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.