Roxy’s Story (18 page)

It brought laughter to the table but not to my father. He just glared at me to wipe
the satisfied smile off my face.
You can wash it off my face,
I thought,
but not off my heart.

I was glad I had a little time to myself finally. It wasn’t until I got up to my suite
and flopped in the soft-cushioned armchair that the weight of all I had
done that day announced itself in my legs and my shoulders. I thought I would just
close my eyes for a few moments, but I didn’t open them again until I felt someone
shaking my shoulder.

“I had a feeling you might have dozed off,” Mrs. Pratt said. “You should be getting
into your dress. Mrs. Brittany wants to see you in ten minutes in her office, and
don’t forget to use the perfume she brought for you.”

“Sorry,” I said. “It’s been a long day.”

“And it’s not over yet,” she pointed out. “This is why you have to get yourself in
better shape. Our girls don’t peter out on their clients.”

I nodded and took a deep breath to get myself up and dressed. I told myself I was
only half joking when I compared what I was going through here with some army boot
camp with someone like my father shouting orders and threatening KP duty. How did
they expect me to go through all I had gone through and then attend a formal dinner,
drink wine, and return to this room to do the homework Professor Marx had assigned?
Was all of this designed to discourage me? Was this how they weeded out their so-called
candidates?

I found the perfume, tested it, liked the scent myself, and sprayed it on. I checked
my hair quickly, and then, literally nine minutes later, I was on my way down to Mrs.
Brittany’s office. I imagined I was about to get another lecture in preparation for
this dinner. I knocked on the closed doors and waited to hear her give me permission
to enter. She opened the doors herself and stood back.

Sitting there on the settee, wearing a very pretty turquoise dress and with her hair
pinned up, was Mrs. Brittany’s granddaughter. Surely she had told on me, I thought.
Randy’s words came rushing back: “It could be fatal.”

I felt my heart sink.

Was it possible?

After all this, I had been brought here to get my walking papers.

“Don’t just stand there in the doorway,” Mrs. Brittany snapped. “Come in and close
it behind you.”

I did so slowly and looked again at her granddaughter. She was smiling at me, and
not the sort of smile someone who had come to hurt you wore. It wasn’t condescending
or sly. It was soft, anticipating, making her look hungry to receive a smile back.
I breathed some relief but still felt myself trembling inside, expecting trouble.

“Hi again,” I said.

“Hi. Oh, look at your hair. I might not have recognized you. Yes, I would,” she quickly
corrected. “Oh, I never got a chance to tell you my name. It’s Sheena.”

“Please be quiet for a few moments, Sheena,” Mrs. Brittany told her. She turned to
me. “Sit,” she commanded, as if she were giving orders to a well-trained dog. She
walked around her desk. Since she didn’t tell me where to sit, I sat next to Sheena,
who looked delighted about it.

Mrs. Brittany wore an elegant beaded long evening dress with a diamond bracelet on
her right wrist. All I
could think was that she must have had a hairstylist on board whatever plane she had
taken back from Boston. Not a strand was out of place.

“Sheena knows my rules about fraternizing with my girls in training,” she began, giving
Sheena a chastising glance. Sheena looked down but held her soft smile. “Normally,
I remember to mention that to my trainees, but I forgot to do so with you. I didn’t
anticipate that you would have time to wander about the estate.”

“I didn’t wander about, Mrs. Brittany. I just stepped out for some air, and besides,
I don’t have infectious diseases,” I said.

“Don’t be insolent,” she said sternly. Sheena glanced at me, and in that glance, she
clearly told me to be still, too.

Mrs. Brittany’s face changed to a much calmer expression. She glanced at Sheena and
then back at me. “Some of this, perhaps all of it, can be attributed to your young
age. Most of the girls who come here are older than you and have had more substantial
experiences. In fact, you’re the youngest girl I’ve agreed to take on. Technically,
I could be accused of kidnapping, I suppose.”

I wanted to agree. At times today, I had felt that way, but I didn’t want to even
imply it. “That’s ridicu—” I bit down on my lower lip and stopped talking instantly.

She nodded. “Accordingly, I’m going to make an exception in this case, mainly because
Sheena has requested it,” she said. “Adamantly. Apparently, she sees qualities in
you that I have yet to uncover.”

I looked quickly at Sheena, who kept her gaze on the floor, her soft smile frozen.

“Frankly, I don’t see where you would have any time to fraternize, anyway, but in
the event that you do have some time, you have my permission to spend it with Sheena.
While you still remain here,” she added sternly. “Sheena understands that your time
here could be cut short dramatically at any time.”

Sheena looked up quickly, a bit frightened. I saw that it softened the expression
on Mrs. Brittany’s face quickly.

“However,” Mrs. Brittany continued, “I have taken another thing into consideration.
From the reports I’m getting, you have made a good first impression on everyone with
whom you have been in contact, including Professor Marx, who I know can be quite difficult.”

I pressed my lips together to keep myself from laughing. Difficult? His mother surely
had second thoughts the day he was born. He had said something nice about me? It must
have been through clenched teeth with fingers crossed behind his back.

“In that regard, Sheena might be of some assistance to you.”

“Oh?”

“She happens to be an excellent student and might help you with your work with Professor
Marx.”

“I would welcome that,” I said. “I would welcome any help with Professor Marx.”

Sheena brought her hand to her mouth to smother a giggle. She looked more like a younger
teenage girl,
even a girl in grade school, and I recalled what Randy had said about her social skills
and experiences.

“In short,” Mrs. Brittany continued, “you have my permission to go to the east wing
of the mansion, which is normally off-limits to everyone but the maids and Randy.”
She shot up from her seat. “For now, Sheena will return to her suite.”

“She’s not coming to dinner with us?” I asked.

Mrs. Brittany’s eyes widened. “Of course not. Your dinner is part of your training.
This isn’t some party.”

I nodded and turned to Sheena. “Well, maybe we can see each other tomorrow. I have
all of my homework in my suite,” I added, and swung my eyes to communicate how much
there was.

“I hope so,” she said. “Good night, Grandmother, and thank you.”

“I’ll be up much later tonight, Sheena. I have some important things to address after
dinner, so don’t wait up for me,” Mrs. Brittany told her.

Sheena looked at me, a little embarrassed by the way Mrs. Brittany spoke to her. I
thought that despite what Randy had told me about her social skills, she didn’t like
being treated like a child. I immediately sympathized with her and winked. She smiled
again and started out.

When she had left, Mrs. Brittany came around her desk and leaned against it.

“All right. There are things you have to know now. My granddaughter is a cancer survivor,”
she began. There would never be any equivocating when she
spoke, I thought. The woman told everything like it was. This was what Mr. Bob meant
when he said she suffered no fools.

I thought it was probably a good idea to play dumb and not reveal how much Randy already
had told me, so I acted a little surprised.

“She developed a form of bone cancer. Initial surgery, chemo, and radiation did not
stop it, and finally, the decision to amputate had to be made. We keep her carefully
screened, of course, and until now, she’s done fine. She is examined at least twice
a year by the best doctors. She’s adjusted to her . . . problem as well as anyone
can expect a young, beautiful girl to adjust to such a thing.”

“She is very beautiful.”

“Yes. Anyway, because of her condition, she’s been home-schooled. I wasn’t going to
submit her to any derision, even in a private school. I know how mean young girls
can be to each other, especially girls who saw how beautiful she is.”

“You’re right about that,” I said.

“I know when I’m right. I don’t need to be assured of it,” she snapped. She could
use words like a bullwhip, I thought.

“Sorry, I just . . .”

“Just listen.” Her eyes narrowed. “You had better start learning how to be quiet and
listen. Don’t be so eager to let other people know what you’re thinking. That’s a
weakness I want you to lose and lose fast.”

“Okay.”

“Where was I? Her mother was a drunk. Her
father had spoiled my daughter rotten and made excuses for her constantly. She met
someone not much better after they divorced, so I knew that relationship wouldn’t
last, either. Anyway, she’s gone; he’s gone. I’m all Sheena has.”

“I understand.” I pressed my lips together and then in my defense quickly added, “I
just meant, I know what it is like to feel abandoned.”

“Please, there is no comparison. You are a healthy young woman.”

I nodded. “Sorry.”

She didn’t change expression. “This is a great deal more information than I intended
to give you, to give any of my girls, but as I said, Sheena saw something in you today
that she liked, and goodness knows, I want that child to have some pleasure in her
life.

“So, tread softly here,” she continued, her eyelids narrowing with threat again. “Be
careful about what sorts of things you tell her. She’s been very protected and is
therefore very vulnerable. Do you get my point?” she asked sternly. “Or do I have
to make it even clearer?”

“It’s not necessary. I understand what you’re saying, Mrs. Brittany. I’m not someone
from the gutter. I admit I have been rebellious and defiant, but I’ve never really
gotten into serious drugs or some other things some of my so-called well-behaved classmates
have gotten into, including pregnancies kept hush-hush. The truth is, they always
bored me with their ideas of what was exciting and what wasn’t. I wasn’t going to
end up in any group therapy,” I said.

She nearly smiled. “Yes, you were always a mile or so above them, I imagine. It’s
what I see in you. Don’t prove me wrong,” she said, with the lead weight of a heavy
threat coating the words.

“I don’t intend to.”

“We all have good intentions,” she muttered, and went to her office bathroom.

She kept the door open, and I watched her fix her lipstick and smooth some of her
makeup on her cheek.

“It’s time to go to dinner,” she told me when she stepped out. “Don’t slouch,” she
ordered when I stood up. “You do that when you feel nervous or insecure. You might
as well announce it. The men you will be with want to see self-confidence in their
escorts.”

I straightened up.

“When you look at someone, look directly into their eyes,” she continued. “Pull your
shoulders back, and hold yourself as if you were a member of royalty. Men like that
especially, even though they claim to be more comfortable with an airhead. That’s
good for a ten-minute ride but not for the ride we give our clients. Men of distinction,
wealth, and stature like to know the women they are with will give them a full ride
for their money, and it’s significant money. Besides, it keeps them on their toes,
challenges them, and makes them more competitive, and we all do better when we’re
competitive,
comprenez, ma chère?
”

“
Mais oui, madame
. I am ready to compete. Even with you,” I said.

“
Touché
,” she said.

We left her office.

“Now for the business at hand,” she continued. “You are going to meet a man who is
ridiculously wealthy. And too often ridiculous as well. You’ve heard the expression,
‘He was born on third base but thought he had hit a triple’?”

“Yes, I’ve heard my father use it about some of his clients,” I said.

“Well, Decker Farmingham was born on home plate and thought he had hit a grand slam.
At the age of forty-one, he inherited seven hundred and fifty million dollars, much
of it held in foreign banks. He’s invested in everything from commodities to precious
metals to private security forces. His father left a cadre of brilliant financial
managers at his disposal, and his net worth is now off the charts. He has so many
shell companies that it’s impossible to determine how wealthy he really is. Somehow
he’s been able to remain outside the sweep of the Fortune Five Hundred. He’s under
the radar, as they say.”

She looked to see if I was following her, and I nodded.

“He’s like one of the medieval kings who married for either political or economic
reasons and, of course, to have progeny. He’s fifty-two now and has three sons in
various executive positions in his businesses. You will never meet anyone who has
been to more places, met more powerful people, and lived in more beautiful homes.”