Chapter 26
F riday morning arrived quickly. I’d already been informed by both Edna and Sinclair that I would be working exclusively with Edna and, later on, the chef and his staff. Edna had already helped me pick out the uniform I’d be wearing: black slacks, white blouse, black jacket, and black tie. Edna had tried to talk me into the black skirt but my shoes—black flats—didn’t look professional with the skirt.
Over the past week, Sinclair had been silent and surly, not talking much, and I suspected he was still quite angry with me over snooping where I wasn’t allowed. Today, however, even though he appeared to be just as irascible, after he finished his breakfast, he said, “When you’re done, I have something to give you.”
My mind raced, wondering what it could be. Was it something physical…like a special broom for cleaning downstairs? Or a new laptop? Although I hadn’t been complaining about any of the tools and equipment I used, items like those would have been welcome.
But was it instead something intangible? Like having made final arrangements to have my father transported to his medical appointment in October?
Maybe it was a raise—even though it wouldn’t be anything I could actually enjoy, it would mean a lot, knowing he was pleased with my work. And, if I could continue getting raises, maybe I could take some time off this sentence.
My mind was so abuzz with what it could be, I finally said, “You can give it to me now.”
“You haven’t finished eating.”
“I’m not that hungry.” That was the truth. Now that he’d piqued my curiosity, I wanted nothing more than to satisfy it.
“Very well. Come with me.”
Soon, we were heading to his office and then I knew it had to be something like arrangements for my father or a raise. If it had had something to do with my actual work, we could have discussed it at the table or gone downstairs. I tried not to let my eagerness show on my face as we entered his office.
After I entered the room, he closed the door—but it wasn’t because he wanted to speak in private, and I didn’t understand that until he removed a hanger from the door from which a black-and-white dress hung.
“I understand that you and Edna chose a uniform for you to wear tonight, but this will be your uniform.”
As he held it toward me, I didn’t want to take it. Although I was certain it would fit, I didn’t want to wear it. The skirt looked to be a little shorter than I was comfortable with—and, if the catering crew were all wearing slacks, I’d stick out like a sore thumb.
Maybe that was what he wanted.
“Why?”
His voice took on a bit of a gruff edge, a sound I was beginning to like, despite all the reasons why I shouldn’t have. “Because I said so.”
And then it dawned on me: this was my final punishment for breaking his rules. It all made sense—the continued surliness and lack of communication were part of it too. I hadn’t finished paying for my infraction.
I knew arguing would get me nowhere—so all I could do was hope it wouldn’t fit. Then I’d wear the uniform Edna and I had assembled and he’d have to deal with it.
I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d bested me, so I simply said, “Fine.”
“It should fit—and Edna said you had some flat black shoes that would work all right with it. If you’d prefer different shoes, let her know this morning.”
I simply shrugged and asked, “Is that all?”
“Yes. That’s all.” Even though his lips didn’t smile, I could see it in his eyes. So I turned and left his office. I took the uniform and hung it on the doorknob to my bedroom. Then I headed back to the kitchen—and if I hadn’t lost my appetite earlier due to anticipation, I’d lost it now due to anger and disgust.
When I walked over with my plate to the work area to scrape it off, Edna took it from me. “Mr. Whittier said he was going to have you wear a different uniform. Have you tried it on yet?”
“No.” It would be far easier to have to switch into a different uniform if I waited until the last-minute due an ill-fit. If I tried it on now, I wouldn’t be able to use that excuse.
“Head upstairs and do that. Mr. Whittier seemed to think you might want different shoes. If you do, let me know.”
Of course, I wouldn’t find any sympathy with Edna, not when it came to her Sinny .
So I headed to my room, picking up the hanger from the doorknob as if there were an infectious disease clinging to it. As I stood outside my room, I heard Sinclair’s shoes treading in the main hallway, and I was glad I was out of sight so I wouldn’t have to acknowledge him.
In my room, I took a better look at the dress. Maybe it wasn’t so bad. The fabric was of better quality than I was used to—soft and shiny black with white accents for the trim and collar, as well as a middle section on the front. Between the breasts, there was white fabric that ended at the waist and, at the top, there was a tiny black bow. There was also a white apron with black trim that I’d wear at the waist.
My cheeks flamed before I even took off my clothes to try it on and I knew that a good part of this final punishment was the humility I’d feel wearing it. Not only was serving him and his guests reminding me of my place—something he’d planned long before my infraction—but the clothing would likely keep me in line because I’d want to be noticed even less than I had before.
As I slipped on the dress, I thought maybe it wouldn’t be so bad—but it was. The ruffly skirt ended mid-thigh, so I’d have to be careful bending down, and the top showed off a bit of my cleavage. And it fit like a glove, as if it had been made exactly for me. I had an ugly bruise on one of my shins from bumping into one of the statues I was moving downstairs and I felt humiliated all over again.
But then I had an idea.
If he wanted me to look like a tart, why couldn’t I take it several steps further? I could try beating him at his own game. Looking up maid uniform on the internet, I found several cosplay and Halloween costume versions that were exactly what I wanted to check out.
In my closet, I still had the three-inch black heels I’d worn at the college celebration the night I’d been whisked away from home. All I needed was one other item.
Once I got dressed in my own clothes, I headed back downstairs and found Edna sitting at the table polishing silverware. I said, “I do need one item of clothing for my new uniform.”
“What’s that, dear? Different shoes?”
“No, I think I’ve got that. I just need a pair of black fishnet stockings.”
Pausing the rubbing motion on the spoon she was holding, she looked up at me. “ Fishnet? ”
“Yes,” I said, nodding, hoping my expression was as earnest and innocent as could be. “They’re the only kind that will look right.”
The way her lips quirked up slightly told me she knew I was full of it but she was amused and willing to indulge me nonetheless. “Well, I needed to get out a bit anyway. Tonight will be a long night. But I’ll have you take over here while I run and go get everything.”
Before she removed the latex gloves, she showed me how to use the cream to polish each piece of silverware. Then I was to put it in the tub and she instructed me to then rinse each piece off and dry it with a towel.
I scrubbed that silverware far harder than I had to—but I was certain that, when Sinclair saw me dressed up in his ridiculous uniform, he’d change his mind.
I’d simply forgotten that we were almost evenly matched.
By late afternoon, Edna and I had both the dining room and the beverage nook looking perfect. The dining room had an elegant centerpiece that made that room even more overbearing and ostentatious. A little after four o’clock, Sinclair arrived and went straight upstairs while Greg checked in with Edna. After he left, she explained to me that he and his wife would be helping initially. Guests had been instructed to either park in the huge driveway at the west end or along the block. Greg would be guiding guests in through the west doors while his wife would be waiting in the antechamber for anyone who might come to the front.
“How many people are going to be here?” I asked Edna, feeling nervous.
“Oh, not many. It’s Mr. Whittier’s closest staff, and he has them over four times a year for planning sessions. December is always the biggest, because he combines it with gift giving so they don’t complain, he says. The quarterly meetings are more important, though, because that’s when they decide if they’re on the right track.”
“Why doesn’t he have you cook, Edna? Your food is amazing.”
When she laughed, I thought her cheeks might have turned a little pink as well. “That’s very kind of you to say, but I don’t know that I could cook for a large group. I wouldn’t want to. I’m happy to help. And Chef Theodore and his staff create exactly the type of atmosphere Mr. Whittier wants.”
“When will they be here?”
“In about an hour. Let’s go get the table set.”
It wasn’t until then that I knew exactly how many people would be sitting at that table: nine. Edna told me that five of his highest-ranked staff—his so-called right-hand men, even though one was a woman—would be there, and three of them would be bringing plus-ones.
After setting the table, we added the final touches—butter, cream, salt and pepper, enough that anything anyone needed would be in easy reach. Later, we’d fill the water goblets and leave a few full carafes of water on the table.
But it was finally time for me to get dressed, as the chef and his staff would be there soon and she wanted all of us to meet to discuss our various roles.
When I got upstairs, new stockings in hand, I put on the outfit—and was immediately reminded of how uncomfortable those heels always felt when I first put them on. How I would have loved to wear a pair of black sneakers instead. But, as I viewed myself in the full-length mirror, I knew I’d achieved the look I was hoping for.
And I hoped Sinclair would regret every minute of it.
As I wrapped the apron around my waist, I questioned my hair. A lot of the pictures I’d seen online showed the women wearing little hats atop their heads—but I was again inspired. I went into the bathroom where I had all my grooming supplies and quickly pulled my hair into two pigtails. I hadn’t yet used my curling iron since arriving at the mansion, so I fetched it out of a bag in the closet and plugged it in while darkening my eye makeup a bit.
When I left my room, I felt a little silly—because I wasn’t used to making myself look sexy, but I knew I had managed. And I expected Sinclair to take one look at me and order me upstairs to get dressed in the more modest uniform Edna and I had picked out earlier in the week.
By the time I got back downstairs, Chef Theodore and crew were already bringing in all the food—and my mouth was salivating. They set up a station of pans over Sterno burners on the table—and Edna showed me something I hadn’t seen before: tucked in the wall was an actual door to the kitchen that she slid out, and, once she locked it into place, it swung both ways. I knew exactly why. It was to hide the work being done over here, keeping in place whatever illusion these rich people wanted to hold in their heads. How could they enjoy a delicious meal when they’d seen all those people slaving over it?
For my part, I intended to not make eye contact with a single person at the table, all except Sinclair—and I hoped to make him as uncomfortable as possible.
There were, besides Edna and me, five other people working in the kitchen: Chef Theodore, who would be performing a variety of tasks at the stove, and his sous chef. He had three servers with him and Edna let him know I’d be helping them. Edna’s job was to keep communication clear amongst us all, freeing up the chef to work his magic.
That large kitchen was beginning to get crowded, so Edna asked me and one of the servers named Rodrigo to wheel the dessert cart into the pantry. Once we got it there, we began to leave—but I looked around the space, only having been here once before—and that time, I’d been on a mission to find first-aid supplies. This time, I wanted to see everything. It was mostly food and a few large pots and pans and even a landline telephone hanging on a post.
And then I spotted something hanging on a tiny hook.
A large key.
I took it off the hook and examined it, because it looked a lot like the keys I’d been using to open doors on the second floor of the east wing. When I saw, etched on the other side, the letters MSTR , I was certain that meant master . And did that mean it would work in multiple locks?
If so, it didn’t matter that Sinclair had hidden the big key ring. If I wanted to get back in those rooms, I would try this key first, and the advantage would be that one key wouldn’t make noise like a ring of them had.
I put the key back on the hook and rushed back into the kitchen, realizing my coworker had returned before I had. Edna then had a quick meeting with the four of us, discussing our duties. First would be to get any drinks required by the guests. We had regular iced tea and decaf raspberry. We also had wine that would be served by two of the servers, while Rodrigo and I would take care of the non-alcoholic drinks, including water.
Once everyone was settled, we would take in the first course. When I got confused over all the courses—from an amuse-bouche, something I’d never heard of before, to soups and appetizers and salads long before the main course—Rodrigo said, “Don’t worry. You don’t need to know what the courses are called. They give us the food to take. Just pay attention when chef says what it is and what’s in it in case a guest asks.”
Suddenly, I felt woefully unqualified to do this job, and I felt stupid in this outfit—especially since my plan had already failed. Sinclair probably would not appear in the kitchen at all tonight.
Meaning he likely wouldn’t even notice my defiance.