KILLING SARAI(64)

“Oh, you must be Izabel,” the woman says bright-eyed. “I’m Ophelia. It’s nice to meet you.” I nod and introduce myself even though she apparently already knows my name, well the name that Victor gave me, anyway.

She drops her purse in the middle of the floor and walks across the large space into the living room towards me, the store bags still dangling on her arm and by the looks of it, starting to cut off the circulation.

“You were right about the size,” she says looking to Victor. She sets the bags down on the immaculate couch. “And I have a daughter your size,” she says looking at me now, “so hopefully I chose wisely. Meleena was a handful growing up, that’s for sure.” She gestures her hands dramatically. Rings adorn her fingers. “Of course, it was my fault for raising her on Versace and Valentino but she is the most envied girl when she walks into any room, so I suppose the shit she gave me and my bank account was worth it. Here, let me see you.” I try to conceal the awkward look I know I’m giving her as she pulls a cute sun dress of sorts from one bag and holds it up against me.

I decide to look across at Victor instead, hoping maybe he’ll tell me exactly who this woman is and what she’s doing here.

His eyes smile at me.

I do a double-take. Did he just smile at me?

“Perfect fit,” Ophelia says.

But then she sets that dress aside and begins to pull other items of clothing from the same bag. The next bag is full of gift boxes where she opens each one and unwraps an outfit engulfed in extravagant tissue paper and tulle that probably cost more than it should. As she goes on and on about her spoiled, yet ‘deserving’ daughter she goes through each and every outfit, holding them up against me as if to imagine what I might look like in them. Or, perhaps, picturing what ‘Meleena’ might look like in them.

She is very odd, that one.

“Of course, after her father left us, I had to get a job,” Ophelia shakes her head and looks right at me as if her having a job is the most unfortunate thing ever. “So, to support Meleena and her expensive fashion sense, I went into the business. Here, try this one on. It’s a pretty day so you should wear something that suits it.”

“What business exactly?” I ask.

I turn around so that my back is facing them and then I slip off my shirt. I barely look at the dress Ophelia is holding out to me, more curious about her, really.

Victor sips his coffee and pretends to be reading his newspaper. Or, maybe he’s not pretending. I can’t tell with him half the time.

“Housekeeping,” she answers.

I’m a little confused and I’m sure she can tell that.

“You can…afford to buy Versace and Valentino on a housekeeper’s wage?” I ask incredulously. “No offense.”

“None taken,” she says, slipping the dress over my head. “But yes, I can. I only work for those who can afford to pay me. Celebrities, musicians; you know, people who have more money than they know what to do with. Wealthy people are quick to hire someone to do the pettiest of things just because they can. I profit from their foolishness.” She glances back at Victor. “No offense.”

“None taken,” he says and takes another sip of his coffee.

“Ah, I see,” I say as the cool, thin fabric rolls down over my skin.

I turn around once I’m dressed.

“Yes, I’d say this one is just right,” she says, propping her hands on her hips, looking me up and down. “Though you should wear a strapless bra at least.”

Ophelia reaches inside another bag while glancing over at Victor. “Looks like you were right about her cup size, too,” she says and I feel my face flushing again.

I guess he would have a pretty good idea of my size, considering.

“The undergarments were the only pieces I had to stop and buy on the way here. Raided the rest of it from my daughter’s room. There’s a purse and a few other necessities in there too.” She puts the bra in my hand. “I bet there’s enough money in the stuff she’s never worn in her room to buy a Bentley.”

I put on the strapless bra she gives me after ripping off the tag and she helps me to fasten it in the back since I seem to be having so much trouble doing it myself. Then she zips the back of the light pink floral lace dress against my back and I attempt to admire myself in it. It’s very short, stopping a few inches above my knees. And it itches around the high neckline. I’m not used to wearing things like this, at least not anywhere but a few hours at a social gathering where all I had to do was stand there quietly and look pretty. With Victor, I seem to do more running for my life than standing around quietly.

Next are the shoes.

“I-I don’t think anything with heels on them are a good idea,” I protest kindly as she opens the first box.

There’s no way I’m wearing those. Gorgeous shoes, yes, but it’s not happening.

Ophelia looks to Victor again. He nods to her as if telling her that it’s OK.

She closes the top on the box disappointedly and opens another one.

“Not exactly what I would’ve chosen to wear with this particular dress,” she says, “but they match at least.”

She places the cream-colored thong sandals on the floor in front of me and I step into them. The bra is uncomfortable—any bra likely would be after not having worn one for so long—digging into the skin underneath my arms. I try to fight the urge to adjust it, but lose that battle after six seconds. I know I must look very unladylike right about now, pulling at the tight elastic with my arms drawn up and my face wrinkled by discomfort. When I think I’ve managed to fix it, I relax my arms down at my sides and stand here awkwardly.