The Gold Digger Ch. 04

Bob held up his hands. "I'm out of here, but I'll be back. You're a worthless, lying, conniving bitch, but you're my bitch." He turned and fled the room.

Carol followed him to the door. She shouted. "Bob! You're wrong! Please! I love you!" It didn't matter he wasn't listening.

She raced down the hallway that overlooked the living room. Crying uncontrollably she called after him. "Bob!" Bob! Please! Please wait!" She saw his rapidly moving frame pass through the living room and out the front door. There was a vicious slam.

She fell on the floor of the upstairs hallway. She beat her hands on the smooth carpet. "Bob. Oh Bob. Please no. Please no." She cried and whimpered. "Oh I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." She sat back up, in a kneeling position with her feet and lower legs spread outward and her ass resting on the floor between. Hands at her sides she wept bitter tears.

Carol spent the rest of the night lying on her bed crying. She looked at the bracelets around her wrists. She felt the necklace attached around her neck. They were his. He made her have them when the woman placed them on. She wore his name on her behind. It was his mark on her ass. Where was he? Why didn't he come back and claim what was his?

She cried to herself. How could she prove herself if he was never around? She needed him to be here. He needed to hear her side. It was a long lonely night, a long lonely night indeed.

The next morning Carol awakened feeling terribly sorry for herself. She'd ruined her career. She'd run off the one man who still might have had some respect for her, and she'd probably ruined her last chance at happiness. However, the day wore on. It was a bright sunny day. She reflected on what he'd said. He said he'd be back. He'd said she was a bitch. Sure she was a bitch, but she was his bitch. It wasn't over. She was down, down for the count, but she wasn't down and out. She wasn't done, not done yet, not by a country mile. She set herself some new goals. She'd stop being the conniving manipulator everyone knew she was. She would become a modern Minerva, a huntress. Bob didn't know it yet, but he was in trouble. She was resetting her sites. She wanted him. She had to think. She'd need a new arsenal; new arrows would fill her wily quiver. Bob was a keeper. She'd get him. She'd win her man. She didn't care what it might take. She was on the hunt. She was after Bob Metcalf. Once she'd made up her mind the day went a lot better.

After her second day alone she'd started wandering about the town visiting the shops, buying items here and there. The town was an artificial creation designed to attract tourism to the area. It was still a new concept in this neck of the woods. Few people stopped in. Wherever Carol went, and who ever Carol tried to talk to she was greeted by the same rock like emptiness the couple at the B&B treated her to. She wasn't mistreated, and no one said anything cruel or unkind. No one said anything. If she bought something, they smiled and thanked her but never went beyond the most perfunctory greetings or expressions of appreciation. They were all just too polite.

Carol didn't want for food or any other necessities. The clothing left in the wardrobe was clean, comfortable and casual, mostly denims and cottons. She liked it all, but there was no one to talk to. No one was around to tell her how pretty she was, and she knew she was pretty. The clothes were pretty. If someone would just say something? She missed the attention. She missed the deferential treatment. Mostly she missed Bob. She missed his presence. Yes, she missed the sex. Those first couple days in bed with Bob were great. Even a spanking would feel good now. Why hadn't she noticed Bob before getting into trouble? Why hadn't she paid any attention to him. She remembered now he'd tried to catch her eye. She recalled how he'd been extra nice to her, holding the elevator door, letting her up ahead in the cafeteria lunch line, even bringing her coffee when he was technically her boss. Before the incident he'd never been too busy for her. She'd blown him off like a wet sneeze. She thought about that stuff a lot now. She had the time. Bob had liked her. He had tried to get her attention. She treated him like he was some kind of limp noodle. Brother was she ever wrong. Bob certainly proved to be anything but a limp noodle. He had what it takes, and not just in bed. He was kind and considerate. She realized that now, now that it was probably too late. No she wasn't locked in a high rise suite with a collar around her neck and hands cuffed behind her back, but she knew she was caged. Her purgatory was just a little larger now. Where was Bob? Why didn't he come back? Why didn't he at least call?

Bob was coming to a decision. He needed time away from Carol. He seriously doubted if she and Hank had anything going on when he barged in. He saw the torn pajamas. He saw the fear in her eyes. His reaction had been reflexive. His dislike for Hank and he feelings for Carol had congealed. Hank got a bloody nose. Carol got a vicious dressing down. He needed to think this through, and he realized she needed an opportunity to see how the other half lived. To that end he made arrangements for her to gain experiences of a sort that might give her a different perspective on her circumstances and things in general. He had something in mind.

After a fortnight at the bed and breakfast a car drove up. It carried a message and a messenger. Carol was to prepare herself for another trip. This time she would be going even further afield than before. She was to leave dressed as the messenger found her and to take nothing else with her. She got in the back seat, all the windows were rolled up and heavily tinted, her seat was a deep plush, very comfortable, fifteen minutes on the road and she was asleep. Late in the afternoon the car pulled up in front of a very large very stately old hotel, it was one of those old hotels that had been constructed back near the end of the Nineteenth Century. More than fifty rooms, a vast and beautiful green lawn, enormous old shade trees, tastefully pruned flower beds, occasional ponds, and strategically placed gazebos. It was beautiful. Encircling the building was a wide hardwood veranda accoutered with dozens of oak rocking chairs, rich looking tables, chairs, and gliders. The whole scene was like something from an elegant by gone age.

The driver opened Carol's door, awakened her with a tap on the shoulder and announced. "Where here."

Carol brushed the sleep from her eyes and looked out at the panorama. "Where is here?" She asked.

"This is where I leave you." The driver reached in and helped her get out. "Over toward your left you'll see a door. That's where you should go."

"Please tell me where I am?" Carol asked again.

"You'll find out." Was all that the driver answered, returning to the front of the car, he got in and drove away.

Carol looked for and found the door. Well she thought, here we go again. She went up to the door and knocked. After perhaps ten minutes and two more knocks someone responded.

"Can I help you?" said a prim looking young woman dressed in a maid's uniform.

Carol responded. "I hope so. My name is Carol Lambert, and I've been brought here. I am an associate of a gentleman named Bob Metcalf."

"Wait here." Was the response from the maid, she closed the door.

After perhaps another ten minutes an older, austere looking woman opened the door. She held out her hand. "Yes. We've been expecting you." She held the door open for Carol to enter.

Carol walked past the woman and peered about. Intricate little wall lamps stationed about four feet apart down the length of a long white corridor lighted the hall. It had a hardwood floor with an aged looking carpet runner. Carol turned and looked at the older woman. "Could you please help? I don't seem to know where I am."

The older woman gave no hint of having heard what she said. Carol noticed she was wearing a black satin dress. It had long black sleeves with what looked to like three-inch stiff lace-trimmed cuffs and a high ruffled collar. The hem came down to mid calf, and she had on black laced high-heeled shoes with black nylons. She gave the appearance of someone who had just emerged from an old Gothic Novel. She had a calm but disquieting demeanor. "It's not important to know where you are. Do you know why you're here?" She asked.

Carol answered. "I haven't a clue."

The woman told her. "You're here to work. We're currently short of domestic help and you've been sent to help fill the gap. We're at the beginning of our busy season so you'll have a lot to do. We've decided to start you as a chambermaid and general housekeeper. You'll be assigned several rooms, and it will be your responsibility to keep them spotlessly clean, that will include the linens, the bathrooms, as well as the floors, windows, furniture, and curtains. Most of your mornings will be dedicated to your rooms. After a lunch break you'll receive additional orders each day depending on where our needs are the greatest. That could include the laundry but I doubt it, most likely it will entail vacuuming floors, collecting dirty plates, cups, and bowls, emptying ashtrays, dusting for cobwebs, and cleaning up after the guests if there's an accident. In the evening you will be expected to bust tables in the dining hall. At that time you'll be afforded a short break to eat yourself. At no time are you to talk to any of the guests beyond a yes, no, or thank you. There will be some exceptions. If a guest needs you to carry something, help with something, or help with directions you are to drop everything and serve them. At all times avoid direct eye contact; be polite, quiet, considerate, and obsequious. The entire time you're on duty you'll be in the presence of our clientele. You are here to wait on and serve those people. If you fail to live up to our standards, or make an avoidable mistake you'll be punished. Your colleague." She placed added emphasis on the term colleague to remind Carol they knew of her relationship with Bob. "Has informed us that you are accustomed to various forms of physical discipline. We try to avoid spanking, but if you fail to measure up, you'll be given the cane, and caned in front of any guest your conduct offended. How severe the caning is will always be at the discretion of the guest. I don't expect any punishments. However, some of our older guests are a bit rigid in their expectations. This is just a warning so you'll know there are consequences for everything you do, and that will include rewards for exceptionally good service. We have special treats for our exceptional staff members. Treats I'm sure you'll like."

Carol listened. They knew Bob. He had told them about her, at least that he'd spanked her. She surmised Bob had hired her out as a form of punishment, or more accurately as a way to humble her. She wasn't worried about that. She knew she could handle most anything that was dished out. Her only real concern was that she not be used sexually. Since that one drunken night and subsequent humiliation she'd more or less considered herself Bob's. Not Bob's because of some stupid tattoo, but Bob's because she wanted to be his. Since that night and the loss of her status he had become the center of her world. Did she love him? She was pretty sure. She thought she did. He said he couldn't trust her, the thing with Hank didn't help, but if he'd thought about, and she was sure he had, she'd already gone the distance. She'd allowed the tattoo, and she'd signed off on all but her most essential personal freedoms. If all that wasn't a commitment to him, she didn't know what was.

Carol had drifted off, and the woman had asked her something.

"Have you eaten?" Asked the woman.

Carol answered. "No, and I'd like to use the bathroom if that's all right."

The woman gave her a puzzled look. "That remark wasn't meant to be intemperate was it?"

Carol answered as sincerely as she could. "Oh no. I just didn't want to sound demanding."

The woman gave her a smile. "Good. By the way I'm your supervisor. My name is Ruth, but when you're working with our public you'll refer to me Miss Ruth. All our guests should be referred to as either miss or sir. Occasionally a guest will ask that you use their name. Always preface a female name with miss and a sir should follow the name of a male. This is not to embarrass you. You'll find the bulk of our guests are much older, and they appreciate a little deference. They feel they've earned it, and you'll find the greater deference you give them the greater their respect will be for you."

Carol smiled at Ruth. "Yes Miss Ruth."

Ruth smiled back. "That's nice. Let me show you your room. We'll get you something to eat, and get you dressed. Later this afternoon we'll give you some time on the floor." She turned and started to walk away. Looking back she said. "Follow along."

Ruth took Carol upstairs. "This is your room." She said. "Down the hall is a bathroom you share with the other maids. While you clean up and get changed I'll send someone up with something for you to eat."

The room was tiny, not much more than a closet. It had a narrow bed; a clothes rack with several uniforms, a small chest, and a sink, a full-length wall mirror, nothing more. She opened the chest found a cleaning kit, tiny robe, and a towel. She took the kit, robe, and towel down the hall where she showered and returned. Reopening the chest she found a bra and a pair of panties. Both were her size. The bra was simple and comfortable. The panties were equally comfortable, but they were copiously trimmed in lace around the rear. Both bra and panties were white. A delicate pink bow trailed off near the bottom of the panties. She also found several beautiful, very feminine, white camisoles, trimmed in lace. She put one of them on as well. It fit comfortably, and peering in the mirror she thought she looked very pretty in it. She pulled one of the uniforms off a hanger and held it up. It was a simple, mid thigh, modified French maid's affair. It was nothing like what she'd worn at the B&B. This outfit had three quarter length sleeves with stiffly starched white wrist cuffs that were trimmed in lace. Both shoulders were slightly capped and trimmed in small black ruffles. It dress buttoned up the front, and had a bright white well starched peter-pan collar, also modestly trimmed in lace. She thought the collar was too tight and too stiff. The dress, excepting the cuffs and collar was black. She found a bright white apron that she had to pull down over her shoulders. It fit comfortably in front. It was tied off with a fancy bow in the back. Last was a pair of black stockings and black patent leather two-inch high-heeled shoes. Once dressed Carol stood and looked herself in the full-length mirror. She looked the very prim and proper maid, like something out of a Victorian novel. Then taking a ribbon she tied her hair back in a braided bun. She sat on the side of the bed and awaited any food Ruth might send up.

Shortly another woman dressed as she was appeared with a tray. It looked delicious but looks can be deceiving. It was freshly broiled fish, hot spinach, mashed potatoes, a half-pint of skim milk, and jello. Though tasteless she wolfed it down like a hungry tiger. Also on the tray was a small envelope. Opening it Carol read, report to the west veranda. Well thought Carol, it was time to go to work.

Taking a small map also in the envelope Carol found the west veranda. One of the other women dressed as she was smiled. She said. "Finally."

As the other started to walk off Carol asked. "What am I supposed to do?"

The other woman turned and answered. "Don't worry. You'll find out."

No sooner had the other woman spoken then Carol got her first notification regarding her new responsibilities.

An elderly woman from the distant end of the porch called out. "You! Girl!"

Carol looked down the length of the porch and saw her. She had to be ninety if she was a day. She had her left hand in the air waving toward her. Carol scooted down the porch.

The old woman whispered. "Oh you're a good girl. Get me a frappe, and a blanket. I'm cold and thirsty."

Carol looked at the porch thermometer. It read eighty-three degrees. Who was she to argue? The woman said she was cold. Using her politest possible voice Carol asked. "I'm new here miss. Could you tell me where the blankets are, and what's a frappe?"

The old woman laughed. "A frappe is a sweet fizz drink. You get them right inside. Get me a cherry. Comforters are on the inside as well, along a wall."

Carol smiled at the old woman. She didn't know why but she curtsied. "Thank you miss. I'll be right back." She scurried off to get the items.

Carol couldn't have been absent more than five minutes, but when she got back there were three more old ladies and two old men sitting with the first woman. Carol tucked the blanket around the woman, and handed her the sweet drink. The old woman smiled. "Thank you dear. What your name?"

Carol answered. "You're welcome miss. My name is Carol."

The old woman was sipping her drink through a straw. She stopped and said. "You're a sweet girl Carol."

Carol thanked her.

Another woman gave Carol a twinkly smile. "Could I have a drink also."

A third woman chimed in. "I want one too."

Carol held up her hand. Smiling she said. "Why I don't I bring everyone a drink?"

One of the old men posited. "Tell em you want a cart."

Carol, not knowing exactly why, curtsied again. "Thank you sir. I'll do just that." She stood there and made a deliberate count. "Let's see. I'll need six more drinks."

The first woman looked at her. "There's only five more people."

Carol smiled at the old lady. "You might want another." She curtsied for the third time and dashed off inside.

It took no time at all and Carol was back with six fresh frappes. She handed one to each person, and gave her first customer her second drink. She asked. "Will there be anything else?"

Her first old customer said. "Come over here Carol and sit beside me."

Carol slipped over and scooched down on the hardwood floor beside the old woman. The old woman asked. "Tell us about yourself Carol."

Carol answered. "Well there's not much to tell." She went on to very briefly describe her childhood, education, and business career. Since no one seemed to be listening very closely she didn't need much detail.

The old woman with the questions reached down and gave her a gentle pat on the head. "You're a good little girl. I want you to wait my table tonight at dinner." The old woman looked away lost in thought.

None of the other people seemed to have any more interest. Carol quietly got up and walked toward the other end of the porch. Carol considered. This is what it's like to be old, really old.

Throughout the rest of the afternoon Carol found herself picking up dropped items, cleaning up small accidents, and running small errands for a variety of people for a variety of things. Nothing she did was especially hard, but they sure kept her busy. There seemed to be a steady flow of old people coming in and out to the porch. As long as she was extra polite and curtsied every now and then everyone seemed to be very happy. Around 5:00 the porch emptied. Ruth appeared and told her she had twenty minutes to eat before dinner would be served in the main hall. Carol told her about the woman who wanted her to wait her table. Ruth said not to worry she was sure the woman would have forgotten by dinnertime.

Carol went inside and had her dinner, this time it was tasteless chicken, cooked carrots, sliced boiled potatoes, and more skim milk. Dinner for the guests was the same fair. Carol moved about the tables assisting six other maids as they brought the foods, the waters, and desserts. Dessert this evening was a single scoop of orange sherbet. She realized she was being asked to serve and work at what was probably a very high priced nursing home. Dinner went off with out a hitch, but she had to admit she was getting tired.