The House Party: Part Two
https://interracialerotica.net/erotica/articles/301/1/The-House-Party-Part-Two/Page1.html
By Tracy Ames
Published on February 2, 2011
Things change exceedingly slow in their world. The days that past were the same old same old: Enjoying the scenery, cocktail receptions, endless rounds of outdoor activities, and no one, absolutely no one leaving the estate. It was as if he’d stepped back in time and after the second day, Winston was crawling out of his skin. Luckily the west wing was reopened and he was in a proper room. It paled in comparisons to the one he’d given to Andrea, but it was a soothing palette of warm chocolate brown and blue-grays, accented with suspended lights and living room style credenzas—far from the closet he’d come from.
Hunter and Isaac saw to the guests’ very whim and want—paying close attention to Andrea. She was the consummate prima donna—her insatiable demands drove her maid to tears. Bart met an old acquaintance from college and spent a great deal of time with her while Dean and Rebecca became inseparable, spending much of their day locked away in his room. Vivian prayed he wasn’t making any babies. Sadie and her friends roamed the grounds, doing as they pleased while their parents were distracted. Stocked full of caves, alcoves, secret paths, and thickets of dense forest leading to a river, Lion’s Heads was meant for getting lost.
However, Susan, terrible shy, preferred getting lost in her bedroom, which left Vivian and Maureen holding court in her absence. Vivian was exhausted from ‘the swirl’—what she called the battery of events she shouldered including the mounting tension between Winston and Andrea. Never before had she seen two hot-headed, ill-tempered people who were so much alike that they were utterly different. Andrea was vocal and expressive while the shutters to Winston’s thoughts were sealed tight behind his starched personality. But below the surface, Vivian knew they had more in common than not. If only they’d stop fighting long enough to see it for themselves.
The Bellamys were already seated in a private alcove just off of the busy dining room when Andrea arrived for breakfast. “I’ll be sitting with my parents.” She told the maitre d’.
The maitre d’ threw her a worried smile. “Right this way.”
To Andrea’s horror, he led her to the Bellamy table where her parents seemed to be having a bang up good time. She stopped close to where Winston impatiently flipped through the business pages. He tossed a careless glance in her direction before glancing down at his watch, and then turning his attention back to his paper. Andrea felt her cheeks begin to flare red hot.
“Please join us.” Mrs. Bellamy offered. “I’ve saved a place for you.”
“Thank you.” She said, and slipped into the chair across from Winston. She nodded good morning to everyone except Winston. He couldn’t have cared less. She unfolded her napkin and placed it in her lap, casting a look that said ‘traitor’ to Rhonda who was chatting it up with Mrs. Bellamy at the head of the rectangle table. Her father, engrossed in deep conversation with Dean, hardly noticed she’d entered the room.
“I’ll call the waiter if you’re ready to order…” Sadie said politely. “…or you can eat from the buffet like we’ve done. It’s…um…just…” she ground to a stop when Winston gave her the evil eye from behind his paper. Sadie folded her hands and said nothing else.
Winston returned to his reading.
Andrea wanted to pull the paper from his hands and beat his smug little face until her arms were tired. Instead, she said to Sadie. “No, please finish what you were saying.”
Sadie’s eyes shift from Andrea to Winston—Winston to Dean—Dean to her mother—then back to Winston and froze there.
“Do you always regulate what your sister says?” Andrea asked in a hushed tone.
“Yes,” Winston folded his paper. “When she has something worth saying, I’ll tell her what it is.”
“Excuse me.” Sadie stood to leave.
“Sit. Down.” Winston said firmly his eyes schooled on Andrea. Sadie sat quietly. There was a pause between the three of them; no one else at the table was the wiser but Sadie looked as if she wanted to die. Truly he hadn’t meant to embarrass her. “I’m sorry. Finish what you were saying.”
“No need.” Andrea rose to her foot. “Sadie, can you show me to the buffet? I hope they have something stronger than apple juice.”
Winston gave his nod of approval.
For Sadie’s sake breakfast continued with less tension between Andrea and Winston. There was a truce of sorts…or at least a ceasefire where both parties ignored the other existence. A twinge of premature panic emerged when their parents excused themselves but their exit didn’t break the spell and cloud of civility cast its welcome shadow over their table and everyone was soon on first name basis. To Winston’s surprise, Andrea listened and rather enjoyed Sadie’s accounts of her Yorkie showing at Westminster’s junior division. In fact, it was one of a number of hobbies they had in common. Sadie had a life beyond her family and especially her brother. Maybe Sadie wasn’t the underdeveloped, useless prop Andrea judged her to be. But her esteem for her brothers was undeniable. Why she did so was utterly lost on Andrea.
Beside his arresting good looks and impeccable manners, nothing about Winston struck her as pleasing. Not that he gave her anything to like: he rarely spoke of himself and seemed perfectly willingly to participate in their conversation as a spectator. In truth, up until this point, Andrea knew as much about Winston as she had before—hence her opinion of him as an idle, self-centered, snob stood.
“Good morning, everyone. Winston, you’re in the paper.” Bart announced, joining them at the table. “Well, you’re not in the paper but your building is. Take a look.” He handed the paper to Andrea.
She scanned over the article from the Chicago Times. “LaCrosse Property Developers forces elderly South Side couple out of their ‘mom and pop’, opened in 1952. This corner market is the neighborhoods only food source within miles and employs many otherwise unemployable residents of this predominately black community.” Andrea looked up across the table at Winston. “You own LaCrosse Developers?”
“Yes, he does,” Bart chirped gleefully, totally missing the daggers Andrea was throwing at Winston. “He also owns…what is it now?...four other property development companies? No! Five, right?”
“It’s five.” Winston answered without taking his eyes from Andrea. “LaCross is my latest venture.”
“You can’t do that. You’re not a resident of Illinois.” She wagered. “Not even you can sidestep the law.”
“You’re wrong,” Winston sipped his apple juice, attempting to conceal his devilish grin.
“Yeah!” Bart spoke up. The growing tension was lost on him. “He paid 9.2 million dollars for a three bedroom condo with custom everything on the 11th floor of 209 East Lake Shore Drive years ago. Then there’s Highland Park, Dallas and his place in Beacon Hill, Boston.”
“Thank you for the commentary, Bart.” Dean shot off.
“I don’t understand why you bought it,” Bart continued, blindly. “It’s in a shit neighborhood and there’s no way you’ll ever turn a profit. Do yourself a favor and tear it down.”
“That’s exactly what I have in mind. I’m ripping it done next week.”
Andrea closed her eyes, frustrated with Winston callousness. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Is there any particular reason I should keep it?”
Andrea blinked repeatedly at his question. “Yeah! How about it’s the only local market? How about it belongs to an elderly couple who probably live in the neighborhood? How about it’s their only source of income? And what about the others they employ? You’ve taken their livelihood.”
“Oh, yes, them!” Winston said brightly. “I’d almost forgotten about them.” He turned to Bart. “Make sure they remove their shit before I demolish the place.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever disliked someone such much.” Andrea laughed.
“Good. That makes the two of us.” He said derisively. “Now that’s settled, can we please move on?”
Engrossed in the show, everyone’s eyes bounced back and forth between Winston and Andrea.
“Your father was a decent man. What would he think of your conduct?” Andrea needled further, hell bent on getting under his skin.
“He would say ‘well done’” Winston smirked.
She glared at him and for a moment their eyes held. He was the one who looked away first. “Are you ever serious?”
“Are you ever anything other than a raging bitch?”
Andrea’s jaw went slack. No one had ever called her a bitch to her face.
“Oh crap!” Sadie mumbled.
Andrea started slowly, “You have a lot of nerve…”
“Shut the hell up, and stop pretending you give a damn about others. Your self righteous preaching bores me.” Winston cut her off. “You’re a one-dimensional snob who laments about the struggles of the less fortunate—but up there in your ivory tower you do nothing to rectify their situation.” He caught the attention of the couple at the adjoining table, and lowered his voice. “My business affairs are no concern of yours. But if you must know, I gave those people the most money they’ve ever seen. I did them a favor.”
“You did them a favor!?” Andrea pointed at the newspaper. “You bought their property for two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. What’s that?....the interest on your North Side condo?”
“Yes it is, actually. Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars nothing to me. I could’ve given them ten times that amount without batting an eye.
Andrea was about to explode. “You’ve stolen an elderly couples business, and you’ve crippled an already weak community. That little market was probably the only thing keeping them alive—it gave them a purpose, a reason to wake up every morning. And you…you took it away. For what? What possible reason could there be?”
Everyone waited on pins and needles for Winston’s reply. No one knew why he’d purchased the property.
Winston drank the rest of his apple juice. His dead eyes finally fell on hers. “I did it because I could.” Winston wiped his lips, gathered his paper, and left them silent in his wake. He would never have believed it was possible to hate someone so much on such short acquaintance.
“Oh. My. God.” Sadie palmed her face.
Andrea looked at Dean. “I don’t understand how that man sleeps at night.”
“It’s one of his many talents.”
*****
“You can tell a lot about someone by the last words their ex said to them.” Rebecca asserted as she and Dean strolled in the lush gardens on the estate with other patrons at a respectable distance. “What were the last words your ex said to you?”
Ex? Ex what?
His look said what his mouth didn’t. “Please rephrase your question.”
“What were the last words of your last…” She searched for a less brazen replacement for ‘whore’. “…your last overnight visitor?”
“Come again?”
“The last person you screwed.” Beating around the bush was getting her nowhere.
Dean thought back. “I hope you rot in hell.” He looked down at Rebecca smiling warmly up at him. “What does that say about me?”
“It means she misunderstood you.”
Dean wanted to fuck that innocent smile off her face. For someone so tiny and agreeable, she irritated the hell out of him. He needed a replacement, stat! “I doubt she misunderstood me. She was married and I told her to ‘get out’. There’s no room for misinterpretation. There’s the door—get out. Simple as that.” Dean shrugged.
“Please. You didn’t know she was married?” Rebecca rolled her eyes, sarcastically.
“No.”
Rebecca looked up at Dean. He was serious. “Under your tough shell, you’re a nice guy.”
Nice guy? What planet was she living on?
“Look, let’s get something straight,” Dean dragged Rebecca off the walking path, angling her in front of him. “I’m not a nice guy. If nice were the sun, I’d be Pluto…far, far away.” He waved for effect. “I like the attention women give me, and I have a staunch commitment to screwing as many as humanly possible.” His words ricocheted off of her. Blunt was the best course of action. “You wanna know what I like most about you? It’s not your conversation. I like your pussy lips. They’re freakin’ awesome. I could literally spend all day watching my cock pound the hell out of your smooth twat. And that little snuggly, sucky thing your pussy does right before you cum drives me insane. Oh my God!” he pointed to his crotch. “I’m getting hard thinking about it.
In case you haven’t noticed, I’m an egotistic! The fact that I took your virginity makes my balls swell. I love knowing no other man will make you scream and climb the wall. Yeah, he’ll be inside of you, but you’ll be thinking about how I beat your pussy until you squirt. By the way, that was sexy as hell—we’ll revisit that tonight. My point is: I want your body. I know you’re dripping wet right now and if I wanted to pull your pants down and fuck you within an inch of your life, you’d be game. That alone makes me wanna blow my load! Now do you think I’m a nice guy?”
Rebecca scanned Dean’s face as she closed the distance between them. Though they’d lied together there was still a twinkle of innocence in her eyes, just enough to drive him mad. She took his hand and interlaced their fingers, and then stood on her toes, tilting her lips up while Dean dipped his down. She brushed his lips with her tongue, tasting, gently nibbling his lower lip as she’d done after he’d gone down on her. “I like the way you pronounce ‘pussy’, especially when you’re about to cum.” She purred and nudged until he surrendered his tongue. Seconds passed, perhaps minutes, as they kissed. Rebecca leaned away from him, pecking his lips once then twice and asked, “When we were a part this morning, did you think of me?”
“I did, actually,” Dean said without missing a beat. Fighting was futile. Rebecca never ‘see’ him as utterly unsuitable for her. “I thought about my tongue between your legs, lapping your juices,” He kissed the tip of her nose. “I thought about the way you screamed when I buried my cock deep inside your sweet, sweet pussy.”
“Would you like to put it in me now?” Rebecca gave a sexy grin and asked quietly. “Le fermer à clé?”
“Hell yeah,” Dean drew air through his teeth. “I would love to put it in you.” He nibbled her ear.
“Do you want to come in my mouth?” her left hand brushed up and down the front of his pants.
Dean went lightheaded. “It would be my pleasure to cum in your mouth.”
“What you like to cum in my pussy?”
“In your pussy,” He eyed the other guests meandering through the gardens as he murmured against her mouth. “I wouldn’t cum in your pussy if your life hung in the balance.” He kissed her softly before putting her at arms length. “Don’t ever ask me again…not even in jest. Understood?”
Bashfully Rebecca nodded.
“Good! Let’s not have this discussion again.” Dean headed back to the walking path. Rebecca came to his side. “We’re out of condoms again, and it’s going to be a very, very long night, my dear.” Slapping her ass.
******
The weeks following Stanley’s death were a miserable blur for Vivian. His absence enveloped her. At home on their Hyde Park estate, daily life continued, but everything seemed muted, muffled somehow. It was as if the fine tuning of her life had been tampered with and the pictures had gone from color to black and white, while the soundtrack had turned to white noise, a meaningless, lifeless, babble all around her. Still she held fast for her family’s sake. Of all her children, Sadie, having found her father’s body, felt his death most cruelly.
It was unusually warm for November, so Sadie bounced downstairs to tell Stanley she and a few friends were heading into Manhattan to join Vivian and wouldn’t be home for dinner. She stopped dead in her tracks just on the opposite side of his office. The world ground to a halt as she stared ahead at Stanley lying slumped at his desk where she’d left him the night before. The room seemed as still, as lifeless as her father. What urged her closer to him, she couldn’t say.
“Daddy,” Her voice was almost a whisper. She’d never seen a corpse, but she knew immediately he was dead. “Oh, Daddy,” She traced the crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes. His ashen skin felt familiar, yet changed. Sadie gritted her teeth. It took all the willpower and strength she possessed to stop herself from screaming out in grief. Her fingertips archived every inch of his face and she closed his eyes, the light having been snuffed. “Help me,” The sudden rush of emptiness forced the words from her lips. Save a few servants, she was alone. “Help.”
Blinded by tears, she ran frantically screaming down the halls, turning lost and confused, but no one came. How could they not know he was dead?
“Sadie, what’s the matter?” Ruth, Stanley’s equerry raced from her office. The halls filled with staff members. Sadie waved her hands in front of her face as if swatting away flies, her face contorted with grief. “Oh God no.” Ruth stopped Sadie’s hands and held her close. “Go ahead of us.” She ordered Joseph, the third floor steward.
Joseph was gone for only a moment when he came back and confirmed Stanley was dead. The office flooded with servants and staff. Most weeping, some wailing, all moved by his loss. Breaking free of Ruth’s hold, Sadie ran and flung herself on her father’s body, sobbing and gasping uncontrollably.
“Come on, baby,” Joseph put his arms around her waist and lifted her dead weight. “Let’s go.” He tossed Sadie over his shoulder and said to Ruth as he left. “Call Dean. Winston’s out of the country. It’s best one of them tell Mrs. Bellamy what’s happened.”
Within hours of the family being notified, the Hyde Park estate was besieged by reporters and camera crews. Sadie stood watching them from the kitchen window in disbelief. Her aunt Maureen leaked the news of Stanley’s death to the press leaving Sadie trapped and overwhelmed. Dean, Winston and her mother were en route…no doubt they’d have to fight their way through the madness.
Hearing of his mothers’ indiscretion, Bart was the first relative to arrive. By the time he’d calmed Sadie and saw to the staff and medical personnel, the sheriff department arrived and cordoned off the road leading up to the estate. That settled, Bart turned his attention to his mother; he cussed her up one side and down the other.
If there any good could be extracted from Stanley’s death, its strengthening of their familial bond. He couldn’t have left his legacy in better or more capable hands then Vivian. And with the support his sons, their family wouldn’t fail.
“We’ll be stuck inside today. It’s going to rain.” Maureen said to Vivian, looking across the lush grounds from her window. She was thinking of Stanley. She always nibbled the knuckle of her index finger when doing so. “Vivian?”
“Were you speaking to me?” She studied Dean and Rebecca below. Maureen pushed the heavy drapes aside and joined her.
“We’re expecting rain. Dean should come inside.”
“He’s an adult. He can do as he pleases.”
Vivian was in no mood for meaningless banter. Maureen smiled and turned her attention back to Dean and Rebecca below. Of the twins, Dean was her favorite. Winston was far too cynical for her taste and she was far too ridiculous for his. At least Dean was civil and his flirtatious ways with women tickled her to no end, while Bart’s success with women paled in comparison. “One day, one of your boys will own this entire estate.”
“If Lion’s Head is entailed to Dean, he’ll sell it to Susan,” Vivian gazed nostalgically. She never appreciated what Henry and Stanley had accomplished with Lion’s Head. It was as if they’d transplanted pieces of their travels in the surrounding parks. “Winston, however, will never sell. Susan won’t be turned out…she’ll go on living here, but Winston will hold the cards. It’s for the best, really. I’d hate to see Susan surrounded by conmen and silver gilts. Remember what happened with Belcourt? Susan could very well fall into the wrong hands; she has no idea how to run this place.” Vivian stated correctly.
Part two in a five part series
The House Party follows the exploits of three modern day patron families attending a week long house party hosted by the Graydon family on their estate in France. Almost immediately social lines a drawn, judgments are made, and tempers heat up long before the first stitch on clothing come off.
The House Party follows the exploits of three modern day patron families attending a week long house party hosted by the Graydon family on their estate in France. Almost immediately social lines a drawn, judgments are made, and tempers heat up long before the first stitch on clothing come off.
The House Party: Part Two
Things change exceedingly slow in their world. The days that past were the same old same old: Enjoying the scenery, cocktail receptions, endless rounds of outdoor activities, and no one, absolutely no one leaving the estate. It was as if he’d stepped back in time and after the second day, Winston was crawling out of his skin. Luckily the west wing was reopened and he was in a proper room. It paled in comparisons to the one he’d given to Andrea, but it was a soothing palette of warm chocolate brown and blue-grays, accented with suspended lights and living room style credenzas—far from the closet he’d come from.
Hunter and Isaac saw to the guests’ very whim and want—paying close attention to Andrea. She was the consummate prima donna—her insatiable demands drove her maid to tears. Bart met an old acquaintance from college and spent a great deal of time with her while Dean and Rebecca became inseparable, spending much of their day locked away in his room. Vivian prayed he wasn’t making any babies. Sadie and her friends roamed the grounds, doing as they pleased while their parents were distracted. Stocked full of caves, alcoves, secret paths, and thickets of dense forest leading to a river, Lion’s Heads was meant for getting lost.
However, Susan, terrible shy, preferred getting lost in her bedroom, which left Vivian and Maureen holding court in her absence. Vivian was exhausted from ‘the swirl’—what she called the battery of events she shouldered including the mounting tension between Winston and Andrea. Never before had she seen two hot-headed, ill-tempered people who were so much alike that they were utterly different. Andrea was vocal and expressive while the shutters to Winston’s thoughts were sealed tight behind his starched personality. But below the surface, Vivian knew they had more in common than not. If only they’d stop fighting long enough to see it for themselves.
The Bellamys were already seated in a private alcove just off of the busy dining room when Andrea arrived for breakfast. “I’ll be sitting with my parents.” She told the maitre d’.
The maitre d’ threw her a worried smile. “Right this way.”
To Andrea’s horror, he led her to the Bellamy table where her parents seemed to be having a bang up good time. She stopped close to where Winston impatiently flipped through the business pages. He tossed a careless glance in her direction before glancing down at his watch, and then turning his attention back to his paper. Andrea felt her cheeks begin to flare red hot.
“Please join us.” Mrs. Bellamy offered. “I’ve saved a place for you.”
“Thank you.” She said, and slipped into the chair across from Winston. She nodded good morning to everyone except Winston. He couldn’t have cared less. She unfolded her napkin and placed it in her lap, casting a look that said ‘traitor’ to Rhonda who was chatting it up with Mrs. Bellamy at the head of the rectangle table. Her father, engrossed in deep conversation with Dean, hardly noticed she’d entered the room.
“I’ll call the waiter if you’re ready to order…” Sadie said politely. “…or you can eat from the buffet like we’ve done. It’s…um…just…” she ground to a stop when Winston gave her the evil eye from behind his paper. Sadie folded her hands and said nothing else.
Winston returned to his reading.
Andrea wanted to pull the paper from his hands and beat his smug little face until her arms were tired. Instead, she said to Sadie. “No, please finish what you were saying.”
Sadie’s eyes shift from Andrea to Winston—Winston to Dean—Dean to her mother—then back to Winston and froze there.
“Do you always regulate what your sister says?” Andrea asked in a hushed tone.
“Yes,” Winston folded his paper. “When she has something worth saying, I’ll tell her what it is.”
“Excuse me.” Sadie stood to leave.
“Sit. Down.” Winston said firmly his eyes schooled on Andrea. Sadie sat quietly. There was a pause between the three of them; no one else at the table was the wiser but Sadie looked as if she wanted to die. Truly he hadn’t meant to embarrass her. “I’m sorry. Finish what you were saying.”
“No need.” Andrea rose to her foot. “Sadie, can you show me to the buffet? I hope they have something stronger than apple juice.”
Winston gave his nod of approval.
For Sadie’s sake breakfast continued with less tension between Andrea and Winston. There was a truce of sorts…or at least a ceasefire where both parties ignored the other existence. A twinge of premature panic emerged when their parents excused themselves but their exit didn’t break the spell and cloud of civility cast its welcome shadow over their table and everyone was soon on first name basis. To Winston’s surprise, Andrea listened and rather enjoyed Sadie’s accounts of her Yorkie showing at Westminster’s junior division. In fact, it was one of a number of hobbies they had in common. Sadie had a life beyond her family and especially her brother. Maybe Sadie wasn’t the underdeveloped, useless prop Andrea judged her to be. But her esteem for her brothers was undeniable. Why she did so was utterly lost on Andrea.
Beside his arresting good looks and impeccable manners, nothing about Winston struck her as pleasing. Not that he gave her anything to like: he rarely spoke of himself and seemed perfectly willingly to participate in their conversation as a spectator. In truth, up until this point, Andrea knew as much about Winston as she had before—hence her opinion of him as an idle, self-centered, snob stood.
“Good morning, everyone. Winston, you’re in the paper.” Bart announced, joining them at the table. “Well, you’re not in the paper but your building is. Take a look.” He handed the paper to Andrea.
She scanned over the article from the Chicago Times. “LaCrosse Property Developers forces elderly South Side couple out of their ‘mom and pop’, opened in 1952. This corner market is the neighborhoods only food source within miles and employs many otherwise unemployable residents of this predominately black community.” Andrea looked up across the table at Winston. “You own LaCrosse Developers?”
“Yes, he does,” Bart chirped gleefully, totally missing the daggers Andrea was throwing at Winston. “He also owns…what is it now?...four other property development companies? No! Five, right?”
“It’s five.” Winston answered without taking his eyes from Andrea. “LaCross is my latest venture.”
“You can’t do that. You’re not a resident of Illinois.” She wagered. “Not even you can sidestep the law.”
“You’re wrong,” Winston sipped his apple juice, attempting to conceal his devilish grin.
“Yeah!” Bart spoke up. The growing tension was lost on him. “He paid 9.2 million dollars for a three bedroom condo with custom everything on the 11th floor of 209 East Lake Shore Drive years ago. Then there’s Highland Park, Dallas and his place in Beacon Hill, Boston.”
“Thank you for the commentary, Bart.” Dean shot off.
“I don’t understand why you bought it,” Bart continued, blindly. “It’s in a shit neighborhood and there’s no way you’ll ever turn a profit. Do yourself a favor and tear it down.”
“That’s exactly what I have in mind. I’m ripping it done next week.”
Andrea closed her eyes, frustrated with Winston callousness. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Is there any particular reason I should keep it?”
Andrea blinked repeatedly at his question. “Yeah! How about it’s the only local market? How about it belongs to an elderly couple who probably live in the neighborhood? How about it’s their only source of income? And what about the others they employ? You’ve taken their livelihood.”
“Oh, yes, them!” Winston said brightly. “I’d almost forgotten about them.” He turned to Bart. “Make sure they remove their shit before I demolish the place.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever disliked someone such much.” Andrea laughed.
“Good. That makes the two of us.” He said derisively. “Now that’s settled, can we please move on?”
Engrossed in the show, everyone’s eyes bounced back and forth between Winston and Andrea.
“Your father was a decent man. What would he think of your conduct?” Andrea needled further, hell bent on getting under his skin.
“He would say ‘well done’” Winston smirked.
She glared at him and for a moment their eyes held. He was the one who looked away first. “Are you ever serious?”
“Are you ever anything other than a raging bitch?”
Andrea’s jaw went slack. No one had ever called her a bitch to her face.
“Oh crap!” Sadie mumbled.
Andrea started slowly, “You have a lot of nerve…”
“Shut the hell up, and stop pretending you give a damn about others. Your self righteous preaching bores me.” Winston cut her off. “You’re a one-dimensional snob who laments about the struggles of the less fortunate—but up there in your ivory tower you do nothing to rectify their situation.” He caught the attention of the couple at the adjoining table, and lowered his voice. “My business affairs are no concern of yours. But if you must know, I gave those people the most money they’ve ever seen. I did them a favor.”
“You did them a favor!?” Andrea pointed at the newspaper. “You bought their property for two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. What’s that?....the interest on your North Side condo?”
“Yes it is, actually. Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars nothing to me. I could’ve given them ten times that amount without batting an eye.
Andrea was about to explode. “You’ve stolen an elderly couples business, and you’ve crippled an already weak community. That little market was probably the only thing keeping them alive—it gave them a purpose, a reason to wake up every morning. And you…you took it away. For what? What possible reason could there be?”
Everyone waited on pins and needles for Winston’s reply. No one knew why he’d purchased the property.
Winston drank the rest of his apple juice. His dead eyes finally fell on hers. “I did it because I could.” Winston wiped his lips, gathered his paper, and left them silent in his wake. He would never have believed it was possible to hate someone so much on such short acquaintance.
“Oh. My. God.” Sadie palmed her face.
Andrea looked at Dean. “I don’t understand how that man sleeps at night.”
“It’s one of his many talents.”
*****
“You can tell a lot about someone by the last words their ex said to them.” Rebecca asserted as she and Dean strolled in the lush gardens on the estate with other patrons at a respectable distance. “What were the last words your ex said to you?”
Ex? Ex what?
His look said what his mouth didn’t. “Please rephrase your question.”
“What were the last words of your last…” She searched for a less brazen replacement for ‘whore’. “…your last overnight visitor?”
“Come again?”
“The last person you screwed.” Beating around the bush was getting her nowhere.
Dean thought back. “I hope you rot in hell.” He looked down at Rebecca smiling warmly up at him. “What does that say about me?”
“It means she misunderstood you.”
Dean wanted to fuck that innocent smile off her face. For someone so tiny and agreeable, she irritated the hell out of him. He needed a replacement, stat! “I doubt she misunderstood me. She was married and I told her to ‘get out’. There’s no room for misinterpretation. There’s the door—get out. Simple as that.” Dean shrugged.
“Please. You didn’t know she was married?” Rebecca rolled her eyes, sarcastically.
“No.”
Rebecca looked up at Dean. He was serious. “Under your tough shell, you’re a nice guy.”
Nice guy? What planet was she living on?
“Look, let’s get something straight,” Dean dragged Rebecca off the walking path, angling her in front of him. “I’m not a nice guy. If nice were the sun, I’d be Pluto…far, far away.” He waved for effect. “I like the attention women give me, and I have a staunch commitment to screwing as many as humanly possible.” His words ricocheted off of her. Blunt was the best course of action. “You wanna know what I like most about you? It’s not your conversation. I like your pussy lips. They’re freakin’ awesome. I could literally spend all day watching my cock pound the hell out of your smooth twat. And that little snuggly, sucky thing your pussy does right before you cum drives me insane. Oh my God!” he pointed to his crotch. “I’m getting hard thinking about it.
In case you haven’t noticed, I’m an egotistic! The fact that I took your virginity makes my balls swell. I love knowing no other man will make you scream and climb the wall. Yeah, he’ll be inside of you, but you’ll be thinking about how I beat your pussy until you squirt. By the way, that was sexy as hell—we’ll revisit that tonight. My point is: I want your body. I know you’re dripping wet right now and if I wanted to pull your pants down and fuck you within an inch of your life, you’d be game. That alone makes me wanna blow my load! Now do you think I’m a nice guy?”
Rebecca scanned Dean’s face as she closed the distance between them. Though they’d lied together there was still a twinkle of innocence in her eyes, just enough to drive him mad. She took his hand and interlaced their fingers, and then stood on her toes, tilting her lips up while Dean dipped his down. She brushed his lips with her tongue, tasting, gently nibbling his lower lip as she’d done after he’d gone down on her. “I like the way you pronounce ‘pussy’, especially when you’re about to cum.” She purred and nudged until he surrendered his tongue. Seconds passed, perhaps minutes, as they kissed. Rebecca leaned away from him, pecking his lips once then twice and asked, “When we were a part this morning, did you think of me?”
“I did, actually,” Dean said without missing a beat. Fighting was futile. Rebecca never ‘see’ him as utterly unsuitable for her. “I thought about my tongue between your legs, lapping your juices,” He kissed the tip of her nose. “I thought about the way you screamed when I buried my cock deep inside your sweet, sweet pussy.”
“Would you like to put it in me now?” Rebecca gave a sexy grin and asked quietly. “Le fermer à clé?”
“Hell yeah,” Dean drew air through his teeth. “I would love to put it in you.” He nibbled her ear.
“Do you want to come in my mouth?” her left hand brushed up and down the front of his pants.
Dean went lightheaded. “It would be my pleasure to cum in your mouth.”
“What you like to cum in my pussy?”
“In your pussy,” He eyed the other guests meandering through the gardens as he murmured against her mouth. “I wouldn’t cum in your pussy if your life hung in the balance.” He kissed her softly before putting her at arms length. “Don’t ever ask me again…not even in jest. Understood?”
Bashfully Rebecca nodded.
“Good! Let’s not have this discussion again.” Dean headed back to the walking path. Rebecca came to his side. “We’re out of condoms again, and it’s going to be a very, very long night, my dear.” Slapping her ass.
******
The weeks following Stanley’s death were a miserable blur for Vivian. His absence enveloped her. At home on their Hyde Park estate, daily life continued, but everything seemed muted, muffled somehow. It was as if the fine tuning of her life had been tampered with and the pictures had gone from color to black and white, while the soundtrack had turned to white noise, a meaningless, lifeless, babble all around her. Still she held fast for her family’s sake. Of all her children, Sadie, having found her father’s body, felt his death most cruelly.
It was unusually warm for November, so Sadie bounced downstairs to tell Stanley she and a few friends were heading into Manhattan to join Vivian and wouldn’t be home for dinner. She stopped dead in her tracks just on the opposite side of his office. The world ground to a halt as she stared ahead at Stanley lying slumped at his desk where she’d left him the night before. The room seemed as still, as lifeless as her father. What urged her closer to him, she couldn’t say.
“Daddy,” Her voice was almost a whisper. She’d never seen a corpse, but she knew immediately he was dead. “Oh, Daddy,” She traced the crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes. His ashen skin felt familiar, yet changed. Sadie gritted her teeth. It took all the willpower and strength she possessed to stop herself from screaming out in grief. Her fingertips archived every inch of his face and she closed his eyes, the light having been snuffed. “Help me,” The sudden rush of emptiness forced the words from her lips. Save a few servants, she was alone. “Help.”
Blinded by tears, she ran frantically screaming down the halls, turning lost and confused, but no one came. How could they not know he was dead?
“Sadie, what’s the matter?” Ruth, Stanley’s equerry raced from her office. The halls filled with staff members. Sadie waved her hands in front of her face as if swatting away flies, her face contorted with grief. “Oh God no.” Ruth stopped Sadie’s hands and held her close. “Go ahead of us.” She ordered Joseph, the third floor steward.
Joseph was gone for only a moment when he came back and confirmed Stanley was dead. The office flooded with servants and staff. Most weeping, some wailing, all moved by his loss. Breaking free of Ruth’s hold, Sadie ran and flung herself on her father’s body, sobbing and gasping uncontrollably.
“Come on, baby,” Joseph put his arms around her waist and lifted her dead weight. “Let’s go.” He tossed Sadie over his shoulder and said to Ruth as he left. “Call Dean. Winston’s out of the country. It’s best one of them tell Mrs. Bellamy what’s happened.”
Within hours of the family being notified, the Hyde Park estate was besieged by reporters and camera crews. Sadie stood watching them from the kitchen window in disbelief. Her aunt Maureen leaked the news of Stanley’s death to the press leaving Sadie trapped and overwhelmed. Dean, Winston and her mother were en route…no doubt they’d have to fight their way through the madness.
Hearing of his mothers’ indiscretion, Bart was the first relative to arrive. By the time he’d calmed Sadie and saw to the staff and medical personnel, the sheriff department arrived and cordoned off the road leading up to the estate. That settled, Bart turned his attention to his mother; he cussed her up one side and down the other.
If there any good could be extracted from Stanley’s death, its strengthening of their familial bond. He couldn’t have left his legacy in better or more capable hands then Vivian. And with the support his sons, their family wouldn’t fail.
“We’ll be stuck inside today. It’s going to rain.” Maureen said to Vivian, looking across the lush grounds from her window. She was thinking of Stanley. She always nibbled the knuckle of her index finger when doing so. “Vivian?”
“Were you speaking to me?” She studied Dean and Rebecca below. Maureen pushed the heavy drapes aside and joined her.
“We’re expecting rain. Dean should come inside.”
“He’s an adult. He can do as he pleases.”
Vivian was in no mood for meaningless banter. Maureen smiled and turned her attention back to Dean and Rebecca below. Of the twins, Dean was her favorite. Winston was far too cynical for her taste and she was far too ridiculous for his. At least Dean was civil and his flirtatious ways with women tickled her to no end, while Bart’s success with women paled in comparison. “One day, one of your boys will own this entire estate.”
“If Lion’s Head is entailed to Dean, he’ll sell it to Susan,” Vivian gazed nostalgically. She never appreciated what Henry and Stanley had accomplished with Lion’s Head. It was as if they’d transplanted pieces of their travels in the surrounding parks. “Winston, however, will never sell. Susan won’t be turned out…she’ll go on living here, but Winston will hold the cards. It’s for the best, really. I’d hate to see Susan surrounded by conmen and silver gilts. Remember what happened with Belcourt? Susan could very well fall into the wrong hands; she has no idea how to run this place.” Vivian stated correctly.
The House Party: Part Two
Susan’s autocratic father prepared her for one profession: marriage. Their finances and general running of their estates were left to Henry and their estate managers….and, as of late, Winston. Henry was getting up in age and the thought of spending his last years behind his desk, moiling over numbers was enough to send him to an early grave. It was time to familiarize one of the twins with the mammoth task ahead, and since Dean was conveniently unavailable, the responsibility fell on Winston’s shoulders.
“I hope that Lockwood girl doesn’t have her heart set on Dean? She’s romantic. He’ll break her heart soon enough” Maureen sat on a nearby chaise. Not getting the reaction she hoped from Vivian, she threw in, “It’s your fault, Vivian. You’ve spoiled him. He says and does whatever he likes because you failed to reel him in.” she smiled when Vivian’s head snapped towards her. “What does he do when he’s away from home? Bart tells me everything. I know his every move.”
“Bart tells you what he knows you want to hear. It’s the only way to keep you from meddling in his business.” She threw up her hand, silencing Maureen’s retort. “And before you go flapping your mouth, remember this: I’m matron of this goddamn family and it’ll be my sons handing out your allowance after I’m gone, so you’d better get damn well used to kissing their asses!...”
Isaac crept through the door and immediately after hearing angry voice, wished he hadn’t. He froze and looked back at the door, then ahead of him towards the voices. He was half way in the parlor. He tried backing out of the room unnoticed, and stiffened in place when both ladies rounded the corner, their irritated eyes burned through him.
“What do you want?!” Vivian grated.
Was it unseemly to die in a ladies’ parlor? He looked a bit perplexed. Then recovered enough bearing to remind Vivian she’d asked him to tell her when Sadie returned from the stables. “Also, due to the incoming storm, Mrs. Graydon has cancelled the outdoor functions and she would like to see you in her room.”
“Unbelievable” Vivian checked her hair in the mirror. “She doesn’t have a clue what to do with all these people. She expects me to come up with something! Why didn’t she plan ahead?! You always have a backup plan. Where’s her coordinator?”
Isaac jumped when he saw she was talking to him.
Vivian sighed. “Have Hunter, your housekeeper meet me in Susan’s office. Tell him to bring a bottle of scotch and a baseball bat.” She and Maureen brushed past Isaac, she rattled off instructions over her shoulder. Isaac kept up pace down the hall. “Find Dean and tell him where I’ve gone. I’ll tell Winston.”
“A bottle of scotch and a baseball bat?” Isaac whispered to Maureen. “And I wasn’t aware Mrs. Bellamy drank.”
“She doesn’t. She gives to it anyone she thinks will contradict her…to soften the blow, you see,” Maureen puffed in step. “She’s assertive…not a monster.”
“Oh God,” Isaac nearly pissed himself when he realized Vivian was heading to Winston’s old room. Winston hadn’t told her he’d been moved. And Andrea, evil, horrible Andrea, was none the wiser. He tried to stop Vivian before she knocked but fell short. Andrea opened the door and everyone seemed equally surprised by the others presence. Isaac, however, wanted to die. Somehow, someway this situation would be twisted until it was his fault.
Though the small silver name placard affixed to the door read A. Mitcham, this was her son’s room; that it would change after so many years was as unthinkable as someone whom her son detested being welcomed in his room. Clearly, Vivian thought, there was something afoot; murder perhaps.
“Yes?” Andrea asked.
“I’m looking for my son, Winston.” She pointed to the door. “This is his room.”
Andrea shook her head. “No, this is my room.”
“Since When?” Maureen asked, throwing her hand up to Isaac when he tried to interject. “Quiet, boy, women are talking. Who put you here?” Pointing into the room.
“He did!” Andrea snapped, looking at Isaac. “There was a mix up, and they tried to put me in the servants’ quarters. Hunter gave me this room and that boy helped me upstairs.” Being questioned by someone she hardly knew sent her pulse racing.
Vivian watched the life drain from Isaac’s face and the pieces of the puzzle fell in place; it all made sense. “You were offered this room after you publicly bullied Hunter, caused a scene, and made the staff’s life a living hell.” Her humble, quiet tone was meant to shame Andrea. “Winston gave you his room without thanks or gratitude from anyone, especially you. Even after the way you’ve treated him, he still put himself out. Though I think it was more for the staff’s sake rather than yours.”
Crestfallen, Andrea attempted to rally. “I didn’t ask him…”
“You didn’t have to ask. You forget, one day he will be master of this house.” Vivian interrupted. “His foremost duty is to the staff. Your childish behavior left him no choice. You would’ve kicked and screamed until you got what you wanted, ruining everyone’s evening and embarrassing your parents. Winston did what he thought was best for everyone. That, Andrea, makes him better than you. You think of no one except yourself.” She left Andrea standing in her doorway, deflated.
*****
Later that evening, the rain sent everyone inside. Soon the first two floors echoed with laughter and chatter. Vivian and Hunter seamlessly arranged a full schedule of entertainment. Nothing diverted the wealthy like rich food and drink, billiards, high stakes gambling. Sadie and her friend snuck off to the hunting lodge, taking with them a few lower servants for a taste of normalcy. Had she known, Vivian would’ve slaughtered everyone involved. Winston and Bart put on a brave face and dutifully played host for the evening alongside their mothers and the Graydons. Once again, Dean was conveniently missing, though it seemed Rebecca was not the cause. She and the Lockwoods were engrossed in conversation with Andrea and Hamilton across the room from Winston. He did his best to ignore her presence.
Andrea watched as a swirl of women shamelessly flirted with Winston…while Winston, dressed smartly and looking damned delicious, gave them little more than the courteous smile. How desperate they all looked groveling at his feet…how pathetic! Gentlemen or not, Andrea wasn’t about to faint at his feet. This was still the man who robbed an elderly couple, and for that Winston could sleep on the lawn for all she cared.
“He’s gorgeous, isn’t he?” Rebecca wrapped her arms around Andrea and pulled her close to her side.
“Who? Him?” Andrea followed her eyes across the room to Winston. “Which twin is that? I can’t tell them apart.” She lied. “Is that Winston?”
“Hell yeah! You should get to know him.”
Andrea damn near lost her apple martini. “I don’t require my men to have morals but I do demand they possess the faculties of perception inherent in sentient beings. That man has none.”
“Why are you so hard on him? You don’t know him well enough to hate him the way you do.”
“I know as much as I care to know.” Though irritated, Andrea couldn’t tear her eyes away from Winston. She loathed the way women threw themselves at him. She downed the rest of her drink and reached for a flute of champagne from a passing tray. “And if I were you, I’d be careful with Dean. He’s a rake…a damn hot rake but a rake nonetheless.” She smiled when Rebecca rolled her eyes.
“They’re identical twins, Andrea. You can’t compliment one and not the other.” Rebecca looked around the room for Dean. “Besides, you don’t have to warn me about Dean. I know what kind of man he is, and I love it.”
“You know he’ll never marry you, right?”
“Oh God, I hope not!” Rebecca gave an animated frown. “I don’t want to marry him or anyone for that matter.” Andrea seemed taken back by this revelation. “Does that surprise you?”
“A little.”
“It shouldn’t. Why should I be tied to a husband? I want my freedom—I want what Dean gives me.”
“Sex.” Andrea declares bluntly.
“Yes, lots of it,” Rebecca bit her lower lip and moaned. “I have no inclination to change him. I
love the way I satisfy him, and I lllooovve the way he satisfies me. Sometimes he pounds me so hard, it feels like we’ll burst into flames.”
“You’re such a whore.” Andrea grinned down at Rebecca.
“I know.” Rebecca sighed and pulled Andrea across the floor, weaving her way through the crowd. “Come on. We’d better greet Mrs. Graydon before they send out a search party.”
“I’ll be glad to get back to the real world where my hands aren’t tied by…”
“….by silly archaic customs.” Winston said, colliding with Andrea. Clearly she had too much to drink—she actually smiled at him. But, for the sake of consistency, she followed with a heavy scowl.
“Do you make it a habit of listening to others conversations?”
“Only when the conversation is taking place, rather painfully, on my foot.” He pointed to the floor. Andrea removed her foot hastily. “Thank you Dr. Mitcham. Excuse me.” Winston turned back to his guests while Andrea and Rebecca joined the Graydons and Maureen standing only a few feet away.
A twiggy woman, the color of rich cinnamon, gave Andrea the once over then took Winston’s arm. She wasn’t like the other women, he didn’t cringe from her advances and he seemed genuinely amused by her. Shortly thereafter, Hamilton joined Winston’s party. Traitor, Andrea thought.
“Life is extraordinarily pleasant for those fortunate to have been born at the right time, to the right family. From the moment of our birth, we’re cuddled by the hands of life; shielded from strife, protected from our own ignorance.” Andrea overheard Winston say. She excused herself and went to her father’s side. Winston continued. “We’re told that we’re different, set apart, better than others by virtue of the blood coursing through our veins, of which was none of our doing. Fate deemed us better. Fate deemed us worthy of distinction.”
“Phrases such as ‘can not’, should not’, ‘must not’ don’t apply to us. Those phrases apply to the poor, unfortunate devils that have rolled the dice of fate and came up average. No, those phrases are worthless where we are concerned because we always ‘can’, ‘do’, and ‘shall’. A vast majority of us prance through life believing such nonsense while others struggle to find a purpose for our lives without tumbling from the pedestal fate so graciously provided.”
Would I trade my life of obliging mind-numbingly stupid people in conversation for that of an average Joe? No, I would not. I haven’t earned what I’ve been given, so I must endeavor to deserve it.” Winston paused, his eyes fell on Andrea. She hung on his words. “Everyone has their cross to bear. Mine happens to be made of diamond encrusted platinum, but it’s no lighter.”
“You really believe that?” One of the ladies asked.
“Of course he does,” The lady hanging from his arm answered for him. “Winston is the most generous man I know. And the most humble and caring.” She looked up at him lovely. “…and the most handsome.”
“She flatters me. I’m not that handsome. I have a genetic photocopy around here somewhere.” Winston joked, deflecting attention away from himself. Andrea recognized it immediately.
“Excuse me, Dr. Mitcham.” Isaac tapped Andrea’s shoulder and said quietly. “The fax you were expecting has arrived.” He slipped her a small envelope and crept away without so much as a thank you.
Andrea kissed her father goodnight. Winston watched her leave the ballroom.
Meanwhile, Rhonda escaped to the library. She couldn’t suffer one more evening of socializing. Being in a dimly lit oak paneled room, surrounded by old books was perfect entertainment and it seemed Dean was in the same frame of mind. He sat with his feet propped up on a table, thoroughly taken in by his book.
“I thought you’d be with your family.” Rhonda said, searching the shelves for a book.
“No,” Dean didn’t look up. “Winston can manage.”
Rhoda walked over and took the book from Dean’s hands and read the spine. “Don Juan. Interesting choice.” She returned the book to Dean and straddled his lap.
“I’m up for any book that book justifies my promiscuity.” He set the book aside and held her ass.
“You’re spending a lot of time with the Lockwood girl.”
“Surprised you noticed.” Dean bit. “You’re here with your husband.”
Rhonda ignored the slight. “She’s a nice girl, Dean. You’ll break her heart.”
“I doubt it. Rebecca is green but she has a mind of her own.”
“She’s barking up the wrong tree.”
“So did you.” Dean looked at Rhonda, causing her insides to melt. “As I remember, you pursued me. It was nine months before I realized you were married…then again, you don’t mix in society so how would I have known?”
“Don’t pretend you didn’t know.”
“I didn’t know who you were.” Dean shook his head, truthfully. “You were beautiful and intelligent, and you held my attention. But you weren’t honest. I’ll admit, I’m no saint but no one comes to my bed blindly. You, on the other hand, had no problem lying to me.” His fingers slowly unbuttoned her light blouse, her nipples pushed against the silky fabric where he licked and nibbled.
“I didn’t lie.”
“True. You didn’t lie…you simply forgot to tell me you were married. All of the weekends we spent together; your husband, whom you call a bore, slipped your mind.” He freed her left nipple, nibbled lightly, sending a shot of raw need through her. “It’s been a while since I tasted your pussy. Would you like to pick up where we left off?” He looked up at her. She tunneled her fingers through his hair. He kneaded her breasts while he suckled her nipple. His tongue circled the hard peak. He took his time, switching from one nipple to the other, sucking, nibbling, licking. Rhonda closed her eyes. Dean sucked until her orgasm subsided.
“Do you know what you do to me?” Rhonda smiled and swallowed a moan. She’d never been able to resist Dean. “I thought you were angry.” Her word halted Dean’s advances.
“I was more disappointed than angry. You’re not the first married woman I’ve slept with and you won’t be the last.” He tilted her chin down and kissed her lips. “You have lost what I give to very few people: my trust. I don’t believe a word you say, and from now on I’ll treat you thusly.” He kissed her again.
“Don’t say that.” Rhoda leaned forward and said against Dean’s lips. “I want you inside me all night.”
“I can’t.” Dean shook his head.
“You don’t want me anymore.”
“That’s not what I said. You want more than I’m willing to give—you want me to take the place of your husband.” Dean shook his head. “Truth is, I don’t care enough about you to hurt him in that way. Now, are we going to fuck or not?”
*****
Later that night, Andrea returned to her room. She lay back in the bathtub with her fifth apple martini and a tear soaked rejection letter as companions. She applied for a position using her mothers’ maiden name and been rejected. The hot water and alcohol impaired her thoughts—her feelings were scrambled. On one hand, she’d been rejected on her own merit; then again, she’d been rejected. Neither was acceptable, and both hurt tremendously. Maybe she wasn’t all that she was cracked up to be. Maybe all she was is her father’s daughter. She picked up the letter from floor and read it again. All those years of doubt were summarized in one short letter. She’d thought herself different from everyone else. She used to laugh at the pompous dim-wits whose only function in life was to secure an advantageous marriage because she was better than them—she was clever.
How much of what she believed herself to be was, in fact, her? Was she smart because people told her she was smart? Did she deserve her scholastic accolades or was that her father’s doing? What were her beliefs? Maybe Winston was right: she was a one-dimensional snob. She tried not to think about Winston, but she couldn’t force him out of her mind. The liquor wasn’t helping. “Damn it,” she folded the letter and threw it to the floor. She stood suddenly, angry with herself giving way to maudlin tears, but she quickly sat on the edge of the tub when she became lightheaded. Her vision blurred, and took several deep breaths for her eyes slowly came back into focus. The clock on the wall read 1:48am. She was trapped and needed to get out. She brushed her hair back, threw on her terrycloth robe and riding boots and headed downstairs. The rain left the ground soggy and surely no one would be in the garden this late at night, she thought.
Andrea was right, the groundskeepers lit only a few garden lights and those shone little through the dense fog. Still, she walked ahead towards the rear of the estate, well past the hunting lodge trying to escape her thoughts. She came to a small iron gate and stepped through onto a stony path. Closing the gate behind her, Andrea realized she’d gone too far. Lion’s Head was no where to be seen. Only thick fog and the distant sound of rushing water surrounded her. Unable to see her hand in front of her face much less her feet, she bent down and touched the ground when she felt the crunch of the stones give way to mud. Alarmed, she stood and tried to retrace the stony path but it eluded her. Now she was truly lost and daybreak was hours away.
“Hello!” She yelled hoping a groundskeeper was nearby. There was no reply, only more rushing water. She remembered Hamilton mentioned there was a small river abutted the estate. Small river my ass, she thought listening to the water hit the rocks. The sound drew closer as she approached. In her alcohol induced stupidity, she reckoned if she made it to rivers edge, she’d follow it back to the house. Alcohol, fear, and lack of bearing are dangerous when mixed with pitch black darkness. Luckily common sense kicked in and she sat on the rocky overhang, getting a hold of herself before remembering what drove her out into the dark in the first place: her rejection letter. At least here she could cry away from everyone.
An hour or so past and chill set in. She had to find her way back to the house. Stumbling, she found the path but no gate…but there was a body…a big solid body.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Winston snapped, shining his flashlight and glaring down at her. “Andrea, do have any sense at all? You just walk out of the house in the middle of the night! What were you thinking?”
Andrea clung to Winston for dear life. “What are you doing here?”
“I followed you as far as I could without a light. I had to go back to the lodge.” He warmed her in his arms. “Damn it, woman. What if I hadn’t found you?”
“I didn’t need you to find me,” Suddenly pissed that he’d come to her rescue again. “I would’ve found my way in the morning.”
“By morning, you might’ve been dead. Do you have any idea where you are?” Winston held the light up to her tear stained face; she wasn’t in her right frame of mind. “You’ve been drinking?”
Shamefully, Andrea pouted and nodded.
“And you wonder why I don’t touch the stuff.”
“Because you’re a self-important asshole.”
He sighed and shone the light on her feet. “Where’s your other boot?”
“It fell off…over there.” She looked like a pouty brat. “And I’m naked under my robe. I’m cold.”
Winston laughed…then stopped…and laughed again. “Can you walk or would you like me to carry you?”
Andrea was sound asleep when Winston carried through the door of the hunting lodge. He laid her across the bed while he found a change a clothes. Henry’s tee shirt and flannel pajama pants would have to do. He tossed aside her muddy robe and dressed her as quickly as possible. Normally a smoking hot naked woman, clawing for him to sleep in her bed was an invitation to nail her to the headboard. This, however, wasn’t one of those occasions. Winston tucked Andrea in bed, locked the sliding glass at the base preventing her drunken escape, and closed the bedroom door behind him. After calling to thank Isaac for alerting him to Andrea’s midnight excursion, he asked to have breakfast and fresh clothing sent by at eight o’clock…then he grabbed blankets from the loft, turned on the TV, and settled on the sofa for the night.
“I hope that Lockwood girl doesn’t have her heart set on Dean? She’s romantic. He’ll break her heart soon enough” Maureen sat on a nearby chaise. Not getting the reaction she hoped from Vivian, she threw in, “It’s your fault, Vivian. You’ve spoiled him. He says and does whatever he likes because you failed to reel him in.” she smiled when Vivian’s head snapped towards her. “What does he do when he’s away from home? Bart tells me everything. I know his every move.”
“Bart tells you what he knows you want to hear. It’s the only way to keep you from meddling in his business.” She threw up her hand, silencing Maureen’s retort. “And before you go flapping your mouth, remember this: I’m matron of this goddamn family and it’ll be my sons handing out your allowance after I’m gone, so you’d better get damn well used to kissing their asses!...”
Isaac crept through the door and immediately after hearing angry voice, wished he hadn’t. He froze and looked back at the door, then ahead of him towards the voices. He was half way in the parlor. He tried backing out of the room unnoticed, and stiffened in place when both ladies rounded the corner, their irritated eyes burned through him.
“What do you want?!” Vivian grated.
Was it unseemly to die in a ladies’ parlor? He looked a bit perplexed. Then recovered enough bearing to remind Vivian she’d asked him to tell her when Sadie returned from the stables. “Also, due to the incoming storm, Mrs. Graydon has cancelled the outdoor functions and she would like to see you in her room.”
“Unbelievable” Vivian checked her hair in the mirror. “She doesn’t have a clue what to do with all these people. She expects me to come up with something! Why didn’t she plan ahead?! You always have a backup plan. Where’s her coordinator?”
Isaac jumped when he saw she was talking to him.
Vivian sighed. “Have Hunter, your housekeeper meet me in Susan’s office. Tell him to bring a bottle of scotch and a baseball bat.” She and Maureen brushed past Isaac, she rattled off instructions over her shoulder. Isaac kept up pace down the hall. “Find Dean and tell him where I’ve gone. I’ll tell Winston.”
“A bottle of scotch and a baseball bat?” Isaac whispered to Maureen. “And I wasn’t aware Mrs. Bellamy drank.”
“She doesn’t. She gives to it anyone she thinks will contradict her…to soften the blow, you see,” Maureen puffed in step. “She’s assertive…not a monster.”
“Oh God,” Isaac nearly pissed himself when he realized Vivian was heading to Winston’s old room. Winston hadn’t told her he’d been moved. And Andrea, evil, horrible Andrea, was none the wiser. He tried to stop Vivian before she knocked but fell short. Andrea opened the door and everyone seemed equally surprised by the others presence. Isaac, however, wanted to die. Somehow, someway this situation would be twisted until it was his fault.
Though the small silver name placard affixed to the door read A. Mitcham, this was her son’s room; that it would change after so many years was as unthinkable as someone whom her son detested being welcomed in his room. Clearly, Vivian thought, there was something afoot; murder perhaps.
“Yes?” Andrea asked.
“I’m looking for my son, Winston.” She pointed to the door. “This is his room.”
Andrea shook her head. “No, this is my room.”
“Since When?” Maureen asked, throwing her hand up to Isaac when he tried to interject. “Quiet, boy, women are talking. Who put you here?” Pointing into the room.
“He did!” Andrea snapped, looking at Isaac. “There was a mix up, and they tried to put me in the servants’ quarters. Hunter gave me this room and that boy helped me upstairs.” Being questioned by someone she hardly knew sent her pulse racing.
Vivian watched the life drain from Isaac’s face and the pieces of the puzzle fell in place; it all made sense. “You were offered this room after you publicly bullied Hunter, caused a scene, and made the staff’s life a living hell.” Her humble, quiet tone was meant to shame Andrea. “Winston gave you his room without thanks or gratitude from anyone, especially you. Even after the way you’ve treated him, he still put himself out. Though I think it was more for the staff’s sake rather than yours.”
Crestfallen, Andrea attempted to rally. “I didn’t ask him…”
“You didn’t have to ask. You forget, one day he will be master of this house.” Vivian interrupted. “His foremost duty is to the staff. Your childish behavior left him no choice. You would’ve kicked and screamed until you got what you wanted, ruining everyone’s evening and embarrassing your parents. Winston did what he thought was best for everyone. That, Andrea, makes him better than you. You think of no one except yourself.” She left Andrea standing in her doorway, deflated.
*****
Later that evening, the rain sent everyone inside. Soon the first two floors echoed with laughter and chatter. Vivian and Hunter seamlessly arranged a full schedule of entertainment. Nothing diverted the wealthy like rich food and drink, billiards, high stakes gambling. Sadie and her friend snuck off to the hunting lodge, taking with them a few lower servants for a taste of normalcy. Had she known, Vivian would’ve slaughtered everyone involved. Winston and Bart put on a brave face and dutifully played host for the evening alongside their mothers and the Graydons. Once again, Dean was conveniently missing, though it seemed Rebecca was not the cause. She and the Lockwoods were engrossed in conversation with Andrea and Hamilton across the room from Winston. He did his best to ignore her presence.
Andrea watched as a swirl of women shamelessly flirted with Winston…while Winston, dressed smartly and looking damned delicious, gave them little more than the courteous smile. How desperate they all looked groveling at his feet…how pathetic! Gentlemen or not, Andrea wasn’t about to faint at his feet. This was still the man who robbed an elderly couple, and for that Winston could sleep on the lawn for all she cared.
“He’s gorgeous, isn’t he?” Rebecca wrapped her arms around Andrea and pulled her close to her side.
“Who? Him?” Andrea followed her eyes across the room to Winston. “Which twin is that? I can’t tell them apart.” She lied. “Is that Winston?”
“Hell yeah! You should get to know him.”
Andrea damn near lost her apple martini. “I don’t require my men to have morals but I do demand they possess the faculties of perception inherent in sentient beings. That man has none.”
“Why are you so hard on him? You don’t know him well enough to hate him the way you do.”
“I know as much as I care to know.” Though irritated, Andrea couldn’t tear her eyes away from Winston. She loathed the way women threw themselves at him. She downed the rest of her drink and reached for a flute of champagne from a passing tray. “And if I were you, I’d be careful with Dean. He’s a rake…a damn hot rake but a rake nonetheless.” She smiled when Rebecca rolled her eyes.
“They’re identical twins, Andrea. You can’t compliment one and not the other.” Rebecca looked around the room for Dean. “Besides, you don’t have to warn me about Dean. I know what kind of man he is, and I love it.”
“You know he’ll never marry you, right?”
“Oh God, I hope not!” Rebecca gave an animated frown. “I don’t want to marry him or anyone for that matter.” Andrea seemed taken back by this revelation. “Does that surprise you?”
“A little.”
“It shouldn’t. Why should I be tied to a husband? I want my freedom—I want what Dean gives me.”
“Sex.” Andrea declares bluntly.
“Yes, lots of it,” Rebecca bit her lower lip and moaned. “I have no inclination to change him. I
love the way I satisfy him, and I lllooovve the way he satisfies me. Sometimes he pounds me so hard, it feels like we’ll burst into flames.”
“You’re such a whore.” Andrea grinned down at Rebecca.
“I know.” Rebecca sighed and pulled Andrea across the floor, weaving her way through the crowd. “Come on. We’d better greet Mrs. Graydon before they send out a search party.”
“I’ll be glad to get back to the real world where my hands aren’t tied by…”
“….by silly archaic customs.” Winston said, colliding with Andrea. Clearly she had too much to drink—she actually smiled at him. But, for the sake of consistency, she followed with a heavy scowl.
“Do you make it a habit of listening to others conversations?”
“Only when the conversation is taking place, rather painfully, on my foot.” He pointed to the floor. Andrea removed her foot hastily. “Thank you Dr. Mitcham. Excuse me.” Winston turned back to his guests while Andrea and Rebecca joined the Graydons and Maureen standing only a few feet away.
A twiggy woman, the color of rich cinnamon, gave Andrea the once over then took Winston’s arm. She wasn’t like the other women, he didn’t cringe from her advances and he seemed genuinely amused by her. Shortly thereafter, Hamilton joined Winston’s party. Traitor, Andrea thought.
“Life is extraordinarily pleasant for those fortunate to have been born at the right time, to the right family. From the moment of our birth, we’re cuddled by the hands of life; shielded from strife, protected from our own ignorance.” Andrea overheard Winston say. She excused herself and went to her father’s side. Winston continued. “We’re told that we’re different, set apart, better than others by virtue of the blood coursing through our veins, of which was none of our doing. Fate deemed us better. Fate deemed us worthy of distinction.”
“Phrases such as ‘can not’, should not’, ‘must not’ don’t apply to us. Those phrases apply to the poor, unfortunate devils that have rolled the dice of fate and came up average. No, those phrases are worthless where we are concerned because we always ‘can’, ‘do’, and ‘shall’. A vast majority of us prance through life believing such nonsense while others struggle to find a purpose for our lives without tumbling from the pedestal fate so graciously provided.”
Would I trade my life of obliging mind-numbingly stupid people in conversation for that of an average Joe? No, I would not. I haven’t earned what I’ve been given, so I must endeavor to deserve it.” Winston paused, his eyes fell on Andrea. She hung on his words. “Everyone has their cross to bear. Mine happens to be made of diamond encrusted platinum, but it’s no lighter.”
“You really believe that?” One of the ladies asked.
“Of course he does,” The lady hanging from his arm answered for him. “Winston is the most generous man I know. And the most humble and caring.” She looked up at him lovely. “…and the most handsome.”
“She flatters me. I’m not that handsome. I have a genetic photocopy around here somewhere.” Winston joked, deflecting attention away from himself. Andrea recognized it immediately.
“Excuse me, Dr. Mitcham.” Isaac tapped Andrea’s shoulder and said quietly. “The fax you were expecting has arrived.” He slipped her a small envelope and crept away without so much as a thank you.
Andrea kissed her father goodnight. Winston watched her leave the ballroom.
Meanwhile, Rhonda escaped to the library. She couldn’t suffer one more evening of socializing. Being in a dimly lit oak paneled room, surrounded by old books was perfect entertainment and it seemed Dean was in the same frame of mind. He sat with his feet propped up on a table, thoroughly taken in by his book.
“I thought you’d be with your family.” Rhonda said, searching the shelves for a book.
“No,” Dean didn’t look up. “Winston can manage.”
Rhoda walked over and took the book from Dean’s hands and read the spine. “Don Juan. Interesting choice.” She returned the book to Dean and straddled his lap.
“I’m up for any book that book justifies my promiscuity.” He set the book aside and held her ass.
“You’re spending a lot of time with the Lockwood girl.”
“Surprised you noticed.” Dean bit. “You’re here with your husband.”
Rhonda ignored the slight. “She’s a nice girl, Dean. You’ll break her heart.”
“I doubt it. Rebecca is green but she has a mind of her own.”
“She’s barking up the wrong tree.”
“So did you.” Dean looked at Rhonda, causing her insides to melt. “As I remember, you pursued me. It was nine months before I realized you were married…then again, you don’t mix in society so how would I have known?”
“Don’t pretend you didn’t know.”
“I didn’t know who you were.” Dean shook his head, truthfully. “You were beautiful and intelligent, and you held my attention. But you weren’t honest. I’ll admit, I’m no saint but no one comes to my bed blindly. You, on the other hand, had no problem lying to me.” His fingers slowly unbuttoned her light blouse, her nipples pushed against the silky fabric where he licked and nibbled.
“I didn’t lie.”
“True. You didn’t lie…you simply forgot to tell me you were married. All of the weekends we spent together; your husband, whom you call a bore, slipped your mind.” He freed her left nipple, nibbled lightly, sending a shot of raw need through her. “It’s been a while since I tasted your pussy. Would you like to pick up where we left off?” He looked up at her. She tunneled her fingers through his hair. He kneaded her breasts while he suckled her nipple. His tongue circled the hard peak. He took his time, switching from one nipple to the other, sucking, nibbling, licking. Rhonda closed her eyes. Dean sucked until her orgasm subsided.
“Do you know what you do to me?” Rhonda smiled and swallowed a moan. She’d never been able to resist Dean. “I thought you were angry.” Her word halted Dean’s advances.
“I was more disappointed than angry. You’re not the first married woman I’ve slept with and you won’t be the last.” He tilted her chin down and kissed her lips. “You have lost what I give to very few people: my trust. I don’t believe a word you say, and from now on I’ll treat you thusly.” He kissed her again.
“Don’t say that.” Rhoda leaned forward and said against Dean’s lips. “I want you inside me all night.”
“I can’t.” Dean shook his head.
“You don’t want me anymore.”
“That’s not what I said. You want more than I’m willing to give—you want me to take the place of your husband.” Dean shook his head. “Truth is, I don’t care enough about you to hurt him in that way. Now, are we going to fuck or not?”
*****
Later that night, Andrea returned to her room. She lay back in the bathtub with her fifth apple martini and a tear soaked rejection letter as companions. She applied for a position using her mothers’ maiden name and been rejected. The hot water and alcohol impaired her thoughts—her feelings were scrambled. On one hand, she’d been rejected on her own merit; then again, she’d been rejected. Neither was acceptable, and both hurt tremendously. Maybe she wasn’t all that she was cracked up to be. Maybe all she was is her father’s daughter. She picked up the letter from floor and read it again. All those years of doubt were summarized in one short letter. She’d thought herself different from everyone else. She used to laugh at the pompous dim-wits whose only function in life was to secure an advantageous marriage because she was better than them—she was clever.
How much of what she believed herself to be was, in fact, her? Was she smart because people told her she was smart? Did she deserve her scholastic accolades or was that her father’s doing? What were her beliefs? Maybe Winston was right: she was a one-dimensional snob. She tried not to think about Winston, but she couldn’t force him out of her mind. The liquor wasn’t helping. “Damn it,” she folded the letter and threw it to the floor. She stood suddenly, angry with herself giving way to maudlin tears, but she quickly sat on the edge of the tub when she became lightheaded. Her vision blurred, and took several deep breaths for her eyes slowly came back into focus. The clock on the wall read 1:48am. She was trapped and needed to get out. She brushed her hair back, threw on her terrycloth robe and riding boots and headed downstairs. The rain left the ground soggy and surely no one would be in the garden this late at night, she thought.
Andrea was right, the groundskeepers lit only a few garden lights and those shone little through the dense fog. Still, she walked ahead towards the rear of the estate, well past the hunting lodge trying to escape her thoughts. She came to a small iron gate and stepped through onto a stony path. Closing the gate behind her, Andrea realized she’d gone too far. Lion’s Head was no where to be seen. Only thick fog and the distant sound of rushing water surrounded her. Unable to see her hand in front of her face much less her feet, she bent down and touched the ground when she felt the crunch of the stones give way to mud. Alarmed, she stood and tried to retrace the stony path but it eluded her. Now she was truly lost and daybreak was hours away.
“Hello!” She yelled hoping a groundskeeper was nearby. There was no reply, only more rushing water. She remembered Hamilton mentioned there was a small river abutted the estate. Small river my ass, she thought listening to the water hit the rocks. The sound drew closer as she approached. In her alcohol induced stupidity, she reckoned if she made it to rivers edge, she’d follow it back to the house. Alcohol, fear, and lack of bearing are dangerous when mixed with pitch black darkness. Luckily common sense kicked in and she sat on the rocky overhang, getting a hold of herself before remembering what drove her out into the dark in the first place: her rejection letter. At least here she could cry away from everyone.
An hour or so past and chill set in. She had to find her way back to the house. Stumbling, she found the path but no gate…but there was a body…a big solid body.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Winston snapped, shining his flashlight and glaring down at her. “Andrea, do have any sense at all? You just walk out of the house in the middle of the night! What were you thinking?”
Andrea clung to Winston for dear life. “What are you doing here?”
“I followed you as far as I could without a light. I had to go back to the lodge.” He warmed her in his arms. “Damn it, woman. What if I hadn’t found you?”
“I didn’t need you to find me,” Suddenly pissed that he’d come to her rescue again. “I would’ve found my way in the morning.”
“By morning, you might’ve been dead. Do you have any idea where you are?” Winston held the light up to her tear stained face; she wasn’t in her right frame of mind. “You’ve been drinking?”
Shamefully, Andrea pouted and nodded.
“And you wonder why I don’t touch the stuff.”
“Because you’re a self-important asshole.”
He sighed and shone the light on her feet. “Where’s your other boot?”
“It fell off…over there.” She looked like a pouty brat. “And I’m naked under my robe. I’m cold.”
Winston laughed…then stopped…and laughed again. “Can you walk or would you like me to carry you?”
Andrea was sound asleep when Winston carried through the door of the hunting lodge. He laid her across the bed while he found a change a clothes. Henry’s tee shirt and flannel pajama pants would have to do. He tossed aside her muddy robe and dressed her as quickly as possible. Normally a smoking hot naked woman, clawing for him to sleep in her bed was an invitation to nail her to the headboard. This, however, wasn’t one of those occasions. Winston tucked Andrea in bed, locked the sliding glass at the base preventing her drunken escape, and closed the bedroom door behind him. After calling to thank Isaac for alerting him to Andrea’s midnight excursion, he asked to have breakfast and fresh clothing sent by at eight o’clock…then he grabbed blankets from the loft, turned on the TV, and settled on the sofa for the night.