SSMM Ch11

“I can help,” Ava says. “But only if I get to dress like you.”

Jane snorts. “OK, but we have to stay on business right now.”

“As opposed to what?” Ava smiles.

“You’re trying, but you will never be as horny as she is,” Jane says with an eye roll, curling a finger.

Ava follows her to her room, which is clearly lived-in, and just short of messy. Jane is a real person, and if she’s cleaning this whole house, Ava can understand why she doesn’t want to break her back cleaning this room as well. It’s a nicer space than Ava’s apartment.

There’s a small sense of relief as Ava steps over a cast-off pair of panties on the floor. For all Jane’s cool poise, she’s human. Her closet is impeccable, though. She hands Ava a uniform on a hanger.

“Just come to the kitchen when you’re ready,” she says and breezes out. She’s not self-conscious at all. An elemental being of pure confidence.

Ava strips down and gets in front of the mirror on the bureau, suddenly not feeling great about her undies, which are disappointingly ordinary compared to Jane’s over-the-top femme fatale stuff. It’s even funnier now that Ava knows that Jane does it just to assert psychic dominance over her employer.

She dons the French maid outfit, which is flattering, but still incredibly modest and heavy compared to the slutty Halloween costumes that Ava’s used to. The dress is long, the stockings are thick, the ruffles are cute, and the apron is so white that it gives Ava anxiety. How is she going to keep it clean in a kitchen? Yikes. The fit is good at least, although the shoes are a little tight. It’s a sacrifice Ava is willing to make. She ties on the weird little headpiece and heads out.

As she descends from the guest wing into the foyer, Aubrey is climbing the stairs to the master side of the house. Ava can smell her at a distance: expensive, rose-scented soap. So she showered in some other part of the house. And she’s wearing a different set of leggings and a new, clean workout top.

Aubrey glances at her, then does a double take and stops, holding her towel. A clean towel. Intrusive thoughts slam into her brain, pure juvenile imagination: she pictures Kia kissing this pretty blonde, and the movements of a busy hand in a pair of leggings. She sees a growing stain in the leggings, taut legs flexing. Her fantasy shows Kia being very strong and aggressive, shoving her tongue into Aubrey’s mouth. That probably isn’t Kia’s real personality; it’s just Ava projecting. She shakes her head.

“You aren’t Jane,” Aubrey says.

“Hi,” Ava replies, giving a little wave as she continues down the stairs. Then she stops, remembering that a few minutes ago she was in a bathtub with his woman’s wife. “Uh… I’m Ava.” Now the intrusive thoughts shift to Aubrey and her wife, Vivien. She sees them naked, bodies pressed together among silky sheets, mouths locked together. It’s not even what happened; Ava is like this all the time. She’s been doing this since she was thirteen.

Ava pushes those thoughts away.

Aubrey looks lost. “Do you work for us?”

“No. I’m just here with Annette for all the stuff. I’m helping Jane out because there’s no help because of the storm and stuff.”

“Oh. OK.” Aubrey frowns. “Well, thanks.”

“Is it weird having your house full of strangers?”

Aubrey sort of smiles and takes a deep breath. “You get used to stuff. I’m Aubrey, by the way. I’m…” She shrugs. “The wife.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“You too.”

Ava goes on her way before things get awkward. Did she imagine it, or did Aubrey look hostile for just a second, when she saw a woman in a maid outfit?

She finds Jane in the kitchen. Bowls, ingredients, knives… it’s all neat and orderly, but it looks overwhelming.

“Oh gosh.” Ava may have overcommitted.

“Just breathe.”

“Can I ask you something?”

Jane’s still setting out ingredients. She sets the oven to preheat and turns. “Yeah?”

Ava moves in close and leans in to whisper. “Does she know about Aubrey and Kia?”

Jane sighs. “I’m not sure.”

“How can she not?”

“I think she has to. But I can’t be a hundred percent. Viv is… special. A special kind of narcissistic. It may not even occur to her that someone would cheat on her. She’s always been the one who cheats.”

Ava takes that in. “Absolutely fucking unhinged,” she says.

Jane snorts. “Don’t think about it. And don’t worry about it. It’s not our business.”

That’s true enough. Jane seems a little selective about what she wants to be professional about, but Ava can respect that.

“But what would happen if she found out?”

“Maybe she wouldn’t believe it. Maybe she’d flip. Maybe she’d enjoy it. I don’t know.” Jane shrugs. “Come on, let’s work.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“What do you think about the Swedes?”

“Huh? Oh. She’s so pretty.”

“Can you chop those onions?”

“Can I wear an apron over this apron?”

“Yup. Here.”

“OK. I’m helping. I’m helpful. There’s actually a picture of her on the wall in CCL House,” Ava says over her shoulder as she gets to work. “I really need to read her book.”

“No, I mean Ebba.”

“The other one? The brunette?”

“She’s a literary agent, I guess.”

“What about her?”

Jane says nothing. Ava looks.

“Never mind,” Jane says. Was that a hint of a blush? Ava narrows her eyes, then gets back to work and tries not to cry because onions always do this to her.

Ava has questions and things to ask about, but it’s not safe to ask when anyone can be listening. Ava enjoys mischief, but she did not come here to blow up a marriage.

“She looked a little depressed,” Jane says.

“What?”

“Ebba.”

“Oh.”

Bizarre. House full of women, including Vivien, and Jane’s paying attention to a Swedish lady who’s probably her mom’s age? Ebba. Weird name.

“Here we go,” Jane says after a moment, holding up her phone. “Orders coming in. Jesus. Do they not realize it’s just us?” She moves to the French press. “The Swedes need coffee. Do you want to chop or waitress?”

Ava can see herself doing either. These things are feasible. She can also see herself fucking up. She flinches as thunder crashes outside the house. Ava looks at the window, where the rain patters more heavily.

Stay in the kitchen and prepare ingredients, or venture out with a tray of hot liquids?