I don't know why I lied about the stupid vase.
It was an accident, a simple slip of my hand as I was dusting the shelf, an unfortunate vibration that caused the ancient ornament to topple over and fall to the floor, shattering into a million pieces. It wasn't even that pretty. I'm sure that Miss Ford wouldn't have batted an eyelid if I'd only come clean about it and told her what happened in the first place.
But I didn't. I lied. I looked her in the eye and told her that I didn't know anything about it, that it must have been the wind, that I'd been in another part of her vast house at the time and hadn't even heard it fall. The words fell from my mouth as a ceaseless torrent of untruths. I was barely able to believe that I was being so dishonest, wilting beneath the intense scrutiny of her icy glare. But I really needed this job, even if I was just a humble maid. Life after college hadn't exactly been the roaring success that I'd hoped it would be, finding out quickly that art history graduates are not as highly sought after in this small corner of the Midwest as I'd hoped! Who knew?
"Come to my study before you leave tonight," she'd answered with a shake of her head. Then she'd brushed past me and stalked out of the room, leaving me standing there, quivering with a fear that I couldn't quite explain.
That was six hours ago and the time had come to face the music. With my heart hammering in my chest, I knocked on the door of her office, an imposing, dark wooden portal with ornate brass handles.
"Come in Stephanie," she said, her voice even and measured.
I pushed the door and stepped into the plush study, a thousand thoughts racing through my mind. Would she tell me off? Would she dock my pay? Would she fire me, sending me home without money or a job? Oh god, I thought, what would I do without a job? Would I have to move back to my mom's?
"Stand there please," said Miss Ford, gesturing with her hand. The older woman was sitting in her old wingback chair beside the window, bathed in the long golden light of early fall. She wore her usual immaculate skirt suit, perfectly pressed, not a single button out of place. Her chestnut hair was held behind her head in a neat bun, delicate reading glasses resting on her pretty nose.
I moved across the room, the quick click of my heels on the wooden floor matching the fast beat of my pounding heart. With trembling hands, I smoothed out the white apron that she had me wear and distantly hoped that the thick seams of my sheer pantyhose were perfectly aligned, a fussy little detail that Miss Ford insisted that I get right.
She sat back in her chair and crossed her legs. The soft swish of her nylon stockings sounded impossibly loud in the silent room.
"I'm going to ask you once and only once," she said, appearing distracted as she brushed a piece of lint from her skirt. "Did you break the vase?"
I sighed and lowered my eyes. I considered compounding the lie, sticking to my story and hoping that she believed me. She would have no idea whether I broke the vase or not, and surely couldn't prove it one way or the other. But I caught myself before I spoke, a wave of guilt and self-loathing washing over me as I felt the weight of her gaze on my trembling body.
"Y-yes," I said, my voice barely a whisper, "I broke the vase."
My words hung in the air between us, an electric tension amplifying the silence until it was unbearable. I willed her to speak, to shout, to scold me with her words. But she remained deathly quiet, staring at me with those deep blue eyes, dark pools of pure night.
Then she spoke. "Did you lie to me, Stephanie?"
"Y-yes, Miss Ford," I stammered, staring rigidly forward.
The older woman sighed and sat forward in her seat, uncrossing her legs and touching her knees together.
"Please lie down over my lap, Stephanie," she said calmly, the kind of voice you'd use to ask a close friend to take a seat at your dinner table.
"I-I'm sorry? I-I don't understand..." I said, shaking my head.
Her neck snapped around and she fixed me with her icy stare. "What don't you understand, Stephanie?"
"I..."
"Do you understand that you lied to me? That you've been a very bad girl?" she snapped.
"Y-yes... I..."
"And do you understand that bad girls need to be punished?"
I remained silent, unsure how to answer. I felt a hot flush of shame rising from my neck to warm my cheeks.
Miss Ford didn't wait for me to speak. Her face softened, a golden radiance replacing the sharp glare in an eye blink. "I just want you to be a good girl, Stephanie. I want you to do as you're told. Do you understand?"
