Fanchon's Book

Chapter 7

The absolute and unconditional right-quelle betise! Letting myself get carried away like that, and with my own maidservant, an employee, a hireling, certainly a creature far beneath my social level; how ludicrous could a doting mistress get?

Ah, but the little darling was under my skin, and even in the cold light of day I no longer viewed our relationship in elemental terms of maid and mistress. She worked for me, true, but in the perfumed eroticism of our nights together it was I who labored-and willingly. Because we were lovers. Because our lives had become enmeshed, inextricably so, and I wouldn't have wanted it any other way. Mistress? maid? peasant? patrician?-merely an exercise in the semantics of oligarchy; why bother? For me it was already an exercise in nugacity: only a bigoted and logic-tight mind could have managed to keep bed-Kristi and kitchen-Kristi in segregated compartments. When darkness turned to dawn we might paint on conventional faces to adapt to the workaday environment, but a chameleon of another color is still the selfsame chameleon; our reality lay in the fantasy world of my boudoir.

Lovers, then. Oh, it wasn't a romantic thing-moonlight and roses and all that drivel, the hearts and flowers syndrome-but I knew our involvement went deeper than just a sex-fling. I could even see it as a lifetime liaison and the prospect made me happy indeed; there was nothing I wanted more. So why shouldn't I play the indulgent wooer and cater to the tastes of my wooed one? Why shouldn't I kowtow complaisantly and submit to her precocious demands? If my adoration of her beautiful body pleased her so much, should I be selfish and worry about mine? Hah! Even that my own body-was of less consideration now: it had no purpose other than to serve. And serve it would, gladly, devotedly, ardently, in whatever manner my domineering little sweetheart required; could an all absorbing affair like ours exist on half measures? Ludicrous or not, I would do it again-cheerfully, again and again, if such was her desire-I would let her make use of my mouth.

Admittedly, though, I did feel a smidgen of chagrin over that melodramatic delusion of mine-"the absolute and unconditional right"-a freakish notion to end all freakish notions. I found it more frightening than funny-especially when some intangible but irresistible centripetal force kept sucking me back into the enormity of that ephemeral moment.

I relived it often during the next few days, perhaps because the cogent memory was all I had to sustain me. Oliver had brought a batch of work home-top-secret stuff, something about a huge munitions purchase, so important that he wouldn't entrust it to a secretary and I couldn't very well refuse his request for help. I didn't understand much of it (the sums of money were positively staggering!) but with my penchant for detail, I got the bits and pieces organized enough for him to make an analysis and final judgment. I did some typing for him, too, quite a lot of it, and we were together night and day until the job was finished.

It had happened before, although seldom, and I didn't mind lending assistance when called upon. But as a consequence, my adventure with Kristi went into a cooling-off period; there just wasn't time for nocturnal romps. Not that either of us cooled off much, oh no, I could actually feel the suffusion of our mutual warmth whenever we met in the course of the day. The little angel missed my lovemaking.

Nor was she so angelic about it after a while. Kristi's itch for me had her nerves on edge. I recognized the symptoms: the pouting expressions, the petulant glances, the sullen deportment of a spoiled child on the verge of a tantrum-and in an effort to head it off I managed a few minutes of privacy with her. Sufficient for a kiss and an apology, at least, plus an invitation and the good news that our separation would end that very night.

It wasn't enough. I listened to her mumbled half incoherent reply and realized that the lovelorn little scamp was morose to the point of resentment. Not of me but of Oliver. She begrudged my time away from her all the more because it had been spent in the company of my husband. Jealousy-and I told her how silly it was; she had nothing to be jealous about in the first place; and anyway, Oliver and I were man and wife, weren't we?

"Well… " She seemed unmollified. "Just the same I wish you could be with me all the time. Or even for a couple of weeks, maybe-just the two of us. Couldn't we go away somewhere? Like for a vacation?"

"Impossible, my dear. Frankly, I can't afford it."

"You mean money? But you must be rich enough to-"

Oliver called from his room; the interruption couldn't have come at a worse moment. Kristi had touched upon a sore spot (oh yes, I too wished there was money for such a holiday) and his shouted summons aggravated my annoyance. So I lashed out rather angrily-at the nearest scapegoat, of course-telling the poor kid that my finances were no concern of hers and then running off to leave her in a state of shock.

How I regretted my anger afterward! Even while hustling to clean up Oliver's project, I could see what a fool I had been. It was only natural for my affectionate doll-baby to want to be alone with me, and after the lengthy spell of isolation she certainly had a right to whine. I should have petted her instead of making such an ugly scene. Mea culpa. I would beg her forgiveness. And wasn't it just a wee bit thrilling to know that the peevish little spitfire had showed signs of jealousy? Oh, I could hardly wait to make up with her. And to prove my devotion.

As for my temperamental outburst, though, I had no idea how much I would really regret it until later. With Oliver's business out of the way at last, I hastened to my room expectantly, all keyed up-only to find it empty. Stung by the apparent rebuff, I started my tub running with every intention of bathing and going to sleep and letting the girl sulk. But it didn't take long to change my mind; the poor dear was jealous to the point of distraction, obviously, and could I blame a confused child for losing her sense of proportion?

I tapped on her door and went in. She was sitting up in bed reading a magazine; she dropped it to her lap and peered at me in silence, her pretty face alert and yet touched by a kind of curious impassivity. As if she anticipated either a scolding or an embrace but didn't quite know which. And at that particular moment I decided against any word or gesture that might further widen the rift between us; even the mention of our small spat seemed impractical. There were other, more expedient ways of smoothing things over.

"You look lovely," I said. "Sometimes I forget how beautiful my darling Kristi is. Let me feast my eyes on you."

"Uh-huh."

"But I left the water running in the tub, I'd better go fix it. Won't you come and join me, angel?"

"Yes, ma'm. If you say so. I'll turn it off."

"Oh, I didn't mean that. You don't have to help me."

"But I do, ma'm. That's my job. You're the mistress and I'm the maid-and I guess I'm supposed to earn my keep.". "Darling, you're upset… " I sank to one knee Impulsively and pressed my lips to her hand. "If I hurt your feelings, won't you let me make it up to you?"

"Make it up to me? How?"

"Oh, all kinds of ways. You'll see."

"Well uh I was in the middle of this story-"

"Sweetheart, you don't want to read, do you turned the dainty hand over and bent my head, aglow with sudden elation as the cool palm relented and yielded to the solicitous zeal of my kiss. "Mmm, delicious. I could eat you up. It's been so long."

"It's been long, all right. Too long."

"I know I know. But I'll make it up to you."

"Will you, ma'm? You still haven t to me how."

"Any way you like, darling. I'm at your service. The thought struck me with a near physical impact, a jolt and I laughed to cover my flaring rush of excitement. "Now there's a fun-game we could play. I'm at your service. Little mistress, won't you let me be your maid tonight?"

She giggled. "Really? You mean we switch places? Then, abruptly serious, with a nod that was almost condescending, "Go take your bath, Fanchon. And don't bother about putting anything on. I prefer my servants naked."

"Oh! You darling!"

"Here now, none of that." She disengaged her hand.

"And none of that 'darling' stuff, either. You know my name. Even a stupid maid should be able to figure out how to address her mistress. And what are you hanging around for? Just do your little bow and go take your bath-and be quick about it."

"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…