries, she dropped her trenchcoat to the floor. I had to admit, she made quite a sight in four-inch stiletto heels and fishnet stockings leading up to a very naughty set of bra and panties, revealing far more than they covered. But it had no effect on me, other than to make me feel more pressured to get her to leave.
She stepped toward me, trailing her hands along her curves. “I've missed you.” Making sure she had my attention, she stroked her fingers along her pussy. “I've missed you so much.”
Her eyes flashed suddenly over to something behind me. Sharply, she asked, “Can you tell the maid she's got the night off?”
Turning quickly, I caught Annie standing on the bottom stair. She must have come home quietly while I was drinking in the library. Fuck and fuck it all. “She is not the maid,” I started just as Annie spoke.
“Sorry.” Beet red, Annie whipped around and flew up the stairs. Vic let out a peel of laughter, and I was sure Annie could hear her cackling even from her bedroom.
“It's time for you to get out, Vic.” I pressed the button to open the front doors once again. Taking time to have a more nuanced conversation wasn't going to happen after all.
“What?” She looked at me like I was crazy.
“You need to leave.” I pointed to the open door. “Now.”
“Have you lost your mind? I show up here, dressed like this?” She gestured to herself, as if her looks alone explained her indignation. “How dare you turn me down.”
“Vic, I dare to.” I met her gaze, level and certain. I might have tried to phrase things more delicately had she shown more restraint herself. Now, my one concern was Annie and clearing up any confusion she must be currently feeling.
“Do you know how many guys would kill to have this?” Vic shrieked, pointing at herself and sounding outraged.
“Then you shouldn't have a problem filling your dance card.”
“You asshole!” She cursed and stomped, but she picked up her coat and put it back on.
“Drive safe.” I crossed my arms against my chest and watched to make sure she left. Hurling a few more insults at me, she huffed her way out again into the night. Had I ever found her attractive? I guess I had been drunk most times we interacted.
The door firmly closed behind her, I brought my fingers to the bridge of my nose, closing my eyes and taking a moment to wish it had all been a bad dream. Opening my eyes, dropping my hand, I knew I had to face reality. It had happened. Annie had seen Vic standing before me dressed in next-to-nothing. Vic had called her the maid. I needed to clear things up. That is, if Annie would ever talk to me again.
11
Annie
“Annie?” Up in my bedroom, I heard Ian's voice call up the stairs. I punched my pillow. Screw him and the whore he had downstairs. Maybe they'd had a quickie in the entryway. Now he probably wanted me to fix them a sandwich.
“Annie? Are you awake?”
I did not answer, at least not loud enough for him to hear. I growled to myself, telling him off in my head. I'd be happy to yell at him tomorrow, after she was gone, but I was not going back down there while that shrew might still be around to call me the maid.
“Annie, I'm sorry.” I could almost picture him standing there, plaintive at the bottom of the stairs. His voice sounded apologetic. Maybe he was afraid I would quit on him. He'd probably grown accustomed to all the services I provided him every day, not to mention what I let him do to my body at night. I cringed at the thought. Now he was down there with another woman, the night after he'd gone down on me. Even though I was alone in my room, I flamed with embarrassment and anger. I didn't know who I was angrier at, him or myself.
He was all fucked up, no question. Who arranged and controlled their sexual interactions the way he did? It wasn't healthy, and apparently he felt such detachment he was able to go from one woman to the next, one night after the other with no problem.
Then again, he never claimed to be otherwise. In fact, he'd been quite open with me about being crazy. He hadn't hidden his drinking or his pills. It shouldn't have come as a surprise to me to see him downstairs with a half-naked woman. The fact that I felt like I'd been slapped hard across my face? That was on me. I’d been growing more and more attached to him, despite every indication that he was bad news. This was what I got for it.
He didn't call up the stairs again. I stayed awake for hours longer though, tossing and turning. I couldn't have got more than three or four hours of sleep before the sun started to rise. It was April. Flowers were blooming. I wanted to crush them all.
Pulling on my oldest, rattiest jeans and a s
weater so beat up it looked as if it had been pulled apart by wolves, I stormed down the stairs. I saw no sign of either Ian or his tart. That was all right by me. I got right to work.
The Douglas Scotch, I let stand. Even in the midst of my rage, I could respect a family tradition. But the rest of it, the vodka and bourbon and gin that lined the cupboards? I poured it all out. I took most of the prescription pills he had lying around, including the ones far past their expiration dates, and poured them into a plastic bag. After sealing them up, I walked outside and dumped it into the trash bin. I was done with his melodramatic crap. He could fire me for all I cared. If I was going to stay in the job, I wouldn't do it with some addict wallowing in self-pity.
After that, I headed into the main living room. He'd wanted a new couch. How about new curtains? A new rug, too? The only really comfortable room in the house was his library, and I sure as hell wasn't going near that room ever again. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice? It wasn't going to happen twice.
I was down on my hands and knees, struggling to get the old, dusty rug up from underneath the ancient couch when he finally emerged. In his defense, it was only about nine a.m. Anger and humiliation had woken me up early and made me work fast.
“Starting in on some remodeling?”
I turned as he spoke. Angrily, I blew away a strand of hair that had fallen in front of my eyes. I gave him the evil eye. “What does it look like?”
“It looks like you’re angry. I'll make us some coffee and we can talk.”
“Is your friend going to join us, too? Because she seemed like a lot of fun. I would love to get to know her.”
He squinted, looking off to the side, his hand to his forehead. “I’m sorry you saw that.”
“It doesn't matter,” I insisted through gritted teeth as I yanked violently on the rug. A plume of dust rose into the air, making me cough.
“It does matter. Please join me in the kitchen so I can explain.”
“I might, but only when I’m done with the rug.” I knew I was sounding as childish as some of my siblings did when they were bickering with each other. At the moment, though, I was proud of myself for even staying in the same room and engaging in conversation. I was angry, but I was also deeply mortified. I'd been a complete idiot.