floor and opened the heavy stainless…steel fridge。 Inside were piles of fresh produce; containers of
orzo salad; and curried salmon filets garnished with yellow currants。 Where were the cold leftover
chicken nuggets; or at least the PB and J?
Behind her; Edgar and Nils began a wrestling match in the middle of the floor。 Vanessa usually
let them do this; hoping they would tire themselves out like the puppies she?d once filmed at the
Union Square dog run。 She?d been hoping to catch a dogfight or see one of those rat…eating hawks
the city had released swoop down to pick up a Chihuahua; but had been forced to settle for puggle
playtime instead。 She figured that eventually the boys would flop onto their backs like the dogs;
their tongues hanging out to the side; panting。
?Boys!? Ms。 Morgan barked; and then smoothed her knife…pleated khakis。 Her ivory tank top
was trimmed with a thick brown satin sash。 Looking at her weirdly taut face and defined
cheekbones; it was hard to tell if she was thirty…two or fifty…five。 ?You can head upstairs to get
ready for dinner。?
She turned back to Vanessa; the wooden heels of her huarache sandal wedges clacking on the
floor。 ?Vanessa; we?ll be having the salmon filets; and if you could just throw together a little
fresh salad; maybe a dill…yogurt sauce for the fish? That would be lovely。?
Wait。 Throw together? What did Vanessa look like; the 。 。 。 the 。。。
Help?Oh。 Right。 Except she?d never cooked anything but boiled ziti with jarred Ragu in her life。
?You got it;? Vanessa told her as she started searching for dill in the produce drawer。 Upstairs she
could hear the boys making explosion noises and then screaming。 She turned around to hold up a
pile of leafy herbs?was this dill? cilantro? crab…fucking…grass??when she was met with a
frightening sight。
Ms。 Morgan?s pale; skinny; dimpled ass。 Oh。 My。 God。 Vanessa quickly swiveled around again。
Even with the refrigerated air hitting her in the face; she could feel her cheeks burning。 Loudly
clearing her throat?had Ms。 Morgan just forgotten she was there or what??she turned back;
holding the herbs directly in front of her face。
She peeked out from behind the greens only to see her employer; arms akimbo; standing in only
her wooden huarache sandals; a sheer applered thong; and a lacy black bra。
?Something wrong?? she asked。
?Um; no; of course not。? Vanessa began a sudden; uncharacteristic cuticle examination。 Her
hands sure were rough! But she couldn?t help sneaking a sidelong glance as Ms。 Morgan;
liberated woman of the twenty…first century; tugged off her bra and let it fall; oh…so…casually; onto
the arm of a kitchen chair。
Vanessa willed herself to look her boss in the face。 ?Um; could you excuse me for a second? I?d
like to put my things in my room。? Shehad to get out of there。
?Top of the third staircase。? Ms。 Morgan started rooting around in her monogrammed canvas
boat bag; presumably for something to wear。
Let?s hope so!