Gasping, I reared back, drawing my hand to my chest so the resident wouldn’t see I’d been about to touch their amazing door.
A woman exited.
“There you are,” she said, her voice accusing as her thin eyebrows arched high with irritation. “I called for you nearly ten minutes ago.”
I blinked, confusion reigning. Um. Did I know her?
“I—What?”
She let out a dramatic sigh. “Dear Lord, please tell me you at least understand English. Is that really too much to ask for in the help around here?”
“O-oh,” I stumbled out in sudden realization. She thought I was part of the staff. “No. I’m sorry, you have the wrong—”
“And where is your uniform?” she cut in, eyeing my clothes as if they might be contagious. “Don’t think I won’t be reporting you for such blatant disregard for your dress code. It’s utter insolence, is what it is. I don’t pay this place what I do for such subpar service. Your people should learn to be more respectful.”
Excuse me, but did she just say, my people?
What the actual fuck?
Slinging the gold-linked strap of her purse over her shoulder, she lifted her chin pretentiously. “I have to go, so you’ll need to find the spill yourself. As I said in my distress call, it’s on the hallway carpet between the bathroom and kitchen. I want that stain gone by the time I return.”
With that, she stepped through the doorway and into the hall, narrowing her eyes until I scurried out of her way, and then she swept past me like the insignificant piece of maidservant trash she believed I was.
“Well.” Staring after her in shock, I had to wonder if I’d ever met anyone quite so disagreeable and condescending.
No. No, I don’t think I had.
“Bless her heart,” I murmured, shaking my head sadly. “But that had to be the rudest fucking bitch I ever met.”
She sure had a pretty front door, though. I turned to look at it once more, only to realize it was still slowly falling closed and hadn’t yet sealed shut.
To this day, I’m not certain why I did it. Maybe because she’d been so vulgar and demeaning to me. Maybe because her door was so ostentatious and flashy that it had made me curious about the rest of her apartment. Maybe I was just so desperate and beaten down that I couldn’t help myself.
Or maybe fate forced my hand.
But I glanced after her to make sure she wouldn’t look back. Of course, she didn’t. Why would she concern herself with what some silly maid was doing? Then I slowly slid my foot forward on the carpet to create a doorstop and keep the portal from closing completely.
As the door bumped and then came to rest against the side of my shoe, my heart pounded out a crazy tattoo in my chest. I watched the bitch storm around a corner and disappear from sight. Then I reached out my hand, pressed my palm flush against the jeweled surface until hundreds of sparkling rhinestones bit into my flesh, and I pushed the door open wide.
Holy hell, was I really doing this?
Holding my breath, I stepped inside the apartment.
Yes, I guess I was.
I mean, she expected me to go inside, after all. So what if she’d been wrong in thinking I was a maid? That was her own damn mistake, not mine. This was what she’d wanted me to do, what she had ordered me to do.
It wasn’t as if I was really breaking and entering. B & E was wrong. It was as wrong as what that thief asshole Diego had been doing picking rich people’s pockets in the ballroom.
But I wasn’t doing anything wrong here. No way. Because—because really, it wasn’t as if I was actually going to take anything; I just wanted a little peek to see how the other half lived.
No harm in that.
Except, I knew better. This wasn’t right, no matter how I tried to angle it. And yet, I looked around, anyway, not leaving, but staying.
The first thing that struck me was how fresh and open it felt. The air just seemed so clean and easy to breathe. I inhaled deeply, getting myself a huge lungful as if I could store some of the freshness up inside me and take it home to savor later. Then I glanced around at all the space.
Gah, so much space. And brightness.
Lamps and wall sconces and overhead fixtures in the ceiling lit up the entire room until it was almost too illuminated. But after living in the dingy, dark apartment where we currently resided, all this light was…
Well, it was nice.
Jealousy nipped at me hard and fast.
It just wasn’t fair, I decided, stepping farther into the room with a little more confidence now. Someone that rude and outrageous should not have such a pretty, bright home.
Everything in the front room was either white, silver, glass, or mirrored. Even the shag carpet was a pristine eggshell. I found myself picking up each of my sneakers and checking the soles to make sure I didn’t have any dirt on them that might track across the floor.
“Jesus,” I murmured, shaking my head and dropping my clean foot, only to yelp and jump when I glanced up to get an eyeful of myself, because the entire wall in front of me was made up of mirrored panels.
I set my hand against my chest, easing my racing heartbeat back to normal. Once it was settled again, I crept forward some more, curious to see what else the woman had here that she totally didn’t deserve, until I came to the opening of a wide hallway. Catching sight of the deep burgundy stain the woman had called room service to come clean, I tsked and shook my head slowly.
“Aww, did the bitch spill her merlot?” I moved forward to check out the mess. “What a pity.”
But all sarcasm aside, if someone didn’t fix this soon that stain was going to set in.
A moment of actual, genuine empathy filled me. For the carpet. Not its owner. Poor thing. It already got walked all over, day in and day out, by evil incarnate. Now, its flawless, white coat was going to have a permanent blemish, because we all knew, good and well, no maid was going to rush right over to help that nightmare of a woman clean anything. They were probably still arguing amongst themselves and drawing straws, debating over whose turn it was to deal with her this time. The carpet was so pretty and soft too, like seriously soft; my shoes felt like they were traipsing over cotton balls. It didn’t deserve such cruel mistreatment.
“Dammit,” I muttered when I realized I had knelt down by the stain to sympathetically stroke the carpet around the mess.
Before I could stop myself, a sudden brutal vision bullied its way into my head, uninvited.
And just like that, I was fifteen again, watching Dad, with tears bleeding from his eyes as he knelt on our floor, scrubbing with a vengeance and swearing fluidly in Spanish while he filled his washrag with a rusty red tinge, even as the stain in the carpet stood firm.
“Cabrón. Damn you, come out,” he cried. “Come out already.”
But the blood had never come out. Maybe someone had gotten a new carpet and replaced it after we moved. I had no idea, though I suspected they probably had. That carpet was no doubt curled up in a roll, abandoned and alone in a landfill by now, buried under old banana peels, broken washing machines, and bicycle parts, where no one knew its discolored fibers had once cushioned my mother’s head as she’d breathed her last few stuttering breaths.
“Dammit.” I jerked to my feet and shoved such thoughts away. Then I pointed at the floor sternly, as if reprimanding it. “This is for you,” I told it in no uncertain terms. “Not her. You got that? I would never in a million years help that vile woman.”
But I couldn’t handle letting that stain set in, either.
Marching with determination, I found the kitchen and knelt before the double doors under the sink, only to fling them open wide and pull back in disbelief when I beheld the contents.
“What the hell?”
There was absolutely nothing under the sink, except drain pipes.
“Okay,” I said to myself, nodding my head in complete bewilderment as I shut the door and cleared the embarrassment from my throat. “So then, where do rich people keep their cleaning supplies?”
I tapped my fingers against my mouth, thinking, thinking, until—Lightbulb! “Why, in the broom closet, of course, Gabby dearest.”
So I rose to my feet, in search of such a place.
Then again, with the witch who lived here, one might think her broom closet would already be full of actual brooms that she rode across full moons on dark, creepy nights. That or it was overflowing with all the dead kittens and puppies she must slaughter on her way home from work each day.
I pulled open a door that was about a foot wide, only to find a small nook inside, filled with canned goods. I started to close it again, only to pause when I spotted a can of organic, name-brand chicken noodle soup.
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” I uttered in amazement, pulling the can off the shelf and gazing at the label in open-mouth amazement.
I’d left home tonight, hoping to get my hands on a can of chicken noodle soup for Miguel, and now that one was sitting in my palm, it suddenly felt like providence. Or fate. Maybe even destiny. Or most likely all three, since they meant the same damn thing, which was that someone out there somewhere actually wanted me to have this soup.
Who was I to question the powers that be?
Clutching the chicken noodle soup to my chest, I shut the door and carried it with me, almost afraid lightning would strike me if I set it down, while another part of me feared lightning would strike me for taking it, and I continued my search for cleaning supplies.
When I found the small storage room that housed what I needed, I didn’t find any dead puppies or kittens, and there were only two brooms inside, but I did find a box of trash can liners as well as an unopened box of facial tissues.
Pulling a plastic liner from the box, I snapped it open and dumped the chicken noodle soup can along with my purse inside. Then I told that little part of my conscience that demanded to know what the hell I was doing, “I’m cleaning the woman’s carpet, aren’t I? She owes me something in return!”
Well, she did.
After stuffing in the Kleenex box inside, I gathered some cleaning supplies and returned to the stain in the carpet. Sitting beside it, I wadded a paper towel and started to blot. It was still wet, thank God, so I was able to soak up more wine than I thought I would from the dry cloth alone.
Then I aimed the nozzle of some stain remover at it, and went to work, spraying and dabbing until, little by little, the discoloration faded completely.
Whew.
“Damn, I’m good,” I said with a small grin of satisfaction as I sat back on my heels to admire my work.
When I returned the cleaning supplies and retrieved my bag of goodies, I paused before leaving the kitchen.
You know, I thought to myself. I’d found that soup and the box of tissues without even trying. I suddenly wondered how hard it would be to find the rest of the things I’d wanted to get for Miguel.
And since I was already in the kitchen, finding some saltines and clear soda just might be as easy as opening the next—yes!
I opened another door and found another pantry inside that contained both of my wishes. The bottle of pop and packages of crackers were still sealed and new, too.
I swear, this shit had just been left here on purpose and was meant for me.
“Now, for some aspirin,” I murmured, biting my lip and wondering if I should dare wander deeper into the condo, looking for the last item on my wish list. I had everything else I needed. Four out of five was pretty damn lucky.
Except the pain reliever was probably the most important thing I’d wanted to get. Miguel had looked so miserable and small when I’d left. I promised him I’d come back with something to make him feel better. I couldn’t break my promise.
“Oh, what the hell,” I said. I’d already come this far.
In for a penny, in for a pound, right?
Carrying my goods in the sack over my shoulder and feeling a bit like a reverse Santa Claus, I hurried down the hall, wondering how much time I had before the witch came home. I knew I was already risking too much, but I only had one item left to find.
I flipped on the light to the first bedroom I came to. It looked like it had to be the master suite, so I hurried through it toward another open doorway that led to the bathroom. Once inside the lavatory, I threw open the mirrored cabinet doors above the vanity and darted my gaze around the bottles of shit inside, until Eureka! Pain relievers.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I told the room for providing.
I snatched the first bottle I saw and closed the cabinet, ready to get the hell out of Dodge. But when I shut the mirrored cabinet, something gold twinkled in the glass reflection just over my shoulder.
And instead of turning toward the exit, I turned toward the bling.
Damn bling. It was seriously going to be the death of me someday, I swear.
But it was so sparkly and pretty. Who could stay away from sparkly, pretty things?
Monsters and complete fuddy-duddies, I bet, that’s who. And since I’d never considered myself either—yeah—had to check out the bling.
Just real quick.
Drawing in a deep, stunned breath, I took in the closet that led off from the side of the bathroom. The light was on inside, and oh my God.
Lord have mercy, it was full of gowns. So many glorious, beautiful gowns that my feet shuffled me into that closet before my brain could tell them not to.
“Holy shit,” I breathed in awe.
I had thought the rhinestone-coated front door had been something, but this—this was heaven on earth.
“I’m dead,” I said in a hollow voice. “I’ve died and gone to heaven, haven’t I?”
There were more dresses in here than in, like, a dress shop. Fancy, exotic, ball gown-type dresses. And they ranged in every color, every design, every princess fantasy a girl might ever dream come true. I’d had so many princess fantasies, too. When I was little, I had constantly stolen into my parents’ closet to try on my momma’s pretty black dress.
But these—these were so much more extravagant and elegant and beautiful than my mom’s one plain dress.
She’d been buried in that dress, and I’d never seen it again.
Blinking, I reached out, and my fingers literally shook as they coasted over the various materials.
“There’s just so many,” I murmured, my palm experiencing a new texture with each dress it encountered.
Pausing at a strapless tan number covered in gold sequins, I stroked the skirt part that seemed to flare out at mid-thigh and thought back to the nasty woman I’d met in the hallway. She’d been about my height and weight. We’d shared similar proportions. What were the odds that we wore the same size?
Unable to help myself, I looked for the tag. When I couldn’t find one, I pulled the dress off the rack and held it up to myself, only to release a breath.
“Of course,” I muttered.
The exact same freaking size.
She couldn’t have been a totally different dimension than me, now could she? Nooo. That would’ve made the situation all too easy for me to turn around and leave. Like I should have.
But now—now I was filled with the lure of staying and trying that pretty gold dress on.
The temptation swelled and bloated to unbelievable proportions. If I didn’t do something about it, the crazy pull in me was probably going to explode and leave a hell of a bigger mess on the floor than a minor, ol’ wine stain. And we couldn’t have that.
No, we most certainly could not.
“I’m probably going to regret this,” I announced aloud, even as I rushed to stuff the pill bottle into my bag and let the entire sack drop to the floor before I stripped off my hoodie and yoga pants.
“Seriously, what am I doing?” I asked myself, even as I shed my bra and reached for the dress again. I needed to get back home to Miguel.
But I just wanted to see what the dress looked like on me.
One minute—two tops, and I’d be in and out of it, and on my way home again, no one being the wiser that it had ever been on my body for, like, ten seconds.
“Oh damn.” I whistled in awe right before whining, “I can’t believe I’m—” Turning the dress around, I held my breath, too overcome to keep chattering nervously to myself.
My fingers trembled, making the zipper a bitch to draw down. As I gripped the cloth sides before stepping into the eye of the hurricane, a cold breeze of indecision raced down my spine. I shivered it off and slid my foot into the pooled skirt, then I pulled the material up my legs, over my hips, and around my breasts.
Holy hell, it fit like a dream. I think this damn dress had been made for me. Reaching around to my spine, I drew the zipper up, sucking in a breath as the cloth hugged me inside it.
“Wow,” I whimpered. It was perfect. Absolutely, amazingly perfect.
I skimmed my hands along myself, over my hips and across my butt to feel how everything looked, but I kind of wanted to see it with my own eyes. Frowning as I gazed around the enormous closet, I huffed when I couldn’t find a mirror anywhere. How could such a woman not be vain enough to have a full-length mirror inside her closet? Really?
I started to turn away, only to pause.
Irrationally afraid my stolen booty in the trash sack would disappear if I left it here unattended, I snatched it up, even as I left my street clothes behind so I could hurry into the bathroom to see myself in the mirror.
It only showed me from the waist up, but I paused anyway, my breath stalling in my chest. As if in a trance, I lifted my hands to my hair and wound the locks up into a quick makeshift bun. After securing my hair into place with a scrunchy I perpetually left around my wrist, I dropped my hands to my sides and stared.
With my shoulders bare and no necklace on, my neck looked rather long and incredibly elegant. I turned to the side, wanting to see more.
Growing frustrated because the mirror didn’t show my full length, I hurried from the bathroom, and when I didn’t spot a full-length mirror in the bedroom either, I darted through the doorway and down the hall to the front room where the entire wall was covered in panels of mirrors.
Reaching my destination, I slowed to a stop and let my mouth fall open as I gazed at my entire reflection.
“So cool,” I murmured, slowly twisting this way and that to take in the full picture. I let Miguel’s sack of get-wells slip from my fingers and land on the floor next to me as I smiled at the woman gazing back at me. She looked suited for this kind of life. She liked dazzling dresses and white carpets, fresh air, and bright lights.
I blew her a kiss, and then laughed at myself for my ridiculousness.
But I knew I couldn’t stay here with that smiling, carefree girl forever. I had a sick brother at home, and honestly, who knew when the rich bitch would return.
Just as I bent down to retrieve my sack, a beep, followed by a snick of sound, echoed over to me from the front door, telling me loud and clear that someone was currently unlocking it.
Oh, shit. Of course. This would only happen to me. Probably because I was the only idiot alive who’d ever finagle herself into such a crazy situation, but whatever.
I was so busted.
Gasping, I froze like a moron who knew she should run or at the very least dive behind something to hide, but couldn’t quite get the job done. Yeah, petrified-pitiful-me just stood there, stupidly, as guilt, fear, and panic seized all my limbs immobile, rendering them stiff and useless.
“Oh God,” I whimpered.
I gathered the white trash sack to my chest as the door came open. My muscles cramped, allowing blinking as the only movement I could muster. And blink I did, in utter confusion, as a man—not the woman I’d met earlier—slipped inside backward, peering out into the hallway as he came, as if he thought he was being followed and didn’t want to be caught.
Wearing a formal tuxedo, like he might be one of those high rollers I’d seen in the ballroom getting pickpocketed from Diego, he shut the door and blew out a relieved breath before turning toward me, only to jerk to a halt when he realized he wasn’t alone.
Holy cripes, he was gorgeous. With his dark hair slicked up and away from his forehead, his jaw cleanly shaven, and his eyebrows flared up into censorious arches, he looked like a slim, grim James Bond.
He seemed similarly transfixed by me, but in more of a perplexed, what-is-happening-here kind of way. His gaze skimmed up and down my dress with more confusion. I’m sure he must have recognized it as his wife’s—or whatever the evil bitch was to him. But thinking about her snagging a younger man, and one as hot as this guy, made bitterness boil inside me.
I had Diego, the lying thieving braggart, sniffing after me, and she got this?
Life really wasn’t fair sometimes.
His gaze made its way back up to my face, where he blinked and pulled back before saying, “What the hell?” as if he recognized me?
And that’s when the thought struck me: why in God’s name was I just standing there, doing nothing?
Run, Gabby, run!
