Chapter 3

“Yes ma’am,” Terri said. “My grandmother made the best in the world. I’ll make her recipe.”

“MY grandmother made the best in the world,” Pam challenged.

“Nuh uh,” Terri said, a soft smile at her lips. “MY grandmother’s was the best.”

Just as quickly as the playful moment had sprang up, it was gone. Pam waited until she’d stepped outside before she allowed herself a small smile.

Then the smile faded. So far, Terri had been the model employee. The girl had not made one misstep. She had cooked perfect meals, had been punctual with the meals. Pam’s bathroom sparkled; her bed was expertly made.

That evening, Pam almost choked up when she stepped into her home. The smells were the smells of her childhood, in her Grandmother’s kitchen as grandmother and granddaughter prepared the family dinner together. She could remember cutting the stick of butter into small chunks, then mixing the butter and the flour together. She could remember the kitchen stool; her grandmother assured Pam, that was her stool.

She had felt safe, loved when she was with Jannah. That had been the way David, Pam’s older cousin had pronounced ‘Grandma’ and from David’s first utterance of ‘Jannah’ until her death a few years ago, Margaret White had loved being Jannah. That stool sat in a corner of Pam’s kitchen. Pam rarely looked at that stool. It never failed to bring tears when she looked at the battered old stool.

“Good evening, Ms. White,” Terri softly greeted Pam.

“Good evening,” Pam said, voice raspy with emotion.

At six thirty, Pam sat at her table, still reveling in the smells wafting in from the kitchen. She sipped her iced tea and ate her crisp salad.

“Be careful, the bowl’s quite hot,” Terri softly cautioned as she placed a plate in front of Pam.

In the center of the plate was a clear glass bowl. The chicken pot pie bubbled and oozed out from underneath the buttery, flaky crust, dripping onto the plate.

“How, how’d you keep this from dripping onto the burners?” Pam asked. “I even do one of them frozen ones? It gets all over the place.”

“Put a cookie sheet on the rack underneath,” Terri said.

“You uh, you know a lot about cooking,” Pam said, swiveling to look at Terri.

Terri stepped closer so that Pam didn’t have to swivel so much.

“Yes ma’am,” Terri said. “My Mom’s mom was an unbelievable cook. And then, working in restaurants, I’d watch the cooks there.”

Pam nodded, then pierced the crust. The thick broth bubbled and oozed up, releasing a cloud of steam.

“Jannah,” Pam thought and again felt the sting of tears.

“Ma’am?” Terri asked as she placed a slice of apple pie in front of Pam. “Tomorrow’s Saturday. Do you sleep late on…”

“Terri, you’re off tomorrow and Sunday,” Pam said harshly. “So, you don’t need to worry about what time I get up, what time I eat.”

“Oh, okay,” Terri said.

“In fact, bring me my purse; I got your check,” Pam said.

“Ma’am, it can wait,” Terri said.

The next morning, Pam caught sight of Terri, dressed in tank top and denim cut off shorts. Each day she’d seen Terri, the girl had been dressed in slacks and blouses. This was the first time since high school that Pam had seen Terri in shorts. Terri’s delectable rear end peeked out of the shorts, wiggling, flexing as Terri cleaned her breakfast dishes.

“Good morning, Ms. White; would you like some eggs? Bacon?” Terri asked, turning.

Pam’s eyes crank in the sight of Terri’s large chest stretching out the material of the tank top, the small expanse of belly visible under the hem of the top, the luscious camel toe in her shorts, the sleek legs.

“What? Terri, I told you, you’re off today,” Pam barked, irritated.

“Yes ma’am, I know. But I’m right here and it wouldn’t take me any time at all,” Terri said.

“Go, all right, just go,” Pam snapped.

Pam fixed herself a bowl of cereal and ate it, sitting in silence. A moment later, she heard the front door open and close. A few minutes later, she heard Terri’s car drive away.

Whatever Terri went to do did not take her long. She was back in less than an hour, then retired to her room. Pam looked at the tall clock in her living room and wondered if ten twenty was too early to have a vodka and tonic.

“You know it is,” Pam snapped, angered at herself.

“Ms. White?” Terri interrupted Pam’s thoughts just as the clock finished chiming twelve times. “I’m making myself a BLT for lunch. Would you like me to make you one?”

“What did I tell you?” Pam snapped.

“Yes ma’am, but since I’m making myself one, I thought I’d offer,” Terri said.

“Terri, wait,” Pam said.

“Yes ma’am?” Terri asked.

“Yes, please, I’d like one,” Pam agreed

Ten twenty in the morning was too early for a drink, but six thirty in the evening was a perfect time to get good and sloppy drunk. Sunday morning, Pam staggered out of her room, head pounding, one eye swimming, unable to focus.

“Just made coffee, Ms. White,” Terri said quietly.

“Good,” Pam snapped.

She did not object when Terri put the mug in front of her. She didn’t object when Terri placed a tall Bloody Mary in front of her.

“A little of the hair of the dog,” Terri quietly said.

A moment later, she returned, a small glass of orange juice and three Tylenol tablets. Pam gratefully swallowed the pills, then grimaced as the orange juice had an odd taste.

“Tablespoon of honey,” Terri said before Pam could ask. “Helps with hangovers.”

“How you know about that?” Pam asked, genuinely curious.

“My father was an alcoholic,” Terri said, pretty face twisted in bitterness. “Monday through Thursday? Good, God fearing Christian. Friday through Sunday? A God damned son of a bitch that drank his whole paycheck up, then beat up on his wife and his only daughter. Of course Jimmy? His darling boy?”

Terri turned abruptly and fled the dining room.

“It’s Sunday, Ms. White; you’re responsible for your own meals today,” Terri’s harsh voice floated back.

A moment later, Pam heard the front door open and close. Then she heard Terri’s car drive away.

Terri returned just as darkness was beginning to fall. Pam looked up from her bowl of canned vegetable soup as Terri approached.

“Ms. White?” Terri said, voice hard. “I lived my whole life… The next time I find you on your bathroom floor? I will leave you there to drown in your own vomit. Do I make myself clear?”

“What? Bitch! This is my house. My fucking house. Who the fuck, you can’t tell me…” Pam spluttered, outraged.

“No. No I can’t tell you how to live your life,” Terri shrilled. “But I can tell you I will not participate in it. I will not clean up your puke, clean you up, put you in your bed.”

“You. You did that?” Pam asked, embarrassed.

“Yes ma’am,” Terri whispered, eyes shiny.

“How’d you…” Pam asked.

“I heard you fall, then I could hear you throwing up,” Terri whispered, wiping at her tears.

“My bathroom was spotless,” Pam argued.

“Well I bet it was,” Terri snapped.

Pam came home Monday evening, the onset of cramps making her miserable. If that wasn’t bad enough, it was ratings week and for the first time since taking over as manager, it did appear that they might slip from second to third place, especially in their lunchtime time slot.

“No ma’am, thank you, but no ma’am, I’m no longer interested,” Pam could hear Terri talking.

“Ma’am? No, I’ve got a job. Yes ma’am, I’m a domestic servant. The pay? Eleven an hour, plus commission is generous, but ma’am, I’m happy where I am. Thank you all the same. Have a terrific day, okay?”

“Ms. White, dinner is ready whenever you are,” Terri called out.

“Thank God,” Pam agreed.

Terri started off with a mixed greens salad, then followed up with a piping hot vegetable beef soup and a corned beef sandwich.

Pam finished her meal and retired to her living room. She sat, studying the statistical data, read through the play list for that morning’s program and compared it with K.L.R.G.’s play list.

K.L.R.G. had a morning show that was anchored by a flamboyantly gay man and his straight sidekick, who played straight man to the gay man’s jokes and puns and obvious innuendos. That lead-in tended to keep the majority of their listeners throughout the Lunchtime time slot.

“Ma’am?” Terri interrupted Pam’s musing.

“Yes?” Pam asked, looking up.

“Ma’am, you keep rubbing your neck,” Terri said. “Do you, I could rub it for you, if you’d like.”

“I, uh, I guess I slept wrong or something and these cramps aren’t helping one bit,” Pam admitted.

“Ma’am? Why don’t we see if a nice massage would help?” Terri offered.

Pam put all of her paperwork into her briefcase. She knew she wasn’t going to happen on a solution while back, head and gut were all throbbing with their dull aches.

By the time Pam reached her bedroom, Terri had placed a large sheet onto the bed. Terri had a large towel on the floor, along with a bottle of oil.

“Go ahead, get out of your clothes,” Terri said as she stood next to the bed.

Pam hesitated, then did shrug out of her clothing. She stretched out on the bed, face down.

Terri moved Pam’s hair aside. She almost squealed when she saw the mottled, ravaged stump of Pam’s left ear.

Pam sighed when she felt Terri’s oil slick fingers at the base of her neck. Terri started off light and gentle, the pressure slowly increasing.

“Oh,” Pam sighed out loud when Terri’s thumbs dug into her neck, just at the base of her skull.

“Too hard?” Terri asked softly.

“No, no, just right,” Pam mumbled.

She came to with her alarm clock softly chiming that it was 5:15 in the morning. Her neck was no longer stiff. Her cramps were much worse, but no amount of massage would alleviate that.

“Good morning, Ms. White,” Terri softly greeted her.

“Uh huh,” Pam grumbled.

There were two aspirin tablets next to a small glass of water. A moment later, a mug of perfectly brewed coffee was placed in front of her.

An omelet, along with four pieces of slab bacon and two buttered pieces of toast followed.

Pam did appreciate the salt in the breakfast. A scalding hot bath also helped.

Somehow, by the end of the ratings week, the station did manage to keep their status, did hang onto their market share. Their morning show was in a distant second, their ten o’clock to two o’clock, the ‘Lunch’ slot was even more in a distant second. Their numbers did improve for the rush hour drive time frame and remained a close second throughout the evening hours. Their Midnight slot, they were actually in first place; that was when they played the heaviest, most aggressive music.

Pam was grateful the ratings week was over; the board of directors had made her fear for her job during the push. Pam was also grateful that her period was over.

“Ma’am, I do appreciate that, but I’ve already told you, I am happy where I am, but thank you,” Pam overheard Terri talking as she wearily entered the house.

“Who was that?” Pam asked as Terri greeted her.

“Roselawn Furniture,” Terri said simply.

“Where all my stuff came from,” Pam agreed.

“Supper is ready,” Terri said, conversation over.

After supper, Terri approached Pam. Pam looked up from the independent analysis she’d commissioned.

“Ms. White?” Terri cautiously asked.

“Ms. White, am I, you’re not happy with me, are you?” Terri asked.

Pam regarded the blonde beauty for a long moment. Terri was truly beautiful, with long blonde hair, sweet, almost angelic face, and ripe body.

“I, yes, Terri, I’m…” Pam stammered, caught off guard.

“You never say anything,” Terri offered.

“Because you’re too God damned perfect, Terri,” Pam spat, almost angrily.

She got to her feet, shoving the report into her briefcase. She marched over to the bar and quickly poured herself a vodka and tonic.

“I mean, shit! You even doing shit ain’t in the God damned handbook,” Pam snarled and tossed half her drink down her throat.

Terri said nothing, just looked at the agitated woman. Terri’s angelic face was twisted in confusion.

“You know how bad I want you to fuck up?” Pam growled, staring harshly at her servant.

“But why?” Terri asked.

“So I can throw it in your face,” Pam barked. “Voted ‘most likely to succeed’ and you’re just a God damned fuck up. I can throw it in your face, and then I can beat you. Beat you until you’re begging.”

“So you can…” Terri asked, still confused.

“So I can bend you over, pull your stupid little pants down and beat that pretty little ass of yours,” Pam snapped.

Teri stared at Pam. Pam finished her drink and thought about fixing a second one. Pam hesitated; then the hesitation enraged her even more.

“I want another drink. But I won’t have another drink. Know why? Because you don’t fucking like when I drink too much,” Pam growled. “And I want so bad to take my crop and whip you until you beg me to fucking stop, little Miss Perfect.”

“Go ahead, have you a second drink,” Terri said.

Pam hesitated. Terri let a little smile curl up her lip.

“Cyclops,” Terri said.

“What?” Pam gasped, mouth open in shock.

“GO ahead, Squint. Go ahead, get falling down, stupid puking drunk,” Terri challenged.