"She adores you." Lifting the cover, she sniffed the croissants in absolute pleasure. "Martha always makes the best." Heaping a plate, she handed it to her son and continued to study him. "There's the fall function. We..."
"No." He sipped coffee and eyed her over the rim of the delicate Meissen cup. "You roped me into that torture last night. I'd say I've done my duty as your son and CEO of the company for the next month or two."
A placid smile played around her lovely mouth as she continued to stare at him.
"Dammit mother, and I'm not going to apologize for swearing. I have my own life to live. It's not all about the company and meeting obligations." He sighed when she just continued to stare at him.
"It's the fall charity event that's being put on by the wives of the club members. Your club members. Making an appearance is expected." Putting her cup carefully on the saucer, she reached for her iPod which was always near her. "It's in the form of a masked ball this year. Leesa and Kelly and the rest came up with the idea. We're targeting hurricane victims in third world countries this time. I'm sure you've read and seen the devastation of the last category five hurricane that swept through some of the Caribbean islands."
She glanced up from the notations she was making to pin him with a determined gaze. "They're in need of housing and basic supplies. We intend to do our part." She finished writing and put away the device. "Eat your meal," she added automatically as if he was five years old. "Martha requires a clean plate."
Without missing a beat, she continued. "You've stepped back from the social scene enough for the press to identify that you're in hiding. That woman is not worth one minute of your misery. She was a gold digger and an opportunist. I trust you not to make the same mistake again."
Scooting forward, silk rustling, she placed a hand over his. "You're smart and handsome and quite a catch. One day the right woman will just happen along when you least expect it."
He cast her a wry glance. Turning his hand over, he squeezed hers. "I'm not looking at the moment. And I will attend thefunction, but I can tell you right now, I'm not wearing a mask or a costume for that matter."
Reveling in the victory and careful not to show it, Eloise lifted the cup to her lips to hide the smile hovering there. "Why darling, that's going to be awkward. I already picked out a Henry the eighth costume for you."
His eyes flashed a warning, shoulders stiffening. "Of all the monarchs, I despise him the most. The man was a paranoid, egotistical idiot who married six times and made himself head of the English church. I love you mother, but the answer to that is a resounding no. I go as myself."
"Which is the way I love you the most." She laughed gaily as he glowered at her. "I'm looking forward to being escorted by my handsome son."
"What're you going as?"
Her expression turned mysterious. "That's a secret, I'm not prepared to share. Now darling," her expression became sober, "let's talk about the Lancashire Palace," she added, referring to their latest venture.
*****
She woke late, which was a novelty for her. Having an eight year old son and a very energetic one at that, meant she got a limited amount of time to sleep in late. Not to mention her full time and part time job required her to constantly be on the move. This weekend was one of the rare ones that she was off, and she had every intention of taking advantage of it.
The problem was that the place was quiet, too quiet. She was used to her son rushing in and climbing into bed with her, demanding to know what was for breakfast. The boy was a funnel for food, she considered wryly. Pulling the sheets up to her chin, she gazed at the drawn lime green curtains that were letting the sunlight in.
For a moment, she allowed herself to dream of brocaded drapes, silk wallpapers and antique furniture. A huge bedroom with a massive fireplace and a closet the size of this cottage. Shoes, she thought. She would give into her weakness for footwear. The Romano's Italian pumps with the straps, the gorgeous leather boots she had salivated over when she cleaned Sylvia Anders' house.
The woman might be a minor star, but she certainly knew how to dress. She had confessed to Melanie on one rare occasion that she did not have to buy a thing.
"Darling, that's what men were created for. To cater to our wishes and whims. I'm smart enough to invest my money and let them shower me with gifts. It's not hurting anyone."
It made Melanie wonder if she could ever be that selfish and materialistic. But she decided she was not in a position to judge. Right now, she could do with winning the lottery. Just a million dollars, she whispered to God. A measly million to get her out of this hole.
She would buy a nice four bedroom home with a large patio and deck. A basketball court for David and a swimming pool of course. Her baby loved to swim. And an enormous closet for herself. She would donate something to the local church she attended and get her grandmother a helper.
She would probably object strenuously, but Melanie would insist. And most of all, she would quit working at that awful place, for that awful woman.
Sighing at the dejection that was coming over her, she decided it was time to get up and attack the laundry that had been piling up. Another disadvantage to working so hard was she did not have time to deal with her own things. Best to get things done. Sliding off the bed, she grabbed her ratty old robe and left the room.
*****
Belting out to the tune of Mariah Carey's Emotions, Melanie zipped around the tiny laundry room. She hated doing laundry.And pulling the clothes from the washer to the dryer was what she considered to be a minor torture. So, whenever she faced that daunting task, she had to have a distraction.
Mariah was helping her through the crisis, wonderfully. She was lost in the sweet sound of her terrific voice and the poignant wording of the song.
The monotony of dragging clothes out and putting them to dry was getting a little easier. Her son's gym socks had made her gag. Pouring in enough scented beads and softener to take care of several loads, she eliminated the sourness associated with a very energetic boy who strongly believed in being as nasty as possible.
In between the laundry, she had managed to do some dusting and fix the leaky faucet in the tiny powder room next to the laundry room. She had been complaining about it for weeks now to her stingy landlord without getting results. She was done complaining. She had fixed it herself and was certainly going to take it from the rent.
Sweat beaded her forehead and pooled under her armpits as she dusted, scrupulously cleaned out the junk that was her son's room. Shaking her head at the candy and snack wrappers she found under the bed, she made a note to have a serious talk with him. It was not okay for him to keep his room this way.
