Clean Linens and Two Meals a Day pt 2

Fancy stared at Mr. James Hutton, one of the richest men in the city. A man capable of taking away everything she had just gained. “Liza,” she called, keeping her voice firm and loud.  She wasn’t about to let this man see one ounce of weakness in her.

“I’m Ms. Fancy O’Connor,” she said primly, sitting down on the narrow sofa and waving that he sit as well.  He remained standing.

Liza poked her head into the room from the door leading to the kitchen. “What?” she asked, not trying in the slightest to act like proper ‘help.’

“Could you bring out some tea for our guest?”

“I just did!”

“Our other guest,” Fancy said, trying not to feel dismayed.

Liza glanced at Mr. Hutton. “Oh. Alright.”

Mr. Hutton gave Fancy a withering glare. “This is the type of business you’re running for my son? Where did he find you anyway, Ms. Fancy O’Connor? On the street?” No, he came straight to my door, she thought, but didn’t say a word as he continued to speak. “I gave my son that money as a gift of good faith. The boy needs to learn how to take care of himself, and I thought he had the good sense to invest in something practical! Stocks in the Werner company have been rising…but I doubt you would know anything about that.”

“No, I don’t imagine I would.”

“So when I found out he had bought a Storyville shack—“

“Begging your pardon, Sir, but this house is in Old Town,” she responded.  “Just like your own home.”

“Do you think anyone of quality comes this far south, madam?

Madam. She wished he would stop saying that word. His meaning for it and hers were so vastly different, no doubt he hadn’t the slightest idea of what he was insinuating.

“This is a respectable boarding house,” she assured.  “We’re boarding university students,” she added, which was not a lie.

“Is that so? You have a whole gaggle of youths upstairs then?”

“N-no…” she admitted. “A girl.”

“A girl.”  His face was growing pink with anger or annoyance. “My son will not be associated with co-eds.”

“Yes I will.” Will said from the doorway. In her discomfort with his father Fancy hadn’t noticed him come in. He walked into the room with a tall defiance that (though he doubted he was aware of it) mimicked his father perfectly. For a moment Fancy saw Will as the great man he was going to be, instead of the boy-virgin who had come to her last summer begging for attention. “You shouldn’t be here, Father,” he said.

“No, I shouldn’t,” Mr. Hutton agreed. “But you seem to have given me no choice. What the hell were you thinking?  Is this a plot to get me to allow you to simply fritter away your trust fund with no thought of responsibility?  This house—”

“Will not bring a high return, no,” Will interrupted, which caused his father to grow from pink to red. “But it will be in the black as soon as Mr. O’Connor fills the rooms. It’s good for the community. There aren’t a lot of affordable housing options for the working poor.”

“Charity?” his father questioned. “You waste my money on charity?”

“It’s my money, father. You gave it to me.”

“Not a mistake I’ll be making again,” the older man assured.

He left without saying another word, a flash of cashmere and gold, and Will immediately fell onto the sofa next to Fancy, melting next to her. “That was terrifying,” he admitted.

“You were wonderful,” Fancy assured, reaching out to stroke his face.  He smiled and pulled her towards him, initiating a kiss that started small and grateful, only to grow in passion.

They were interrupted by Liza putting down the tea tray in front of them with a loud clink. “I thought I was making tea for the scary rich guy,” she said, not even hiding her annoyance.

“We need to work on your table-side manners,” Fancy said to her niece. “Go…clean something. Earn your keep.”

Liza made an exasperated noise and shuffled off.

“Are you in very big trouble?” Fancy asked Will.

“Not big trouble,” he assured. “But not small either. My father has very exact ideas on the kind of people the Huttons are supposed to be, you know.”

“I can imagine.”

“Even though before Karstenhaven became…what it is today…do you know what we were? Grocers!” he laughed. “Can you believe it? That’s why he’s so concerned.”

“Because having comfortably middle class ancestors is such a social stigma,” Fancy said.

“Never mind him. I’m happy with what I’ve done. And now I have a perfect excuse not to go home.”

“You mean?”

“Fancy, may I sleep next to you tonight?”

***

The next morning Liza was less than amused when Fancy and Will insisted on eating breakfast in her parlor instead of eating in the dining room with Miss Ariadne Gill, leaving her alone with their only resident as she served her eggs and potatoes.   “Where’s Ms. O’ Connor?” their oblivious tenant asked as Liza poured coffee.

“Having a lie-in,” Liza replied.  She knew she needed to be nicer, but it was just so hard. “Is everything satisfactory, Miss Gill?” There. That’s better.

“Please, call me Ari,” the other girl said.  “We’re about the same age, I think. It’s silly to address each other as though we’re our elders. I’m from the country. We don’t take to all these city manners.”

“Neither do I,” Liza admitted, a warmth spreading through her against her will.

“And I love my room,” Ari said. “And the food is…interesting.”

The warmth Liza felt vanished. She knew she was a terrible cook. She didn’t need it thrown in her face. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything.”

Apparently Ari decided she was done insulting Liza’s cooking, because the next time she went into the dining room she found only an empty plate and mug.  She gathered the dirty dishes and took them back, trying desperately not to be annoyed.  She didn’t mind the work—cooking and cleaning was so easy (and safe) compared to back-breaking factory work, but she really didn’t handle being nice outside of Storyville.

In Storyville everyone was poor, everyone was struggling (except for the nightclub owners and the drug dealers and pimps). Out here in the real world though, there were girls just like her wearing nice dresses and going to the university, or spending their days shopping and gossiping instead of earning a days’ wages.  It wasn’t fair and it made her uncomfortable. Why had Will, for example, been born into luxury, where one’s father gave them enough money to buy houses, while she and Fancy were forced to do vile things (like Manny) simply to have something to eat?

Fancy came into the kitchen, Will trailing behind her with their empty tray. He wore the same clothes from the day before, slightly rumpled, but he wasn’t ashamed to have spent the night, and neither was Fancy.  Liza didn’t know what to think of Will. He was rich, young and kind…yes, he was handicapped, but any girl would be happy to overlook it for everything else.  Yet he had latched on to Fancy, of all people.

Liza wasn’t complaining—her life had certainly took a turn for the better, but he was so strange…

“I have a job for you,” Fancy told Liza. “I need you to go downtown to a print shop.”  She gave Liza a dollar coin and a piece of paper. “Have them make up two hundred half-sheet fliers with that information.” She glanced at Will. “We need to fill these rooms before Will starts to lose money.”

Liza nodded. “Am I passing out the fliers too?”

“Yes,” Fancy said. “In Cheapside.”

“I know you can do this,” Will said to Fancy, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her close. "I believe in you."

“Ugh,” Liza said. “Get a room.”  She scraped the dishes into the garbage pail and began to fill the sink while he nuzzled her aunt.  At least it wasn’t Storyville.

****

A/N:
And so the class war begins!  Author insight: The whole Fancy/Will relationship stems from my desire to be a cougar when I hit my 40's.  Liza's mood comes directly from how I feel when I'm at work.  I spent the first 28 years of my life in a neighborhood full of working class poor.  Now I'm still working class poor, but I'm doing it in a middle-class neighborhood. Drives me nuts.