My Fair Lacey

Chapter 3

Open up a Jar

Lacey took the shopping bag from the professor.

She stood, hesitating before leaving the room to change. "So . . . we go shoppin' first an' then th' teachin' stuff starts?" she directed her question to both men.

"Exactly. My first goal, with Jefferson's help, is an entirely new wardrobe. That bag just contains something decent for you to wear this morning."

"Wha's so wrong wid my clothes?" she asked him.

He looked at her sternly, his eyes flicking up and down. "You look like someone who could give a man a disease. You dress like a road whore. Your . . . 'wares' are all on display. A lady is modest, subtle, her clothes hint at what lies beneath." He gestured vaguely with his hand. "She doesn't need to display her cleavage or advertise that she has . . . or is . . . a cunt," he told her, shutting off any comments she might have made. "Jefferson has better taste and a far better sense for women's clothing than I do. I'm sending you out to a couple of stores with him. Then this afternoon we'll begin work on your grammar and elocution lessons."

She looked down at her clothes. She always thought she had fashion sense and . . . well, her clothes got men to notice her and that was the business that she was in.

But, she knew, it wasn't the business she wanted to be in. She'd give this new wardrobe thing a trial - after all, free clothes were nothing to sniff at.

"If you're finished eating, go ahead and get changed - please," he told her, dismissing her. "I'll call up for you when Jefferson's ready to set out. Oh, and wash your face."

"Whut?!" she was about ready to snap back at the man.

Jefferson spoke up, "You're very pretty without all the war paint. Just use a little lipstick and some mascara, Miss French. That's all you'll need for this morning's excursion."

"Yes Mr. M." she answered meekly.

She returned to her room and opened the sack. It contained a little sundress. She slipped it on. It was a pretty blue color and fitted in the waist. It had a square neckline and a full skirt. Lacey thought it was dowdy at first but when she looked hard at herself in the big mirror, she decided it wasn't too objectionable. She combed out her hair and pulled it behind her ears.

"Well, I look like somebody's milkmaid," she thought. She cleaned off her face and complied with Jefferson's suggestions for just a little lipstick and some mascara. She added a second coat of mascara and rubbed it vigorously with her finger, creating a smudged effect. She dabbed her finger on the lipstick and touched it on her cheeks, rubbing it in. And then she added a second layer of lipstick. She still felt like she was about to go out half-naked.

She set about waiting, but got bored after the first five minutes and, tanked up on caffeine, she began to explore the second story. She didn't want to stumble into the man's bedroom, lord knows, so she avoided doors that were closed, but she did find one other guest bedroom. She then quietly made her way downstairs, tiptoeing outside the door of the dining room where Mr. Gold was still reading the paper and talking with the nice Mr. Madden. There she found what appeared to be a small study – a rather messy one – and, she stopped in her tracks.

The man had a room, an entire room, devoted to books. His very own freakin' home library.

She took a deep breath and stepped inside. It was all shiny and polished and everything was exactly in place. She slipped off her heels to wiggle her toes in the plush patterned carpet. She brushed her hands against the walls, delighting in the soft embossed fabric that covered them. The same rich fabric covered the floor-to-ceiling windows at one end of the room.

In the middle of the room was an enormous pool table – far nicer than anything she'd ever played on. She stepped around it and began perusing the shelves. She found a few of her childhood favorites on the shelves. And oh, she found many books that she'd wanted to read but had never had the time or opportunity. She pulled out Ivanhoe and settled into one of the leather-upholstered chairs that was set near the window.

She was lost in the reading when she began to hear voices, Professor Gold's of course, and Mr. Madden's. And now there was another voice she thought was familiar. She began to listen more closely.

"Father?!" she thought. What in the cat hair was he doing here?

Gone by Monday Mornin'

"Now, what is your business with me?" she could hear Gold talking.

"I understand that you've taken to supportin' me daughter."

"She's agreed to participate in an experiment for me," Gold explained.

"Well, that doan sound right. I dun some rank things, but I never did no exper-mentin' on any young women."

"There's nothing untoward going on here," Jefferson assured him.

"You're welcome to take her home," Gold offered. "I don't have to experiment on her. I'm sure it wouldn't be difficult to find another young woman interested in bettering herself."

"No, no, no," her father protested. "We doan half to be hasty. I just wunted t' be sure you waren't doing no traffickin' or some such."

"Your daughter's virtue is as intact as it was when she first came through my door," Gold assured him.

"Now, that's a relief. But whut air ye doin' wid her?"

"Why don't I have you talk with her." And Lacey heard him call to her. "Lacey!"

Reluctantly, she came out of the library to face her father.

"Wow, darlin'. You doan look like yourself," her father told her.

"Mr. Gold likes me to dress more . . ." she considered, hunting her neglected vocabulary fund for the right word, "more pruddee." Lacey looked her father over. He wasn't looking any too good. "Why you here, Daddy?"

"Checkin' on you," he answered.

She snorted. "Right. How'd ya' even find me?"

"Keith called me, askin' where you was. I talked wi' Smee at th' front desk o' de hotel an' he said dis big guy had come an' paid yo' bill up an' took yo' stuff on t' dis address."

It didn't surprise Lacey that Smee hadn't spilled her new locale to Keith – the two men didn't like each other.

"So, you was all concerned 'bout me? Like when I was livin' at th' hotel workin' fur Keith, ye came t' check on me? The one time ye did come, it t'was just to borree money. You know, I was in some real danger there. So, why are ye really here?" She turned back to Mr. Gold, "He's gonna try t' touch you some, fur money."

"I anticipated as much, Lacey. Let me finish this conversation with your father," he told her with a smile. He looked at her pointedly and then looked back at the door to the library.

She realized she was being dismissed – yet again. "Oh darn," she thought. "No way this can work out good."

"She's right, ye know," Mr. French admitted.

"You're here for money. Curious. If I refuse . . . what will you do?"

"Oh, I'll go to th' po-lees and tell 'em that ye're holdin' m' daughter against her will, likely fur nee-farious purposes."

"I doubt any of that will stick," Gold told him.

"Oh, prob'bly not, but it t'would be a nuisance fur ye'."

"That it would," Gold agreed. He'd poured himself a drink of whiskey and offered one to Mr. French who eagerly accepted it. "So, how much would you be wanting to just . . . go away?"

"One thousand dollars," Mr. French told him.

"Just one thousand?! You'd sell your daughter to a stranger for one thousand dollars?"

"That's 'bout right," Mr. French replied.

"Why don't I give you ten thousand?" Gold asked him, curious as to what the man's response might be.

"Oh no," Mr. French refused. "See, ten thousand be a lot and I'd be tempted to put it in th' bank an' then I'd worry about it an' how I would spend it. An' Belle, that'd be Lacey's real name, Belle's step-mommer, well, she'd be wantin' to get married an' us become respect'ble an' all. But wid just one thousand, I kin take out th' woman an' we kin party an' buy a couple rounds for me buds an' have a grand ole time - without feeling guilty, y' know. It'll all be gone by Monday, I kin assure you."

"Wait," Jefferson began. "Where's Lacey . . . uh . . . Belle's mother?"

Moe French managed to look sad, "Th' sainted soul tha' she was, she done passed on an' is in a better place." He wiped his eye. "I miss her ev'ry day, but a man's got t' have a li't somethin' somethin', y' understand? Th' woman I live wid now has stuck it out longer than th' others an' it'd please me t' show her a good time."

"And you're not married to this woman?" Jefferson clarified.

"Hell, I t'warn't married to Belle's mum an' I loved that woman. Dis way, wid me current missus, we're both free t' indulge ourselves wid others, if it ever comes up," and the man winked at Gold.

Gold nodded and briefly disappeared into his study, returning with a handful of cash which he handed to Mr. French. Lacey's father took the money and assured Gold, "Ye won't regret this. I won't be returnin' an' this money will all go fur drinkin' an' partyin' an' it'll be gone by Monday mornin'."

"Remarkable man," Jefferson observed as the older man made his way out of the apartment under the watchful, disapproving eye of Ms. Potts.

"Yes, it is an interesting gene pool we're diving into," Gold told him.

Compromise

Lacey had a great time out with Jefferson. He took her into some really nice stores, little specialty boutiques that Lacey would have never have had the nerve to go in without him – high-toned and exceedingly pricey. He flirted shamelessly with staff, who fawned over him, and the man clearly had a sense for women's fashions. Jefferson was also generously kind and clever with his choices as well as his suggestions. Lacey quickly learned to, at least, try on what he picked out for her, often surprising herself in how good she looked in his selections.

They ended up with a solid array of options, including some things that Jefferson referred to as "wardrobe basics" – several pieces in black – a pencil skirt, a silk tee, a simple dress that was made of some luxurious fabric. And he got her a beautiful brown leather jacket. He added several colorful pieces, including a pleated skirt, a little gathered skirt, and some pretty blouses. There were a couple of little form-fitting dresses that she thought looked good on her and he added those to the stack. He added a couple of blazers.

And he also added some accessories, like scarves and some what she thought was plain jewelry. He informed Lacey that accessories could make or break an outfit. He made arrangements for the items to be sent back to Gold's apartment.

"Y' know," she told him as they walked down to Tops, the big shoe store off Rutledge, "y' paid waaaay too much fur that tee shirt. We cudda gone t' th' Target an' found one fur a couple o' dollars."

"But it wouldn't have been made of dupioni silk and keep its shape like the one I got you."

"But I cud get ten fur the price o' that one," she argued.

"It's a reflection of class," Jefferson tried to explain. "The eye can tell the difference between an eighty-dollar tee-shirt and an eight dollar one."

"If ya say so," she shook her head dubiously.

But, once in the shoe store, she stopped and looked around. "I can't be wearin' any o' them fugly shoes," she told him honestly.

"Which ones are those?" Jefferson asked her, smiling.

"You know. Th' ones wid th' round toes an' no heel an' all plain lookin,'" she told him.

"I think we can compromise between the club wear and the fugly shoes," he promised her. "You'll need at least three pairs, black pumps of course, and an everyday, comfortable slip-on sandal and something prettier for evening."

Lacey did find a strappy heel which met his standard for "something prettier" and once he gave this one his okay, she was agreeable to the plainer black shoe and a simple white sandal. She opted to wear the sandal. Again, Jefferson had everything else sent to Gold's apartment.

He took Lacey out to lunch at Curaté. She puzzled over the menu and, at Jefferson's request, she allowed him to order for them both.

"I'm impressed with your fortitude, Miss French," he told her as they waited for their food.

"Whut now?" she asked him.

"Your bravery and nerve and willingness to put up with Mr. Gold," he explained.

She shrugged. "Well, I do 'preciate whut ya done did fur me this mornin.' I'm usta my clothes being all second, maybe third-hand, y' know. I shops a lot at resale stores an' doan often get much fresh off th' rack, 'ceptin' on sale. I tell ya, I ain't never had nobody buy me so much nice stuff an' all at once. An' without 'spectin' not'in.'"

"Oh, I have expectations," Jefferson enlightened her. She looked slightly alarmed, but then he explained, "I expect you to work hard and do your best. I'd like . . . I'd love to see you succeed in this endeavor."

"Oh," she thought she might be blushing. "That's so sweet."

He hesitated, "Uh . . . Miss French, do be careful around Mr. Gold."

She looked up. "Whut? Is he gonna try sum'thin'? Shud I git a lock fur me door? A gun?"

Jefferson seemed to be searching for the right words. "No, nothing like that. It's just that, while I know the man can seem difficult . . ."

Lacey snorted.

Jefferson sighed and continued, "He's been through some tough times, especially where women are concerned."

Lacey understood. "Oooh, you thank I'm gonna try t' git him in the sack?" Lacey shook her head. "Oh honey, he ain't . . . isn't my type."

Jefferson smiled at her. "Yeah, I've heard that before, but my friend always seems to be the one to end up getting hurt."

"Well, right now you got reason to thank I might hurt him. But I ain't . . . I'm not gonna break his heart. I thank you got more t' worry 'bout that I'm gonna open up a jar o' whoop-ass . . . maybe do sum'thin' untoward wid a pool cue to th' man."

Jefferson's mouth twitched, "Ah, angry sex with a pool cue – takes me back to my college days."

Lacey frowned. "Eueh," she told him. "I'm serious, ya' know, 'bout Professor Gold. 'Specially if'n he keeps bad-mouthin' me like he's been doin'. I know whut I am and whar I come frum, but I'm takin' this serious and I'm gonna do my best."

"I'll mention it to him. Maybe he needs to tone down the rhetoric, but . . ." he paused, "remember, Miss French, he wants you to be successful in this venture also. He can be an ass, but he is trying to help you."

"Y' know, I din't understand 'bout half of whut you just said, but I'll try to listen and be good," she promised him.

Back in the Apartment

Lacey bounced back into Gold's apartment in high spirits. Of course, Gold took the wind out of her sails by telling her to "walk." She stopped and began taking more sedate steps.

But she had enjoyed herself on the shopping trip and the experience of having nice, new things was a novel one; she wouldn't allow him to take it away from her. Lacey took out a few moments to try some of the new things on for a second time and examined herself in the large mirror in her room. She did look nice, she decided, kinda classy. Professor G. would certainly have to approve of these clothes. She decided to keep on the little blue sundress and white sandals to go to the man for her round of lessons. She liked the aura of innocence it provided.

As she ran a comb through her hair, she considered. She didn't know why she was taking care with her looks just to go and work with Professor Gold. It wasn't like she wanted him to approve of her. She looked at herself in the mirror again.

Not that he wasn't an attractive man, with his pretty brown eyes and clever hands. Oh, and he exuded energy, tightly contained, encapsulated, all threatening to explode just any moment. A girl might easily get swept away in the storm of his personality.

Earlier, she had realized that he was good friends with Mr. Madden, who was so very overtly gay. Being a close friend of Mr. Madden, Lacey had assumed that Professor G. was most likely a former lover of the man who'd then settled into the role of being a good friend.

But after Mr. Madden's little speech, she now knew that Professor G had a history of being involved with women. So, was he a gay man who dabbled with women, or was he bi or, maybe a straight guy with a gay friend?

She knew, now, that he'd been burnt and wouldn't possibly be interested in her . . . or any woman.

And she shrugged it off - whether or not he approved or disapproved of her didn't count for her getting what she wanted out of their deal.

He had been waiting for her and was not in a good mood.

Oh yes, he acknowledged – to himself – that she looked very nice – very nice indeed. He had not expected her to clean up so pretty, damn beautiful, actually.

He shook himself.

He was here for The Experiment and her looks were a mere secondary consideration.

Anyway, it didn't matter if she liked him or not. Besides, she'd hardly be interested in him even if such nonsense were in the cards.

The First Lesson

At best she might hope for a quick ending – perhaps a gunshot to the heart or a header off a three-story building.

Please, please, sweet baby Jesus, she prayed. I awaits yo' lovin' embrace.

KMN.

Anything would be better than what she was going through.

It was not fun.

The old shithead had made her practice saying words over and over to master the enunciation.

Not so handsome now, was he?

And now he was grilling her in basic grammar. She had some vague memories of the grammar from her schooling, but, at first, what he wanted from her seemed such an unnatural way to talk. She balked at some of the exercises and rolled her eyes at some of Gold's suggestions.

"Keep rolling your eyes," he told her sourly. "If you keep at it, you just might find a brain back there."

"I ain't stup . . .," she began to protest, but then bit her lip and corrected herself. "I'm not stupid."

"Well, dearie, you talk that way," he was ruthless. "Compare the phrases, 'We ain't got nern,' and 'We haven't any.' You tell me if two different people uttered these sentences, who would you would think has three digits in their IQ?"

"Well, talkin' pretty doan mean you smarter," she argued.

"You think not? The difference is, I can talk like an ignorant tosser as well as the educated person I am. Can the ignorant tosser talk like he's educated or is he confined to one mode of expression?" Gold pressed her.

She couldn't dispute this but she didn't have to like it.

A Week Later

Without the late evenings, Lacey had found herself waking up earlier and earlier and, now carefully she'd walk as quietly as she could down the stairs. She was often at the breakfast table by seven where she would do the puzzle page and read in Ivanhoe. She found the reading slow going, but took her time and puzzled her way through the more difficult phrasing and vocabularies of the book.

Gold would typically and reluctantly drag out of his own room by ten and sit quietly at the table. Lacey would bring him his coffee (often with a couple of aspirin). She would supplement his coffee with a tall glass of water that she would encourage him to drink. She'd urge him to eat a little, just a little.

He clearly wasn't a morning person and, even in his best mood, not someone who engaged in idle chatter, so these mornings were generally spent in blissful silence. When he would close his eyes and rub his head, Lacey would often give him a scalp and neck massage which would certainly put him in a better mood. Then Jefferson would join them and Lacey would spend the rest of the morning with him.

Now, Jefferson, Mr. Madden - she looked forward to her time with him. He was pleasant, funny and always kind. He had scheduled her for a flurry of appointments, hair, brow, makeup, waxing, manicure, pedicure, the list went on. She was fine with the body buffing activities, but the makeup was a sore point.

They had argued, engaged in heated discussions and disputed each other's opinions. Lacey agreed to tone down her over-the-top makeup but she had refused Jefferson's advice of "eyes or lips, but not both."

"I'm not a lesbian," she'd told him. "Eyes an' lips both air just fine." But she did begin to exercise some restraint, using more natural colors (and less of them).

Then there were other mornings that Jefferson would spend chatting with her about the book she was reading or review her on table manners or just talk with her.

He also began teaching her some genuine dance steps.

But, afternoons, her stomach in a knot, she would spend being harangued by Gold, who often raised his voice when working with her and always seemed to be badgering her, pushing her.

He bullied her anytime, every time, she protested, threatening to turn her out, but for some reason, she persisted and he never turned her out.

She really did want more out of her life than giving hand jobs to strange men (and some of them had been pretty strange). She was smart enough to know that what she had been doing was dangerous, that she could get hurt, assaulted, forced into prostitution, killed. Even at his most unpleasant, what Gold was offering her was still more attractive than what she'd been doing.

Besides, the man had an impressive library.