Memoir of a Trapped Housewife

Chapter Eight {Preparation}

Chapter Eight

Preparation

"Do you remember anything, Christie," I questioned the child as she sat down to lunch. Outside, the day was sunny and warm. Sunlight spilled onto the kitchen table, warming my skin. Christie sighed, obviously drained by my recurring questions. Sweetly, she cooperated, though I myself would have probably done otherwise in her situation.

I asked her about the Blackstone galas, a subject the child knew very little of. Being much too young to participate, she only caught glimpses of it from her window. Those glimpses were invaluable, nevertheless, as I had not even heard of such a thing until three days ago.

"The ladies dressed in big, puffy dresses. Some of them wore long gowns that dragged on the floor. The men wore suits...and that's all I remember Mrs. Choco. I couldn't see anything else," she said.

"Well thank you, Christie. You've been more than helpful." I smiled. She cheesed in reply, and took a bite of a delectable-looking sandwich. Standing, I told her I would be right back and headed for the stairs.

My destination was Mr. Cyrus Blackstone's office. I intended to ask him if I could take Christie to Chatawok's bookstore. He wanted to her to do 'scholarly things' and by going to the bookstore we would give a ruse of this, while at the same time being allowed to escape the house.

When I reached his office the door was shut, so I had to knock. After doing so, I stepped back and prepared myself for the worst. An old man with thinning, white hair making its last stand opened the door. The top of his head was balding horribly, and would soon become a reflector of light. I recognized him as the butler, Mr. Harricort.

"Who is it, John?" The voice of Mr. Cyrus Blackstone came from the inside.

"It is Mrs. Michaels, sir," Mr. Harricort said in a posh accent that made me laugh inwardly. "Et ess Mrs. Mechaaels, sur."

"Send her in."

Mr. Harricort moved back and made room for me to pass. As soon as I squeezed past his paunch, he left, shutting the door securely behind him. I gulped and turned my gaze to Mr. Cyrus Blackstone's smoldering one. Today his eyes seemed more black tar than blue ice, and I perceived that he wasn't in the best of moods.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, sir. I just have a simple question."

"A simple question shouldn't bring you to my office," he answered, standing. I blinked at the answer, and felt my hands begin to clench. "My time is precious."

"Well considering your reaction to when I took advice from another, I thought it best if I were to take this question up with you," I replied, straining to keep sarcasm from seeping into my voice.

He turned to me, taking in my person with one quick sweep of his eyes.

"Did I detect mockery Mrs. Michaels?" Moving from behind his desk, he walked to the center of the room where I stood. A shadow fell over me as Mr. Blackstone's form obstructed the light from the window. The nearness allowed me to accidentally take in his fragrance--wintry, spicy cologne mingled with the scent cigars. An odd combination, I mused.

Ah yes, the old tactic of intimidation was in play.

"Mockery? Oh no sir, I only meant to point out that would be best to get answers face to face for perfect clarification."

Calmly clasping his hands behind his back, he cleared his throat. I glanced up at his face for a breadth, and upon realizing that would be too distracting, I stared at his Adam's apple.

"And your question is?"

"Is it alright if Christie and I visit the town's bookstore, even if it is beyond the borders of the nursery?"