Chapter XII

It was the weekend. Weekends were supposed to be fun! But I couldn't relax. Monday loomed overhead, like an inevitable storm, with lightning crackling in the distance. More spankings. I lifted the toilet seat in my en-suite bathroom, as I did every morning, to check for spiders. So far, I hadn't seen one, but Sam's words last week echoed in my mind every time I went to sit down. After using the toilet as fast as I possibly could, I changed out of my nightgown and into a pair of sweat pants. The thick padded training pants were at the bottom of my hamper, hidden from Sam's prying eyes. But she did my laundry... she'd figure it out sooner or later. Then there was a knock on my bedroom door. Maybe Sam, bringing me breakfast? But when I opened it, Cora looked down at me.

"Good morning, sunshine! Do you have any plans today?"

I never had plans. Sam was my only real friend, and she worked on the weekends. Thursdays and Fridays were her only days off, and I was usually so exhausted from work that I went straight to my room. Last night, I didn't even bump into her on my way upstairs.

"Um... no, I'm free. Why?"

"I have a lunch event to go to, and I'd love some company. If you don't mind."

"Oh. Uh. Sure?" Nothing else to do around here. And maybe I could discuss the spankings with her... maybe she could put a stop to them.

* * * * *

"You don't like it?" Cora had a way of pouting that was particularly adult, like she'd lost a bet on a horse-race or had to wear the same outfit twice in a row; dignified and not at all childish. Her little project stood there in front of the tri-fold mirror in the pretty party dress with dismay, and Cora knew she'd trapped her in social convention paralysis: she'd agreed to go, Cora had bought her a new dress to wear, and now there was no way she could tell Cora no... even if the dress made her look all of six.

"I... um..." I'd never been in Cora's bedroom before. It was huge - almost the size of my entire apartment back home. She had a king-sized bed on a polished oak frame, matching dressers, end tables, an armoire, an en-suite area for makeup, a bathroom, two walk-in closets... it took me a while to get over just how beautiful it looked. And how jealous I was. But when Cora held up a party dress for me - with bright pastel colors, frills along the sleeves, and a built-in petticoat - anxiety rose in my chest again. "It's not that, I just... it's..." It's childish, even by my standards! It's more childish than all the stuff I wore to work! But Cora had been so kind to me, and if I wanted her to help me with Mr. Gladstone... "It's very pretty. Thank you."

See? Behavior was an easy trait to modify - honestly, pets were harder than people and pets were pretty easy, too! "How have you been feeling lately, have you felt settled in? Sam seems to have adapted to a life of service very handily, too, isn't that lovely?" Cora mused to her ersatz daughter, while doing her hair.

"Oh, um..." Cora began brushing my hair while we spoke. I felt a weight in my chest... heavy, dense anxiety. "Actually, I... I haven't been feeling so well." "Oh no! Are you ill?" Cora put her hand to my forehead and I felt a bit of heat on my cheeks. "You seem alright," she said more to herself than to me. I shook my head and tried to explain again. "N-no, not like that. I just... I keep feeling like I'm... on edge? Like I'm going to screw up, or something's going to get me, or hurt me, or..." My thoughts went back to the spanking and tears welled up in my eyes.

"Well darling, isn't that a natural feeling for someone who came out of such a tough situation as the one you were in?" Right there, a critical reminder, framed in sweet tenderness. "I mean, one false step and the idea of going back to that life? A pariah, no prospects, no future? My heavens that must be so scary for you be shouldering such a burden!"

Cora's reminder was all it took for the dam to break. Tears started rolling down my cheeks and Cora pulled me into a hug, pushing my face into the top of her chest. No one hugged me like this anymore. Like they were protecting me from something. I was twenty-three. People don't protect twenty-three year olds... so I wrapped my arms around her and cried, cherishing the unfamiliar situation.

Some words were powerful, and while some silences could be empty, this wasn't one of those times: this was love, tender and warm, cherished and protective. A Mother’s Love. Cora held the weeping girl and played with her hair, feeling a tickling warmth in the pit of her own stomach - like any doubt she might ever have had about all of this was nothing but a distant memory. This was true. This was right.

It was embarrassing. I couldn't believe I'd cried like that! But this week had been so difficult. My anxiety had been so high. And Mr. Gladstone was always so strict, so concrete. He felt like an immovable force. Soon, my tears dried and I apologized: "Sorry for that... I appreciate everything you and Mr. Gladstone give me so much. I don't want you to think I'm unhappy..."

"Are you?" Cora asked, brushing Natalie's hair back behind her ear, "Are you unhappy? We've done our very best to make sure that isn't the case, even overlooked mistakes that we would have had to let anybody else go for having made. Are we not doing enough, Natalie?"

"No! I am! I'm so happy, and you're doing so much for me already!" I rubbed the tears from my eyes and shook my head in protest of my own emotions. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm just... emotional. I'm over it! Now we have a lunch to go to, right?" Cora gave me an awkward look, like she didn't quite believe me. But with a sigh, she returned to her task of pinning my hair up in fancy little clips. Once all was said and done, Cora had me wearing the silly party dress, a thin layer of makeup, and white childish tights. The girl in the mirror looked no more than ten years old…

The car was waiting out front, and even up until a week ago moving from the front door to the car when dressed like this could have spelled the end of the world for Natalie. Today, though, much to Cora's delight, she didn't seem the least bit ashamed; like being dressed this way was just... normal. And little did Natalie know, but Cora had every intent to make that very fact the truth.

I settled in to the vehicle as we drove down the street, toward the city. I didn't want to be seen like this, but so what if I was? I was out with my boss's wife - it's not like it could affect my professional life. And I didn't have any friends anymore. Maybe it would be like work, where my childish outfits made me more approachable. But despite all my rationalizations, I still had a tight anxiety in my stomach. We pulled up alongside a fancy looking restaurant - one I had never seen before - and Cora looked at me very seriously. "Now, you're my guest. But my world is far beyond anything you could imagine. One wrong word spells disaster. So under no circumstances are you allowed to speak. Just enjoy the expensive meal. Can you do that?" Not talk to old stuffy rich people? "Yeah, I can do that."

"No matter what is said, understand? Just smile and nod and be sweet for me." Now didn't that sound ominous? "No matter what is said"? But Cora had yet to lead Natalie astray and it didn't seem as though she was going to do so now, which did buy her a lot of trust credibility.

I climbed out of the car on the city streets. A few people turned their heads to me, and then went back to whatever they were doing. Maybe I passed as a kid or something? Ugh, what a terrible thought. Cora led the way into the building and past a series of double glass doors. The foyer of the restaurant was... amazing. Marble tile, granite counters, warm atmosphere... expensive. I could tell by the tablecloths, the padded seats, the napkins folded into triangles. A man greeted us in a tuxedo. For a lunch place? Cora was right... I was in over my head here.

The man led the two of them to a table, the sound of faint string music matched by the faint scent of lavender and the hushed tones of conversation. This place had no prices on the menus and no menus by default, either. Cora was seated, and Natalie seated adjacent to her - and not across. Clearly, she was seen as a child.

Cora looked down at her phone and I looked around the room. Everyone was elegantly dressed; suits, business skirts, gorgeous day-dresses. No one was dressed as brightly or childishly as me. I sunk into my seat to hide some of my outfit under the table. Whoever we were meeting, they weren't here yet. I turned to Cora to ask how long it would be, but she put her finger over her mouth, disapprovingly. Oh, right. No talking...

Waiters came by and filled glasses - wine for Cora, and what looked like... apple juice for Natalie. Sandwiches were placed on the table, too, little fingers of bread without crusts. Cora took one from the plate and gave it to her little follower - it seemed to have something creamy and something crunchy on it. Then she looked up with a smile at the others who arrived: six women in total, although there was very clearly a dichotomy at play here. Three adult looking women and three... who looked a lot like Natalie.

I looked at the older women. Or... older-appearing? It wasn't that the other three looked like children, exactly. They just... had a different aesthetic. Less businessy. Less serious. Less... mature. I bit my lip in confusion and looked up at Cora to explain the situation. Who were these people? Why did some of them dress so differently? But I couldn't ask, and Cora was already in full conversation. All I could do was listen...

"And you know how Immy can get without her Beki." One of the adult-looking women laughed, while the girl to her left - dressed in ribbons and lace - half smiled and half blushed. The women at the table laughed as they shared stories, and then the topic came around to Cora's companion - Natalie. "You know, Cora, you never told me how darling little Nattie is; will she be available to playdate this weekend with Etta? Immy will be there, and...?" One of the other women shook her head and piqued up. "Frannie won't be there, but she will next weekend?" And then the topic diverged back to scheduling and the lifestyles of the moderately wealthy.

Playdate? I looked at the three uniquely childish women in succession, each in frilly dresses of different colors. They had bows in their hair, bracelets on their wrists, and elegant makeup. They looked almost doll-like, actually, if you ignored the constant looking away and half-smiles. The weirder part was, though, that they didn't talk either. Were they workers? Did they get jobs in other companies the same way I got a job in Mr. Gladstone's? I had a lot of questions, but I'd have to wait to ask.

Perhaps the only thing more beautiful than the girls at the table was the food that came throughout the business lunch. Although each and every time something was brought out, it would be Cora or one of the other women who portioned and plated things up for the prettily dressed members of the table: including Natalie. Just little bits, small servings, but a lot of different dishes. By the time Cora was ready to leave with Natalie, it had to have been three hours or more.

The food was amazing, but the situation was awkward. Conversation never went past superfluous, "how is so and so" and "where did you get that necklace". But as the day went on, I grew more and more comfortable in my clothes; after all, the other three had it way worse! After Cora paid the bill with a silver credit card, we got up from the table and Cora said goodbye for us. "It was lovely seeing you all again. Next week, same time?" "Of course!" one of the women said with a smile. Next week, I definitely wasn’t coming back.