Yes, Master

Chapter Three: The Right Choice

  He hesitates, looking around. "You know how I said that none of the girls Mother thinks are "fine young ladies" interest me?" he says. I nod, still unsure where he's going with this. "Well, what if one of those society girls wasn't really a society girl at all, but a maid posing as a society girl?" he says, cocking one eyebrow charmingly.

  I pause for a moment to comprehend all this, then stammer out, "W-What? Are you ill? I can alert your mother and she will have the apothecary whip up a special mixture just for you."

  He laughs. "You are a funny girl. I think l shall quite enjoy pretending to be in love with you." he says. I perk up, like a sleeping dog who hears a noise. My mind of course skips over the pretending part and goes straight to the love part. "Got your attention there, didn't I, girly?" he says. I ignore this chauvinistic remark, even if I know he did.

  Instead, I think about his plan for a moment, then say, "Give me some time to think."

  He chuckles and turns to leave, then swivels back around. "Don't forget, if you take me up on my offer, you will get to wear all those dresses you always wanted to wear." And with that, he winks and struts out of the room.

  I return to work, all his statements weighing heavily on my mind. I have all these images in my head. Of his mother, handing me lists, yelling at me, taunting me. Of him, standing, looking oh so handsome in his freshly pressed shirt. Of my sister, sitting in my lap, crying silent tears. Of my mother, lying in bed, breathing heavy, ragged breaths. He occasionally comes to give me very subtle and humble reminders. "Don't forget," he says, "If you agree to my offer, then you will have the honor of being the girl on MY arm." I want to shout unprintable things at him, call him cocky, tell him to leave me alone. But instead I do what I always do- stay silent.

   Then it's time for my favorite part of my job: cleaning my mistress's closet. Every few months, she gives me a list of what is fashionable and what is not, because if not she might, heavens forbid, wear the wrong thing. My job is to weed out the unfashionable clothing. I love this because I get to touch all those fine fabrics that I know I will never be able to afford. Silks, linen, so many fine fabrics it positively boggles the mind. I feel the fabrics, rubbing them against my cheeks, feeling their luxurious softness. And as I do this, I know that I am so, so far from owning them.

   After hours and hours of yanking clothes from hangers and piling them up, I finally finish the job. I march over to Alexander, who is sleeping in a big chair, his feet propped up on a footstool, the utter picture of luxury. The only thing he needs is beautiful, adoring servants feeding him grapes. I feel a bit of anger welling up inside me, that I've been slaving away for hours while he reclines in a comfortable chair. Despite this, I say the two words that I'm sure will change my life. "I'm in."

   He sits up, rubbing his eyes. He looks around. "What did you say?" he says, slurring sleepily. 

  I'm so frustrated with him, I practically shout, "I said that I'm in!" 

  "Oh," he says, "In that case, follow me." He beckons me with his hands. He grabs my hand to pull himself up and I must confess that I held on for a bit too long, if only because it felt so good and right. His hand on mine, the warmth of his hand spreading through my palm and my body. I follow him down halls, until we reach a door. We open the door to a room the size of a closet. I see his mother's dressmaker, bent over a dress with a needle and thread. Alexander steps in to the room. He leans over and confers with the dressmaker, and I see him pass her some money. She picks up a tape measure, and scurries over with her head bowed, the same way I do when the mistress calls me.

  She measures this way and that, dipping her pen in ink and writing down all sorts of numbers. "You have such a lovely, slim frame. Should be easy to make a dress for you in a week," she says indifferently, as if every day Alexander asks her to make a dress for a maid posing as a society girl.

  But that wasn't the best part. The best part is when she presents me with swatches of those gorgeous fabrics that I so admired and tells me to pick one. Suddenly, I am a four year old again, standing in a candy store. Picking out candies as a treat, after my father saved for months for this little luxury. Just like then, everything looks so tempting that I don't know which to pick. But eventually I choose one fabric, a blush silk fabric that is as smooth and as soft as a petal. And I know I made the right choice.