Chapter IV

"What's with the outfit?" "Huh? Oh..." I looked down at the capri pants and the rainbow tee. "There's no way you went to work dressed like that," Sam said seriously, like I'd just jeopardized my entire career or something. "No, of course not. But everyone thought I was standoffish or whatever, so I changed. And they responded a lot better to these clothes, so..." I shrugged my shoulders and sat on the edge of Sam's bed. Her room was a little smaller than mine, with a little less attention to detail. To top it off, she had a twin sized bed. Poor girl.

"Well, I'm glad that you were off getting to dress cute and meet new friends in the office. Do you wanna know what I did today?" Sam was using smaller words, struggling with keeping her breath in longer sentences because of the corset, but she actually seemed to be taking it in stride! "I learned how to breathe again. And then I dusted a library. Did you know they have a library and that every book needs to be dusted individually?"

"That sucks." "You have no idea. And now I have to go downstairs and make you dinner." "No you don't. I'll order a pizza or something. I can afford it now." I got up from her bed and led the way down the stairs. She struggled with each step, like they were as much a burden to descend as they were to climb. And worse yet, we had to go down two flights before we hit the foyer. Big houses, lots of walking. Maybe that's how rich people stay thin.

"I'm really supposed to be making food for you," Sam protested, though it was half-hearted, like she wanted to be talked out of this. "They want you to feel cared for and looked after, and for me to learn 'servitude humility' whatever that means, something about us not seeing each other on the same station... or something." Sam thought it was dumb. Sam was getting paid a lot to not care.

"Well, that's super sweet of Mr. Gladstone, but I don't need to be looked after." Just as I turned the corner in the foyer, I nearly bumped right into a maid. She was older, shorter, and rounder than me, with brown hair pulled back in a bun. She was holding a silver tray in her arms and wore irritation on her face. "Oh, um. Sorry..."

"That's quite alright, Lady Anderson, my apologies for being so careless.” She was kind and sweet and Italian, but her tone shifted dramatically when talking to Sam. "Samantha, have you prepared dinner for the Little Miss yet? You seem to be bumbling about and wasting her precious time."

"Oh, uh, well Sam and I are going to order some pizza actually. So there's no need to make me any dinner." I said it with a smile, but the middle-aged woman shook her head and clicked her tongue like I'd said the silliest thing in the world.

"Samantha, one of your duties is to provide nutritional meals to your Little Miss, and ordering greasy and carbohydrate laden pizza will give her curves where she doesn't want them. Get to the kitchen and make her a meal." Ordinarily, Sam would have been a living sass machine and not taken that kind of response. But she mumbled her agreement before taking off to the kitchen.

"I... what?" Sam turned on her heel and went into the kitchen again and I stood dumbfounded in the foyer. What just happened? I found the power to move my feet and hurried after the maid and my best friend. "I can make my own decisions about what I eat. And I want pizza. Come on Sam, let's go."

"Nata-" The older maid clucked her tongue and Samantha winced, pouting. "I mean, Lady Anderson," Sam corrected herself, with one hand balled into a fist at her side, clearly unhappy. "I'm on work hours, and it would be unprofessional of me to simply abandon my duties..." Her words were uncertain, unpracticed, said through gritted teeth, but also with a look of hopefulness for approval up at her supervisory matron.

"You don't have to call me that," I said with about as much annoyance as Sam, but the old woman corrected me. "It's the rules of Mr. Gladstone. You wouldn't want to violate his rules, would you?" I looked down at her serious expression, then up at my friend. If Sam didn't follow the rules, she would get fired. If she got fired, what would happen to me? Suddenly my annoyance turned to worry. "Oh..."

"Manners and etiquette are not a sometimes thing, Lady Anderson. For help in the employ of Mr. Gladstone, this is a way of life. Please do your best to be strict on Samantha; it's taking her some time to adjust. Now, what were your plans?" For Sam to make dinner. That was the one right answer.

"I guess Sam can make dinner," I said quietly, at my feet. I looked up to see my best friend roll her eyes. She was annoyed. She didn't want to be doting on me. But I didn't want her to dote on me either! But my job... ugh this was a mess.

"I don't even know how to cook," Sam lamented to her best friend, although by then a half hour had passed - Natalie had gone up to her room, Sam had gone to the kitchen, then Natalie had snuck back down to talk to her. Even now, she was obviously nervous because she hid in the doorway. Sam, to her credit, seemed to be doing quite a good job, because Sam full-well knew how to cook; she just hated doing it.

"What are you making, anyway?" "Grilled fish and green beans." "I don't like either of those things," I said sourly. But what Mr. Gladstone had said rang in my head. They were giving me a place to live. They were giving me a job. The least I could do was eat some green beans. But fish? Ick...

"It's what's on your meal plan," Sam offered, like knowing that fact would help in the slightest little bit to the fact her best friend wouldn't like any of the meal presented. "Mr. Gladstone said it would be good for your temperament and your skin and hair and stuff." There was definitely something in her tone, something... beaten down. Like Sam was already accepting her role here.

"Why does this guy care so much about what I do?" "Investment in an employee?" "Maybe," I sighed. After all, I was a pretty big investment. But I would never take such an interest in my employees. Maybe it was just the way he was... "Cora took me shopping today, and I had a pretty good time. I like her attitude. She does what she wants."

"Yeah? You do what you want, too. What's gonna happen if what she wants and what you want are different?" Sam didn't sound bitter, though, as easily as she might have when saying that. Instead, she sounded... concerned.

Was she trying to poke holes in this? We had a good thing going. Yeah, we couldn't order pizza. But we were making a ton of money here and we didn't even have bills to pay! "Don't worry about me," I told Sam. "At least I don't have to cook my own meals." Yeah, it was a cheap shot.

"You think I want to be doing this, Nat?" Calling her Nat was a risky move, but she was emotional. "You think I want to be a maid for my best friend?” One of the other maids came out of the walk in with some supplies in her hand, smiled silently, and walked out of the kitchen. It seemed to take away the wind in Natalie's sails.

“I didn’t say you did,” I said flatly. But the silence had grown too heavy between us. “Whatever,” I muttered, and left my best friend alone in the kitchen. We had spats all the time, I wasn't worried about it. By the time she came upstairs with the tray in her hands, we were back to normal. Two friends. But one thing was different - this time, when I avoided my green beans, it was Sam who said something. "Finish your food, Natalie." And out of courtesy for her cooking, I did.