There was a brief hesitation, and I could feel her eyes on me again, probably trying to gauge if I was serious. I was.
"If that's what you want," she said slowly, placing the bags down near the door. She stood there for a second longer than necessary before nodding again, almost to herself, and walking out. The door clicked shut, and I was finally alone again.
Good.
After a few more minutes of staring at the flowers below, now neatly trimmed by the gardeners, and with Blanche out of sight. Which was good, because I didn't feel like dealing with her aimless pacing or the hollow sound of her voice carrying up to the balcony anymore.
I stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray, twisting it until the last ember died, then grabbed my glass and drained what was left of the wine in one smooth gulp. The faint burn in my throat was the only thing I'd enjoyed all day.
Stepping back into the room, I pressed the button near the bed without hesitation. Tiffany appeared a few moments later, as expected.
I flopped onto the bed, letting my arm stretch lazily toward the vanity. My fingers brushed the edge of her dress, and for a moment, I debated whether to grab the hairbrush or just lie there and wait for something to happen.
Tiffany moved closer, hovering as though moving around would help her decipher what I was stretching out my hand for. Then i watched as she walked back to the table grab the hairbrush, while I exhaled and slowly held the ribbon holding my ponytail and tugged it loose.
"Let me do it for you, Miss Blakely" she said quickly, already reaching for the chair and drawing it back a bit like she had the authority to make that decision.
I sat up, glaring at her like she'd just lost her mind. "Do I look like I'm handicapped?" I snapped.
Her hand froze mid-air, the hairbrush dangling awkwardly. She blinked, clearly caught off guard, and then quickly shook her head. "I apologize, Miss Blakely," she stammered, and is sure showed in how she squeezed the brush to force out the words . "It's just—you look tired, and I thought I could help. I'm good at scalp massages. My father always says they're the best after work—"
I cut her off with a scoff, rolling my eyes. "How sweet. Do I look like your father?" I leaned back into the bed, crossing one leg over the other as I stared her down.
She hesitated, swallowing whatever reply she'd been about to offer, and just stood there, clutching the brush harder like it was a lifeline.
I sighed dramatically and stood up from the bed, dragging my feet toward the vanity chair. I dropped into it without grace, resting my arms on the chair's sides as I glanced at her reflection again. "If you're going to keep breathing down my neck, make it worth my time."
She nodded quickly and moved behind me, starting to brush my hair. Her strokes were careful, probably afraid I'd snap again, but I barely cared. Let her earn her paycheck.
---------
Tiffany brushed my hair in slow, deliberate strokes, the bristles dragging smoothly from my scalp to the ends. She was annoyingly careful, as if one wrong move might cost her job. At first, I found it tedious, but after a few minutes, something about the rhythmic motion started to feel… soothing.
Her fingers moved to my scalp, massaging gently, and my head tilted slightly without meaning to. The pressure was just right—not too hard, not too soft—and it felt like she knew exactly where to press. My eyelids fluttered, and I caught myself slipping, my body leaning forward slightly before I jerked myself upright.
"Hey, I've got other works for you" I said, not bothering to look at her.
"Yes, Miss Blakely?" she replied, her hands pausing for a second before resuming.
I waved her off lazily. "That's enough. You can clean up the stuff at the balcony now."
She stepped back, brushing aside a strand of hair that had fallen over my shoulder. "Of course."
I turned my head slightly, catching her reflection in the mirror as she moved toward the table. "After you get that done," I added, "visit Platinum 88. The boss has something to give you for me. Whatever it is, make sure it gets here exactly the way it leaves the store. No scratches. No dents, and definitely not opened or I'll have your head,. literally. Do you understand?"
She nodded quickly, rushing into the balcony and. gathering the bottle and cork. "Yes, Miss Blakely."
She was almost at the door when I stopped her again. "And…"
She turned, her hands still holding the ashtray and bottle carefully. "Yes, Miss Blakely?"
"Your absence shouldn't be noticed," I said firmly, My mother may have seem like she was about to get herself drunk to stupor in the painting room or something, but I assure you, that woman knows just how many servants goes in and out of the house. Of course she'll noticed that I've sent my personal maid Out and she'll be curious as to why.
Her eyes widened slightly, but she nodded again. "Of course," she replied, her voice quieter this time.
I leaned back, letting her leave without another word. Once the door clicked shut behind her, I stood up, stretched, and walked to my bed. It was as soft and inviting as ever, and I didn't think twice before climbing in.
Sure, she was irritatingly good at her job, I'd give her that much. For once, the tension in my head had eased, and no intrusive thoughts was bugging my sanity. I rested my head on the pillow, letting out a soft breath as I sank into the sheets. It wasn't long before my eyes closed completely, hoping Tabitha realises why Tiffany was there and why I urgently needed what she had to offer.