Chapter Four
Chapter
Four
Beulah
The noise was muffled inside the house. The closer I got to the back stairs, the quieter the sound became. My things were downstairs in the laundry room, near the wine cellar and storage. The bed I slept on was full size but was rammed into the corner of the same room where the washer and dryer were. It was convenient for doing the laundry at night. Before Jasper and his friends invaded, there’d been very little laundry to do. Now the piles would be endless.
I opened the door that led downstairs, but the clicking of heels stopped me from going any further. Portia appeared from around the corner. Another glass of whiskey in her hand. She looked annoyed and concerned all at once.
“Make yourself less attractive,” she said. “He’ll get rid of you, and I won’t be able to do anything about it. If you want your sister taken care of, then don’t draw his attention.” Her last word was spit out with an angry hiss. “And don’t leave tomorrow until I tell you that you can.” Portia then walked away, her clicking heels on the marble floor slowly drowned by the sound of the party.
I frowned, frustrated, as I descended the stairs. Since coming here, I’d been worried that my luck would finally end. That Portia would get angry, terminate our agreement, and Heidi and I would be tossed out. Just as I had started to trust that our situation was secure, then, Jasper showed up and threatened it. Why did Jasper get to make that decision? Who was he to tell his own mother what to do and how to do it? And what exactly should I do to make myself less attractive? I wasn’t trying to fix up for him. I didn’t wear makeup or style my hair any special way.
I had no mirror down here, but I could see clearly that the knee-length khaki shorts and white polo shirt Portia considered “uniform” wasn’t attractive. It wasn’t meant to be. I reached to touch my hair. My tight ponytail swung when I flicked it. I wasn’t standing out in a crowd like this, not in a positive sense. It was clear that I was the help.
Sighing, I sank down on the edge of the bed and kicked off my tennis shoes. My feet hurt every night because the shoes Portia gave me were a six, and I wore an eight. After running around all day, not even taking a minor lunch break, my toes were so cramped it took my breath whenever I set them free.
My stomach rumbled. I looked at the stairs. There was no way I could walk back up there to get food from the kitchen and return. My feet ached more than my stomach. I’d make sure to eat breakfast in the morning before I began my day. It was almost midnight. I’d be awake in six hours. The shower was in a claw-footed tub with a wraparound curtain beside the washing machine. Standing, I winced and hobbled to it, turning the water on.
A good cry would make me feel better, and the hot water would soothe my feet. Mom always said to look for the positive. That was as good as it got tonight.
Luckily, I wasn’t so exhausted that I slept past six a.m. My stomach was growling when I opened my eyes, and I figured that was what had awakened me. With a good long stretch, I wiggled my feet. They were sore but somewhat better. The idea of putting those shoes back on made me grimace and briefly hate Portia. It was early, and no one would be awake. I could go upstairs in my socks. My breakfast would taste so much better if my feet weren’t crammed in those shoes.
I dressed, pulled my hair back, brushed my teeth, and headed for the stairs. This was my favorite time of the day. I had it to myself and could enjoy it. Now that Jasper and his friends were here for the summer, I’d look forward to my early mornings even more than before with just Portia. If yesterday was any indication of how he planned on spending his summer, I would and should enjoy these moments before the day’s hailstorm cut loose.
Portia bragged about Jasper to her visiting friends, making them believe his presence was a wonderful thing. Then he arrived, and that all changed. Portia completely changed. The woman who’d been distant, egomaniacal, and cold now cowered and seemed scared of her son, which made no sense to me. I was missing something and wanted to know what because my life and Heidi’s were at stake.
Just before I walked into the kitchen, I heard a cabinet close. Who the heck was in there this early? Portia didn’t stir till after ten. I doubted she’d ever seen six in the morning. Ever, like not in her life.
I peeked around the corner to see a girl with messy dark brown hair. A large t-shirt was the only thing on her body. She was on her tiptoes, looking in the cabinets. I assumed she was one of Jasper’s guests. Which meant I had to help her. She was ruining my quiet, peaceful morning.
“Can I get you something?” I asked, walking fully into the kitchen.
She dropped back down to flat feet and spun around to look at me. “Oh, it’s you, yeah, I need some coffee and food to go. I’ve got work in an hour. . .hey, can you call a cab? Do you know how to do that?”
Work? She worked?
“Uh, I don’t know about a cab, but you could Google it on your phone. I’m sure you could get an Uber here or something.”
She sighed, breathed in, and replied: “Yeah, it would be great if I had a phone with an app. But Uber requires a card or bank attached to it, which I do not have. I have twenty bucks, and that twenty bucks needs to get me to my apartment so I can get dressed and scoot.”
This girl didn’t sound like one of Jasper’s friends. Not the Ivy League trust fund type, which were the ones I’d met so far. Unable to help myself, I asked, “Exactly, where do you work?”
She then walked over to the fridge. “I nanny for Auden Elswood’s younger siblings. His father’s second wife is twenty-seven. They have two-year-old twin terrors. A boy and a girl. That’s how I know this crowd since you’re trying to figure me out. Now, could you point me to the food?”
“Oh, yeah, I was going to make myself some bacon and eggs, you want that?”
She shook her head. “Don’t have time. A muffin and a go cup of coffee?”
I walked to the pantry and found the bakery muffins that Portia sometimes nibbled. Stepping out, I handed one to her and went over to make the coffee.
“Thank you. I’m so damn hungry.”
“You’re welcome,” I replied.
“By the way, I’m Shay. I saw you working last night. It looked as sucky as my job. But then you get to see Jasper every day. I hear he’s an amazing fuck.”
Opening the cabinet for a less expensive cup, I took one down. There were no “go cups” in this house, but this one wouldn’t be missed. I didn’t want to discuss Jasper’s sex life and had no interest in discussing Jasper. I ignored Shay’s comment.
“Do you have a name?” she asked.
I was being rude, and she was the friendliest person I’d met while working for Portia. “Beulah,” I responded. “Beulah Edwards.”
Shay scrunched her nose. “Weird name.”
I nodded because I agreed. I’d never much cared for that name, but now that my mother was gone, I didn’t complain anymore. It was something she gave me I could never lose, and as I thought of that, Shay said, “That was rude of me. Sorry, I just say stuff. I have no filter, but obviously need one.”
“No, it’s okay,” I replied. “It is an odd name—I admit it—but my mother gave it to me, and now that she’s gone, I cherish it.”
Shay looked defeated. “Damn, I’m really sorry. I should work on that. I didn’t know my mom or dad. G-maw raised me, who was the older lady who cared for us in my foster home. My sister and I were lucky. When our mom overdosed, we were placed in a home that we stayed in until well, until G-Maw passed away just before I turned sixteen. Cancer, she smoked a pack a day. Anyway, my sister was an adult then and she was given custody of me.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”
Shay grinned. “Sorry to hear what? About my mom overdosing when I was in diapers or G-maw passing?”
“Both,” I honestly replied.
“Me too, though it doesn’t sound or appear like your life is peach ice cream. We’re making it fine. Could be worse. Things can always lessen to worse. Anyway, I gotta go. I’ll walk until I figure out the cab thing. Someone may give me a ride. Nice talking to you, thanks for the coffee and muffin.”
Then she headed for the door in her t-shirt—a t-shirt and nothing else.