It All Begins With Mommy.

Little Mary hastily complied and straightened his laughable wig. Except I wasn't laughing. Underneath his put on servile manner I sensed a current of contempt.

He was a condescending elitist, a smug WASP and social vampire that fed off of a bottomless trust fund and somehow thought he was deserving of it. Chip on my shoulder? Perhaps. But I knew his type and the only thing they respect is either a fortune bigger than their own or someone who could not be swayed by it. I would take his fat stack of money and I would count it aloud while he was under the heel of my boot. But before I did, I would toy mercilessly with him and for my own silent amusement. Fuck the script that he wanted me to adhere to. I was going to get inside his head and crawl around. What can I say? This is my idea of a good time.

I pointed one well manicured finger toward the old family china and he passed me a brimming cup of tea and a cookie. It was stale. I gestured toward the portrait of the oil painting above the fire place.

"Your Mother?" I asked casually.

Little Mary started as though I had slapped him. Good. I was on the right tack then.

"No. I told you-that is the painting of the beloved lady of the house. Mrs. De Winter".

"Really'? I asked with feigned interest "She so strongly resembles you. Same fine features, pinched nostrils and disapproving lips. Uncanny."

"I am honored that you would think that I could possibly be related to such a splendid woman. Alas, I had only the privilege of serving her." He ducked modestly at the waist, like a long necked crane.

"As you are serving me now. So...do you have a theory as to what happened to her"? I took a sip of the tea. It was cold. I sighed and put the cup down.

"Oh I have theories." He said darkly.

"Well what then"? I asked irritably.

"Her husband." Little Mary paused dramatically "He was insanely jealous of her. Possessive of her charm and beauty. No one could possess her!" He declared passionately. He began to pace, agitated, back and forth in front on the fire place.

Suddenly it all fell into place. I knew now why this all seemed so familiar. He was more or less playing out the plot line of the classic novel Rebbecca. I had read it of course, but he assumed that I had not. Bad move on his part. I straightened up in my uncomfortable chair with renewed vigor and enthusiasm. As I studied him, the words of Sun Tzu from "The Art Of War" returned to me. "When opponents present openings, you should penetrate them immediately. Get to what they want first,subtly anticipate them. Maintain discipline and adapt to the enemy in order to determine the outcome of the war. Thus, at first you are like a maiden, so the enemy opens his door;then you are like a rabbit on the loose, so the enemy cannot keep you out."

"Have you read The Art Of War?" I asked idly as I stretched my long legs toward the fire.

"No Mistress, I have not. Why do you ask"? He paused and stared at me, puzzled. Of course he hadn't. He only read what was expected of him.

"Shut your pie hole" I snapped. I had to bite back a wolfish grin as he winced at my crassness. Like I gave a fiddler's fuck about offending his tender sensibilities. He was a ripping snob, his cookies were stale and his tea was cold. He was going to coldly dispose of a beautiful animal because it did not meet his standards. If it was not perfect and he could not profit from it, it had no value.

This was going to be fun.

All Cats Are Gray In The Dark.


Little Mary did not spare a glance toward me, nor made a welcoming gesture, until after he waved me into a cavernous room. He shut the door behind me and gave a deep curtsy. He took my coat and click clacked across the floor in a pair of old, fashioned ankle high black boots. They were meant to be utilitarian, not stylish.

I took advantage of his absence and took stock of my surroundings. Yup-thread bare carpets and dark ancient furniture loomed over me like a nightmare forest of sinister trees. There was a fire blazing in a huge fire place and the opening looked a gaping maw into hell. Cold AND creepy. I thought I saw something dark from the corner of my eye, darting by. I spun quickly but saw nothing. There! I saw it again! What the hell was it...rats? I shifted uneasily from one high heeled boot to the other and clasped my elbows. I looked up and studied a life sized oil portrait of a severe, humorless and whippet thin woman. I knew immediately this was Little Mary's mother.

In the distance, I heard the strains of what sounded like a warbling opera. Over that, I could discern the tapping of Little Mary's black boots, signaling his return. I straighted my shoulders and turned to meet him. He was walking toward me in mincing steps, carrying a very old, heavy looking silver serving tray loaded with pastries, delicate sandwiches,china and a coffee urn. He was ushered in and surrounded by what appeared to be a seething gray sea of rats. I took a step back before I recognized the frantic mewings were those of cats. There had to be forty of them, some small kittens and some were full grown. I relaxed. I like cats.

I seated myself in a high back chair, with a tattered leather seat. Little Mary bent on one knee in front of me, placing the tray on a long slab of a coffee table. It looked like something a gathering of knights should have been seated around. He stood in front of me, wig askew and said

"Madame do you need anything else? May I pour your coffee and serve you some biscuits"? I nodded, slightly imperious and bent down to stroke the beautiful cats that were winding themselves around my ankles.

"Madame I could not help but notice how you were studying the portrait of our former Mistress. She was very lovely, was she not"? Not, I thought. I nodded and made a non committal noise. I noticed the past tense. I was meant to.

"Yes...everyone loved her. This house used to be ablaze with parties and the finest people of quality spent many nights of gaiety under this roof.' He sighed wistfully and stared at the painting of the very constipated looking woman.

"What happened to her"? I asked as I shook off one of the tiny kittens which was attempting to clamor up my very expensive stockings.

"No one knows...one night after a party she simply disappeared. They searched the grounds and of course the authorities were called in, but it has remained a mystery to this day. Mrs.De Winter, or Rebbecca as she allowed me to call her (at this, he looked down bashfully) was never found." I looked at him sharply.
This story sounded hauntingly familiar. I glanced over at the corner, momentarily distracted by more movement from the corner of the room. I got up and walked over to a low, small box. Inside, a lone gray kitten was scratching madly at the sides. I scooped it up and stared straight into its wide set, innocent green eyes.

"Why is this one all alone?" I held it to my chest where it relaxed instantly and began to purr.

He looked at it distastefully and answered shortly.

'It is inferior. It will never show. It was born with a protruding rib an it will ruin the lines".

"Show'? I echoed

"Yes. They are Russian Blues and are bred to show in cat shows. Not that one, it's useless. You couldn't give it away. They can go up to a thousand dollars." He actually sniffed.

"I'll take it." I held it a little tighter to my breast and kissed the top of it's tiny head.It stared up at me as though I were it's entire world.

"Madame'? He actually arched a nearly invisible brow in polite and disdainful inquiry.

"I said, I want it". I handed him the squirming kitten and pointed at the box. He took it hesitantly from me and did as I commanded.

"Now pour and tell me more about the late Mrs. De Winter. And fix your wig. It's crooked."