"Sure. And thanks." Marvella waved a hand in reply and turned back to her work. Terri couldn't call her Marvella. Not yet.
She felt jubilant as she walked down the hall to the elevator she had passed on the way up. For a moment she thought of finding her mother and telling her that she had gotten the job, but decided not to. She would drop it at the dinner table tonight, subtly, as though it was no big thing, just something that she deserved. Although Terri was surprised Marvella had chosen her, she didn't want Ann to know that. No, she would let Ann think that the real surprise would have come if Marvella had not offered her the job. That would piss her off royally.
The elevator doors opened, and Terri got on and pushed 1. The three story ride was slow, and Terri started to think about Dennis Hamilton. He was good looking, there was no doubt of that, and the way that he carried himself was a real turn-on – like someone born to be rich and famous. And too, when he had looked at her in the costume room, was she imagining it or had he examined her with more than ordinary interest? His smile had been very warm, and she was sure she had caught him, just for a moment, looking at her legs.
She giggled as the elevator doors opened, then stepped out into the large, elegant lobby, too busy with her thoughts to see the vast and priceless oriental rug over which she walked, the marble arches that spread over her, the Emperor looking down on her from the mezzanine balcony above.
~* ~
I shall have this one. Perhaps the mother later, but first the young one. I'll have her flesh, and with it I shall do whatever I want.
Whatever the Emperor wants.
Scene 10
That evening Marvella worked late in the costume shop. She wouldn't have normally, but Robin had sent a script down from New York by Federal Express. It was the script, the one that looked like the best possibility for production by the New American Musical Theatre Project, and Marvella decided immediately that she would have to see what pieces already existed for the 1930's American city milieu in which the show was set.
She had gone to the costume shop after dinner, climbed up the rickety stairway to the fifth-floor loft, and begun to go through the racks of unironed (and in many cases uncleaned) clothes that she had not yet explored. When she found a costume she thought might be serviceable, she threw it over the edge of the loft and let it float down to the floor of the shop below. By nine o'clock, when she paused to look over the edge, she discovered that she had quite a pile below, and decided to take a break.
Marvella always took her own coffee grinder and drip coffee maker wherever she went. To offer her coffee from a machine was tantamount to giving pork to a rabbi. It simply wasn't done, and no one did it twice. Now Marvella ground six scoops of Blue Mountain beans, one of the few luxuries she allowed herself, poured fresh water in the reservoir, turned the switch to on, and sat back for a minute while the coffee brewed and the air filled with its deliciously bitter-smelling steam.
The ragged bubbling had nearly stopped when the door to the costume room opened. "Looks like I'm just in time," said Sid, ushering Whitney, who was clad in pajamas and clutched a stuffed zebra, ahead of him.
"You want a cup?" Marvella asked.
"No thanks."
"Then what brings you here? And what brings the child?"
"I couldn't sleep, Grandma," Whitney said, going to her grandmother and attempting to put her little arms around her. "I missed you too much.”
“What's wrong with Sid?" asked Marvella, trying to sound stern.
"He's not as soft to hug."
"I guess I'll take that as a compliment. Okay, you can stay here for a while. I'll be through soon. Thanks, Sid."
"My pleasure. I can watch your TV as easy as mine. G'night." He gave Whitney a peck on the cheek and left.
"So what are you gonna do now?" Marvella asked her granddaughter.
"Just watch you. I'll watch you work, and then I can see what you do, and then when I'm old enough I can be your helper, like that new lady you hired." The girl walked over to the pile of clothes and started rummaging through them. "When can I meet her, Grandma?"
"Oh soon," Marvella sighed, sipping her black coffee with pleasure. "Real soon now."
~* ~
Soon, Grandma said. Everything was always soon, and Whitney was tired of "soon." Grandma would be done in the costume shop "soon," Whitney was going to go back to her mother "soon," Grandma would teach Whitney to sew "soon" as she had some time. Whitney gave a big, deep sigh, just the way she had seen the little girl on The Cosby Show do it, but Grandma didn't say anything, didn't ask her, like Bill Cosby always asked his little girl, what was wrong.
Maybe this new lady would be nice, Whitney thought. Maybe she'd want to do things now and not "soon." Grandma had said she was nice, and Whitney was anxious to meet her. So was soon tomorrow or next week or the week after, or…
No. Oh no. Soon was right now.
Whitney looked at her Grandma and saw that her back was to the lady, so she couldn't see her. But Whitney could, and knew that it had to be this Terri who Grandma had told her about at dinner. She had bright red hair, cut just below her ears, and glasses, but really pretty glasses that didn't make her look like an owl like some glasses did to people like Miss Franklin. She looked just like Grandma had said, only she wasn't crabby-looking at all. She was smiling at Whitney, a big, wide smile that showed all her teeth, and Whitney was surprised at how white her teeth were, almost like they were glowing.
The woman put a finger to her lips, as though she didn't want Whitney to tell her grandma that she was there, and winked at Whitney with her bright green eyes. Whitney winked back, and the woman smiled even more then, gestured over to the narrow stairway that led up to the loft, and began to tiptoe in that direction. She was a great tiptoer. Everybody made noise when they walked around the costume shop because the floor was so creaky, but Whitney couldn't hear the woman's footsteps at all, not even when she started up the stairway and beckoned to Whitney to follow her.
Whitney, in her own opinion, was a great tiptoer, since she was so light the floorboards refused to give beneath her. She held her breath as she followed the woman, around the pile of clothes, across the floor, and up the steps. Whitney couldn't see her now. She must have gotten to the top and turned to the left and was waiting for Whitney. What was she going to do? Some surprise for Grandma, that was it. Maybe they could scare her.
"Hello?" Whitney whispered, and clapped her hand over her mouth dramatically, the way she had seen the little girl on Cosby do it when she said something she shouldn't have.
"Whitney?" came her grandma's voice from below. "Where are you, honey?"
She had to answer. "Up here, Grandma. Just exploring."
"Well, you be careful and stay away from the edge. That banister's not much to speak of, so you stay back."
"I will, Grandma," she said. She was at the top of the stairs now, but still couldn't see the redheaded woman she had followed. On the left was the open area of the loft and a small work table, while to the girl's right were three racks of clothing parallel to the wall, so that only the front one was visible to Whitney. Where was the woman? Was she hiding behind one of those rows of clothes? Did she want Whitney to come and hide with her too? And then they could get Grandma to come up and look for them and jump out at her and scare her? That had to be it, and Whitney suppressed a giggle as she tiptoed across the boards of the loft, peering between the costumes that hung like dozens of scarecrows on the fat, steel pipes.
"Hello?" Whitney whispered again, softly enough this time so that she didn't have to put her hand over her mouth. But there was no answer. Okay then, Whitney would just have to find her.