Chapter 7: Chapter 7

The contract is more like a handbook of instructions but I read it anyway, I read it like I'm trying to pass a course...and in a way, I am.

In a way, the contract seems unfair; the leverage it gives Mr. Robinson to ask, demand and request, the way he can easily take up my free weekends, and how the contract can be orally changed if he pleases.

I read on anyway and learn more things, like the fact he is allergic to peanuts, he hates coloured cereal, and only eats pancakes on Wednesdays.

It also stipulates that he would leave his weekly dirty laundry in a bag at my door every Friday and I must have it hanging at his door Sunday evening.

The rest of the huge contract is filled with "Mays or May nots" for the maid.

The maid May take the car to visit relatives.

The maid May Not use any other car asides the KIA, whether in an emergency or not.

The maid May raise her concerns within the boundaries of her work.

The maid May Not question the actions or decisions of Mr. Robinson on any occasion, unless permitted.

I practically roll my eyes every five minutes into reading the contract and by the time I'm done, it's almost noon.

With a little more confidence due to the information from the contract, I make oven-baked bacon risotto and iced-tea, determined to impress him.

Things were going to change.

They just had to.

Today will be the last time he makes a fool out of me, and with that thought in mind, I keep the dish warm in the microwave then sit on the couch in the living room, awaiting his return.

I dont know how long I wait before I realise it's already 1. If I was going to wait, I'd have to keep busy. I spend the next 30 minutes cleaning and wiping and organising before exhaustion takes over and I retreat to my bedroom, giving up on my anticipating his return.

****

The fumbling wakes me up.

Loud fumbling, hitting and slamming on the wall and the first thing that comes to my mind is that the house is being robbed.

Cellphone in hand, I quietly climb out of bed and open the door, fear gripping me at the worst possible moment and my first instinct is to call Mr. Robinson when I realise, I don't even have his number.

Don't call me. He had instructed the day of my interview. The sight that greets me however, sends my body numb and causing the phone to fall from my hand.

Mr. Robinson has his hand buried deep in a lady's hair and the other hand somewhere inside her dress.

His black button shirt is already unbuttoned halfway and he isn't wearing his jacket or tie.

The dark-haired lady has a hand fumbling with his belt buckle and the other grasping his shoulder for support with her moans suppressed against his lips.

The belt buckle comes undone and he swoops her up in one swift move, still kissing her as she giggles.

I don't know how long I stand, shocked, as I watch them exit to Mr. Robinson's bedroom and once the door slams shut, the spell on me is broken.

I have to blink severally to establish that I'm not dreaming before I pick up my phone.

So, now I know why I cannot question his actions, decisions and must respect his 'privacy'.

Sighing, I rub the bridge of my nose to minimize the growing headache as I make my way towards the kitchen.

At the top of the stairs, I stare at Mr. Robinson's silk black tie, and I trace the scrap to next piece of clothing which is a hair band, and it continues. His jacket, a black purse, his shoes, her stilettos, and his own bunch of keys.

Wonderful.

I'm babysitting as well.

I roll my eyes at the mess before I resume to pick them up and arrange them neatly in the living room. Then I wrap the risotto and put it in the deep freezer before I lock up and head back to my room, not anticipating tomorrow at all.

****

The disturbing, sexual noise from Mr. Robinson's bedroom was loud enough to give an elephant a migraine and the headache I had fought to maintain is now worse than ever.

Sighing, I turn in bed and look at the time, it's already 6 and I cover my face with a pillow in frustration.

It's 6am.

I had barely gotten a wink of sleep since 12 and I'm almost sure he would come banging on my door soon for breakfast.

My movements are slow when I slip on a nightie and an apron, before padding barefoot into the kitchen.

Thankfully, it's empty. I turn on the coffee maker then grab some waffle ingredients and get to work.

By the time I'm done, I put some plates, whipped cream and berries on the table when Mr. Robinson walks in wearing shorts and a black silk robe.

"You're setting the table for two again? Are you thinking this time or you can't think at all?" He says and I'm one step away from snapping at him.

"You have a guest." My voice slices through the growing tension.

"I don't have a guest. I didn't introduce anyone to you as my--"

"Fine, I get it." I say and remove the extra plate. My growing headache has given me a certain courage I didn't know I could have and Mr. Robinson is staring at me in shock.

He opens his mouth to say something when the darkhaired last sweeps in wearing his t-shirt.

Her black, short hair is in a toussled mess and she has no make-up on compared to last night. Her face looks oddly familiar but I look away and turn to getting a mug for Mr. Robinson's coffee.

"You're in quite a hurry to get out of bed." I hear her slurr and Mr. Robinson's cold voice replies,

"I thought we talked about this, staying in my bed doesn't guarantee you to wear my clothes. Ever."

"Oh, pish-posh Kyle. I've never seen you on this t-shirt. You and your rules. I can't have breakfast here, I can't shower in your house, I can't put on your clothes."

Kyle. I've never heard him being referred to as 'Kyle.'

"Take it off." He says and as i pour his coffee, I watch as she rolls her eyes.

"Fine I will. Can I atleast have some coffee?" She pouts, already grabbing a mug and he waves his hand nonchalantly in agreement.

She shoves the mug in my face and I begin pouring for her when her shrill voice rings out.

"Oh, my God! Marcella?" She says so loud I jump back in shock and look up at her.

"It is you." She says with a mocking, evil smirk I know all to well.

"Kelsey." I mutter, not happy with this unexpected reunion in anyway.

Kelsey. We were roommates in college and had psychology class together.

And while I tried to spend my nights reading, she was selling white packets of drugs inside textbooks to students.

And we started hating each other when I refused to try one and she refused to stop bringing guys into the room.

"Well, look at you. The mighty Marcella Jensen, waiting tables and scrubbing floors." She says and I just turn away to put the coffee pot back.

"Mighty?" Mr. Robinson says and I can hear Kelsey laugh behind me.

"You didn't know? She was the perfect, all A's, quiet little naive college girl. And what do you know? She's now a college dropout in an apron." Kelsey says and continues with a laugh,

"And here I was thinking you had some sort of mega job opportunity. Guess I turned out better, hands down." She says and I keep my gaze fixated on my busy hands, washing pans and bowls.

I hadn't mentioned to Mr. Robinson about my college issues but I guess I'm a little too late.

"What the hell? You're a drop out?" He says and he marches to my side in no time.

"Oh. And i only take coffee with cream and sugar....maid." She says and walks away muttering,

"Ha! Marcella Jensen in an apron. Priceless."

"Answer me." Mr. Robinson demands, standing beside me and I keep busy as I answer him,

"Yes. I dropped out of college after two years in."

"And when were you going to tell me?!"

"I didn't think it mattered." I say, abandoning the dirty dishes and turning to him.

"I'm applying to be a maid, which is clear enough. What the hell would you be interested in apart from my cleaning and cooking? You want a resumè?" I ask and he just glares at me.

"You swear at me one more time and you'll regret it."

"You swear at me all the time. Suddenly, it's a crime for me?"

"Because I'm your fucking BOSS! I'll fucking swear if I want to and you shut up when I say so!" He yells, increasing my headache with every pitch and I just stay silent, staring at him. Waiting for him to realise he has won the argument so he can just leave me alone.

"And you better take that damn risotto out of the freezer. There is no way I'm eating food stored overnight." He says before he grabs his breakfast in a tray and walks away.

I don't know how long I stand there, eyes planted on the ground

when Kelsey walks past, fully dressed.

"Goodbye, Marcella." She says with a dainty wave as she leaves, the mocking smirk forever taunting me.

It is then I realised my plan backfired. I had read the contract, and yet I was unable to impress him. If anything, it made matters worse.

Mr. Robinson will forever treat me like this, even if it means digging up all my secrets.

*****

"She called you what?" Maya demands over the phone.

"A maid. Then she went on to keep reminding me how ironic my life ended up."

"What a slimy, little--"

"Maya, you can't swear near the baby. Besides it's okay, I just can't believe of all places to see Kelsey again, it's her having an affair with my boss."

"I ought to rip off her vagina and watch how she deals with life wihout it." Maya scowls and I laugh.

"Thanks for making me feel better."

"Its the least I could do, Marcy. Especially since you're working for that man because of my idea."

"Its not all that bad, I--"

My door suddenly swings open and Mr. Robinson is standing there fuming.

"I thought I told you to get rid of that damn risotto." He says in that cold voice, except it sounds as if he wants to explode.

"What the--" Maya is saying when I cut her off.

"Maya, I'll call you back." I say and cut the call.

"Well?" He asks and I slowly get up from bed, thoughts reeling in my head. I was going to get rid of it, but the minute I had it over the bin, I felt guilt hit me. I was throwing away a perfectly good meal, when just two weeks ago, Tyler and I were having left over pizza for breakfast.

It didn't seem right

"I was going to get rid of it but I don't really want to waste food, so I thought---"

Then Mr. Robinson laughs in the most calm, quiet way.

"Again, with the thinking Anne. You just don't learn do you?"

"Mr. Robinson--"

"Go get rid of that thing before you find yourself in a bin as well." He says and I comply immediately, exhausted from his excessive yelling.

I can hear him following me from behind, probably to make sure I throw it this time.

I open the freezer and fish out the meal. The minute I open the lid of the bin, his phone rings and he picks it up, his eyes still on me.

"What, Fred?" He demands and I nearly loose grip of the bowl.

Fred?

Memory after memory flashes across my mind.

The secret, dark room.

The second chance Fred gave me.

The power he had to get rid of me at a single wave of his hand.

"Well, try changing the music and cut down the prices for the drinks." He commands.

"So what if she quit? Then make others put on a mask as well."

The conversation has me chewing on my tongue and I drop the risotto on the counter, trying to regain balance.

"Wait. What did you just say?" Mr. Robinson says as his eyes go wide, planted on me.

"No. I mean, what did you call her?"

There is a breif silence before I watch recognition dawn on his face and I'm sure mine is in sheer horror.

This can't be.

This can NOT be happening.

"Uh-huh. Thanks Fred." Mr. Robinson says, eyes calm with control and satisfaction as he ends the call.

"So..." he begins.

"You finally took off the mask."