by Keys, Sherie
Almasi took a big, deep breath. What was happening? She just had the strangest feeling. It wasn’t just the silly attraction she had felt that morning when he grinned at her. No, there was something weird happening to her. She sat down on the bed. It has been a busy day, she thought. Then she had an idea.
Rummaging carefully through one of the shopping bags from that afternoon, she found a little diary she had bought in a boutique. It was one of the few non-clothing items that Mrs. Nettle had allowed her to indulge herself with on their tight shopping schedule. It seemed like they visited every dress shop in the city. If she couldn’t share her confused thoughts with anyone else, she thought, a diary would do well in the place of human company. So she found her briefcase and got out a pen—a simple blue ballpoint, something to remind her of her quickly fading past—and began to write.
***
By the time the dinner bell rang, Almasi’s hand had started cramping and she’d filled four pages. It was a good start, and for the very first time that day she felt like things were finally beginning to make a little bit more sense. She took out the key to the diary and locked it carefully, and then took a chain from a necklace she had been given and put the key around her neck. Her thoughts were safe in there.
Dinner that night was a quiet and peaceful affair. Although there was still a heap of wedding preparations to be made, it was decided that the couple should spend some time alone over their meals to get to know each other better (or, as the servants were told severely by Mrs. Nettle, to give them some privacy). Almasi marveled at the many courses and rich desserts, while to Jacob this was just a modest, every day supper.
Jacob was less boisterous than he had been earlier, because his mind was still fixed on the feelings he’d had in the foyer. Almasi, on the other hand, was finally starting to become a little more comfortable in her environment, and soon she was chatting to him as he slowly ate his minestrone soup.
“Do you really eat like this every day?” she asked. “I mean, this is just… wow. It’s delicious. Do you think your cook could give me the recipe? I would love to make it myself sometime.” She smiled up at him.
“Oh. Almasi… I mean, uh, my dear,” he began, remembering to practice using the affectionate language that was expected of a nearly married couple, “you don’t have to cook. Cooking and cleaning—that’s servant work, not for those of us who are… above such things.”
This seemed absolutely ridiculous to Almasi, but she had no intention of upsetting her new… well, her new, almost-husband. “I like cooking, though,” she insisted. “And as the lady of the house, should I not be allowed to do what I would like in my spare time? It’s not as if I have my internship to look after anymore, right?”
She looked so earnest that he finally smiled back. “I suppose you’re right. It wouldn’t hurt to let you try your hand at it.” He paused. “Please remember, though, that you have no obligation to work here. Your only job is to be a beautiful, charming wife and to help me seal this deal. And the beautiful part will be easy, as I must say you look absolutely wonderful tonight.”
Almasi smiled widely, a true grin, and she looked even more beautiful. Jacob blushed a little and returned to eating his soup. Almasi did the same, and they spent the rest of their meal in a comfortable silence. Maybe this would work out well, after all.
***
Almasi spent that night completely restless. She knew that Jacob was a good man, and even if there was no love between them, he cared for her and that he would be a good husband. Even so, the idea of getting married made her nervous. She paced back and forth in her pretty, pink fairy guest room, anxious about the entire situation, even though she knew she didn’t need to worry.
Finally, she returned to bed and got out the diary she bought earlier. She began to write and write and write, pages and pages of her thoughts and feelings and worries. She was glad the diary had a lock on it; she would never want anyone to find it and read it.
***
Meanwhile, Jacob laid silently on the king-sized bed in the master bedroom down the hall. He normally had no difficulty falling and staying asleep.
He had even slept that morning, he remembered wistfully, —but for some reason, he couldn’t get any rest. He thought about the conversation he had with Almasi at the dinner table that evening. Why did she want to cook? What use was something so mundane, so boring, when you could just as easily get someone else to do that kind of work for you? He shook his head. Poor people were so very strange.
He didn’t think he would ever understand the minds of the middle class. Being rich came with a lot of power and privilege, and it was something he had been taking for granted before he could so much as crawl across the floor or lift his hand to shake a rattle. Nannies, tutors, and governesses had raised him.
True, he had never spent much time with his parents, both of whom had been rather distant. His father had always been too busy with his work to pay much attention to little Jakey, and his mother had been going on exotic vacations for as long as Jacob could remember. Neither of them had much time for their son.
Jacob never thought about it all that much, though. What did he care? He had gotten so much attention from the service staff in his house, and later from his teachers and fellow students at his private boarding school, that he had no need to think of parents or family. As an only child, he had never wanted the company of a brother or a sister. He was the golden boy of the Adamson's, and regardless of the lack of attention he received from his parents, he was always the center of his personal servants’ concern.
All of this thinking eventually tired Jacob out, and before he knew it, he was dozing softly on the goose down pillows and soft, luxurious sheets. This was his last night of not sharing a bed with the same woman every night. He might as well get lots of rest.
***
The morning came soon enough, and Almasi was more tired than ever when she woke up. As the sunlight leaked in through the guest bedroom window, Almasi gazed around. This was her life now. Huh. She sat up in bed and stretched, yawning widely. Then she noticed a silver tray on her vanity table with a little note. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up. Reaching toward the note, she observed that it was written in beautiful silver, cursive script.
Miss Quinn, the note read, welcome to your first morning in Adamson Mansion. Breakfast will be served to you in bed at eighty thirty. If you are awake before then, ring the bell on your bedside table, and Beatrice will come attend to you. Your humble servants, the staff of Adamson Mansion.
Wow. Breakfast in bed? Almasi could never have dreamt of such a thing. She could only remember having breakfast in bed once; as a child, she had fallen very sick with pneumonia, and she had been bedridden for nearly a week. But in fine health? A capable person ought to sit at the table like anyone else. Well, she imagined she might as well get used to this lifestyle sooner or later.
She looked at the clock on the wall. It was 7:45. She thought about ringing the bell, but decided against it. She wasn’t hungry yet, and she still had plenty of time to reflect quietly on her own.
So Almasi leaned toward her bedside table and reached for her diary, which she had left next to the silver bell which she honestly had not noticed the night before. It was time for her to do some more writing, to document this crazy morning in her even crazier new life.
***
Jacob woke up feeling a little disoriented. Why was he in his parents’ old room? He then remembered the events of the previous day, and shook his head in wonder. This was such a strange arrangement. Who could tell what might come of it? He also remembered that it was his wedding day. His stomach sank a little. He, Jacob George Adamson, was getting married. Now that was an unexpected turn of events. Well, it was only for a month. He pictured Almasi’s face and smiled. This was going to be a pleasant month for him. He hoped she would be happy, too.
Jacob got up, put on a big, fluffy white robe, and strode quietly to the bathroom across the hall. There was an
en suite for the master bedroom, of course, but something about that made this experience a little too surreal. Instead, he opted to use the one that had been his as a child. He opened the door and stepped in, feeling that familiar soft carpet between his toes. Ah. A sanctuary of normalcy in this hectic couple of days.
After taking a long, hot shower and drying himself off with the softest towel he could find, Jacob donned his robe again and made his way back to the master bedroom. As he was walking, he thought he heard a sound coming from one of the guest rooms. He remembered that that was where his bride was staying, and he crept quietly to the door and listened. There was a scratching sound, like a pen on paper. What was Almasi doing writing at this time of day? Jacob Adamson’s wife should not have to worry about work on the day of her wedding.
As far as he knew, she didn’t even have any work. The internship had been canceled, right? Then why was she writing? He decided to go see for himself, so turning the doorknob carefully, he silently propped the door open a couple of inches and peered inside.
Almasi was sitting on her bed, focusing too intently on the book in her hand to notice her groom staring at her from the doorway. The book she was writing in looked simple enough; it was small, with a dark leather cover, and some tiny pattern engraved in it that Jacob couldn’t make out from far away. There was a tiny silver lock on the side, and he saw a matching silver chain glinting around Almasi’s neck and plunging into her night dress.
A diary, then. Well, he would let the woman have her secrets. Diary writing was not an improper activity, and it would probably give her some much needed space in what must be a terribly confusing household for her.
Jacob silently shut the door and turned to walk back to his room. The room that would soon be their room. What an odd thought that was. He settled back into his bed, opting to have another half hour of sleep before ringing for his breakfast. Unlike at his penthouse, where he found breakfast in bed to be a little too fussy, Jacob enjoyed staying in bed at the mansion. He tucked himself under the covers and closed his eyes. Ah. He really was home at last. It was a shame he would have to go back to his normal life at the end of the month.
***
Almasi finished her diary entry for the morning and, carefully closing and locking the book, placed it back on her nightstand. Then, after thinking for a moment, she decided to open the drawer and put it in there. It would be safer that way. She touched the key, which rested just between her breasts, next to her heart. Her secrets, the wedding and the money and all of her innermost feelings, were safe there. She was safe.
There was a quiet knock on the door, and a maid entered with a tray of food. This must be Beatrice, thought Almasi.
“Good morning, Miss Quinn,” said the maid. “I have here some toast, pancakes, and a bowl of fruit for you. The bacon and eggs are coming right up. Would you like your eggs scrambled? Fried? Over easy? Hard boiled?” The maid was fairly young, probably about Almasi’s own age, and she had a friendly and patient air about her. “What would you like, Miss Quinn?”
“Oh, um… scrambled would be fine, thank you,” said Almasi. This was amazing. Not only did she have her own maid now, and breakfast in bed, but she was even being given options on the minutia of these gifts. Talk about being served on hand and foot!
“Absolutely, coming right up,” said the maid. She brought the tray over to Almasi and placed it on her lap. “And just to let you know, your personal stylist will be here in about an hour to help you pick out an ensemble for the engagement photos. She can help you with your makeup and all that, too.
As for your hair…” the young woman looked at the sleeping scarf of Almasi’s head and trailed off. “I have no idea if she has ever worked with your, um, texture before.” She sounded apologetic, bashful even. “But I’m sure you’ll figure something out!”
Almasi laughed dryly. White people were so cringe-worthy, yet still kind of funny when they got uncomfortable talking about race. It was just hair, for crying out loud. “Well, I have worked with this texture every day of my life, so I’m sure I can deal with it myself. But thank you for letting me know.” She smiled at the maid, who smiled back self-consciously. “You can go get the eggs now, Beatrice.”
“Oh, of course! Right away, Miss Quinn.” And then, quick as a flash, the maid disappeared out the door.
I could get used to ordering people around, thought Almasi. For the time being, she started on her toast and fruit slices. Beatrice would be back in ten minutes with the scrambled eggs and bacon.
After her breakfast had been eaten and her tray had been cleared away by Beatrice, Almasi heard another knock on the door. “Come in!” she said. It was, to her surprise, Yifeng, the girl from the previous day’s limousine excursion.
“Almasi!” exclaimed Yifeng, who ran to hug her. “Guess who’s going to style you up? Me! I’m going to be your stylist from now on!” She was grinning from ear to ear, and Almasi couldn’t help but grin back.
“Okay, first things first,” said Yifeng enthusiastically. “What do you want to wear for the engagement photos? I wouldn’t recommend that you go with white, because that is just so boring, and it’s not the wedding. Not yet, that is. Oh my god, I’m so excited! Aren’t you excited? It’s going to just be a small little ceremony. I won’t even get to be there. But then you’ll be married! Can you imagine?”
Hardly, thought Almasi. Out loud, she said, “I know!” and then added, “I think the yellow dress would be nice.”
Yifeng positively beamed. “I love yellow! And that dress makes you look like an elegant sunflower. So tall, so beautiful. It’s completely perfect, because Mr. Adamson is tall as well. You two really are the perfect couple. It must be so romantic.” Yifeng smiled dreamily, and Almasi just nodded, hoping the other woman would fail to notice her mild discomfort at the subject. “Now, let me open up the wardrobe, and we can get started!”
Within half an hour, Almasi was dressed and ready. Then came the matter of her hair. Yifeng apologized in advance. “I’ve worked with lots of different textures of hair, but never anything like yours. Most of the black women I’ve attended have had relaxers.”
“That’s fine,” said Almasi, and she meant it. “I’ve got enough experience for the both of us.” So she showed Yifeng how to work with her tight curls, and then everything was set and ready for the engagement photos.
“They don’t want to cause too much of a media stir, so the photographer will just be taking you and Mr. Adamson out to the back of the mansion property. There are lots of gardens there. Pretty sunflowers,” she added, “just like you. I have no idea why everything about this is so hush hush.” She saw the expression on Almasi’s face and laughed. “Oh, there’s no need to worry! I would never ask you anything. If you need to keep things private, that is totally your prerogative.”
Almasi smiled. “Thank you,” she said, quietly and earnestly.
“Hey, that’s what I’m here for.” Yifeng took her hand. “Now come with me, I’ll show you the way to the back garden!” And with that, Almasi was led out of her guest room, down the stairs, and out into the bright summer day.
Jacob stood out by the door, feeling a little nervous. It didn’t help that Mrs. Nettle, the bridal consultant, was fussing over him so much.
“Where is that girl?” she clucked. “We need to pick you out a pocket square that matches her dress, and I’ve heard nothing from that Yifeng yet. Does she never use her damned phone?”
Just as Jacob was about to respond with some platitude or another, the door opened, and out came Almasi. She was beautiful, as he had come to expect by now, but his breath still caught for a moment. His reverie was interrupted by Mrs. Nettle’s fussing.
“Yellow? I was not informed that I was supposed to bring the selection of yellow pocket squares!” she exclaimed. “Yifeng, have you lost your mind?”
“Ma’am, I—” Yifeng began.
“She wasn’t responsible for the dress choice,” interrupted Almasi. “I was. And I think i
t looks beautiful. In any case, why does everything need to be so perfectly matched?” She strode confidently over to the pile of pocket squares on the table, ignoring Mrs. Nettle’s squawk of disapproval. After a moment, she lifted up a bright orange pocket square. “Look, see? This complements the stitching on the bodice.”
Almasi was right. Interesting, thought Jacob. She may be a little too strong-willed for Mrs. Nettle or the Ghanaian visitors’ taste, but she does always seem to know what she’s saying. Not that he knew much about fashion, nor did he particularly care, but he had to agree that the selection Almasi made was smart. He glanced at his watch. It was time for them to get going. “If that problem is solved, we should be on our way, then,” he said, and he took Almasi’s hand and began to lead her to the spot where they were going to meet the photographer.
“Thank you again, Yifeng,” called Almasi. “And Mrs. Nettle,” she added. Yifeng smiled and waved, and Mrs. Nettle gave her a surly, half-nod. That would do, thought Almasi. She had plenty of time to get into the woman’s good graces.
Jacob and Almasi walked about a quarter of a mile down a lush hill covered in healthy emerald grass and clover. The photographer was to meet them at the gate. When they got to the bottom, Almasi caught site of the beautiful garden below. As Yifeng had mentioned earlier, there were indeed lots of sunflowers. Almasi could also see petunias, pansies, a few hydrangea bushes, lavender, lamb’s ears, a bright and colorful bed of tulips, and some wild violets peeking along the sides.
There were even what looked like red and black currant bushes, and around the corner was some milkweed, which would attract butterflies in August. This was like being in Heaven on Earth. Almasi turned to look where she was going, and she caught Jacob watching her with a rather peculiar expression on his face. “What?” she asked.
Jacob blushed. “Oh, it’s nothing,” he said. “I was just thinking… you really did make a fantastic selection with the dress and with matching the pocket square. You blend into the garden here as if you were a flower yourself.” And not just any flower, the queen of them all. Jacob wanted to add that last bit, but he was afraid that it would come off sounding strange, since he still barely knew this woman he was complimenting so poetically already.
