Roman’s Girls

By Sinistra

Allison

Allison gripped the steering wheel as she her way up the winding gravel path, flanked by two large hedgerows. The drive had been long and tedious, but as she caught glimpses of the estate through the leaves she was filled with a sense of awe. When Roman Dalton, founder of Dalton Chemical Manufacturing, had requested her service offering a wildly premium rate, she hardly believed her luck. She’d looked up the address, seen it online – but there it was. The mansion. Behind two black gates stood 300 Sunrise Terrace. Everything – from the sheared hedges to the sharp, blocky walls of the main building, was immaculate. She had to stop herself from gawking. Allison was no stranger to the modern, furnished mansions of bankers, lawyers, businessmen where she usually worked – but all were humbled before this pinnacle of modern luxury. She pressed the access button on the intercom, and after a few seconds she heard a crisp voice through a speaker.

‘300 Sunrise Terrace, what is your business?’

‘Um, hi, I’m Allison from Elm Housekeeping, we had a pho-’

‘Come right in. You will find a garage on your let.’ A click, and slowly the gate swung open. The mansion was bright against the celestial blue of the night, softly illuminated by lamps in the ground. She parked her Kia, awkwardly out of place among the several Sportscars already lined up, and hurried towards the property, her suitcase trailing behind her. She spotted a woman ahead, waving at her from a glass doorway. She was wearing a typical maid’s uniform, albeit skimpier than Allison was used to: a black dress which left little to the imagination, black stockings, a lace headpiece, and high heels. She had raven tousled hair and entrancing hazel eyes.

Allison ascended the marble steps, and as she walked through the glass doors the woman on the other side beamed at her, exclaiming ‘Hello! My name’s Vanessa, and welcome to 300 Sunrise Terrace. My, aren’t you beautiful!’ and instantly flung her arms around her in a tight embrace.

Allison immediately felt uncomfortable with the force that Vanessa’s obscenely displayed bosom pressed into her own chest, but before she could sputter a protest she was released.

‘Come. Don’t be shy, oh, I can’t wait for you to join the team. Here, let me take your stuff.’

Wait – are there more? ‘Oh no, it’s fine, really -’

But Vanessa grabbed her suitcase and began to walk away down the white corridor. She was surprisingly swift despite her high heels, and Allison struggled to keep up. Vanessa described every aspect of the mansion as they walked in unison through the hallway.

‘…and here you will find the entrance to the indoor cinema. Even though it is only used on weekends, Ma- Roman will have a fit if it’s not spotless…’

Allison wanted to explain her she was only been contracted for a couple of days, and hadn’t been told she was part of a team, but she struggled to get a word in. As they walked past a rack of feather dusters she began to grow uneasy.

‘You said I’d be part of a team. How many does Roman employ?’

‘Two girls currently, and you’ll be the third. It-’

‘Woman. I’m a woman, not a girl.’

Vanessa looked at her blankly. ‘Suit yourself. Anyway, you may think it excessive – but as you will see, it can get quite dirty. This leads to the dining room…’

The long, colourless corridors seemed to be too bright, and Vanessa’s constant chatter seemed to echo off the narrow walls and reverberate inside Allison’s skull.

‘…and here is the Grand Foyer.’ The hall opened up into a large open space, with rooms shooting off left and right. The back wall was made entirely of glass, overlooking the city. A coffee table marked the centre of the room, and a few chairs and a sofa surrounded it. A spray bottle and cloth had been placed on the table.

‘Roman, the Master of the House, has already made his way to bed, so please be quiet. Here is your uniform.’ A small black dress, a pair of tights, and black lace garters lay on the sofa, and a pair of black heels sat on the floor. Allison felt a little bit repulsed. This had to be some sort of joke.

‘Oh no – honestly it’s fine, I don’t…need a uniform. These clothes are fine.’

Vanessa frowned. ‘Oh, you silly thing. You can’t be serious.’ Her eyes scanned Allison head to toe. ‘No, no no, this won’t do. Your skirt is much too long, and this blouse is hardly flattering. It makes you look kinda…frumpy.’

Allison was momentarily shocked, but as she looked at Vanessa’s utterly serious expression, her disbelief turned to fury.

‘How dare you.’ she said, barely concealing her spite. ‘What makes you think you can say things like that to me?’

Vanessa shrugged. ‘Because it’s true, Miss.’

Allison stood staring at her, failing to conjure a similarly petty riposte.

‘You’re lucky Roman isn’t here to hear you say this. You won’t get away with it. No one speaks to me like that.’

‘Whatever. He doesn’t like frumpy women anyway.’

‘I don’t…I don’t think what I wear is any of his business.’ Allison responded, narrowing her eyes.