by Tina Martin
Dilvan was close to his Father, Colin Alexander, though Colin wasn’t around much. He was mostly on trips, meeting investors and growing the business. Five months ago, Colin was sick, taking chemotherapy treatments for leukemia and was in dire need of a bone marrow transplant. None of his boys were matches and after holding several drives, Dilvan was moved to tears when an anonymous donor stepped up and donated marrow, saving his Father’s life.
Beatrice Pierce, Dilvan’s housekeeper and cook, came in the dining room carrying a tray of breakfast meats – sausage, ham and bacon.
“Looks good as always, Beatrice,” Dilvan told her.
“Thank you, Suh. I gots the rest on the way.”
Beatrice was in her late fifties, talked with an old, Southern drawl that had words like ‘sir’ sounding more like ‘suh’ and ‘for’ sounding like ‘fuh’. She’d been Dilvan’s housekeeper for four years. I noticed months ago how well he treats her. Seems he only hates me.
“Why don’t you ever do anything with your hair?” Dilvan asks, his voice projected in my direction, so I know he’s not talking to Beatrice.
I want to ignore him, but I know I have to say something. If I don’t, he’ll be furious and there’s no telling what he would do to me. Taking a deep breath, I replied, “According to you, I’m ugly. So what’s the point in styling my hair differently, My Lord?”
Silence.
He’s oddly quiet. I imagine he’s fuming inside, thinking up a smart comeback or the perfect insult to make me feel smaller than I already feel. I wish I could look at him, to see his facial expressions or to see if he’s about to physically attack me in some kind of way.
I’m not surprised when I hear him say, “Yeah...you’re right. What was I thinking?”
He chuckles an evil laugh and gets up from the table when he hears the doorbell. His Mother is here.
Showtime.
CHAPTER 3
Dilvan
- - -
“Hello, Mother,” Dilvan said, greeting Padma at the front door with a hug. Even though he was furious about her decision to basically force him to marry Gabrielle, he still loved and respected his Mother very much.
“Hi,” Padma responded, kissing her son on the cheek.
His parents lived in a beach house a mile away. Padma made it a custom to visit Dilvan every Tuesday for breakfast. Even though she lived so close, she respected her son’s privacy and wouldn’t intrude or show up to his place unannounced. Tuesday mornings was her time to catch up with him.
“I brought your cousin, Tyson, along to watch after the house while you’re away for a few days,” she told him. She remembered that Dilvan was leaving for Santa Monica tomorrow morning for a photo shoot and wouldn’t be returning until Sunday night. Tyson, the son of his Father’s brother, volunteered to take care of Dilvan’s house while he was gone.
Dilvan wasn’t too fond of Tyson. They’d met as children, but only hung around each other because they were related, first cousins. In their adult lives, they saw each other here and there, would speak in passing but nothing more. At thirty years of age, Tyson seemed to connect more with Dilvan’s brothers than with him.
Watching Tyson get out of his silver Range Rover with a gym bag, Dilvan said, “Mother, you know I don’t need Tyson to stay here. Beatrice looks after the house just fine while I’m out of town.”
“Nonsense. Who’s going to cut your grass, clean the pool or take care of urgent company matters while you’re running off taking half-naked pictures of yourself for the world to see, Dilvan?”
Dilvan wordlessly shook his head at his Mother’s lack of respect for his career. Whenever the opportunity presented itself, she reminded him how his brothers chose to join the family business full-time while he was following wasteful pursuits, showing off his goods and being an egotistical, attention-seeking maniac.
“Mother, you know I hire people to do those things. I don’t need Ty—”
“Are we just going to stand at the door, or are you going to invite me in, son?”
He took her by the hand. “Please, come in, Mother.”
Padma walked in, wearing a long, flower-printed dress, and gold gladiator sandals. She strolled to the dining room while Dilvan remained at the door, waiting to greet Tyson as he took his time up the walkway.
“Well, hello my darling, Gabrielle,” Padma said. “Don’t you look lovely?”
Gabrielle stood up to hug Padma and around that same time, Dilvan walked back in the room with Tyson in tow.
“Gabrielle, have you met Tyson?” Padma asked.
Gabrielle glanced at him and dropped her head quickly. “I don’t think so.”
“Okay, well, this is Dilvan’s cousin, Tyson.”
Without looking up at him, Gabrielle mumbled, “Nice to meet you, Tyson.”
Tyson frowned. How could it be so nice to meet him when she wouldn’t even look at him? Maybe she was shy...
“Nice to meet you too,” Tyson responded.
They all took a seat at the table. Padma took a basket of roti, a leavened flat bread in small rounds, from the center of the table. It was a Sri Lankan style of bread made with wheat flour, grated coconut, onions and green chillies. Even though her family lived in the U.S., they still enjoyed, and prepared, some Sri Lankan cuisine as well as adapted to more traditional American foods.
Dilvan made sure Gabrielle sat across from him so if she attempted to say anything out of line, he’d keep her in check by nudging her with the tip of his shoe underneath the table.
“So how’s everything going, Gabrielle?” Padma asked her.
“Everything is fine, Mother,” Dilvan spoke up, answering for his wife.
“I was talking to Gabrielle, Dilvan. Gabrielle?”
Gabrielle was quiet for a moment. She didn’t know how to answer her Mother-in-law.
Annoyed by her silence, Dilvan kicked her in the shin underneath the table, which startled her and took her out of a trance.
“Everything’s fine,” Gabrielle said, then took a spoonful of grits to her mouth.
“You sure?” Padma asked.
“Mmm hmm,” Gabrielle mumbled.
“Um...Tyson,” Dilvan cut in. “I was telling Mother that you don’t have to house sit for me. Beatrice is going to be here and so is Gabrielle.”
“Oh, I thought Gabrielle was going to Santa Monica with you,” Padma said, eyebrows raised high. “Gabrielle, you didn’t want to go, dear?”
“Gabrielle is busy doing other things,” Dilvan said. “Besides, she’s like you, Mother. She has no interest in my career.”
Padma glanced over at Dilvan, then back over to Gabrielle. She noticed that Gabrielle hadn’t raised her head and made eye contact with anyone at the table. And why was Dilvan trying to answer questions that she was directing specifically to Gabrielle?
“He’s right, Padma. Besides, I haven’t been feeling well, lately,” Gabrielle added.
Dilvan kicked her again, harder this time, causing her to grimace and jump at the same time.
“What’s wrong, dear?” Padma asked, dropping her eating utensils.
“Nothing.”
“Are you sure? You’re not pregnant, are you?”
“Mother, will you stop it?” Dilvan said. “Prasad has given you two grandkids already, and if that isn’t enough, then you better hope Heshan decides to have kids because I’m definitely not having kids. My life is too complex to bring kids in the picture.” What he really meant was, he didn’t want to have kids with Gabrielle.
“You can’t single-handedly decide that you don’t want kids,” Padma advised. “Is this something you’ve discussed with Gabrielle?”
“Of course,” Dilvan responded, but the reality was he hadn’t discussed anything with Gabrielle. All he ever did was tell her what she could and could not do and issue threats. “Gabrielle agrees with me. She doesn’t want kids either, right Gabrielle?”
Gabrielle nodded with her head down.
Tyson frowned again. Something was
off. He knew Dilvan’s reputation, knew the man had a mean streak straight from Satan himself and he was arrogant, so American Psycho-ish that he never really took any time to get to know Dilvan as he had gotten to know Heshan and Prasad.
“So Gabrielle,” Tyson said, looking at her. “How’d you and Dilvan meet?”
“I put them together,” Padma interjected.
Seemed no one was letting Gabrielle talk for herself tonight.
Padma added, “They have an arranged marriage and I arranged them.”
“Oh,” Tyson responded with raised brows, completely taken aback by this. “Didn’t realize people did that in the U.S.”
“Yeah. It’s actually becoming more common here,” Padma advised.
“How long have you guys been married?” Tyson asked.
“Six months,” Gabrielle replied softly.
“How is it? Being newlyweds?” Tyson inquired.
“It’s fine,” Dilvan said.
“Yeah. It’s fine,” Gabrielle repeated.
“I suppose you’re still getting to know each other,” Tyson said, “You know, with it being an arranged marriage and all.”
“That’s a never-ending process, Tyson,” Padma chimed in. “I’m still learning things about my husband and we’ve been together for forty-five years.”
“Wow. Forty-five years,” Gabrielle said, looking at Padma, finally making eye contact with someone. “That’s amazing.”
“Yeah, it is. Hopefully, you and Dilvan can be together and happy for just as long.”
The smile quickly fell off of Gabrielle’s face.
Tyson saw it immediately. He dropped his fork in his plate and said, “That was delicious.”
“It was...Beatrice is the perfect cook and housekeeper,” Dilvan said.
Padma patted her mouth with a napkin. “Dilvan, why don’t you show Tyson to one of your guest bedrooms.”
“Certainly.” Dilvan stood up, watching Gabrielle push food around on her plate with a fork. She hadn’t eaten much and that pissed him off. His Mother was already feeling like something was wrong, and he didn’t need any trouble out of her. Trying his best not to flare his nostrils, he walked over to Gabrielle’s side of the table, leaned down and kissed on the cheek, feeling her cringe. Then he said, “You two try not to get into any trouble while I’m gone.”
His Mother smiled, but Gabrielle hadn’t. She knew it was a threat. Dilvan had never kissed her on her cheek or elsewhere. She wasn’t good enough for his lips, he once told her.
At any rate, he led Tyson to one of the three downstairs bedrooms, the one closest to a bathroom.
“This is nice,” Tyson said.
“Yeah. Look, man...I really don’t need a house sitter. My Mother is a little shielding of me and my affairs at times.”
“I don’t mind...it’s only for what? Four and a half days?”
“Yep.”
“Yeah, that’s not bad at all. Plus, I don’t have much else to do this week so it’s cool.”
Dilvan nodded. “Well, this is the room and the bathroom is right around the corner.”
“All right.”
Sliding his hands in his pockets, Dilvan continued, “Beatrice cooks breakfast, lunch and dinner every day. I never tell her what to prepare, so every meal is sort of a surprise.”
“That’s cool.”
“And Gabrielle shouldn’t bother you too much. She usually stays upstairs during the day, or she’ll go sit on the beach.”
Tyson nodded.
“Well, I have to get more packing done. My flight leaves early tomorrow morning.”
“All right, man.”
Dilvan left the room and hung around the living room for a while, only so he could hear Padma’s conversation with Gabrielle. He wanted to make sure Gabrielle didn’t say anything out of line. If she did, he would make her pay later.
CHAPTER 4
Gabrielle
- - -
I was a nervous wreck at breakfast. Since living here, I’ve developed a tick – the slightest movements startle me because I never know if it’s Dilvan coming for me or not. I still can’t believe he kissed me on the cheek at breakfast. It was more like a kiss of death – a threat from him that I’d better not say anything negative about him to Padma. He’d already kicked me twice underneath the table.
A wave of relief came over me when Dilvan left the table to show Tyson to his room. I talked with Padma for a while, mostly about some of the charity and community events she was coordinating which included a few food drives. She’d also helped to organize a fun program called Ice Cream For Kids, partnering with local ice cream shops to provide free ice cream to kids during the scorching summer month of July.
The thing she was most excited about, and needed my help with, was a community garden. Her vision was a large garden that would grow fresh, organic produce for local area food banks and organizations who worked to feed the homeless, deliver meals for the elderly and less fortunate.
I told her it was a good idea and we had made plans to meet at her house on Friday to discuss it in more detail.
* * *
In the afternoon, I stayed hidden in my room, as I did most days, because I didn’t want to make the mistake of running into Dilvan. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t here...I was still afraid. He’d ran out earlier to get a facial and body scrub, something he did before every photo shoot. He also got regular waxes, preferring not to have one blade of hair on his body.
Tyson went out to buy a few items he needed. I know that because he’d come upstairs and yelled through my bedroom door that he was heading out and wanted to know if I needed anything.
Dilvan hadn’t returned home in time for dinner service at 6:30 p.m. So I sat at the table alone, and in peace, ready to eat my dinner. Beatrice had prepared crab cakes and garlic shrimp, along with a few breads, and a fresh garden salad.
“Here you are, Mrs. Alexander,” she says, presenting me with my food on a gold-rimmed China plate that was fit for royalty.
“Thank you, Beatrice.”
I began eating while noticing her do something that she’s never done before – sit down at the table with me. Ms. Beatrice never took a moment to sit down. She was always working – finding something to dust, something that needed to be put away, something to cook, organize, fix – she loved staying busy. As a matter of fact, I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen her sit down, period.
Every time I saw her she looked like she needed a drink of water. A short, stout woman with silver hair, dark skin and a big belly, she’d have beads of sweat on her forehead for which she kept a handkerchief handy. She smelled like bacon grease, Palmolive dish detergent and cough drops and wore those old-fashioned house dresses that looked more like night gowns. Every day, she’d wear an apron...never seen Ms. Beatrice without an apron. She looked like one of those earthy, motherly type women who’d raised a gaggle of kids and could tell you stories about the olden days.
“Mrs. Alexander, may I ask you something, sugar?” she asks, whipping out a handkerchief and dabbing her forehead.
“Yes, and please don’t call me Mrs. Alexander. Anything but Mrs. Alexander.”
“Okay, Mrs. Gabrielle,” Beatrice says instead. “Why you let the Mister treat you like a sack of dirt?”
I frown. This conversation was a one-way ticket to my grave. What if Dilvan walked in? What if he had this place bugged? What if Beatrice was his cohort, trying to get me to say bad things about my husband so he could torture me?
So I laugh it off and say, “What do you mean? Dilvan is the ideal husband. He’s a little stressed about work sometimes, but that’s all.”
Beatrice waves her hand in front of her face. “You might as well stop telling Ms. Bea that tale...Mister made you eat your dinner off of that there flo, child,” she says, pointing towards the floor. “Is that what you call ideal?”
“No, but—”
“Why you let him treat you like that?”
I sigh. “Because my fa
mily needs the money Padma paid me. I can’t very well pay it back to her. It’s already been spent.”
“Mrs. Padma is a reasonable woman. I’m sure if you had a lil’ chit-chat wit’ her ‘bout what’s going on in this house, she would be understanding.”
I shake my head and push the dinner plate away from me. My appetite is gone and I feel like getting up from this table and running away for good while Dilvan is out getting his chest waxed.
“It’s okay, Beatrice. Everything is fine the way it is. I’m not going to worry about it.”
“Well, I’m worried ‘bout it. You’re being abused, Mrs. Gabrielle.”
“I know, but sometimes, God allows things to happen in life, you know, to test us.”
Beatrice wipes her forehead and says, “God don’t want us to be no fools either, shug.”
She’s right. I can only nod and say, “Well, I have six more months left, then Dilvan can divorce me. I can hang in there until then.”
Beatrice blows a breath and shakes her head. “I don’t know where Mister gets his mean streak from, honey. His parents are so nice, and they do all this charity work for the community...even his brothers are thoughtful, respectful men. Good men. But Mister, he’s an abuser...making you call him My Lord. He has some nerve!”
“Has he done this to other women?”
Beatrice shrugs. “Mister don’t never bring no woman home, but I imagine he’d treat them the same way he treats you. He likes to use women, and you know what fuh.”
“If that’s the case, why’d his Mother want to marry him off so quickly?”
“Don’t you see, honey...she trying to save that boy! It’s all in them marriage papers you signed. Didn’t you read any of it?”
“No, not really. Padma just handed me a piece of paper and told me to sign it, so I did.”
“Well, let me tell you sumthin’...now Ms. Bea ain’t one for nosying ‘round, but I was cleaning Mister’s room and came ‘cross them papers. It said sumthin’ ‘bout Mister can’t have no relations wit’ any other woman while he’s wit’ you, which is the only reason he creeps up in your room every Tuesday and Thursday night.”
