Her high voice stabbed into my ears. “Siri Google ‘Mother’.” She must have spoken to her other phone and lifted it for me to hear. “Females who inhabit or perform the role of bearing some relation to their children, who may or may not be their biological offspring.”
“Is this your way of saying I’m adopted?” If so, it looks like life is finally looking up .
“You drive me insane, Maxwell, and you know it! Who screens their mother’s calls?”
“Anyone above the age of sixteen.”
She took a deep breath. “Tonight I’m having a very important party. You will be there, with a beautiful young woman, preferably someone who will not embarrass you or me and is of marriage material. You will smile, you will laugh, you will pretend you are the only son of the Emerson family, and heir to everything when your father and I die. Which might be soon since you are keen on breaking my heart. It will be a splendid night and then you can go back to your fortress of solitude high above Boston. Do you understand?”
“Where am I supposed to find this beautiful young unattached woman?” I asked.
“I don’t know son, but the brunette producer in your office seems like a viable option.”
“Goodbye, Mother.” I hung up, fighting the urge to drop my head on the table. Apparently my phone was cursed.
“I looked pitiful the other night, right?” Irene asked me at the door. She was dressed in an outfit I could not afford, diamond earrings only seen in catalogs, and perfect makeup while I scrubbed her toilet.
If she was what ‘pitiful’ looked like, I’d love to take a stab at it.
“No, you didn’t,” I finally answered while spraying the toilet bowl with bleach.
“I used to be really popular; people lined up to come to my parties.”
I realized she really didn’t give a damn what I thought, she just wanted to vent, but listening to rich people and their sob stories were not in my job description.
“People in this city…they are just so fake. You know? They all love you when you have money and power, but the moment you slip up, they leave you out in the cold.”
Again this was not my business…but again she didn’t give a fuck and I could do nothing about that.
“I killed someone.” My head whipped back to face her and she busted out laughing. “Oh my god! Your face Ha! Ha! HA! You looked ready to piss your pants.”
“That wasn’t funny.”
“Now you know how I felt when you said you didn’t know English.” She crossed her arms.
“Touché.” I nodded before standing up and flushing the toilet. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Keep what in mind?”
“That you have a twisted sense of humor,” I blurted out, but she didn’t care and instead smiled brightly at me.
“You know you’re way too pretty to be a maid.”
“I tried being a prostitute, but it didn’t work out.”
Her eyes widened, and this time I laughed.
“Who has the twisted humor now?” She shook her head at me.
“I never said there was anything wrong with dark humor. In fact, I applaud it.” I grabbed the bucket and moved out of her bathroom to go back downstairs.
“Jane, are you done?”
“Yes, why?” Turning to face her, I prayed to god she didn’t have anything else for me to do. I’d already cleaned for five hours.
“I need help.” She pointed to the two dresses on her bed. The first was a beautifully simple emerald sweetheart dress with sleeves that would fall over the shoulder. The other was an elegant champagne chiffon dress with lacy cap sleeves.
“Definitely the champagne one.”
“Great, you can wear the green.”
“I’m sorry, come again?” I stared at her, hoping she’d laugh to prove that it was another dark joke…like ha ha ha, of course you can wear the thousand-dollar dress—just kidding, you’re a maid type of joke.
But she took the cleaning bucket from my hand and put it down by the door.
“Ms. Monrova—”
“Everyone who didn’t come to my party is
“Is this your way of saying I’m adopted?” If so, it looks like life is finally looking up .
“You drive me insane, Maxwell, and you know it! Who screens their mother’s calls?”
“Anyone above the age of sixteen.”
She took a deep breath. “Tonight I’m having a very important party. You will be there, with a beautiful young woman, preferably someone who will not embarrass you or me and is of marriage material. You will smile, you will laugh, you will pretend you are the only son of the Emerson family, and heir to everything when your father and I die. Which might be soon since you are keen on breaking my heart. It will be a splendid night and then you can go back to your fortress of solitude high above Boston. Do you understand?”
“Where am I supposed to find this beautiful young unattached woman?” I asked.
“I don’t know son, but the brunette producer in your office seems like a viable option.”
“Goodbye, Mother.” I hung up, fighting the urge to drop my head on the table. Apparently my phone was cursed.
“I looked pitiful the other night, right?” Irene asked me at the door. She was dressed in an outfit I could not afford, diamond earrings only seen in catalogs, and perfect makeup while I scrubbed her toilet.
If she was what ‘pitiful’ looked like, I’d love to take a stab at it.
“No, you didn’t,” I finally answered while spraying the toilet bowl with bleach.
“I used to be really popular; people lined up to come to my parties.”
I realized she really didn’t give a damn what I thought, she just wanted to vent, but listening to rich people and their sob stories were not in my job description.
“People in this city…they are just so fake. You know? They all love you when you have money and power, but the moment you slip up, they leave you out in the cold.”
Again this was not my business…but again she didn’t give a fuck and I could do nothing about that.
“I killed someone.” My head whipped back to face her and she busted out laughing. “Oh my god! Your face Ha! Ha! HA! You looked ready to piss your pants.”
“That wasn’t funny.”
“Now you know how I felt when you said you didn’t know English.” She crossed her arms.
“Touché.” I nodded before standing up and flushing the toilet. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Keep what in mind?”
“That you have a twisted sense of humor,” I blurted out, but she didn’t care and instead smiled brightly at me.
“You know you’re way too pretty to be a maid.”
“I tried being a prostitute, but it didn’t work out.”
Her eyes widened, and this time I laughed.
“Who has the twisted humor now?” She shook her head at me.
“I never said there was anything wrong with dark humor. In fact, I applaud it.” I grabbed the bucket and moved out of her bathroom to go back downstairs.
“Jane, are you done?”
“Yes, why?” Turning to face her, I prayed to god she didn’t have anything else for me to do. I’d already cleaned for five hours.
“I need help.” She pointed to the two dresses on her bed. The first was a beautifully simple emerald sweetheart dress with sleeves that would fall over the shoulder. The other was an elegant champagne chiffon dress with lacy cap sleeves.
“Definitely the champagne one.”
“Great, you can wear the green.”
“I’m sorry, come again?” I stared at her, hoping she’d laugh to prove that it was another dark joke…like ha ha ha, of course you can wear the thousand-dollar dress—just kidding, you’re a maid type of joke.
But she took the cleaning bucket from my hand and put it down by the door.
“Ms. Monrova—”
“Everyone who didn’t come to my party is
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