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“Yes. Even when Chase and I travel, he’ll get his own room so at the end of the night we’ve respected the rules.”
“Of course. That’s what we did.” I turned away so she couldn’t see the lie on my face.
Would our trips be different? No cuddling ever? That might be a deal breaker.
I laughed.
Of all the things for me to put my foot down on, cuddling seemed a bit trivial.
Wendy gave me an odd look. “What?”
“Nothing.”
A black woman with long brown hair ran out from the front door. “Ms. Wendy, are you okay?”
“Oh Zola, I need you.” Wendy spread her arms so Zola could help her up.
Again, the unsettling agitation that all of Chase’s maids were black hit me.
It shouldn’t even matter. What is wrong with me tonight? Maybe they remind me of Grandma.
My grandma had worked as a maid all of her life, until her back’s throbbing wouldn’t disappear from pain killers and her employer forced her to retire. She’d spent her days on her knees scrubbing and cleaning a rich family’s house, just to come home to an alcoholic jobless husband who beat her and five hungry kids who needed to eat, do homework, and prepare for the next day. My drunken grandfather died long before I was born.
Now, Grandma lived in a small retirement home with her boyfriend, a cook for the family she used to work for.
And every time I visited her, we strolled around the retirement community, hand in hand, greeting all her friends, “Here’s my granddaughter. She went to Harvard, you know. Won’t be any toilet cleaning in her future. She’ll pay someone to do that.”
She might be right, but I don’t think being a rich man’s fourth girlfriend is what she meant.
Wendy leaned on Zola as they headed up the pathway.
I trailed behind them.
White light bathed the staircase. Two other black maids walked by me while they walked down the stairs.
They smiled at me, and I cringed a little inside, somewhat embarrassed for them to see me here.
What would Grandma say if she was a maid here? Would she feel bad for the black girl or think the arrangement was not at all unusual?
We reached the stairs with no further vomiting or stumbling.
“Goodnight, Wendy.” I watched her amble toward her apartment. The door with the huge number one opened. Dawn stepped out in a pink robe and ostrich-feathered heel slippers. An old episode of Desperate Housewives flashed in my head.
Whoa. I didn’t know people actually wore slippers with heels.
“Jasmine, I’m thrilled you spent time with Wendy and Lucy.” Dawn displayed a warm grin. Make-up coated her face. Even her blonde hair maintained a stylish curl. She exuded a flawless beauty.
I was dropping lower into a crater of insecurity with each second that I glanced at her.
“Yeah. We had fun.” I fingered the diamond-studded number four on my key.
“I’m excited you’re giving us a chance.” She moved in closer. Her perfume swirled around me. It was something intoxicating and flowery—the scent of fresh roses mingled with violets. Like Chase, no blemishes or imperfections marked her skin.
I’m so out of his league. Why the hell would he even need other women when he has her?
“We started off rocky.” Dawn tossed her blonde curls over her slim shoulders. “And I blame Chase for that. He disrespected our nights and it just made me so frustrated I sent that mean message to you without a second thought. I’m sorry about that.”
“It’s forgiven.”
