| The doorbell rang and Barbara Bentley moaned, lifted her black silk eyeshade, and glanced at the clock on her nightstand. 8:00 a.m. She frowned with frustration. Who on earth would be rude enough to ring the doorbell at this ungodly hour on a Friday morning, a full hour before her usual wake-up time unless she was going to work out at the country club?
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She shut her eyes and listened. Maybe, just this once, the temporary housekeeper would do something right and answer the damn door. Her husband was at work, and Phyllis, their regular housekeeper, was on her annual two-week vacation visiting her family in Bermuda. The new woman was never where she should be or doing what she should be doing. She was lazy and worse, she blasted that horrid hip-hop music when she worked. Barbara didn't understand how the agency could send out such shiftless help.
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The chime rang again. Barbara hissed between clenched teeth and tossed the silk sheets aside. "Trifling woman," she muttered. She slipped her toes into a pair of sensible black velvet Stubbs & Wootton slippers and grabbed her bathrobe from the foot of the bed.
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The floor-length robe flowed behind her as she strode briskly down the hallway and glanced in each bedroom, looking frantically for the help. Barbara worried that she was not presentable, with her hair in rollers and cream on her face. She had to find the help. What was that woman's name again? Aleesha or something. The new ones all had such odd names.
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Aleesha was not in any of the seven bedrooms or the kitchen or the family room below. Nor was she in the great room. Barbara walked quickly back toward the kitchen, and as she entered, she heard a thump behind the closed door of the laundry room. Could Aleesha be doing the laundry? Miracles did happen, Barbara thought wryly.
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She walked past the granite kitchen countertops, opened the door to the laundry room, and jumped back a foot. Aleesha was spread out on the floor with her legs wrapped tightly around a young man. The two tan bodies were so absorbed in each other that they didn't even notice Barbara standing there. Then Barbara saw something totally appalling. They were having sex atop her precious $1,500 Pratesi sheets! Barbara gasped.
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"What the devil is going on here?!"
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Aleesha and her guest scrambled to stand up. Barbara clenched her fists and glared in fury as Aleesha tugged her denim skirt down and the young man zipped his blue jeans. Barbara had been reluctant to keep the woman when the agency first sent her. She'd had a bad feeling about her. Aleesha had the exotic sensual look that often came from mixed Hispanic and African-American ancestry and she was no more than twenty-five. The last thing Barbara needed around her wayward husband's roving eye was some pretty young thing like this. Attractive younger women never went unnoticed by Bradford, and they generally found her husband-a dashing, wealthy black business owner-hard to resist when he laid on the charms.
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But she had learned that Aleesha was married so Barbara thought it was safe. Aleesha's young Hispanic husband picked her up and dropped her off for work every day, but this young man, with a short Afro and goatee, was not Aleesha's husband. The saddest part was that Barbara didn't dare fire the woman, even now, even after this. Who would do the laundry, make the beds, and cook the meals? She couldn't possibly keep a seven-bedroom, eight-bath home clean herself. She would call and have the agency send a replacement as soon as possible, but for now she wanted Aleesha to get to work.
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Barbara turned her attention to the young man. "You!" she exclaimed between clenched teeth. "Get out of my house now. And use the back entrance." Barbara pointed hastily toward the kitchen door, and he ran past her.
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"And you, Aleesha," she said as the woman reached for her G-string from atop the washing machine. "Get back to work this minute."
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"My name is Ayisha, miss."
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"Whatever!" Barbara glared at her with icy eyes. "Just get back to work. And pick my damn Pratesi sheets up off the floor!"
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Barbara stormed out and raced to the front door just as the chime rang for the third time. "Slut!" she murmured as she yanked the sponge rollers from her hair. She took a deep breath to calm herself then opened the door only to see a courier heading back down the walkway. He turned when he heard her, ran back, and handed Barbara a letter-size envelope. It was a rich creme-colored linen paper with a gold-embossed script addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Bradford Bentley of Silver Lake, Maryland. Barbara thanked the courier and shut the door against the chilly spring air.
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She turned the envelope over. There was no return address. How odd, she thought, as she stuck a perfectly manicured forefinger, courtesy of Pearl's Salon and Spa, beneath the flap and tore the envelope open.
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It was an invitation to a formal housewarming party the next Saturday from their new mysterious neighbors down the block, the ones building the mega mansion reminiscent of a French chateau. Construction had begun almost a year ago and now looked near completion.
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