I looked up. And up. And up.
Huge, stately square white columns lifted up into the sky like a modern day Coliseum. Except everything was perfectly intact. It was like stepping into history. It was only two stories tall, but each floor was massive, with a huge wraparound deck. Everything was done in elegant whites and grays, with black wrought iron railings on the balconies and patios. Black shutters completed the dramatic look.
And did I mention massive? Because holy shit, as we drove closer, I just kept seeing more and more to the building. Or maybe there were multiple buildings? I couldn’t tell if it was just one giant structure that wrapped around or if it was a network of interconnected buildings. Either way, it had to be tens of thousands of square feet large.
Who the hell lived here? Surely no one person could own such a place. But it wasn’t a historical landmark, either. At least not one I’d ever heard of. People were crazy for their Southern history in these parts, and this place had never come up on any of the class field trips or anything else I’d ever heard about even though it was only a couple hours away from where I grew up.
I didn’t know much about architecture, but this place had to be, what? At least 100 years old. But for as big as it was, it was probably pre-Civil War. So that meant over 150 years old.
My gawking was cut short though, when my door suddenly opened.
There was Jeeves, looking as calm and unperturbed as ever. He held out an arm to me. “Miss Morgan.”
Oh shit. I’d been distracting myself with details of the house but here Jeeves was, throwing my actual situation in my face again.
“What if I don’t get out of the car?” I squeaked. “What if I ask you to turn around and take me back home? Will you do it?”
He sighed impatiently, the first time I’d seen him do anything like break character. “Back home to what, exactly?”
My mouth dropped open for a moment. “I have a life. I might not be rich”—I gestured lamely to the huge mansion in front of us—“but it’s a life and it’s my own.”
“Miss Morgan, the correct procedure is to wait until you are inside, but since you’re already here, I’ll ask you now. What do you want?”
“What do you mean? Look, I’m just asking if you’ll take me home.”
“Is that what you want?” he peered at me curiously. “What do you really want out of life? To go back to your life—a life that is ‘all your own,’ to use your words. No one is forcing you to be here, Miss Morgan. If you stay, you do so of your own free will. But were you truly free?”
He leaned in ever so slightly. He had to be dying of heat in the September sun, dressed to the nines like he was, but he didn’t bat an eye.
“I had a glimpse of your life, Miss, and pardon if it is not my place, but it didn’t exactly look like freedom to me.”
He pulled back. “Inside you will be interviewed. They will ask you again what it is you truly want. You can ask for anything. You are Aladdin and we are your magic lamp.”
“But it comes at a price,” I said emphatically.
Jeeves just looked at me like I was being foolish. “Do you think you deserve to be given something for nothing? That’s the way a child thinks, Miss Morgan.”
I nodded, biting back curse words on the tip of my tongue. I wanted to lash out at the guy, tell them all to go to hell, and run away before I got in too deep.
Maybe it was cowardly. Maybe it was prudent. Maybe it was my gut telling me to get the hell out of here.
But Jeeves was right about one thing—living paycheck to paycheck didn’t feel like freedom. And I couldn’t keep going back and forth like this.
I swallowed hard and looked back up at Jeeves, the afternoon sun so bright, I had to squint. “The men. Are they very horrible?”
I couldn’t be sure, but I thought maybe his face tightened just the littlest bit?
“There are rules to protect you. You will have a safe word that you may use at any time.” He stood up straighter. “But know that if you do use a safe word, it’s all finished. You will be immediately removed from the house. You forfeit your prize. You get nothing. There is no partial credit. But the choice is always yours. You may leave at any time.”
I blinked rapidly at that. “Do… do girls leave often?”
“I’ve worked here eleven years, and it’s only happened once.”
“Out of how many girls? How often does this happen? What happened to the girl who went home?”
He smiled and I couldn’t read him. “That’s enough for now. Will you enter?” He held out his arm once again.
I felt like Alice peeking down the rabbit hole.
Half of me wished I’d never seen this man’s face. That he’d never walked into the diner with that damned piece of paper and offered me this weighty choice.
But then I took his arm and he led me up the drive toward the intimidating mansion. A little further. I’d go a little further. I could always say a “safe word” and stop at any time, right? I could go back to my boring little life where nothing exciting ever happened. Where I had few choices and even fewer options of actually getting ahead in this unforgiving world.
“Let me introduce you to Mrs. Hawthorne,” Jeeves said.
I didn’t trust myself to speak, so I nodded.
Instead of leading me up the half a dozen stairs to the grand columned porch, however, Jeeves suddenly detoured to the left. I tottered along unevenly after him, unaccustomed to the three-and-a-half inch heels that had also come in the box. Several times, Jeeves had to reach out a hand to steady me. He was gracious enough not to comment about it.
He guided me around a cobblestone pathway that led past the east wing of the house, right up to a small white door that had a little placard over top that read: Servant’s Entrance.
Were you even allowed to still have signs like that up these days? It was so not politically correct to call someone a servant.
But when Jeeves knocked once, the door was immediately opened by a plump white woman in her 50s, her graying red hair pulled back in a severe bun. She was wearing a starched gray dress with a white collar and a white apron, and she didn’t look happy to see me. In fact, she outright glared as she eyed me up and down.
“As soon as you step over this threshold,” she finally spoke, her words as severe as her hairstyle, “every moment will be a test. Just like you were tested from the moment you received the invitation.”
Her words took me aback and I looked to Jeeves, but his face was impassive, giving me no information one way or the other.
“The invitation told you to prepare yourself appropriately.” She gave me another long once over. “An instruction you failed.” She glared down at the tiny watch on her wrist. “There will barely be time to fix it in addition to the interview and the inspection.”
She glared over my shoulder at Jeeves. “You could have at least driven faster once you saw this disaster.” She gestured up and down at me.
“Hey,” I said, stepping up in Jeeves’ defense. “It wasn’t his fault. And I”—I cringed a little thinking of my raccoon eyes—“maybe if you could just help me take off some of the eye makeup?”
“You”—Mrs. Hawthorne’s eyes snapped back my direction—“silence from now on.” Her thick Irish accent made her statement come across even more authoritative.