Skyfall

I closed the door behind me and looked around. A four poster bed draped in red velvet and gold silk took up much of the room and two doors led off of the south end. My toes sank into the same patterned carpet from the hall, and I winced as my injured foot brushed against the fibres. Large paintings in gilded frames hung on the mahogany panelling, depicting abstract landscapes. There was a window overlooking the city, and I approached it. I didn’t have much of a view, just the next skyscraper over, a behemoth of shining steel and glass. I pressed my hands and face to the glass, trying to see the ground. But forty stories up, the only thing I could see was the infinite smog.

I abandoned the window, deciding to investigate the two doors. One led to a bathroom with a large marble tub lined with bottles and bottles of expensive shampoos and lotions. The other door led to an enormous walk in closet. Lines and lines of silky clothes hung from clothes hangers and shoes lined the walls like soldiers. I pulled a random shoe - a red stiletto - onto my uninjured foot, testing a hunch. The shoe fit perfectly, and I threw it back onto the shelf.

I wasn’t the first mistress to live in this room.

Mr Nova and young Master Louis Nova had gone shopping for a woman with specific measurements; I apparently fit them. And Louis staring at me? I was willing to bet that I looked like his old purchase.
I slammed the door to the closet. Spring for a new wardrobe, Nova! He looked rich enough to buy anything he wanted, so why was he stingy when it came to clothes?

I was reminded of the butler’s last words to me. I entered the bathroom again, searching for the object of my desire. I was halfway through the stocked cupboards when I heard my bedroom door open and close again.

“Mistress, if you could come out here please.”

It was a woman’s voice. I padded out of the bathroom.

“Oh, you’re a beauty,” the same woman continued. There were four of them, holding various cases and implements. “Occasionally there’s a gem found in the Salesrooms and the lads came back with a diamond.”

“Who are you?” I asked.

As soon as I asked, I realised that they must be servants. All four of them were plain, with mousy brown hair pulled up into tight buns. They were dressed in black dresses and flat shoes. They looked deliberately unattractive.

“We’re here to prepare you for the Master tonight,” the same woman continued. “My name is Calista.”

I eyed her off.

“I’m Alexa,” I replied warily.

“I know,” she said, the other women beginning to set up a small workstation in the middle of the bedroom. “Mr Nova sent your details through as you travelled here.”

“Ok,” I watched the women work. “What do you mean, prepare me?”

Calista steered me towards a chair in front of a mirror. She plonked me down in it and immediately began to brush my hair.

“A beautiful shade,” she said admiringly, pulling the brush through my long brown hair. “We’re cleaning you up to make you presentable.”

“I am presentable,” I protested. “I’ve already been cleaned today.”

“For the Salesroom,” Calista replied, as if that negated the cleaning. “We’re preparing you for the Master.”

I met my reflection’s eyes. Grey eyes with flecks of black, long brown hair with highlights that gleamed gold and auburn in the light, a straight nose that had never been broken and full lips that I’d inherited from a mother I’d never met.

“Why?” I asked Calista’s reflection. “Preparing me for what?”

The other women smirked and even Calista pressed her lips together in what can only be described as a smile.

“Why else would a man visit a woman in the night?” she replied.

I ground my teeth. I’d known anyway.

“Have you ever known a man before?” one of the woman asked me.

“No,” I replied, resisting the urge to add ‘duh’. “We’re not allowed to in the Salesroom.”

I didn’t add that some of the Salesmen and Watchmen ignored that rule and visited the other women. I didn’t know why, but they’d always left me alone. I was grateful.

Calista began to roll my hair up in curlers.

“Has Master Louis?” I asked her, sarcasm dripping heavily from the words.

“No,” Calista said. “He has only just turned eighteen.”

“So? Doesn’t mean he hasn’t.”

“Well, let me put it this way,” Calista pinned the curlers in place and I winced against the tug on my scalp. “He hasn’t in this house. The servants know everything.”

That made sense. When someone thought you were too stupid to understand or listen, they didn’t take the precautions they should. For example, I learnt that one of the Salesmen was cheating on his wife with one of the women I was being sold with. All this whilst washing the laundry as he stood outside chatting to a Watchman. When we told the woman he was cheating with that he was married, she injured him. Badly. We didn’t see Casey for a long time after that; the older women wouldn’t tell me what they’d done to her.

I shuddered as Calista began to unroll my hair from the curlers. My long, shining hair bounced around my face in long waves, with some of the curls retaining their shape perfectly. One of the women promptly sprayed my hair with hairspray and I coughed as I accidentally inhaled. My face had been painted and made up so I looked more like a doll than a woman. One of Calista’s women had raided the closest and found a lacy negligee that left little to the imagination. They coaxed me into it, and stepped back to admire me.

“Perfect,” Calista said, her eyes lingering on my curves. “He’ll be here in a few minutes; don’t mess up your hair.”

They packed up their equipment and left as quickly as they’d arrived. As soon as the door closed I was back in motion.

I darted in to the bathroom, this time finding the scissors as soon as I opened the first cupboard. Tiny little nail scissors, this’d take a bit longer than I’d hoped.

I bunched my glossy hair in my fist, and then began to hack with the scissors. Locks of my hair fell to the shining floor, still curled and styled. When I was done, my hair hung raggedly at my chin, still slightly curled. I had a wild look in my eye, and I was grinning like a lunatic. I filled up the sink with water and dunked my head in, washing out the hairspray and the rest of the curls.

I hurried to the closet, feeling the pressure. I dug through the silky, useless garments until I reached everyday wear. I pulled out a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt. Much less sexy, but not enough.

The door opened as someone entered without knocking. I was out of time.