“Well, I need you hereall the time.”
“You don’t.”
“I do.”
“No, you—” Damn it, this wasn’t working. She sucked in a Pert-scented breath and tried again. “I’m sorry, but I have to leave sometimes. I’ll try to keep it to the evenings—that way you’ll hardly notice I’m gone.”
“No. We can’t open the door after dark.”
Uma tried her best to sound calm and reasonable. “I’m not your prisoner, Ms. Lloyd. If you don’t let me leave, it’s like…slavery.”
“You’re fired.”
She should have known this would happen. “Fine.” Uma turned to go.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m going. You’re firing me, so I’m leaving.”
“You can’t do that!”
“Oh, I think I can.”
“Think you’ll find another job with your…secrets and fake name? Go on and try it. There’re girls like you all over the place. New one every week. But jobs? Around here, they’re hard to find.” The woman’s bravado was admirable.
“Right.”Calm. Stay calm.This was a gamble, nothing but a gamble, and the odds were in her favor. “You know what, Ms. Lloyd? We both know you’re fully capable of rinsing your damn hair. You’re on your own.” The sound of the door closing behind her was so final, she came close to turning back. But if she did that…she’d get nothing from the woman. No time off, no respect. Decisive, she started down the hall.
“Don’t you dare leave, Irma. Don’t you… Wait! Wait! Irma!” It was hard, but she kept going. “Irma! Get back here! Come back! We can make this work.” A pause. “Please.”
God, this was harder than she’d imagined. Uma knew—they both knew, though Ms. Lloyd wouldn’t admit it—that this wasn’t about leaving her without someone to wash her hair or cook or clean up her crap. Those were simply the excuses she’d devised. The big ploy, the cover-up for what her real job was… No, therealitywas, if Uma left, Ms. Lloyd would be alone. Utterly alone in this stale box of a place. And that was why this gamble would pay off, even if it made her feel cruel to exploit the other woman’s fear. Uma couldn’t imagine anyone had ever stuck around Ms. Lloyd for long.Shewould stay—so long as she could have just enough freedom to actually feel free.
Standing in the hall with that wedding picture staring her in the face, Uma waited a second, then two. “I’ll go back in there and help you, Ms. Lloyd—I’llstay—but first, we need to agree on new terms.”
The woman’s breathing was audible through the door. She wasn’t suffering from a heart attack or something, was she? Impossible. Her kind of mean outlived everyone—like a postapocalyptic cockroach.
“Fine. Fine. What do you want?”
Uma opened the door but kept to the hallway. “First of all, I will fulfill my duties to you. I’ll help you out, but I am in no way your prisoner. You understand that, right?”
“Never said you were.”
“Yeah, well, this way, we’ve got everything out in the open. So you understand, that crap you pulled with the kitchen? You do that again, and I’m gone. No questions asked.”
“I didn’t mean it, Irma. Keep your job. And evenings. Evenings are fine.”
“Thank you.” Here it was: the power of standing up for herself, but also, unexpectedly, the soft thrill of being needed. She hardened herself before going on. “Next time you make a mess like that, you’ll wallow in it, because I’m not cleaning up that kind of mess again. Got it?”
“Yes, yes, I get it. Fine. Just…” Ms. Lloyd paused, clearly hating this. “My eyes are stinging. Could we wrap this up?”
“Could we wrap this up,please.”
“Oh, you—” Ms. Lloyd stopped, breathing hard, her eyes staring at Uma with a strange mix of angry, pathetic, and proud. Apparently her need for companionship won out over her stubborn temper, because she gave in with a quietly whispered, “Please.”
“And my name’s Uma.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Say it.”
