I turn off the hot water and place the last of the breakfast dishes into the dishwasher, giving the kitchen one last glance to make sure I didn’t miss anything. Jeff has already left for work, but if I’ve missed a dish, I’ll have to wash it by hand. He doesn’t like it when I miss something.
Satisfied that all of the dishes are in the dishwasher, I put the soap in the compartment and push the start button. It’s not a big machine, but then, only two of us live in our tiny apartment for now. Jeff has made no secret that he hopes to have children soon. I’m not sure I’m ready. I’m not sure we are ready.
Once the dishwasher is purring, I start to wipe down the counters and the stove. They are already clean. I constantly wipe down the surfaces in the kitchen because I have nothing better to do. Jeff has also made it clear that he doesn’t want his wife to have a job, even though he knows we could use the money. He has been at the financial advising firm for almost two years now. Meriweather and Associates is a great place to work, but I’m not sure that Jeff is as good at his job as he lets on. He has never gotten a raise, and a few times, he has come home late, drunk, angry that those “assholes” at work just don’t understand him. I think on those days he’s gotten in trouble for messing up his accounts.
I can’t think about that, though. Most of the time, our life is comfortable. We live a pretty meager life in the largest city in the country, but no one knows that our existence is so pitiful. Jeff spends most of his salary on appearances, and we have a lot of credit card debt as well. His boss, Braxton Merriweather, is a billionaire. He throws lavish parties and invites people from his company to join him. Jeff never misses a chance because he wants to be a part of that world, even though we really are not. We come from a small town in the midwestern part of the country, thousands of miles from here. Worlds from here.During the day, once the apartment is spotlessly clean, I go out to the market and get the ingredients to fix Jeff a nice meal. Today, I’ll get something extra special, even though my allowance for the month is almost gone. It is a special day, after all. Today is our two year anniversary.
I wonder if Jeff remembers. He didn’t say anything this morning. We woke up when his alarm went off, had sex like we do every morning, and then he got ready for work, heading out the door before 8:00 so that he can make all of the connecting trains he has to in order to get to the office by nine. I will do the shopping, keep the apartment clean, secretly work on my art that Jeff does not know I’m still working on, and have dinner ready when he gets home, which will probably be around 7:00. He likes to leave work late so that Mr. Merriweather thinks that he is working hard, even though I am guessing everyone knows he isn’t actually working late when he stays late. He is usually watching X rated videos on his phone. Jeff watches those on the train as well. He watches them all the time and then asks me to try to do the things in the videos, even though I don’t like it. Sometimes… I don’t like Jeff.
He’s different now than he was when we started dating. But then, that was almost nine years ago, when we were only sophomores in high school. We both had dreams of coming to the big city. I wanted to be an artist, and he wanted to be a huge financial planner and own his own company. We both graduated from college, his degree in finance, mine in art, got married, and moved to the big city to pursue our dreams.
Except… as soon as this ring went on my finger, Jeff changed, and now, the only dreams I get to chase are his.
I try to push those thoughts aside as I get ready to go out to the market. It’s a warm spring day, but I wear my jacket. Jeff says it’s important to make sure that every part of me is covered when I go out in public. He says I have a nice figure, and he doesn’t want to have to knock someone’s teeth out because of wandering eyes--especially mine. Jeff has never hurt me before, but I believe him when he threatens that he might.
I get my pocketbook and my phone and the keys to the apartment, thinking I might get steak, even though it’s expensive. It’s one of Jeff’s favorites. I haven’t gotten him a gift for our anniversary, but I did get him a card. I hope that he likes it. I doubt he has gotten me anything, but that’s okay. I won’t make a fuss.
“Good morning, Julia!” our next door neighbor, Mrs. Muller, says as I go out into the hallway. She is coming inside with a shopping bag. I assume she’s just getting back from the market. “How are you, dear?”
She is a nice older woman. I really like her. I think of her as a grandmother of sorts. Sometimes, we have coffee together. “I’m good, thank you. How are you and Mr. Muller?” Her husband is a retired postal worker, and she used to teach dance. She still has the graceful movements of a ballerina.
“Good, good,” she says with a smile. “It’s a bit warm out there today. You probably don’t need your jacket.” She looks at me suspiciously.
I smile. “I tend to get chilly,” I say dismissively. “See you later.” I head for the stairs, giving her a little wave. We live on the fifth floor. I don’t mind going down the stairs, but coming up is tiring. We have a working elevator, but Jeff doesn’t like for me to take it. He says that getting lazy could make me lose my figure, and he wouldn’t like that one bit.
I am almost to the market when my phone rings in my pocket. I pull it out, thinking it might be my sister or my mother. They text me every day to see how I am doing in the big city. They worry about me. It’s not either of them, though. It’s Jeff.
“Party tonight,” he says. “Merriweather just got a huge account, and he's celebrating.” I stop in the middle of the sidewalk, a wave of disappointment washing over me, thinking that means we won’t be spending our anniversary together. I have gone to a few of the parties Mr. Merriweather throws, but not many. Jeff says he doesn’t want to make the other men at his office jealous by showing them how beautiful his wife is. I secretly think he is just embarrassed that I am not as polished as the wives of the other men who work in his office.
“Meet me at Merriweather Towers at seven. Wear your silver dress.”
I stare at my phone. I am invited to the party. Someone bumps into me from behind, jostling me. I apologize. I am in the way. He makes a face at me and keeps walking.
Stepping aside, I text Jeff back, “Okay.” I have no idea how to get to Merriweather Towers, the apartment buildings Mr. Merriweather owns, but I will figure it out. It sounds like this is an important party or else Jeff wouldn’t want me there. I hope this means he was involved with landing the account and that maybe he will finally be in better standing at work.
Realizing I have no reason to head to the market now, I turn back to the apartment, nervous about the party but hopeful that things are finally headed in the right direction because I’m not sure how much more of this meager existence I can take.
I am a hands-on supervisor. That’s how my father ran this company, and that’s how I’ve always ran it, too, since I took over as Chief Executive Officer five years ago. At twenty-seven, I was the youngest CEO in the history of our company, which my great-great-grandfather started over a hundred years ago, but my degrees in finance and business from major universities, as well as my tutelage under my father, had more than prepared me to take over. And I’ve done an outstanding job, increasing our revenue and taking on new clients at a quick rate.That’s why I hate failure.As I gaze out through my glass windows at the crowd of employees moving quickly between offices and cubicles, my eyes fall on one face. Jeff Thompson, Vice-President of Finance for our largest branch. How he came to be a VP, I am not sure. In the two years that he has worked here, he has done nothing to impress me. In fact, he fails at almost every task I assign him. I should probably fire him.The only reason I haven’
Taking a cab to Merriweather Towers is expensive, but in my silver dress, I am afraid to take the subway. I’m afraid I might get harassed. So I splurge on the taxicab ride. On the way home, Jeff will be with me, so I won’t have to worry about anyone bothering me. I am wearing a silver wrap around my shoulders. Not because I am cold, but because Jeff doesn’t like it when I show too much skin. As I get out of the cab, paying the driver, and tucking my handbag under my arm, I am reminded of the Christmas party I attended here last December. I had worn a red dress I’d bought just for the occasion. I remembered thinking I looked pretty nice, but Jeff was out of sorts all night because he did not like the amount of cleavage I was showing. It didn’t seem like a lot to me. In comparison to some of the other women at the party, it was practically nothing, but we did not have a very good time at the party because he was so angry all night long. I hope he doesn’t mind this dress. He asked me to
She was late. She’d missed the dinner I’d provided for my work associates and their guests. I wonder why she hadn’t arrived on time like everyone else, but then, when I see her step through the door, frazzled, looking anxiously around for her husband, who is standing across the room, leaning against the wall, talking to some of the other people from our team who do not perform well, I understand that Thompson probably didn’t even invite her to the dinner.She rushes over to him, and he stands up straight, looking annoyed, like she’s interrupted some important work discussion. I pretend to listen to the woman standing next to me, one of the presidents of the marketing department who is talking about an account I could care less about, but my eyes are on her, the beautiful woman who is unfortunately attached to that sleaze, Jeff Thompson.I watch as they step away from the others, as Jeff grabs her elbow and pulls her close, a little too violently for my liking. I see her face and know
Braxton Merriweather is standing in front of me--and he knew my name. I can hardly believe my ears. I blink at him a few times, wondering why it is he knows who I am, why it is he’s come to speak to me.I know that Jeff was angry when I arrived. That wasn’t his fault, though. That was my fault. I was out of sorts, and he had every right to be cross with me. Still, people who didn’t understand the situation might think that was Jeff’s fault, that he was being too hard on me.I want to ask Mr. Merriweather how he knows who I am, but I am too shy to pose the question. Instead, I just stand there, staring at him, trying to process the situation. He is absolutely the best looking man I’ve ever seen in real life and probably even more handsome than most of the guys I’ve seen on TV or the movies. He is also rich beyond comprehension.Before I can say anything in response, Braxton asks, “Have you eaten any dinner yet?”I wrinkle my forehead at the question. It seems like such a strange thing
Julia Thompson is breathtaking, and I can’t keep my eyes off of her. I know I need to be more discreet. Staring at her as she sits there nervously on the sofa in the private suite I maintain right off of the main ballroom in my apartment complex, I want to forget that I have a few hundred guests just on the other side of the soundproof door, including her husband. I want to tell Cindy not to bother with the steak, that I’ll give Julia everything that she needs.I can’t do that, though. Not yet anyway. It would be immoral of me to put moves on this married woman--unless, of course, her husband approves it—and so does she. I have been thinking of what I can do to get Jeff Thompson to realize he is not worthy of his wife, but he is such an arrogant asshole, I think he’s somehow gotten the impression he is too good for her. He is about to be reminded that he is nothing, that he is an insignificant peon and that his entire career exists only because I have not lowered my thumb and squashed
Jeff Thompson is standing with a group of low-level workers from his department, laughing, their drinks nearly empty and not for the first time from what I can tell. They are certainly inebriated. I stand back and study them for a while, planning how to say what I need to say to Thompson without losing my cool. Standing this far away from him, looking at him with my expensive liquor in his hand, wearing off-brand shoes and a suit that he’s worn nearly every day since he started working for me, just changing out the shirt under the jacket, I can’t help but wonder what he does with all of the money I pay him. He certainly doesn’t spend it on his wife. But then, I’m pretty sure I already know. It is my understanding that he has a pretty serious addiction to pornography. That can get costly, once a person is entangled. I can’t help but wonder if perhaps he is also paying for sex.Why he would do that when his wife is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, I can’t say, but he has
I am not very hungry, even though the steak and potatoes Cindy has kindly brought to me taste wonderful. I make myself take a few bites as she sits on the sofa near me, making casual conversation. She has asked me about when I met Jeff and where we moved here from, and I have answered her between bites. Now, after four or five pieces of steak, I am nearing my limit. I’m nervous, and it’s difficult to eat something so heavy on a jittery stomach.“Mr. Merriweather was very kind to provide dinner for me,” I say, thinking it might be time to set my fork aside. I look her in the eyes to see if she understands what I am getting at.“He is very thoughtful,” she agrees. “Don’t feel obligated to eat all of it, though. If you’re finished, I’ll have it taken away.”“Do you mind?” It seems so strange to me to have someone waiting on me. I’m not used to it at all. I can’t remember the last time anyone did anything for me.“Not at all,” she says with a smile. Cindy stands and goes to the door she’d
“Just get in the car, and don’t say a word,” Jeff tells me as we exit Merriweather Towers. He has me by the arm, and even though he’s not quite squeezing tightly enough to hurt me, it isn’t comfortable either.I’m not exactly sure why he’s mad at me, though I can think of several reasons. I didn’t stay outside as he had ordered me to. I had interacted with Cindy and her friends as she’d taken me around the party. Though I had tried to keep to myself and be as quiet as possible, I had been forced to greet people, to shake their hands and be polite. I know Jeff doesn’t like it when I touch men, even to shake their hands, but I couldn’t be rude and ignore an outstretched hand, could I? Jeff doesn’t like it when I am rude either.In the taxi, he tells the driver our address and mumbles under his breath about how this will cost a fortune. I feel bad. I know Merriweather doesn’t pay as much as a person would think, which I’ve always thought was odd considering the lavish parties Mr. Merriwe