Fanchon's Book(23)

"Yes… " I curtsied low. "Yes, Miss Kristi."

And with my insides throbbing in jubilation, I raced back to my own room and undressed and climbed into the tub and went through the motions of bathing. In a hurry. Oh, such a hurry! Because it was the wish of my little mistress.

My little mistress?

Just another play-acting game, of course, a new one-and of my own choosing, too. It would be fun. And yet the constant reversal of our positions was taking its toll: I could feel myself accepting the strange pattern more and more readily; second nature, almost, and it gave me a bit of a twinge. At this incautious rate, I would soon be completely lost in the labyrinthine merger of fact and fancy.

Ah, but my heart was already leading my head; I couldn't take time out to fret about philosophical molehills when I had a mountain of pleasure practically within my grasp. The roles were assigned, the scene had begun (the play's the thing!) and my stern little mistress awaited me.

Naked-as decreed-I left the bathroom. She was there on my bed, her golden head propped against the piled-up pillows, indolently graceful, divinely nude, oh, the magic appeal, the sorcery of that sublime body!-a pagan idol, sensual, alluring, a goddess of love; I could have prostrated myself on the floor in veneration.

Except for that damned magazine.

"It sure took you long enough, Fanchon. I got interested in the story again."

"Sorry, ma'm. I tried to be quick. But here I am-at your service. What can I do for you?"

"Hmm, I like the way you keep saying that. 'At your service'-almost as if you really mean it."

"But I do mean it, Miss Kristi. Command me."

"Oh, don't be such an idiot. Why should I have to command you? Just go on about your duties, that's all. I'm sure you can find some work to do while I finish my story."

"You-you're going to read?"

"Uh-huh." Her unconcerned shrug was like a dismissal. "And, uh, yes, you might fetch me a cigarette. A drink too, perhaps, something tall and cold and sweet."

"Miss Kristi? I-I'll have to go downstairs for that."

"Of course. Put on a robe."

I had a few realistic objections to voice, but the barrier of the magazine blocked communication: she was already immersed in that confounded story-and what the hell, why argue? I still hadn't made up for my nasty fit of temper; let this be my reparation. Pamper the little monkey. Cigarettes-and a drink too, if that was what it took to placate her, much as I detested the idea of traipsing around in the kitchen at this time of night. Let her play the "lazy mistress" role to the hilt. Only I dreaded leaving the bedroom, even though I slipped into my robe and started out the door with all the celerity of a conscientious maidservant. That was another world down there, stark, orthodox, alien to our enchanted cloister, and I knew the errand would make me feel ridiculous. Like an infatuated old woman, probably. But every ill wind blows at least one bounty: a drink would do me good. Loosen me up-yes, a good stiff drink. And as long as I had to go to the kitchen anyway…



Chapter 8

A good stuff drink. Funny. I didn't take one. I got so engrossed m mixing a spectacular concoction for Miss Kristi that I just didn't need anything for myself. And besides, well, sneaking a drink without permission wouldn't that have been disloyal somehow?

In a little while I was glad I had skipped it. As the "lazy mistress" sipped from her tall glass and read her magazine, the "industrious maid" pranced around the room busily, tidying up, stooping to pluck a stray hair-pin from the carpet, doing a dozen small chores that hardly needed doing. Then, surprisingly, the matter of the drink-or non-drink, rather-became an issue.