Durable Goods

by Patricia Hale

  The back door swung open startling me and Ruth came into the kitchen carrying a brown paper bag in each arm. “So you’re the new house girl?” She laughed.

  “Right now, I have no idea what I am. New girl in the house or new house girl, what’s the difference?”

  She set the bags on the kitchen table and laughed. “A house girl is the maid. A girl in the house makes money. I knew that other one wouldn’t last. She was too stupid for Isaac’s taste.” Ruth carried containers of milk and orange juice and a package of butter to the refrigerator. “Got any coffee?”

  My hands shook as I held a mug in one and poured from the carafe with the other. “Don’t spill, don’t spill, “ I repeated in my head and then handed Ruth the full cup.

  She looked at me as she took it. “Thanks,” she said.

  There was something in her voice, something like sincerity or empathy and I wondered if I’d heard right. Or was I so desperate that I’d imagined it?

  She sat at the table and I began unpacking what was left in the bags.

  “I’ll do it,” she said.

  And there it was again…kindness. I’d heard right.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “I have to figure out where things go if I’m going to be the house girl.” Our eyes met and held, but neither of us mentioned my misconstrued words. I put away Frosted Flakes and Captain Crunch, Oreos, Ice Cream, canned vegetables and twelve cans of Campbell’s soup and wondered where all the farm vegetables and meat went. From the looks of what the cupboards held, not to us.

  When I finished I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat across from Ruth, not sure if it was okay for me to sit, but she didn’t say anything and I could feign ignorance until I learned the ropes. It occurred to me that being young, Kira might have started out as a house girl. Maybe she and Ruth had become friends and Ruth had mailed the postcard. I could show Ruth the picture. It would be a huge risk, but I had to start taking a few if I was going to get anywhere.

  “So, if I’m the house girl, what am I supposed to do?”

  “I don’t think that’s Isaac’s plan for you,” Ruth said.

  “Once he sees how well I perform in this role, he won’t need to check my performance in the other.”

  Ruth pursed her lips and shook her head, but let my fantasy slide. “Everything from laundry to vacuuming to preparing meals. I told him he needs more than one person, but that would cut into profits.” She rinsed her cup at the sink and put it back on the shelf. “C’mon, I’ll show you where the laundry is.”

  I followed her down a rickety set of worn wooden stairs into a dark, dingy rat hole farmhouse basement. A washer and dryer sat up on cement blocks in one corner, a plastic laundry basket in front of them.

  “You have to go room to room looking for dirty stuff. They aren’t very good at remembering to use a hamper, too fucked up,” she added.

  We headed back up the stairs.

  “I bring the groceries so if there’s something you want, you have to let me know.”

  “What about some protein, meat, fish, eggs?”

  She shrugged, “That’s doubtful. Isaac prefers carbs. They’re filling and cheap.”

  “And protein is brain food. We might actually be able to think,” I added.

  She looked at me for a minute like a parent surprised by a child’s knowledge. “Whatever,” she said and crossed the kitchen. At the door she hesitated, turning back. “All that stuff will be coming, but it’s for the party.”

  “Party?”

  “Isaac’s holiday gathering.”

  “When’s that?”

  “Friday night. He has it every year. And just so you know. House girl or not, you’ll be a girl of the house that night.”

  I leaned back against the counter, gripped it with both hands and watched Ruth leave. Don’t freak out. That’s forty-eight hours away. A lot can happen between now and then.

  With no clocks in the house it was impossible to keep track of time. The girls and Isaac hadn’t returned. I’d downed a third glass of wine hoping it would lessen my anxiety over what would happen when he did. I could go to bed, but there was no way I’d close my eyes knowing he was coming back for me. Looking around the living room, it was obvious that I was the only coherent woman in the house, except for Rose, but she’d disappeared upstairs. Maybe she’d gone to bed. It seemed like a good time to slip away and text Griff.

  I watched for a follower as I crept up the stairs and into the bedroom, but no one seemed aware of my absence. Closing the bedroom door as quietly as I could, I went into the bathroom and took my cell from its hiding place in the closet. Griff had texted.

  I don’t like you being in the house. Not safe. Stebbins says we’re wrong about Bennett. If I don’t hear from you tonight I’m coming tomorrow.

  I relaxed a little. He had my back.

  No Kira, but give me more time. Party Friday. Will send details. Wait to hear from me.

  Against everything my head told me, I’d just asked for more time. But even if we didn’t find Kira, we could bust open Isaac’s little prostitution ring. And who knew where that might lead. I put the phone back in the closet and opened the bathroom door. There was a figure sitting on my bed across the room, even in the darkness I knew it was Isaac. I froze.

  “You’re not supposed to be up here alone. Until you understand how things work someone needs to accompany you.”

  “When did you get back?” I asked, hoping to shift the focus away from my disobedience.

  “Where’s Rose? She should have been keeping an eye on you.”

  “I, I don’t know. I think she went to bed. I had to pee. Someone was in the bathroom downstairs and everyone else was, well…not worth asking.”

  He smiled, getting the joke. Lifting a goblet of wine, he motioned with his other hand for me to come to him. I met his eyes, took the glass and sipped from it. It was a different brand, too tangy.

  “I like the other one better.”

  “This one’s more expensive. Drink it.”

  “Money doesn’t make it taste better.”

  “Drink it down,” he said. He stood and waited until I’d swallowed most of the wine. When I had, he took me by the hand and led me from the room and down the stairway.

  At the foot of the steps, I tripped. He laughed and pulled me along. I reached for the wall to steady myself but it slipped away from my hand and I couldn’t find it again. The realization that he’d drugged me began to take hold, but floated away before I could get a firm grasp.

  I looked around to see where he was taking me. We entered the kitchen. Pans waved overhead from the ceiling rack and floated past us. I banged into the refrigerator and smacked my shoulder on the handle. “That’ll leave a bruise,” I heard a voice say, but wasn’t sure if it had been mine, or Isaac’s.

  He pulled me into an alcove behind the mop closet and up a tiny, winding staircase that moments ago had been completely hidden from view, at least from my view, but in my present condition that wasn’t saying much. At the top of the stairs another hallway lay ahead of us. There were rooms on either side, though all were dark and empty, maybe maid’s quarters, once upon a time. I laughed out loud at the words once upon a time, like I was telling a bedtime story. What a fucking bedtime story, I thought and laughed again. I knew there was nothing funny about what was happening, but it all seemed so ridiculous. We entered the room on the right. Isaac let go of my hand, leaned behind me and closed the door.

  A canopy bed hovered two feet off the ground. White satin sheets and pillows floated above it. He flipped a wall switch beside the door and a dim light spread over the room. Turning to face me, he lifted the straps of my nightgown off my shoulders. It landed in a pile around my feet.

  “What the hell…” I bent and reached for the gown too quick. A wave of nausea hit me, I swayed, dizzy and my knees hit the floor.

  Isaac laughed and knelt in front of me. Cupping my breasts in his palms.

  I waved my forearm and broke his hold, but the movement
toppled me over.

  He grabbed my shoulder and flipped me onto my back. With one knee on my chest holding me in place he studied the scars on my stomach, tracing them with his fingertip. “Will make-up cover these?” he asked.

  “Get off me,” I said landing my fist against his chest, but my arms were like rubber. There was no force behind the blow.

  “Answer me.” He dug his knee into my chest.

  “They’re from a long time ago. I wasn’t a happy kid.”

  “I don’t give a shit what they’re from. I want them covered up.”

  Whatever he’d put in my wine was beginning to release its hold. Maybe he’d only used enough to get me upstairs and into this room and as my head cleared fear took hold. “Get off me you sick fuck,” I said. I swung my fist at his chest again, but it was like moving under water.

  Isaac laughed and his eyes lit up. I’d been right. He liked a fight. I squirmed beneath his knee trying to wriggle free. He grabbed both of my wrists in one hand and wrapped his other arm around my waist. Lifting me from the floor, he carried me to the bed and dropped me onto satin sheets then took a step back, surveying.

  I sat up, my head spinning and tried to scoot off the bed. The hammering in my ears was so loud I couldn’t hear. He shoved me back with one hand on my forehead. I sat again, and again he shoved me back, this time with his boot on my chest. I looked up at him. He stood over me, waiting. That’s when I knew that I wasn’t getting out of this.

  I wanted more of whatever had been in my wine, anything that would deaden me to what was coming. I thought of Griff and felt humiliated and ashamed, apologizing to him over and over in my head for being so stupid. “I want more of that wine,” I said.

  “He shook his head. “You’re gonna remember this.” With a palm on either side of my head, he straddled me and lowered his mouth to mine.

  I twisted to the side. He grabbed my shoulder and shoved me back, his mouth on my neck. I landed my fist on the side of his head.

  He laughed and sat up. “I love a good fight,” he said. “Makes it much more exciting.”

  Sitting back on his heels he took off his belt and bound my wrists above my head. He started to push my legs apart. I squeezed my thighs together like I was barrel racing a quarter horse and squirmed side to side. He landed a fist on my right thigh. A Charlie-horse made me cry out and ended my struggling. Pushing my legs open, he knelt between them. I heard the zipper on his pants. My eyes found the ceramic light fixture on the ceiling over the bed. Through a blur of tears I traced roses and leaves and tried to be anywhere but where I was. Then the pounding started. First it was feet on the stairs then down the hallway then a fist on the bedroom door.

  “Isaac, Isaac,” a voice called.

  “I’m busy.”

  “Lucas is here. He wants to see you now.”

  “Jesus Christ,” he said. “Tell him to wait.”

  “He won’t. He wants you now.”

  “Fucking prima-donna,” Isaac said standing and pulling up his pants. He reached for my arms and tore the belt from my wrists.

  I winced, but he didn’t notice.

  He opened the door, stepped into the hall and slammed it behind him.

  I pushed off the bed. My feet hit the floor and I swayed like a toddler; whatever had been in that wine was not completely gone. I gripped the bed for stability and inched toward my nightgown. There was shouting coming from below me. Around me everything in the room floated like gravity had deserted. I crawled to the door and opened it, gripped the doorframe and pulled myself upright. Looking down the hallway, I realized now that these rooms must have once been the staff’s quarters. Hugging the wall I made it down the narrow staircase that led to the kitchen. Fluorescent lights brought tears to my eyes. People brushed past me, but took no notice.

  When I reached the parlor door I took a right and started up the main stairway crawling on all fours for balance. I was elated when I reached the bedroom and found it empty. I collapsed onto my bed. From the yelling and crying below me, it sounded as though everyone was still downstairs. Lying still, the fog inside my head began to clear. A prone position was definitely preferable to vertical, maybe that was the point. Griff was out there somewhere staring at his phone waiting to hear from me. But I didn’t think I could make it to the bathroom, let alone send a coherent text. And even if I did, what would I tell him? I closed my eyes and the chaos below me slipped away.

  Moonlight reflected off unfamiliar yellow walls. I looked for the row of dormitory bunks, but saw only two other beds in the room. Slowly, it came to me that I was in my bedroom inside Isaac’s house. Filmy, nicotine stained curtains waved in a frigid breeze coming from the partially opened window. I rose to close it and squinted at my reflection in the darkened windowpane, feeling like someone had slammed me in the head with a two-by-four. A vague memory of lying beneath Isaac came to mind.

  “Shut the fucking window,” a voice said from the other side of the room. I turned to see Elizabeth coming out of the bathroom.

  “Working on it,” I said. I started to push against the paint chipped frame, but stopped at the sound of a car engine. Outside, Isaac was standing beside the driver’s door of a police car that said St. Bart Sheriff on the side. I let out a sigh of relief; they were here for me. Griff had sent them ahead and any minute he and John would come careening down the long, dirt driveway in CID’s black Suburban. But then I heard Isaac laugh and a second later an arm came out of the cruiser’s window and he and the driver shook hands. Sheriff Stebbins and Isaac? It would explain why Stebbins hadn’t had time for us the day we’d driven up to talk to him. We’d had no reason to suspect him as being anything but truthful, albeit not much help. Now here he was sitting in the driveway, him and Isaac shaking hands. I heard footsteps behind me and turned to see Rose standing in the middle of the room.

  “What are you looking at?” she asked.

  “I thought I heard something outside, but it’s nothing.” I lowered the window.

  She came up beside me and looked out. The cruiser had disappeared. She nodded. “Get some sleep. You’ll be making breakfast soon.”

  I sat up straight. The cold air and the sight of Isaac and Stebbins had rendered me fully awake. “Are you in charge?”

  She looked like she didn’t know how to interpret my question.

  “I’m just asking ‘cause I don’t know who to go to if I have questions. I mean Ruth showed me the laundry but she’s not always here.”

  “Ruth.” Rose said the name like it was the punch line of a joke and laughed. “Ruth has nothing to do with this house. She runs errands that’s all.”

  I thought again of Kira’s postcard. Had Ruth run that errand? “Isn’t she Isaac’s daughter?”

  “So what?”

  “Why doesn’t she live in the house?”

  Rose laughed again and ran a hand through her wild, red hair. “Have you looked at her? Isaac has his pride.”

  “But she’s his daughter.”

  “A point you shouldn’t make to him, if you’re smart. Anyway, Ruth’s happier in combat boots than negligees so it works for everyone. And yeah, I’m in charge in the house, sort of. Clients tend to like ‘em young, but I make sure I’m useful to Isaac in other ways, like keepin’ you girls in line. Enough chitchat. It’s almost time to get up,” she said and disappeared from the door.

  Elizabeth had slipped into the bed across from mine and now rolled toward me. “What the fuck, are you doing in here?”

  “Nice mouth,” I answered knowing I shouldn’t throw stones.

  “I thought you were with Isaac.”

  “Whatever happened with someone named Lucas canceled that out. I guess you could say he saved me.” I said it without thinking, but regretted my words immediately. I was supposed to be grateful that Isaac had brought me to the house.

  “He was here for a girl. Too bad nobody saved her.” Elizabeth’s voice was monotone.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The girl that d
ropped her drink and passed out on the couch. She was supposed to work last night. But she’s always too drunk. Isaac reached his limit with her so he shipped her out. Lucas came to pick her up.”

  “Who’s Lucas?”

  “A buyer.”

  “A buyer?”

  “Jesus, what do you live under a rock?” She leaned up on one elbow and looked at me. Her black hair was a mass of tangles, but her face was beautiful. Hazel eyes and full lips dominated a Mediterranean complexion. “You really are new,” she said.

  “So Isaac sold her to Lucas?”

  “That’s how it goes. When Isaac gets tired of us Lucas finds us a new home. She was a pain in the ass. Clients don’t want a puking whore. If you work hard Isaac keeps you.”

  “Tell me about the work.”

  “You’ll find out for yourself.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  She laughed. “Then what the fuck are you doing here? It’s what we do. Anyway, it’s not like you have a choice. You’re working for him now.”

  “I worked for him out on the farm.”

  “Not that kind of work,” she said. “That’s not what you do in the house.”

  “Then tell me.”

  “You bring in the money that keeps the farm running and you keep his clients satisfied.”

  “The women in the dormitory say he saved them. Did he save you too?”

  “If you call screwing some cigar-smoking, fat-assed old fart being saved then, yeah, call me saved.”

  She stood and the blanket slipped to the floor. Naked, she crossed the room and picked up a pack of cigarettes from the dresser. Her young body was as beautiful as her face. Long and lean, but ample where it mattered. When she turned her back to me, it was covered with pencil thin red lines. Old scars.

  “Make-up covers them,” she said when she noticed me staring. She sat back on her bed and pulled the blanket around her.

  I remembered Isaac saying the same thing to me when he saw the scars on my stomach. But mine were not from some deranged customer’s whip; they were from my own pre-teen hand, my own warped way of overriding the feelings of worthlessness that dovetailed my mother’s indifference.