Roxy’s Story (13 page)

“Why do you think you have a closet? Did you have a maid at home?”

“No.”

“Your mother looked after you? Even at this age?”

“Look, I was excited and wanted to get into the tub to relax as you had suggested.
I didn’t expect to have a barracks inspection with the playing of reveille first thing
in the morning.”

She nodded like someone agreeing with her own thoughts. “I don’t know,” she said.
“You have much to recommend you, but you might be too young yet.”

“Well, I guess we’ll know soon enough, won’t we?” I countered.

“Yes, we will,” she said. “Wash your face, or do whatever you need to do, and come
down to
breakfast. Portia and Camelia are almost dressed and will also be there.”

“Why are they up so early? Are they just starting here, too?”

“Hardly,” she said, now smiling at me, but with condescension, making me feel like
a child, after all. “Anyone could see they are top Brittany girls.”

“Well, this is the first time I’ve ever seen a Brittany girl, so I don’t have someone
to measure them by. Is Mrs. Brittany up this early, too?”

“Of course. Mrs. Brittany has to go to Boston for the day, and I have things to do
for her preparation. We’re all very busy here. I’ll have your schedule prepared and
bring it to you in the breakfast dining room.”

“Where is that?” I asked, getting out of bed. “You didn’t show it to me yesterday,
or is that the same room for dining-etiquette instruction?”

“No, it is not. Why don’t you see if you can find it yourself?” she said. “Show some
early initiative. Mrs. Brittany likes that in a girl. Besides, you know where it isn’t.”

“Excuse me?” I asked, pausing.

She sighed. “If you get lost, there’s staff all over the house, Roxy. Just go down
and turn right this time.”

I could see she was definitely going to be a hurdle I would have to get over if I
was to win over Mrs. Brittany, but I wasn’t in the mood to kiss up to her, now or
ever. Was it my stubborn pride or my damned defiance, or was it because I had real
backbone? I couldn’t be my father’s daughter without it, which
was something he himself couldn’t appreciate or understand.

She picked up my dress and my shoes and brought them to the closet. “This is the first
and last time I will do anything like this,” she muttered, as if she was trying to
convince herself more than me.

I rose and looked out the window on the right. The view was magnificent. I could clearly
see how much land Mrs. Brittany owned, and to the left, I could see the stables. Three
horses were in a pen, all black and about the same size. Between the stables and the
mansion was an oval pool with a cabana. Someone was setting out lounges and opening
the umbrellas at the tables. When I shifted a little, I could see farther to the left
and caught a glimpse of two tennis courts.

“I didn’t realize how big this place is,” I said, more to myself than to her.

“There’s a lot you haven’t realized, Roxy,” she said, emerging from the closet. “You’re
just beginning to make interesting discoveries. At least, I hope they are interesting
to you.”

She had an impish smile. At the moment, she reminded me more of a commander of a prisoner-of-war
camp than an executive assistant.

“I’m sure they will be interesting to me if they’re interesting to you, Mrs. Pratt.”

She mouthed a small laugh, looking like someone swallowing a bubble, and shook her
head. “Fine. Don’t dilly-dally. Move along,” she said, and left my suite. The moment
she walked out, I couldn’t help it. I did salute.

“Yes, ma’am,” I muttered, but I did rush to get ready. I ran a brush through my hair,
but there was no lipstick for me. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to look like,
but they couldn’t blame me for anything in that regard. I was practically kidnapped.
When I went downstairs, I turned right and was greeted by a maid coming out of Mrs.
Brittany’s office.

“Breakfast table?” I said, and she told me it was the last door on the left.

It was a light maple room with one side nearly all windows. There was a large armoire
on the right filled with pretty blue and white china and a long wooden table a shade
or two darker than the walls. Camelia and Portia were there already. They both had
glasses of orange juice and coffee. Camelia was dressed smartly in a ready-to-wear
Dior I had recently seen advertised, a coated-cotton blue jacket with a silk jersey
T-shirt and soft lambskin baggy pants. She looked like the model in the magazine.
Portia was in a sweatsuit not unlike mine.

“Roxy, right?” Portia asked when I entered.

“Yes.”

“That’s your place setting,” Camelia said, nodding toward the one across from her.
Portia sat at the head of the table. Before I reached the seat, a curly-blond-haired
man with very dark brown eyebrows came through the door that opened to the kitchen,
carrying a tray with two plates of poached eggs, toast, and jam and two small bowls
of mixed fresh fruit. He was a good two inches shorter than all three of us and wore
a black leather vest over a white
long-sleeved shirt and black slacks. A gold bracelet dangled on his left wrist, and
he had a diamond stud earring in his right ear. He widened his smile, revealing piano-key-white
capped teeth. His rust-brown eyes brightened at the sight of me.

“Is this our new princess, then?”

“Herself, Randy,” Camelia replied.

“Welcome, welcome, welcome,” Randy said, with just a slight shift in his hips. He
served Camelia and Portia and then hurried over to pour me a glass of juice and a
cup of coffee.

“
Au lait?
” he asked.

“
S’il vous plaît
,” I replied.

“Ooh, I like her,” Randy said. He poured some milk into the coffee. “Low-fat, you
know,” he said, winking at Portia. “All the fat here is low.”

The girls laughed.

“Your breakfast will be just two shakes of a prostitute’s bum.”

He went back into the kitchen.

“What was that?” I asked, and they both laughed again.

“That was Randy Carr. He’s been with Mrs. Brittany for nearly ten years,” Camelia
told me. “She stole him out of a restaurant in Key West. She’s very fond of him, so
watch what you say about him.”

“One thing is for sure,” Portia said. “He’ll never say a negative word about her,
and if you’re smart, you won’t say one in his presence, either.”

“In anyone’s presence,” Camelia warned.

“Amen,” Portia said.

“Everyone is so loyal to the queen,” I said. “I feel I should genuflect in her presence.”

Neither laughed.

“It’s her castle. We live in her kingdom. Besides, everyone is paid well and treated
well,” Portia said. “Mrs. Brittany keeps her word when it comes to what she promises
you. Don’t ever worry about that. And if and when she accepts you, you’ll have a very
good friend for life.”

“Before you know it, you’ll be as loyal as we are to her, if not more,” Camelia told
me. She looked at Portia and then back at me. “Considering where you are and where
she might take you, probably more.”

“Where I am?”

“Assuming she gets the stamp of approval,” Portia reminded her.

“Oh, she will win over Mrs. Brittany,” Camelia said, smiling at me. “I think she has
what it takes.”

I drank some orange juice, pleased that it was freshly squeezed. Mama always served
freshly squeezed orange juice in the morning. Having fresh fruit and vegetables was
always a priority to her. I recalled how proud she was of how they ate in France,
shopping at farmers’ markets and rarely using frozen foods.

Why was it that even here, with all these distractions, I continually thought about
Mama and Emmie and even Papa? Did this mean that deep down inside, I knew I couldn’t
do this and that I would end up at my family’s front door, head bowed, begging to
be permitted to come home? I pushed the thought out of my mind.

“She has barely begun her first day, Camelia,”
Portia reminded her. She kept her smile. “A little early for predictions, don’t you
think?”

Camelia shrugged. “I can remember my first day as if it were yesterday,” she said.
She began to eat.

I watched how daintily she cut into the egg and how carefully she spread jam on her
toast. In fact, both of them ate as if they were in a competition to see who could
drop the least amount of crumbs. They patted their lips after every bite.

“Oh, and how did yours go?” I asked.

“I think I was terrified,” she said, turning to Portia. “Even though I never let anyone
know it.”

“I know I was, and I’m sure they knew it.”

“Why were you two terrified?” I asked. I gulped the rest of my juice. They stared
at me a moment and then smiled at each other. “What’s so funny?”

“You drink like a teenager,” Portia said. “Not very ladylike, and here you want to
be very ladylike.”

“I see that Mrs. Brittany has her work cut out for her,” Camelia admitted, probably
having second thoughts about my success.

“Yeah, well, maybe I’ll surprise her. I can tell you one thing. I’m not terrified,
and this is not an act.”

“Too bad,” Portia said quickly.

“Why?”

“You’ll try harder if you’re terrified of failure. I did, and so did Camelia.”

I shrugged. “Five thousand dollars isn’t a bad kill fee,” I said, and they both laughed.
“Now what’s so funny?”

“Five thousand dollars is less than a night’s work
for us,” Camelia said. “To see that as a safety net or something and be satisfied
after being brought here and seeing what you could have is ludicrous.”

“She means ridiculous,” Portia said.

“I know what it means. I’m not stupid. I don’t know what you’ve been told about me.”

“Not much,” Portia replied, “and even if we had, we’d be D and D.”

“D and D?”

“Deaf and dumb.”

Camelia sat back, studying me a moment with a smile on her face.

“Now what?” I asked.

“You’re one of Mr. Bob’s Lana Turners, aren’t you?” she asked.

“What?”

“You know who Lana Turner was?”

“Yes, a movie actress. Actually, one of my father’s favorites.”

I almost bit my tongue after I said that, but it was too late. However, I could see
that neither Camelian or Portia cared to hear about my father.

“She was supposedly discovered at a soda fountain in Hollywood. Part of it is myth,
and part of it is fact,” Portia said. “I’m one of Mr. Bob’s Lana Turners, but I was
discovered at a charity ball. Mrs. Brittany herself found Camelia.”

“Where did Mr. Bob find you?” Camelia asked. “I hope he’s not raiding high schools
these days.”

Portia laughed and said, “He’d raid a nunnery if he thought he had someone with potential.”

“He wasn’t waiting outside my high school. I met him in a restaurant.”

“You were a waitress? That’s a first.”

“No, I was eating, and he approached me,” I said. “I’ve never been a waitress.”

“What have you been?” Camelia asked.

“A troublesome teenager,” I said, and they both laughed again.

“Haven’t we all,” Portia said.

“Not like I was—am, I should say.”

Neither spoke for a moment.

“Well, by now, Mrs. Brittany has confirmed whatever police record you have, and it’s
not been enough to toss you out,” Portia said. “You can be assured of that. No one
pulls the trigger faster on someone than she does.”

“I’m sure you won’t be a troublesome teenager here,” we heard as Randy returned with
my dish of poached eggs and toast and a bowl of fruit.

“Eavesdropping, Randy?” Camelia asked him. “That’s very naughty.”

“ ’Ear now,” he said, imitating a Cockney accent. I ’ear what I ’ear.”

Camelia and Portia laughed.

“Do you need anything else, princess?” he asked me.

“No, thank you,” I said.

“Ladies?”

“We’re fine, Randy, thank you,” Portia told him. He winked at me and left.

“So where did Mrs. Brittany discover you?” I asked Camelia as I sipped some more coffee.

“In a dance studio in London,” she said. “I was good, but she convinced me that I
was not good enough. ‘Why waste your best years?’ she asked. It was as simple as that,
and voilà, here I am, not wasting them.”

Portia widened her smile. “I’ll drink to that,” she said, and sipped her coffee.

Camelia looked at her watch. “I’ve got to get going,” she said.

“Where to?” I asked. I tried to cut my egg the same dainty way she had.

“London,” she said, and rose. “I wish you luck, Roxy. But take my advice, get a little
terrified,” she added. “Take care, Portia.” She blew her a kiss. Portia blew one back,
and we watched her walk out.

“Camelia is real British upper crust. She has a number of royals as clients. I love
her.”

“I thought we couldn’t mention who our clients were,” I said.

“We can talk to each other, sweetie. We can’t talk out of school, but we still don’t
mention names. And don’t think Mrs. Brittany wouldn’t find out if you violated one
of her rules. She has eyes and ears everywhere, and I don’t mean just Randy Carr.
Let me give you some early advice, too. You’ll meet others here from time to time.
Don’t ever think you can confide in anyone. Whoever it is, she’ll betray you, if not
to look better to Mrs. Brittany, then to protect the organization, which means protecting
herself.” She smiled. “You’ll actually get to be the same way. If you make it,” she
added.

She sipped her coffee. I was getting tired of the big
if
.

“I’ll make it,” I said. “If I want to make it.”

“More power to you,” she said.

We heard footsteps in the hallway. I turned toward the door just as Mrs. Brittany
entered, followed by Mrs. Pratt.

“Good,” Mrs. Brittany said, seeing that I was finishing up my breakfast. “You’re on
schedule. Mrs. Pratt?”

Mrs. Pratt stepped up and put a card beside me. It was my training schedule. There
were activities for me all day right up to dinner.

“I will return for dinner,” Mrs. Brittany said. “Please keep in mind that every meal
and just about every activity you do in this house is an education and a test.”