Page 73 of Frankly, My Dear

Selene wasn’t so sure. And voodoo? Criminey! But the idea of “plucking” James, now that was a thought fraught with possibilities.

After breakfast, Selene and her cleaning crew assembled in the front parlor. Iris had brought with her Hyacinth of the big breasts, Lily of the nonexistent breasts, and Rose Petal with the big feet. Plus a half dozen other chattering girls and women who soon told her of their problems, which they somehow expected her to cure. Everything from zits to buck teeth to excessive facial hair.

Selene would have laughed if she wasn’t so miserable. She was lost in the nineteenth century with the only man she’d ever truly loved, and he intended to send her away. If she stopped to really think about all her problems, she’d probably start to cry and never stop. Work…that was the key to getting through the next few days, she decided.

First she had the younger boys drag the heavy wool carpets—priceless Aubussons and Tabrizes, not to mention some fine, vintage hooked rugs with unique local designs—out to the clotheslines in the backyard where they beat them with wire whisks. The weighty velvet and damask draperies followed suit, leaving a trail of dust bunnies in their wake.

The boys, joined by Etienne and the twins, treated the chore as a game. They were soon laughing and teasing each other, like youngsters anywhere, anytime.

Two slave girls of about ten clapped their hands with delight to be given the less arduous job of polishing all the silver. Selene set them up on the side loggia, or gallery, off the dining room. Perched on a long bench with lyre carvings on the back and arms, they giggled with delight when she pulled a work table up in front of them. Armed with several basins of water, polishing cloths, homemade silver cream and piles of Sheffield flatware, coffee and tea services, and various dishes and vases, the girls would, no doubt, be kept busy the entire day.

When Selene placed two glasses of lukewarm lemonade in front of them, they gaped at her with adoration as if she’d handed them the moon.

The first and second parlors were separated by sliding wood doors that could be opened to create one large room occupying a whole side of the house. Selene and her work crew pushed all the furniture out of these rooms. Starting from the ceilings with their carved plaster moldings and center medallions, they dusted and scrubbed. Patterns began to show through on faded wallpaper. Woodwork looked brighter. The tall, floor-to-ceiling windows literally sparkled from Blossom’s vinegar cleaning solution.

They carried bucket after bucket of water in from the well, and dumped as many dirty buckets off the gallery. Some of the water bounced off the flourishing plant life, which was being trimmed by the new slave, Rufus, an extremely tall, very handsome man with coffee-colored skin.

Selene noticed that Iris made a point of being the one to dump the buckets, using the opportunity to bat her wonderfully full eyelashes at Rufus. And Rufus, eyes twinkling with appreciation, was not complaining. Once, the poor man almost raked the porch rail with his hoe, so transfixed was he by the sight of Iris’s huge behind swaying away from him—one buttock going up while the other went down, up and down, the rhythm a sensual invitation. All the while, Iris flashed him a little secret smile.

Maybe Selene could learn a few tricks from her. If she were more sexy, James wouldn’t be able to resist her. He would be so mad with desire for her, he’d give in and keep her at his side forever.

Forever? That was the rub, Selene realized immediately. There could be no forever for them.

Still, she should be the one who decided whether to go away or to stay. The more she thought about it, Selene did not like the idea of being cast aside by James, as if she had no worth.

Raising her chin, she determined that she was going to make the insufferable man sorry. Using all the wiles at her disposal, she would make him pant after her, just like Rufus did for Iris. James would beg her to stay. Then she would thumb her nose at him.

She smiled with anticipation, thankful to finally have a plan.

After scrubbing and waxing the wood floors, they took a break for lunch, eating together companionably in the kitchen with Blossom. Reba joined them, her hair having been scrunched up rather nicely. Selene couldn’t help but notice the pinkness of her cheeks, caused not by rouge but by the abrasiveness of a man’s whiskers. And the crushed rose petal color of her lips could only be the result of her husband’s heated kisses. A lot of her husband’s heated kisses.

The quiet glow of Reba’s bright blue eyes and the womanly, knowing carriage of her slim body told volumes about the kind of night she had spent. Selene couldn’t remember ever feeling so well loved by a man.

“Thank you,” Reba mouthed silently to Selene.

Perhaps Selene should be taking lessons from Reba, as well. Or perhaps she should start listening to her own advice.

“We gonna do them arrow-backs today?” Iris asked, after having taken a tray to Mrs. Baptiste, along with her usual ration of tafia. Selene wondered if James’s mother got herself crocked before noon each day, convinced now that alcohol was her real problem, not depression. Maybe today she would get to meet the mysterious recluse.

“If you’d like,” Selene said, picking at the cold chicken and greens on her plate, her massive appetite having finally settled down. “Can you women come up with some pants to wear…something that would let you have free body movement during our aerobics?”

“Trousers?” Hyacinth asked, her huge eyes going huger. “You wants us to wear men’s trousers?”

“Well, just for the exercise program.”

“I s’pose Verbena could find some for us in the laundry,” she said dubiously.

“And we need music,” Selene said, trying to get into the mood for this exercise thing. “Maybe we could sing. I don’t suppose you ladies know any songs with a good beat.”

They all gawked at her.

“You know, like ‘Give me that old time rock ’n roll,’” she crooned, snapping her fingers in cadence to the song.

“Rocking roll?” Iris asked. “What’s that?”

“Never mind. Just repeat the song after me.”

They did, several times, until they got at least a few lines down pat.