I didn't move an inch as I slept through the night, and when I woke up to the feeling of hot sun on my face, I knew I had slept well through the morning. My stomach growled as I opened my eyes which strained from the bright light filling them. For a brief moment, I forgot where I was as I sat my aching body upright and looked around the room that looked much different during the day, brighter and more open. I looked towards the balcony doors through which the sun was pouring in.
Taking a deep breath, I slid out of the bed, my shoes that I hadn't even bothered to kick off padding against the light hardwood floor as I walked towards the balcony doors. Pushing the curtains open a little wider, I hesitantly opened the doors and stepped out. The balcony was in the shape of a half-circle, guarded by polished black railing. The bare sun burned my tired eyes as air filled my nostrils. Instantly, I was filled with a sort of strange joy. The air felt so fresh and warm, so smooth and breezy. The sun felt much brighter here, and once my eyes finally adjusted to it, I could look out at the view. The grassy green of the backyard sloped into a cluster of trees, which spanned out for a little way until they became more sparse and the land more mountainous. The manicured lawn of the estate was a stark contrast from the dustier and desert-esque landscape of the Californian hills. The land stretched so far out that I could see blue mountains way in the distance, and the little blocks and squares of the city of Los Angeles. The house was far up in the hills, away from the hustle and bustle of the city, but it was close enough to keep an eye on. It felt like how my house back home was always just a little way from the city, too far to be considered a city-goer, but close enough to feel included. The difference was that you couldn't see New Orleans from my house the way you could see Los Angeles from the Donnelley estate sat on a hill taller than everything else.
The first thing I needed to do was take a shower. I felt like I still had the smell of travel on me, and I wanted to make sure that I looked as presentable as possible for the whole family that I expected to meet that day. The intensity of the pressured hot water soothed me as I washed myself. It felt as if I were washing away my nerves, the lingering germs of bashful girlhood which I was destined to leave behind. I didn't think a shower could be so philosophical.
I had pinned my hair up so it wouldn't get wet, telling myself it was clean enough and could be washed later that night so it would have more time to dry.
I dressed myself in a knee-length black skirt with a green blouse tucked into it, wishing to look the most professional and adult that I could. My timidity often made me out to look like a naïve young girl, so I had to make up for it with my dress. I was not a naïve girl, and I was defensive over this as I was starting a new chapter in my life with new people. There were no prior expectations, besides what Dr. Marlar told Marty about me.
When I was finally dressed, I stood in the room and hesitated. Was I supposed to just walk out? Where was I even supposed to go? I was sure I would get lost in the maze of mini hallways that made the upstairs of the home. Marty had dashed me so fast upstairs that I hadn't had time to really look around.
Maybe someone would come to get me, I told myself. While I waited for my moment of indecisiveness to pass before I would either get the guts to walk out and find my way around or someone would come get me, I decided to unpack my things. There was a large wooden dresser on the wall by the bed, so I neatly folded my clothes into it. I put my bathroom items in the cabinet space around the sink in the bathroom, and I took out all my books and journals and lined them up on top of the desk, using the heavy bronze lamp already there as a bookstand. Lastly, I took the picture of Greg out of my purse. I looked around the room for a proper place to put it.
For some reason, I felt like it would be wrong to put his picture out for everyone to see. Greg was a part of my childhood, my home in Louisiana. To put him out in the open like this, in a rich family's estate in California, felt like it would be betraying the distance I was trying to create from Louisiana and California—the distance between who I was and who I wanted to be. Guilt washed over me. Was I ashamed of my life, of myself, of Greg? Was it wrong to feel the need to hide the picture of him for no one to ever see but myself?
I didn't know what to do, but I heard someone walking down the hall. Quickly, I opened the bottom drawer of the dresser where I had placed my underwear and stuffed the picture underneath the fabrics, closing the dresser right as someone knocked on the door.
"Come in," I said, flattening my skirt out of nervous habit. The door opened, and as I expected it to be Marty, it was a young woman.
"Hello, Miss Hayes," she spoke with a soft smile. "I'm Flo—I'm the housekeeper. Well, also a nanny at times. Sometimes a chef, too." She let out a soft giggle, and I noticed just how pretty she was. Was everyone here beautiful—even the servants? "I was just coming in to tell you that lunch is ready downstairs."
"Lunch?" I glanced at the clock on the wall and saw that it was already noon. "Oh, thank you. You can call me Becca, by the way."
She just nodded and smiled before slinking out of the door and closing it ever-so gently. I started forward, realizing that I had no idea where to go. I opened the door again and saw Flo walking down the hallway, deciding to discreetly follow her. After a few moments, she heard me walking behind her even though I was trying to be quiet, and she turned around and giggled. "Sorry, I forgot I probably need to show you where to go."
"Yeah," I breathed with a smile, and she stopped walking until I was beside her, and then she gracefully guided me downstairs.
We passed through the living room downstairs, with its checkered marble floors and sage green couches and light orange chairs. There was a large box TV sitting at the front of the circle of furniture, and beyond the seating area I saw a grand piano. Everything seemed so squeaky and shiny, and the floor-to-ceiling windows lit the place up entirely. We went down an open hallway past a large kitchen where I saw a couple of women cooking, and I wondered just how many people worked for the Donnelley's. Finally, we entered a large dining room. The wooden table was long but still fit perfectly in the tall and wide room. One of the walls was made entirely of window, showcasing the large, green backyard behind it.
"Oh, Becca!" Marty boomed as soon as I walked in. At the table, Marty sat at the very far end. A woman his age, who I assumed to be the mother of the family, sat adjacent to him. On the other side of Marty sat two children, a young girl who looked to be around six years old and a boy who looked to be around twelve. I was taken aback upon realizing that they were all blonde, especially the youngest girl. Her hair was nearly as white as the walls.
Marty stood up from his seat and pulled his loose pants up. I wondered if he always wore suits at all times of the day, because now he was wearing another light brown suit. "Well, Becca, this is the family—minus Jo."
"She still hasn't come home?" the woman asked in a long, pessimistic drawl. She was strikingly beautiful—the kind of beautiful you only see in movie stars. Her blonde hair was swooped up into a minimalist beehive, with bangs swooping perfectly over her forehead. She had on a full face of makeup, with perfect black eyeliner giving her cat eyes. She looked like a lioness—the way she sat gracefully on the chair, wearing a floral robe that showed her thin, feminine figure. She had a sharp nose and a sharp jaw, with sleek cheekbones poking from her perfect face. She looked like a model.
"No," Marty answered her. "You wouldn't even think Jo still lived here." He laughed, but the woman only rolled her eyes and looked down at the teacup she sipped out of. She still hadn't even looked at me.
"Who are you?" the boy suddenly asked. His darker blonde hair was gelled up, and he was wearing a blue button up with khaki shorts.
"Now, Judd, don't be rude," Marty said, squeezing his shoulder gently. "Kids, this is Becca. She's your French teacher for this summer, like I told you about. Becca, meet Judd, and that's Holly beside him."
The young girl smiled shyly at me before pretending to turn her face down, but I could see she was still eyeing me. She was wearing a pink dress. I gave her a little smile, and she grinned and hid her face.
"And Becca, this is Katie, my lovely wife." Marty leaned down and kissed the woman's head, and I noticed the way she fixed her hair immediately afterwards. Finally, she looked at me. Her eyes were sharp and cutting, and it felt like she was looking right through me. It felt like she was reading my thoughts, and it made my stomach turn a little bit.
"Pleasure to meet you," she drawled, and before I could say anything, she suddenly stood up, forgetting that I was even there. "I'll be outside tanning." She started walking towards me in an elegant sort of strut. I moved out of the way for her, and she breezed past me without looking at me even once. She made me feel like the statues I saw in the hallway—decorative and lifeless.
Marty was unphased. "Well, Becca, I won't have you getting right to work on your first day here. The kids can show you around a bit so you can get used to the place. I'll be up in my office if you need me, and Flo is always around, too."
Right as he left the room, a woman suddenly came in holding a plate and set it down on the table in front of the chair I was standing closest to. I saw a colorful salad and two pieces of seasoned grilled chicken, along with a piece of buttered bread.
"Thank you," I told her, and I expected her to introduce herself like everyone else, but the older woman only wiped her hands on her apron and left.
Turning, I saw that the two kids were just staring at me. It was surprising that the parents had just left them alone with me, who was still a stranger to them. I had never really interacted with children before, so I just smiled at them and took the seat in front of the plate, wasting no time in eating as I was hungry from skipping breakfast.
"Do you have a pony?" the little girl named Holly asked me suddenly, right as I was taking a bite of the chicken.
Trying to chew as politely as I could, I swallowed and answered, "No, I don't."
"We have a pony," Judd said quite cockily, raising his chin at me as he stuck a forkful of chicken into his mouth.
"It's Jo's pony!" Holly argued with him.
"Is Jo your sister?" I asked her gently.
She turned to me, and the angry face she had used with her brother turned into that shy smile again as she nodded.
"Do you play football?" Judd asked.
"No, do you?"
"Obviously," he said, and I only then noticed that he was holding a football under his other arm. "I didn't think you did, since you're a girl."
"Girls can play football," Holly said to him, her blonde eyebrows crinkling.
"No, they can't."
"I play football with you all the time!"
"Yeah, and you suck at it!"
"Take it back!"
"No returns!"
I opened my mouth in surprise as the kids started arguing, looking around to see if either of the parents were still nearby to help. Holly was now trying to take the football from Judd, and he just easily held it out of reach, already taller and stronger just like Marty.
Finally, right as Holly went to pick up her fork to use it against Judd, Flo came rushing into the room.
"Kids!" she exclaimed, her rusty brown hair loosely pulled up as a few strands blew around her face. "How much longer will it be until one of you ends up killing each other?!" She leaned down and took Holly's fork out of her hand.
"He started it."
"Nuh uh!"
"Judd, go outside with your mother. I'm sure she'd love to watch you play football as she tans," Flo told the boy. It was obvious that he was still angry, and wanted to say something back, but with as much as he loved football, he would never turn down being told to play. So he jumped out of his seat and ran out of the room, sticking his tongue out at Holly as he did. I had managed to scarf down half of my plate, both from being hungry and because the food tasted amazing.
"He's a dummy," Holly said as she picked up her glass of drink and drank from it, her small hands barely holding the glass. I imagined that there were probably hundreds of dishes broken each year in this family.
Flo was cleaning up all the plates. "Holly, why don't you show Miss Becca around?"
I wanted to tell her that she didn't have to call me Miss, but I was getting tired of correcting everyone about my name.
"Okay," Holly said, climbing out of her chair which was very high off the ground for how short she was. Shyly, she walked over to me and held out her hand. I was in the middle of putting a chunk of salad into my mouth, and I had expected to be able to finish my meal. But she was expecting me to go with her now, so I put my fork down and tried to quickly chew the food in my mouth as I stood up and took her hand. I had to lean down a little to hold her hand comfortably as the little girl started pulling me out of the room.