They wanted to eat the same meals and breathe the same air as her. Infatuated fans noted her daily routines, and stalked her accordingly. It was not enough to know every facet of her being, though; they wanted to be her. So her father installed a top-notch security system at each of the family’s twenty-seven mansions and forty summer homes.
Gracie Parker stood at her bedroom window poised despite the scene that was taking place on her front lawn. It would seem one of her lustful suitors happened too close to the Victorian mansion and activated the security system. And it was not as if Gracie had not explicitly stated during those boring press releases she works so little to prepare that if anyone were to get too close to the mansion, they should prepare to be gunned down by laser sentries and finished off by the pack of starved timber wolves. It really was not that hard to comprehend: her father doesn’t play around.
“Madam Parker, it’s time for your bath.”
“One moment, Gerty.” Gracie watched as a pair of sea foam suits placed the dead man’s charred, disfigured corpse on a narrow gurney. “Who is that man?” She asked, peculiarly interested in the deformed flesh chunk.
After nearly thirty-two years of serving the ludicrously wealthy Parkers, Gerty considered herself as part of the family, only without the lavish lifestyle. During her years with the Parkers, the woman did not find a chore she particularly despised; seeing the gracious look on Mr. Parker’s face after she polished his shoes or stimulated him sexually after Mrs. Parker abandoned him, made every scuff mark and shit stain worth it. But there was going to need to be a significant increase in her pay if he expected her to continue waiting on his bitchy daughter. She did not know for how much longer she could handle the spoiled brat’s demands. “The name in the wallet they found in the car parked outside the gate says Walter Bachman, my dear.”
Gracie’s chin fell. “Walter Bachman?!” The heiress screamed and stomped satin heel against the polished floor before collapsing in tears. “He was my…BOYFRIEND, you bitch!”
“Well, I had considered seeing him at the door, since he did look, and forgive me for this, loaded. But I remember you distinctly telling me…”
The bickering girl hurled an emerald-studded Gucci sandal at the old maid. The slipper missed Gerty, but shattered a glass vase in the hallway. “The Celimene crystal! That cost your father thousands of dollars!” Gerty exclaimed.
“I DON’T CARE!” Gracie bolted out of the door. “I have to stop them from taking my Walty!”
Gracie was downstairs and outside in a flash – the fastest she had ever run in her life – and Gerty retreated into the security room in the basement. Displayed clearly over six large monitors, the maid watched as the spoiled heiress tried to stop the ambulance at the gate, but to no avail; her Walty was long gone – and so would be Gerty’s problems.
“I’ll tell Mr. Parker it was a machine malfunction, that the sentries already tore her to bits before I could turn it off in time.” Gerty smiled maniacally, giggling at the thought of cleaning up the mansion’s biggest piece of trash. “Yes, that’s just how it happened!” And with a slight push of a button, Gerty activated the laser sentries and released the wolf pack. Ever since Mr. Parker had caught Gracie escaping in the middle of the night, he had quick locks placed on the gates, unlockable only in the mansion’s security room in the basement. Gracie couldn’t get out even if there was a hungry dog pack and a laser-wielding automaton gunning for her.
Soon it would only be Gerty and Mr. Parker, and in all of her thirty-two years of serving, the maid had never been happier.