One of the more physical pleasures that I have enjoyed at the Vanderworth estate is walking barefoot on the oriental rugs that run for miles over the ancient flooring of house. Not only does it feel very silky on the pads of the feet, it makes for a very good noise buffer. I can still hear her locomotive-like pace as she nears the end of the hallway and takes the stairs to the servants' quarters. Concrete stairs, which increase the echo of her shoes, so I basically know her exact location on her journey to her room. Being a new wing, I don't have to worry about random complaining board as I do in the older house. The foundations of this appendage are stronger than steel. Steel. Stronger than steel…
But he's gone. HA! He's gone and I'm free and I know things. Boy do I EVER know things! This world doesn't know what its in for…
But I'm getting ahead of myself. I stop on the side of the spiral steps to lean against the cool stone. Small pleasures now, Lex. Small pleasures lead to big pleasures down the road. Terribly provincial thinking, but when you're right, you're right. At the top of the spiral I see a light turn on. I narrow my eyes at the sudden light change and roll my shoulders. The black silk pajama pants and shirt are comfortable enough. The fossil has supplied most of my wardrobe, which is actually to my liking. Not a big fan of the terry cloth robe with the monogrammed L&V plastered to the front like some sort of private school emblem. Plus, its summer. The stairwell is cooler, but I know for a fact that the servants' quarters aren't air-conditioned. Most of the staff have window units, which they had to pay for out of their pittance. However, I know of one servant that has no such unit. I smile. On a night like tonight, she'll be desperate to beat some of the oppressive mugginess that has plagued Metropolis for at least a week. Probably be wearing very little. I shrug off the robe and leave it on the stairs. It will be there when I get back.
The hall of the quarters is smaller, but well decorated. Three doors per side, of which five are closed and darkened. I send the staff home after 8 pm. Not really that much to do, plus if Lady Vanderworth decides to make her grand exit, I would like to be the only one in attendance. A few things I'd like to have finalized so that her sticky fingers family will be pouting on the curb. I've got a monitor and a beeper with me at all times, but she won't go tonight. Not tonight. Her physician said to me today that I have provided the best possible care for her. She could linger for up to six more months. Today, however, her vitals were strong and stable, blast it. O well, if I can wait in a cell for 10 years and allow the judicial process combined with the negligence of one very tardy super hero to set me free, I can wait six months in this place. Not a bad place to wait, if you ask me.
The sixth door on the right is open and light is streaming out. I hear the muffled sounds of a television, plus I can smell that she has the window open. That fetid kind of salt and pollution smell that the river has as it enters the ocean. I creep to the doorway and peer around. Grinning, I lounge against the doorframe and watch. She is struggling to get her hair up into on of those up-do type things. Probably to relieve her neck of some of the sweat that will no doubt form in this oven-like room. She is standing with her back to me. I swear, had she played her cards right and gotten in with the correct crowd when she came to Metropolis, she could have been a model. Or at least a very rich man's wife. Her back curves as she struggles with the bobby pins. The brazier strains against her as she tries to position that dark brown mass of hair into something reasonable. She has changed out of the maid garment and is wear some mangled sweat pants that have been chopped into shorts. They don't hide her legs. Well muscled and well formed from her ankles to where they disappear into the faded gray material. She does have big feet, but I can forgive her that. I can see her Achilles tendon strain and her calf muscles flex as she goes on her toes again. It's like some sort of spastic ballet. Amusing, but yet strangely pretty. I hear her grunt as she throws the bobby pins to the floor and with a small hip pivot, she bends over and lets the hair fall in front of her face, exposing her neck to the only air circulation in the room.
I breathe. My god, she is a wonderful thing to watch. I can see moisture start to form on her back. Wouldn't I love to run my fingers through those droplets? The tips of my fingers start to tingle. I smile again and raise my fist to knock on the side of the door.