Fanchon's Book(4)

Oh, I was proud of my body-and justly so. Let the girl gawk. Why shouldn't I use my undeniably luscious assets to good advantage? Let my new maid survey and scrutinize the succulent flesh that would be hers to attend; let her savor its spicy appeal and thus be apprised of the non-pecuniary rewards of her job. Surely she would reckon the mundane weekly wage a mere pittance in comparison with the munificent nightly fringe-benefits.

As a matter of fact, it was something of a pittance; unfortunately I had a limited budget to abide by and couldn't be lavish in matters of money. High as my husband ranked in the government, we lived rather sparingly and avoided any ostentatious luxuries that might impair his "poor but honest" political image. Whether our quasi-poverty was strictly sham I truly didn't know; I suspected as much, having heard rumors about hoards of untold wealth cached in foreign banks. But I had never discussed it with Oliver, nor was he the kind of man to whom I could even broach such a ticklish question. So I held my peace and stayed within my meager allowance, keeping household expenses-maid's salary included-down to a minimum.

Which accounted, in part, for my now-overt compulsion to dazzle the girl. Aside from the inherent rationale of ego and libido, there was the unremitting concern with frugality. My taste in maidservants was esoteric, to say the least, and might well have been expensive; in my dubious economic circumstances I could only afford someone who would deem her service to me virtually a labor of love. Wasn't it logical, then, that I should be so mindful of making a devastating first impression? With my near-naked body as bait, there would be little need for concessions about wages and hours and"Madame?"

"Hmm? Oh, it's you, Rosalba."

"Yes, Madame. And this is Kristi."

"Kristi… " I beckoned lazily but with a hint of implied authority. "Come in, child. Over here where I can see you."

Battered suitcase in hand, the girl sidled close to my chaise; diffidently she set her burden down and dipped into a curtsy. Not until she straightened up did I get a good look at her face. The vis-a-vis confrontation. And at that moment-mired in the engulfing gaze of those great green eyes-I lost track.

I damn near lost myself!

Certainly I lost whatever smug complacency. My own acknowledged beauty had engendered. If I didn't stir and shatter the statuesque elegance of my pose it was because of simple paralysis, nothing else; not lofty insouciance, not sexy showmanship-merely a stunned wonderment that delayed the next tick of the clock and held me immobile in the infinite interim. The most I could do was blink and goggle in disbelief. I had never been in the presence of such perfection.

A butterfly? Ah, yes-fair and fragile, a tremulously anxious butterfly, poised in delicate balance between fear and fascination. Or an angel, perhaps, a seraphic spirit gone astray, unsettled and apprehensive out of its celestial element; a divinity in female form, all cream and gold-somehow I couldn't cope with any less ethereal concept: in that split-second syllable of timeless time I saw a purity too sublime to be of this workaday world.

Smoke curled from my cigarette in a tranquil wisp. Somewhere, miles away, I heard Rosalba clear her throat. There was no other motion. No other sound. Only the static silence of the cosmos on its headlong rush toward eternity.

Then, abruptly, the butterfly and or angel broke the spell, bending eagerly to move the ashtray and catch the smoldering stub about to scorch my fingers. I smiled and patted her cheek in approval. She hung her head demurely, but not before I got a fleeting glimmer of responsive warmth from beneath the lowering curtain of her long lashes. And I realized that the lovely creature had found her earthly niche; Kristi was mine, my own heaven-sent handmaiden, the servant to satisfy my every wish. A willing worker in the workaday world. And oh, so beautiful!