A/N: I got fifteen (sic!) reviews for my first story today. Big big thanks as well for the people, who're constantly with me in his story!
Just for you to be warned: This story is going to contain some heavy "stuff" in the near future (those, who read my other stories - especially "As if" know what I mean) - I just don't want to change the rating of the whole story to M however, but of course the chapters themselves will be. I know some of you, who're reading this, are only thirteen, so please be aware of this.
I forgot to state this in the last chapter: I hope you had a Happy Easter and got enough chocolate from the Easter bunny :-)
By the way: To get this done with once and for all - the original characters from the movie "Titanic" belong to the rightful owner James Cameron. This is true for all my stories and chapters.
Mrs Pearson was anything, but amused. Hannah, one of her other girls, had to take out for the fact that Lygia wasn't there anymore – all the sadistic, aggressive and brutal customers as well as the those bores, talking about money only, the lazy one's – all of them, she had now to serve.
Only one person hadn't returned since that day – Roger Lindsay.
Mrs Pearson peaked around the hallway, observing her damsels. She would always say – they're like my daughters – a sentence for what she was feared more than anything else she might state.
Robert was standing beside her, dressed in best latest fashion. He was around fifty a little older than her. They had met so many years ago and been like what one would call a dream team not only in business but privately as well. However, this had been so long ago, a lifetime as it seemed that neither understood now, how they could've ever been friends.
Theirs was an undying, yet dreadful love from the first, no one granting the other luck.
"So your millionaire hasn't returned, I presume?"
How she hated that voice – it was so belittling and mocking her, while at the same time sounding so totally serious, perfectly knowing how to annoy her.
She wanted to slap him.
"It's a pleasure for you, isn't it?" she turned to him smiling a sickly sweet smile.
Robert had once been her lover indeed, but that was long before. Now he was too old – she would never be, refusing the thought of aging herself – that couldn't be.
Withering flower – he'd call her, knowing she couldn't protest.
She puckered her lips in an attempt not to shout at him – despite early afternoon, there were quests already and it wouldn't make the best impression on them. Today she had chosen a lightly attire, a summer dress, much too juvenilely and inappropriate for her age, Robert had told her.
Robert felt drawn into the edge. Having helped her from the beginning, all he wanted now was a little bit of gratitude. Was that too much to ask for?
He didn't think so.
"Your hair is grey," she told him causing a grim laugh.
She just had a perfect way of making a miserable person even gloomier or as to say like, always knowing how to say the most improper things at the most unsuitable time.
"I thought you liked it," he stated, running his hand through it.
At least he had still gotten full hair, no baldness showing. Truly his heavy bread was making him older, but he didn't care.
Mrs Pearson just laughed out at this, tickling him slightly, which he shot her a cold stare.
Robert hated her so much nowadays; no word existed to describe it anymore. What she was doing to all these innocent girls, aware now they were hurt and degraded in an utmost shameful way – this woman had no decency left for him.
'Now, go to the police and tell them. Go and tell them, why you've been keeping the fact that I'm such an evil person a mystery to them for so long. And don't forget to mention your own benefit from it,' she had laughed.
As much as he hated it and her, he knew she was right.
'You're as much involved here as I am, Mr Osborne. If I'm stumbling, you'll be falling with me.'
Robert had gulped inside, knowing she would see to it that he would – telling him that she despised noting more than traitors. He had wanted to leave a long time ago; at least he had convinced himself quite successfully how he had he vowed to do, every time another one of the girls had gotten beaten up...
In front my own eyes…
Lately it had been Kseniya – one of many immigrants, hoping for a better life in America and ending up in hell. Robert hadn't seen the man, but mostly the clients were ruffians from the streets.
Mrs Pearson loathed that kind of clients as they weren't bringing in as much money as was ached for. Her avarice was voracious.
The girls themselves on the other hand kept saying – anything, but a senator, will be fine – since obviously those were the worst. Sadly the girls were rivals mostly, any hatred they might have, turning out against their own kind – Mrs Pearson quite good understood it how to use this abhorrence putting things in the right tracks – hers.
"God, Robert, you're so unbelievable," she giggled again aware that everybody could hear them.
Speaking of deriding…
"I'm sorry…can I…"
Mrs Pearson shot the girl – Lucy – her devil-like look and she shrank back down. No one could take a day off. Well now Kseniya had to, the doctors saying she could die if not. Surely that had been a mistake and she'd be well in a few days.
'I'm glad I haven't been born a woman.'
'Why, because otherwise you'd have to work for me?'
'No, but I fear I might turn out to be like you.'
That had earned him another smack.
"Looks like it's going to be a quite silent afternoon," Robert said. "Right, Mary?" he asked her knowing he annoyed her even more as the detested her first name.
Mrs Pearson was angry; indeed not that many people had come so far. She hated it, when business wasn't doing well.
Robert looked at her necklace again. He knew that she had stolen it from this girl. It wasn't the first time of course. Unlike a normal thief, she was presenting her thefts openly, aware that no one would judge her.
'I've the whole of Boston society – politicians, judges, prison guards - coming here. No one is going to put me into jail.'
"Indeed, a very beautiful necklace," another voice cut into the silence.
Mrs Pearson and Robert followed the voice, she smiling up making out the person behind it.
"Mr Lindsay…," her eyes lit up, like suddenly she was seeing jewels in his.
Robert was disgusted, shaking his head, while looking Roger up and down.
"I've got to speak with you…," he began eying Robert suspiciously. "…alone…"
"Of course, please follow me," she smiled leading him into a separate room, locking the door.
Robert swallowed, feeling an instant pang of guilt for the girl she would be dragging into despair right now. Normally a person had that moral standard of knowing what was right and wrong, stopping at a certain point, when it'd got too unethical.
Mrs Pearson completely lacked that point.