From beneath the table, his foot tapped at mine. I tapped him back, grinning, and then I lifted my heels off the ground and touched the toe of my shoes against his pants. I lifted, slightly, just a playful nudge. The front of my heels pressed against his sock, then his bare skin, up along his shin.
He grinned at me and shook his head slightly, almost imperceptibly. I grinned back. Beatrice continued talking.
I had wanted to leave, but now I didn't. I would stay and listen and do this. I would answer Beatrice's prying questions and try my best to make her happy. Not because I liked her, because I was fairly sure I didn't, but because it was what I felt like I should do.
I wanted so desperately to make Asher happy and to see him smile.
His Absolute Indulgence
Once dinner ended, the torture began.
Dinner was delicious, I reminded myself. I tried to think of the chicken cordon bleu, with butter braised asparagus and fresh made biscuits. Dessert consisted of homemade vanilla bean ice cream topped with cherries jubilee, which was also wonderful. Asher, his wife, and I drank water and a wildberry melomel. I'd never tried melomel before, but I absolutely adored it. Overall, dinner was exceptional.
After dinner, though, Asher's wife, Beatrice, suggested we retire to the smoking room.
"We don't smoke there, though," she said, as if I'd already lit up a cigarette. "The smell of smoke in a house is nauseating. You'll have to quit if we accept you for this position."
The position, she said, as if they were interviewing me for a job as a maid or a chef or some other servant. She seemed to like to completely disregard the fact that Asher had asked me to become an egg donor and act as her surrogate. This, apparently, had nothing to do with her, but was more par for the course as a person of importance. Hire cleanstaff, find a cook, and then put an ad in the paper for a woman willing to bare your children; this was how Beatrice acted.
"I don't smoke," I said. "I agree, it is nauseating."
Beatrice looked at me funny, a quick glance over her shoulder, and then she walked away. Asher shrugged at me and followed after her.
Maybe I should leave now, I thought. They wouldn't notice me missing for a few seconds yet. If I slipped away, dashed down a hallway, went somewhere else, what would they do? Nothing, most likely. Or, Beatrice wouldn't, anyways. Asher might come after me, find me, ask me why? Why did I leave? Where was I going?
I almost wanted to do it just to hear him say those things, but I didn't. I followed them to the smoking room.
The smoking room looked like something directly transported from an old-fashioned English house. Granted, I'd never been in an old-fashioned English house, let alone another smoking room, but I imagined they looked like this. Cushioned benches like exceptionally long couches lined most of the walls save for an empty nook by a bay window overlooking the gardens and the short wall with its blazing hearth. A fire crackled lightly in the fireplace, shining shimmery light throughout the room. One lamp on a side table provided the remainder of the light and a few rolling tables lay in the middle of the room, currently unused and alone.
Asher slid one of the tables towards a corner spot and sat on the wall bench. Beatrice sat far away from him on another bench entirely. I looked between them at the corner spot, but I didn't want to sit there. I definitely didn't want to sit next to Beatrice, but was it presumptuous to sit next to Asher? Would it bother his wife, too? I really didn't know.
Asher patted the seat beside him. "Come now, it's just a bench."
To him, yes. And to me... somewhat yes. But sometimes a bench wasn't just a bench. Situations and people and the atmosphere, one small thing could transform the innocuous into so much more. I sat next to Asher—not too close—and smiled.
"Well," Beatrice said. "Now that the formality of meeting is over, and we've traded idle chit chat, I feel like it is in all of our best interests to get down to the matter at hand."
Asher sighed. "Yes, of course."
I folded my hands in my lap and nodded. "I hope I can provide answers to your questions."
"You hope?" she asked, staring down her nose at me. "Hope is the bastion of the weak, Jessika. We must never hope for anything. We must do and be. We must know."
What a fun time this was already, I thought. "I am positive I can provide answers to all your questions," I said.
"Good. Better, at least. Now, I want to know about your family history, going back at least three generations. That's your great grandfather and great grandmother, if you need help figuring that out. What were they like? I don't need touching tales or fabricated stories, please. Did they have any major illnesses? Were they immigrants? Military service? Number of siblings and children on either side? Successful marriages or did they end in divorce?"
I answered everything she asked me as best I could, but I didn't know why she asked half of what she did. I could understand her apprehension towards illness and disease, since something like that was often hereditary, but what did military service matter? And the number of siblings my great grandfather had?
When it came to discussing marriage, I wanted to add in a snarky line. I so desperately wanted to say something, to make her see that her marriage wasn't the happiest. Except, no, I couldn't. Who was I to judge her? I was biased, I knew it, and I needed to stop. My infatuation with Asher was simply that, a silly bout of interest that would pass. I told myself this, but I didn't really believe it.
Also, I was scared that if I mentioned anything to her, said something about her and Asher not being the closest couple, even insinuated it, I'd start a chain reaction. Like Scrooge in A Christmas Carol, if Beatrice fully realized how she acted and what her marriage was like to an outsider, she might completely change. She'd become the perfect wife, transform into a loving spouse and darling woman.
Probably not, but I decided not to risk it. Some selfish part of me wondered about it, theorized what might happen if Asher and Beatrice separated. Could I console him? Would he need someone? The whole idea was silly and absurd and I felt idiotic for wishing for their divorce, but I couldn't help it.
And, anyways, that's how people are, right? We all think of things that we never actually want to happen. Thoughts are fine when kept hidden and locked away, never shared with anyone. Right? Maybe, but maybe not.
The night droned on and Beatrice asked question after question. She started to delve deeper, seeking answers to the most obscure questions I'd ever heard. Did my grandparents graduate college, and if so what were their exact grade point averages? I reluctantly admitted that I didn't know.
"Ah ha!" Beatrice said, as if she'd caught me in a lie. "That's very unfortunate."
"Beatrice," Asher said. "Really? I understand you want to be thorough, but I think this is going a bit far."
"It's not, really, Asher. You need to understand where I'm coming from. Do you want a high school drop out for a child? Do you want a son or daughter who will only ever strive for mediocrity? A liberal arts major? Someone with their head in the clouds, never willing to put forth the effort to succeed?"
I interrupted, I had to. "There are plenty of people who had their head in the clouds and succeeded," I said. "If you look at best selling novelists, you'll see a trend towards great dreams. Also, technology as a whole wouldn't be anything without dreams and aspirations. Scientists, engineers, architects..."
Beatrice scoffed. "Writers prey on people like you, Jessika. They write their silly dreams on paper and make you think you can change the world. The entire entertainment industry is like that, actually. And along with that comes technology, and those scientists and engineers and architects you're so fond of."
Asher frowned. "We make our money from the entertainment industry, Beatrice, or have you forgotten? Vacation resorts, high class hotels, and Landseer Enterprises other projects?"
"Of course, Asher." Beatrice rolled her eyes, treating this like a trifling matter. "There is a large difference, though. Most people have dreams, but they fail to follow through with them. You and I are the lions who prey on those people's dreams. We give them hope, an inkling of it, and feed off of their laziness. They pay for luxury when most of them can't afford it, and in turn we give them more and more. We..."
"I think that's enough for the night. Thank you for this, Jessika. Beatrice and I really appreciate it."
"Dinner was wonderful," I said, feeling awkward. "I hope I responded to your questions alright..."
"Yes," Asher said. He smiled at me even while Beatrice looked as if she couldn't wait for me to leave. "It's late and you've been drinking. Do you want to stay in the guest house for tonight?"
"Asher!" Beatrice said, suddenly alert. "Do you think that's..."
"It's no problem," he said, interrupting her. "There should be everything you need there, but if you want I can have Jeremy drive you home."
I nodded. "I am getting tired, so if you don't mind, I'll stay. Thank you very much."
Beatrice glowered at me as I left. Asher said nothing except to bid me goodnight, but once I walked through the door I heard them arguing in the smoking room. Jeremy was waiting for me in the hallway, looking hopeful.
"How'd it go?" he asked. "Anything exciting?"
We walked down the hallway towards the dining room and the front door. "Is she always like that? I don't think I could stand it," I said.
Jeremy laughed. "Yes, mostly. Beatrice is... Beatrice. I don't think she's a bad person so much as she's different. She doesn't like me, either, but her and Asher seem to get along."
I paused mid step. They... yes, they must get along. They were married, afterall. And even if they didn't see each other often, they talked. He called her, I knew. They'd talked on the phone soon after I first met Asher, and they must have called each other between then and now, too. He'd mentioned multiple times how he'd talked to Beatrice about this or that, and it just struck me as a typical thing. They'd talked, yes, but I never really imagined they enjoyed it.
I don't know why I never thought about that, but I didn't. Now, though, I realized maybe I was wrong about everything. Maybe they did like each other? Maybe, while their marriage wasn't one that I would enjoy, they enjoyed it? Maybe...
"Hey there, lady?" Jeremy said, snickering. He tugged on my arm, urging me onwards.
"Sorry," I said. I went along with him, through the dining room now. "I just... I can't imagine what it's like for them. I don't know if I'd want to do it."
"Sometimes you don't have a choice, you know?" Jeremy said. "It's not so easy to stop when you've started, especially for people like Asher and Beatrice. You and me, if we were married, it'd be different. No one cares, there's no problems. I mean, there's problems, but they aren't as big. With Asher and Beatrice, everything is a hundred times bigger. There's more reason to stay together and less reason to leave, you know?"
"But do they want to stay together?" I asked.
Jeremy sighed, then smiled at me. "I'm not Asher or Beatrice, so I couldn't say. But, honestly? It's probably better not to even think about it. I don't know exactly what's going on with you or them or anything, but more than one person's been hurt when their expectations don't match reality. You seem like a nice woman and I don't want to see that happen to you."