Climax: Volume 2

by Ella Ford

  “I guess,” I said.

  “Anyway, I’m Sarah Goddard, it’s very nice to meet you. Won’t you come in?” she said, stepping aside and motioning inside the house. I smiled at her again and nodded, then stepped past her through the door.

  The contrast between the interior and exterior of the house was shocking. From the outside, the house looked cold and imposing, a featureless, white facade that gave little hint of its true character. But the inside was the complete opposite. Warm and welcoming, with endless personal touches and intricate features.

  As I stepped into the wide entrance hall, I gazed around at my surroundings, taking in the rich wooden decor and fine furnishings. It was worlds away from my college dorm or the ratty little one room apartment that I’d rented in the city. I felt instantly at ease, calmed by the warmth of the home.

  “We’ll chat in the living room, it’s through there,” said Sarah, gesturing through a broad arch into a vast, open space beyond. I thanked her and stepped through, aware of the way my heels clicked on the oak floor as I walked. “I hope you’ll forgive us, I just got a text from CJ. The traffic on the turnpike is horrendous apparently, so you may have a little wait before we can get started. Is that okay?”

  I nodded, wanting to appear as flexible as I possibly could.

  She touched me on my upper arm, an intimate gesture that seemed friendly yet out of place. “Excellent! Please, take a seat. I was just fixing a coffee, would you like one?”

  I smiled. “I’d love a coffee. White, no sugar, if that’s okay?”

  “Of course. I’ll be right back,” she said and turned on her heel, stepping off towards the kitchen area.

  I looked around, taking in my surroundings and admiring the view from the vast glass doors that dominated the far wall of the room and the pristine, azure pool on the deck outside. Oh god, I thought to myself, I have to get this job.

  As I lowered myself down onto the comfortable sofa, I thought about how I’d got here.

  It would be fair to say that I’d been down on my luck a little lately. Graduating with an art history major had been a rude slap in the face, as I realized that very few people actually cared about art or history, let alone art history. If I’d lived in San Francisco, or New York, then maybe I’d have had better luck, but the job prospects for someone with my qualifications were effectively nil here in the mid-west. It didn’t seem to matter that I had been head cheerleader, or class president, or that I’d graduated valedictorian. All that employers cared about were experience and knowledge, and I had neither. I’d even tried raising my skirts and lowering my tops, attempting to leverage the womanly features that I’d been blessed with. But even that did little other than get me scrutinised uncomfortably by a succession of middle aged men (and some women!).

  Even worse, I found that I was overqualified for more menial roles, getting turned away from burger joints and diners with as much regularity as more skilled roles.

  I was about to give up and call my parents, suffering the humiliating prospect of asking for help and accepting what they’d always told me: some degrees are more of a millstone than an advantage. With a heavy heart, I gave the classified ads one final glance, not really believing that I would find anything suitable. But one advertisement caught my eye:

  Professional couple seeks live-in maid. Competitive pay, non-smoker only, discretion a must. Call 555-453-909.

  I’m not sure what it was about the tiny, unassuming text. It didn’t even stand out on the page, sinking among the gaudy work-from-home scams and burger flipper ads. But my eye was drawn to it, and I found myself compelled by the quaintly old-fashioned prospect. Without a single moment of hesitation, I’d called the number and my course was set.

  And here I was, sitting in the most opulent house I’d ever been in, feeling strangely underdressed and ungainly beside the refined and graceful Sarah Goddard. I found myself wondering what her husband was like, the mysterious CJ. I glanced around the room, hoping to see a photo, but the couple seemed to prefer abstract art and eclectic ornaments to pictures of themselves. Anyway, whatever CJ Goddard was like, he must be very successful. Such a house, up here in the exclusive hillside suburbs, must be worth two million easily.

  Sarah Goddard stepped back into the room, her wedge heels tapping on the wooden floor, and I turned to her with a smile. I felt relaxed and at ease here in this welcoming house with its friendly owner. She approached the sofa and placed an ornate tray with three coffee cups on it. As she bent down, I couldn’t help but notice as her loose summer dress pulled tight across her bottom. No visible pantie line, the minx! I thought to myself and felt instantly guilty. Such reprehensible thoughts were a relic of my time as a cheerleader and had no place in my life now.

  “I’m sure CJ will be here in a few minutes. The traffic isn’t normally this bad,” she said apologetically as she sat down opposite me. As I watched, the petite brunette straightened herself up, holding her neck and spine perfectly straight and laid her hands flat on her lap. There was something peculiar about the way she held herself, something rigid and proper. I studied her, attempting to gauge the woman that sat before me.

  She seemed to be young, only a few years older than me. Her porcelain features were doll-like and delicate, with a button nose and rich, brown eyes. She wore minimal make-up, not appearing to need it with her fresh, youthful complexion.

  As I studied her, she appeared to be doing the same to me. She sat in silence and gazed at me, appearing to be in a semi-trance, scrutinizing me with those eyes like pools of darkness. Reflexively, I felt myself mirroring her pose, pulling my spine straight and lifting my head.

  I coughed, suddenly needing to break the silence between us, and reached forward to pick up my coffee. “What is it that you do Mrs Goddard?” I asked, scrambling around for a question to ask.

  She smiled back at me, and I realized for the first time that her smile was a painted facade, an autonomic response that was android-like and superficial. I wondered what she was really thinking beneath that pretty, youthful face. “Oh, I guess you could say that I’m a housewife. I look after CJ,” she said, leaving the sentence hanging like that as if she wanted to add more but was stopped by some instinct that I couldn’t identify.

  I pondered this, wondering what secrets lay in this house, my previous feeling of security and comfort shaken slightly. What hold did CJ have over his wife? What was the truth of their relationship?

  As I considered this, I heard the front door swing open and we both turned in the direction of the hallway.

  “Ah, CJ is here!” said Sarah with an unmistakable note of excitement in her voice. She sprung to her feet and stepped quickly across the room, taking tiny steps that seemed immature and childlike, a far cry from the confident gait that she’d had before.

  I stood up myself, straightening my dress and flicking a loose lock of hair behind my ear, and waited for CJ to appear.

  After a few seconds, Sarah Goddard returned to the living room, and I gasped as I saw who was following her. Walking several feet behind the winsome brunette was another woman, a tall blonde with short, ice white hair and a strikingly beautiful face. My mind raced, inwardly scolding myself for my preconceptions, shocked that Sarah Goddard was married to another woman and cursing myself for appearing so confounded.

  CJ stepped past her wife and approached me, smirking slightly as she sensed my discomfort. She was an imposing figure, towering over me by six inches in her heels. She wore a grey pant suit that appeared tailored and expensive, fitting her perfectly and accentuating her hips and breasts. Her shoes were tall heels with complex straps that weaved over her pantyhose covered feet and she walked with confidence, never faltering or wavering.

  “Hello, I’m Casey Jo Goddard, CJ,” she said offering me a confident hand. Her voice was deep and throaty, with an intangible sensuality that was difficult to ignore. “You must be Leanne, the art history major,” she added with a wry smile.

  I felt a warm flush rising up my n
eck and spreading over my face. As I took CJ’s firm handshake, I glanced over at Sarah Goddard, standing behind her wife and gazing at the statuesque blonde with an expression that appeared worshipful. “Y-yes, I’m Leanne. I’m very pleased to meet you,” I managed to reply.

  “Excellent. Then let’s talk about the job,” she said, gesturing at the sofa behind me. I felt a strange sense of permission, as though she’d given me a command, and I was compelled to obey. Almost without thinking, I sat back on the couch and sat up straight, aping the pose that I’d seen Sarah sit in earlier.

  CJ turned on her heel and stepped over to the other sofa and lowered herself gracefully down. Then she turned to her left and patted the cushion beside her. Instantly, her wife moved and sat down with her. For the first time, I saw the two women together and noted the differences between them. They appeared to be perfect opposites: tall and petite; commanding and winsome; blonde and brunette. But for all their differences, they appeared perfectly at ease together, each one the perfect complement to the other.

  I felt my heart racing, suddenly very nervous before the strange pairing. It wasn’t that I was opposed to lesbian relationships, as such. More that I’d never encountered any before. The concept was foreign and different to me. I was a small town girl, brought up with traditional Christian values, and every instinct I had screamed that marriage should be between a man and a woman. But I was also a college graduate, and had managed to break free of my upbringing to some extent. I’d moved to the city to broaden my horizons, to meet new people and learn about different ways of lives. I was no bigot, I was simply naive.

  As I waited for the interview to begin, I wrestled with feelings of discomfort and curiosity, struggling to reconcile the two women before me with the concept of a long term relationship.

  CJ Goddard seemed to sense my discomfort and flashed me a smile that was at once warm and mischievous. “How much did my wife tell you about the job?” she finally said, and I relaxed slightly, happy to have the awkward silence broken.

  “Nothing really,” I said truthfully. CJ’s eyes flicked to Sarah and I swore I saw a glimmer of frustration there, but it was brief and fleeting. “I guess I’ll be working as housekeeper?”

  “Yes, that’s right,” she said, sitting back and crossing her legs before her. “It’s not rocket science I’m afraid, you may find yourself bored with all the washing and cleaning.”

  “Not at all. I enjoy taking care of people,” I said with as much sincerity as I could.

  “And you’d be happy to live here?” she added. “We’re keen to have our housekeeper live with us so that you’re… always available,” she said with the slightest hint of a grin.

  “I…” I stammered, not sure what to make of the obvious pause. “That’s fine. It’ll be good to be able to put the rent money I save towards paying off my student loans,” I said.

  CJ stared at me with ice blue eyes, attempting to read my expression and gauge my thoughts. I squirmed under the weight of her glare, suddenly feeling very open and exposed. After an eternity of seconds, she finally spoke again. “Very well. Then I don’t think there’s much more to say here,” she said and I found myself deeply fearful that I’d said something wrong and blown my chance. “When can you start?” she added and I gasped in surprise.

  “N-now. I m-mean, whenever,” I stuttered, shocked that I’d got the job.

  “Excellent!” she exclaimed, beaming broadly. Then she stood to her feet abruptly and held out her hand to shake. I rose to meet her and placed my hand in hers. She held me tightly as she shook my hand and I was shocked by the strength of her grip and the intensity of her stare. Still holding my hand, she turned to her wife and spoke. “Sarah, would you be a darling and call Leanne a taxi? She’ll be heading home to pick up her things, then starting immediately.”

  Sarah Goddard nodded briskly once, then stood quickly and scurried off to wherever the couple kept the phone. Inwardly, I noted how quickly she reacted, not a single word of complaint or question. But it was an idle observation, one that wouldn’t become relevant until much, much later.

  “Come with me Leanne, I’ll show you your room while we wait for the car to arrive,” she said smartly and turned to walk in the direction of the hallway. “Tell me, do you have any particular dietary requirements? Allergies? Anything I should be aware of as your employer?”

  I shook my head and added, “No, nothing like that,” as I scampered after her.

  As we reached hallway, CJ stepped over to a partially closed door and pulled it firmly shut, then reached down and turned a small brass key, locking the door. Then she took the key out and placed it carefully in her jacket pocket.

  She turned to me and smiled, never once betraying any emotion other than placid contentment. “Our basement,” she said casually, “it’s frankly a mess and the lights are broken. It wouldn’t do for you to be poking around down there in the dark.”

  I nodded, my racing mind galloping along at two hundred miles an hour. I could scarcely believe how quickly this was happening. I never thought twice about the need to lock the basement door - wouldn’t a simple warning have sufficed?

  “Okay, let’s go to your room, then you can fly away to your home and pack a bag. How does that sound?” she said, clearly not caring how it sounded in any way that mattered.

  “It’s… fine, yes, fine,” I said, trying to sound controlled, but inwardly feeling bewildered and overwhelmed.

  She stepped off again, marching down the hallway, deeper into the large house. I followed her, my tiny steps struggling to keep pace with her confident strides. Eventually, we reached a small room at the back of the house and she ushered me in. I brushed past her into a sparsely decorated bedroom that was light and airy, with a single bed pushed into the corner. Laid on the bed was a simple black dress and apron, a pair of thick, black pantyhose and a pair of flat, black shoes that were practical but cute nonetheless.

  “I hope you like the room. You can brighten it up with your belongings perhaps?” she offered, then gestured at the uniform. “Please wear the uniform when you’re working, there’s a spare in the closet.”

  I nodded, trying to take it all in, wondering where the comfortable dreams of my college years had gone. This menial role was a world away from my impractical hopes of losing myself in a musty old museum wing for my entire career.

  “Please be up by six am sharp, I expect my breakfast at six thirty. Sarah will be a little later, but I have her rise by seven thirty at the latest,” she said. I have her? I pondered to myself, realizing that CJ was very much the dominant partner in this relationship.

  She smiled at me one final time, radiating a feeling of poise and control that was intimidating and reassuring in equal measure. “Excellent. I’ll leave you to get settled in. The taxi will be here shortly.” Then she turned on her sharp heel and left through the door in a flurry of rich perfume and laser-like efficiency.

  I exhaled deeply and collapsed back on the bed. What had just happened? I stared at the ceiling and attempted to process the events of the last five minutes. I had a job! I no longer to worry about eviction or begging my parents for their help! So what if it was such a humble job, so what if I was going to be a maid? A lot of people would give everything for what I now had.

  At the back of mind though, a lingering uncertainty. An unshakable legacy of my rustic upbringing. Did I really feel comfortable living in the same house as a lesbian couple? I shook my head and scolded myself. It was the twenty-first century, for goodness sake! The pair of them were obviously very much in love and very happy, despite their unconventional desires. Who was I to judge them?

  After all, it wasn’t as though I would have to have sex with them myself, was it?

  Chapter 2

  It’s amazing how quickly your life can change, and how readily you can accept such a drastic shift in your routine and your expectations. It was like this with me as I settled into life as a maid in the home of the Goddards. My existence became a successi
on of comfortable habits after only a few days, and I found myself enjoying the repetitive mundanity of the work involved.

  I rose early every day and took a quick shower, then slipped into the practical and smart uniform. I quite enjoyed wearing the dress and the crisp, white apron. It helped me to relax into the job, reminding me what I was doing and why I was doing it. After inspecting myself in the mirror - CJ required me to look impeccable at all times, and wouldn’t settle for even a single rogue fleck of lint on my pristine, black pantyhose - I left the bedroom and headed over to the kitchen to begin to prepare breakfast.

  At six thirty every morning without fail, CJ Goddard would join me and offer a cheery greeting. The tall blonde was always impeccably turned out, wearing a succession of crisp skirts and pants, and tight, fetching blouses. Her short hair was never out of place and, in all the time that I worked for her, I never once saw her without makeup.

  CJ liked eggs for breakfast with hot, fresh coffee, and I went to great lengths to ensure that they were ready and waiting for her on the table when she sat down. She would then proceed to eat her food and read her newspaper while I busied myself around the kitchen, preparing for the arrival of my second employer.

  By seven fifteen, CJ had usually left the kitchen and headed out of the house to go to work. So I took the opportunity to clean up her pots and lay the table for Sarah. The winsome brunette would arrive at seven thirty and drowsily munch her way through a slice of toast and a glass of orange juice, barely acknowledging my presence until she was halfway down her first cup of coffee.

  I found myself increasingly amused by the difference between the two women - the crisp and perfect CJ, ready for the day from the moment she left their bedroom; and the shambling Sarah, who appeared to be worlds away from the graceful creature she would become for at least the first hour of every day.

  After breakfast, I cleaned the kitchen and set about my remaining chores. On my first day, CJ had provided me with a comprehensive list of jobs and requirements. The list contained everything from mundane everyday tasks (washing, ironing, cleaning) to the kind of responsibilities that only a certain class of person needs attending to (check the pool filter, reset the security system).