men to take care of her. She had subsequently merely fallen into the acting profession. Gracie could see that Carrie was no role model for her.
Her own desire to be self-sufficient meant that she had not only to prove herself at work, but also needed to make friends. Her “you should” button beeped repeatedly the more she thought about Zeke’s offer to stop by the staff lounge. Nervousness clung to her like chains.
Oh, honestly, just go. You don’t have to stay.
She munched on the apple she had taken from lunch and argued with herself that she could postpone her decision until after she was dressed. Considering the invitation was one thing. Actually going over to the staff lounge was quite a different matter.
She pulled the skirt and blouse out of her wardrobe and laid them on her bed, contemplating them. Finally, she tore off the pink shrug and dressed. Scrutinizing herself in the mirror, she lifted her right eyebrow and asked herself why she paid good money for a new bob she wasn’t willing to show off. She tucked some blonde curls behind her right ear, liked that effect better, and headed down the back stairs. As she crossed the parking lot, she squinted back toward her room, wondering why she had never bothered to see where it was from the outside of the Crestmont .
“Staff Lounge” was burned into a wooden sign mounted next to an outside staircase on the wooded side of the garage. Gracie could see that this space gave the staff more privacy than if it was on the big house side of the structure . She relaxed a bit when she heard “Has Anybody Seen My Girl?”A tune she knew! She climbed the stairs.
Once inside, she was pleasantly surprised to see PT at the piano. He hadn’t mentioned that he played. Zeke tipped his index finger in her direction in greeting, but he was the only one who seemed to notice her. An odd assortment of old boxes presumably used for chairs surrounded two tables for playing games. Dorothy sat alone at one, fiddling with the barrette at the nape of her neck as she frowned over a crossword puzzle. Electric fixtures on the walls brightened the room. Gracie wondered why the garage building had electricity when the upper floor rooms in the big house did not.
Bessie sat on a faded couch, her arms folded tightly across her chest and her ankles crossed on the scratched coffee table. Her left foot wagged crossly, the ankle bracelet catching the light from a dilapidated table lamp. Her lips were skewed in an angry pout and her cheeks were so brightly rouged that Gracie hardly recognized her.
Bessie squealed when a stocky boy with a wide chest and short legs sauntered into the room. “Jimmy boy!” She flew at him. “Where the Sam Hill have ya been? Ya left me up here all alone. Made me bait for some cad to play with, like PT here.”
PT reddened, closed his eyes and dug his bony fingers deeper into the keys, immersing himself in ragtime.
“Well I’ll be jiggered, Bessie,” Jimmy said. “Mr. W made me mow the whole lakeside hill. I just scrubbed up a bit after for my best girl.”
“Aw, sweetie, was it horrible?” He reeled when she jumped on him, winding her legs around his waist.
Shadow, the cat, appeared out of nowhere and pounced on top of the piano. Nestling down to enjoy the vibrations, it contentedly licked its paws. Dorothy slammed down her pencil and moved over to the piano.
“PT, I am just beside myself with this Scott Joplin nonsense. Why not play something we can sing?” He grinned and plunked out “That’s My Baby.”
Zeke fished around in his pockets and asked, “Otto, did you pinch my harmonica again?”
The cinnamon bun man from breakfast laughed. “You couldn’t keep that harmonica in your pocket if it were wired shut, Zeke.”
Gracie sang along, but felt out of place amongst them.
****
On Monday, she finally worked up the courage to find the library. Certain it was late enough that the guests would be in their rooms, Gracie grabbed her
Her own desire to be self-sufficient meant that she had not only to prove herself at work, but also needed to make friends. Her “you should” button beeped repeatedly the more she thought about Zeke’s offer to stop by the staff lounge. Nervousness clung to her like chains.
Oh, honestly, just go. You don’t have to stay.
She munched on the apple she had taken from lunch and argued with herself that she could postpone her decision until after she was dressed. Considering the invitation was one thing. Actually going over to the staff lounge was quite a different matter.
She pulled the skirt and blouse out of her wardrobe and laid them on her bed, contemplating them. Finally, she tore off the pink shrug and dressed. Scrutinizing herself in the mirror, she lifted her right eyebrow and asked herself why she paid good money for a new bob she wasn’t willing to show off. She tucked some blonde curls behind her right ear, liked that effect better, and headed down the back stairs. As she crossed the parking lot, she squinted back toward her room, wondering why she had never bothered to see where it was from the outside of the Crestmont .
“Staff Lounge” was burned into a wooden sign mounted next to an outside staircase on the wooded side of the garage. Gracie could see that this space gave the staff more privacy than if it was on the big house side of the structure . She relaxed a bit when she heard “Has Anybody Seen My Girl?”A tune she knew! She climbed the stairs.
Once inside, she was pleasantly surprised to see PT at the piano. He hadn’t mentioned that he played. Zeke tipped his index finger in her direction in greeting, but he was the only one who seemed to notice her. An odd assortment of old boxes presumably used for chairs surrounded two tables for playing games. Dorothy sat alone at one, fiddling with the barrette at the nape of her neck as she frowned over a crossword puzzle. Electric fixtures on the walls brightened the room. Gracie wondered why the garage building had electricity when the upper floor rooms in the big house did not.
Bessie sat on a faded couch, her arms folded tightly across her chest and her ankles crossed on the scratched coffee table. Her left foot wagged crossly, the ankle bracelet catching the light from a dilapidated table lamp. Her lips were skewed in an angry pout and her cheeks were so brightly rouged that Gracie hardly recognized her.
Bessie squealed when a stocky boy with a wide chest and short legs sauntered into the room. “Jimmy boy!” She flew at him. “Where the Sam Hill have ya been? Ya left me up here all alone. Made me bait for some cad to play with, like PT here.”
PT reddened, closed his eyes and dug his bony fingers deeper into the keys, immersing himself in ragtime.
“Well I’ll be jiggered, Bessie,” Jimmy said. “Mr. W made me mow the whole lakeside hill. I just scrubbed up a bit after for my best girl.”
“Aw, sweetie, was it horrible?” He reeled when she jumped on him, winding her legs around his waist.
Shadow, the cat, appeared out of nowhere and pounced on top of the piano. Nestling down to enjoy the vibrations, it contentedly licked its paws. Dorothy slammed down her pencil and moved over to the piano.
“PT, I am just beside myself with this Scott Joplin nonsense. Why not play something we can sing?” He grinned and plunked out “That’s My Baby.”
Zeke fished around in his pockets and asked, “Otto, did you pinch my harmonica again?”
The cinnamon bun man from breakfast laughed. “You couldn’t keep that harmonica in your pocket if it were wired shut, Zeke.”
Gracie sang along, but felt out of place amongst them.
****
On Monday, she finally worked up the courage to find the library. Certain it was late enough that the guests would be in their rooms, Gracie grabbed her
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