Immediately leave

Well, Barbara's opinion of Harold immediately dropped through the floor. What on earth could he have been thinking? It was one thing if the rich man hired a pretty girl as a maid or something -- men have appetites, she always knew that-- but to have her greet guests in that outfit? Barbara would not be mocked, and with this whole affair with Nathan's affairs, she was in no mood for some sort of sketchy sex orgy that clearly Harold was putting on.

She lifted the tails of her dress, and immediately turned around and started to walk back to her car. She was fuming. "Wait, lady, where are you going?" the bimbo called out after her, as Barbara walked away, "I like your shoes!" That girl's approval filled her with shame. Maybe the high heels were a bit much. Barbara practically snarled and walked with even greater purpose.

Except she turned the corner on the privacy hedge, and then again, she was facing Harold's mansion again. How could she get lost? It was a bit of walk, but it wasn't a maze? It was two turns! She turned away and started walking again. And headed straight, instead of turning where she thought she was supposed to. Clearly, with a head full of steam like this, she must have made one turn too many?

Except, again, she found herself at Harold's front door. This wasn't possible. She took off her heels, and started to run in the opposite direction. She didn't care if someone saw her, she just needed to get out of here. She hadn't ran, really ran, since she was in college. She had jogged, she had exercised, she hadn't ran like there was something chasing her like this. She ended up at Harold's portico twice more. The third time, he was standing there with a big grin on his face.

He was holding something in his left hand. It looked a little like a Barbie doll, with a navy-blue dress on...

"What is going on here?" Barbara demanded before he could say anything.

"Calm down," Harold said, knowing full well that that phrase guaranteed that she wouldn't, "Why don't you step inside and have something to drink?"

"I don't want a drink, not at some sort of wannabe Playboy mansion with women like that maid of--"

He stroked the throat of the Barbie, "I really think you need a drink, Barbara."

Suddenly, Barbara's throat was dry. She was parched. She felt like she was going to pass out if she didn't get something to drink. She swayed on her feet, and Harold dashed forward and slung her arm over his shoulder. She felt light-headed, and was grateful for the help.

"Yvette, I think Barbara over-exerted herself. Why don't we get her a drink?"