[
Author's note: Not the usual Mabeusian fare, this is a story of female domination. What's good for the goose... --dr.M.
]
As Lorraine walked up the steps of the mansion for Andrew's one o'clock lesson, she could hear him butchering Beethoven's "Für Elise" in a way so awful it had to be intentional. Sure enough, the musical carnage soon ended in a burst of raucous laughter followed by the sound of several people slamming their hands down on the keyboard—all in all a forced, nasty sound.
"Good afternoon, Harris," she said as the houseman opened the door. He seemed composed as usual, although a little gray with strain.
"Who's here?" She handed him her valise as she took off her gloves and hat.
"The usual group of young snots," he said with polite diffidence, helping her with her coat.
"When did it start?"
"Oh, only an hour or so ago, thank heavens. But they've been over continually since the Mr. and Mrs.left. He needs supervision. You know how he is."
"Why aren't I surprised?" she asked, taking off her long coat.
"I wish they would have taken him with."
"Well, you know this was a special trip for them. Adults only, Harris."
He rolled his eyes and took her coat, draping it over his arm. "You're looking well today, Miss Vann."
"Thank you, Harris. That's sweet."
What he said was true. Lorraine was a very attractive young woman and she always dressed well for Andrew's lessons. Beneath her coat she wore a snug, charcoal-gray wool skirt and pearl-gray blouse over a black turtleneck. Her boots were snug and well polished and would have made her look severe if not for her angelic face, framed by a luxurious mane of insouciant blonde hair. Her face almost demanded these clothes to give her person a proper amount of gravitas, yet the severity of the clothes cut both ways, emphasizing those parts of her that were most womanly. On Lorraine, these parts were quite evident.
"Have you heard from them?" she asked. "Did they arrive safely?"
"Oh yes," Harris said, hanging up her coat and putting it in the hall closet. "They called this morning. "The boat docked last night and they had a very nice trip, very relaxing, just what they wanted. They'll stay in Cherbourg for two days visiting some friends of Mrs. Pitlow's, then go on to Paris for the week. They'll fly back next Sunday."
"And they did make arrangements for Andrew, of course?"
"Yes, Miss Vann. His Aunt Celia is coming this evening and will stay the week. They did repeat their request and hoped you'd reconsider. Their offer still stands, in fact, Mr. Pitlow wished me to tell you that he'd offer you half again as much if you'd agree. They think the world of you and you seem to be one of the few people who can make Master Andrew behave."
"Mmmm." Lorraine looked at him with her hazel eyes. That was a lot of money they were talking about just to baby-sit an eighteen year-old, but there was the question of propriety. Lorraine was just out of her twenties herself, and Andrew was an attractive young man. How would it look, her staying with him for a week to look after him?
She smiled. "I'm a piano teacher, Harris, not a governess."
"Of course, I understand. But should you change your mind, Aunt Celia is fully prepared to change her plans and I'm to give you her room. And between you and me, Miss Vann, I don't think she's looking forward to this. She can't handle him either."
There was a burst of laughter from the back of the house and Lorraine looked up.
The front hallway and foyer were done in marble—too much marble, gaudy and ostentatious—and the grand sweep of the staircase going up to the second floor, embracing the enormous chandelier of Venetian crystal, didn't help. The Pitlows were new money, dotcom money, and their wealth was only skin deep. There was the feeling of something raw and unrefined beneath all the marble and expensive furniture.
"Thank you, Harris. I'd better see what the young Master is up to. May I have my umbrella please?"
Taking her valise and rolled up umbrella, she walked toward the conservatory, and as she did, the objects in the mansion seemed to light up and come alive as she passed, as if she held a lantern in her hand. She recognized the paintings like old friends—the Monet, the Sargent, the Burchfield, a Marcy—walking through room after room, each room impeccable, professionally designed. The sounds of laughter and horseplay from the conservatory got louder. Two hands playing a sloppy duet of "Heart and Soul" on bass and middle range of the magnificent Bösendorfer while someone else slapped the high treble keys.
Lorraine opened the large French door to the conservatory and stepped inside, looked about at the chaotic scene and just stood there.
The room was a scene of anarchy. Andy sat at the keyboard of the concert grand playing the bass part of
Heart and Soul
next to a pretty girl with long red hair who was picking out the melody with an uncertain forefinger. Standing next to the bench, a short, wiry boy was slapping the treble keys like a monkey to the obvious entertainment of another, dull-looking lout in shorts and teeshirt, while on the sofa, three more boys and two girls seemed involved in a tickling match, squirming around and laughing. There were pillows and shoes and jackets on the floor, and all this at one PM, the exact time of Andy's lesson. He knew she liked to start things exactly on time.
Her eyes went back to Andy, tall, well built, dressed in jeans and a blue sweater that matched the sky-blue of his eyes, his blonde hair hanging over his forehead. He'd matured physically so much in the last two years, but inside man and boy still fought for control. He'd been a competent pianist, the one consistent trait in his wild, undisciplined personality, but that had changed when he'd started college last fall. Now even the discipline of piano was too much for him and he'd stopped practicing, preferring to hang out with these "friends".
She stood there in the doorway, saying nothing, then she picked up her umbrella and rapped it on the floor. Slowly the wildness stopped. The kids wanted to ignore her, but Lorraine was not one to be ignored, and as they quieted down, Andy turned around and noticed her.
He looked at her and smiled, then his eyes swept her up and down in a most un-studentlike way. "Hey, Miss V. Is it that time already? I didn't notice. These are my friends. This is Lisa and Jennifer, and that's Jason and Scrunch and Simon and Ryan and Bulldog and Tyler. Guys, this is my piano teacher, Lorraine Vann."
A mumbled chorus of nods and "Hi's."
"Pleased to meet you all," she said. "But it's one o'clock, and that's time for our lesson. I only take one student at a time. Andrew, your friends are going to have to leave."
From the smile on his face she thought there might be trouble, but Andy just nodded. "Sure. No problem. Guys, you're going to have to clear out. I'll see you later, okay? Got to have my piano lesson, you know?" He raised his eyebrows and some of his friends laughed. Lorraine wondered if he'd been talking about her. She was aware of the way some of the boys looked at her.
"Sure, Andy, sure." "Yeah, later." "Right, man."
She turned to watch the kids and as she did she saw Andy turn and put his arm around the red-haired girl and lean over for a big, open-mouthed kiss. The girl burst out laughing and as she pushed him away, fell off the bench, which brought a peal of laughter from the two boys at the piano, but she noticed Andy's face darkened with humiliation.
The kids put on their shoes, got their coats and backpacks, horsed around. The cell phones came out and they made their arrangements and attempted to tidy the place up, picking up pillows and straightening rugs.
"Don't worry about that," she said. "The maid will take care of cleaning up. I'm sure you'll be seeing Andrew later. Now we just need an hour for his lesson."
Scrunch tried to catch Andy's eye, but Andy was still smarting from the redhead's rejection and was sitting starting at the piano.
"An hour, right. Right, Andy? And what do you want me to do with that stuff?" Scrunch asked, hefting a large black gym bag.
"Just leave it by the chair. I'll take care of it," Andy said. He looked at Lorraine then dropped his eyes. "Personal stuff."
She nodded. She couldn't imagine what kind of personal stuff Andy would have to carry around in a black gym bag in his own house. Scrunch dropped it by the chair and it clanked.
"Okay, I'll talk to you guys later," Andy said, and the kids answered back, laughed, took one last look around and shrugged and shambled out.
Lorraine watched them leave, then sat down in the chair by the piano and leaned her hands on her umbrella. Andy turned toward the piano and dried his hands on his trousers, a sly look on his face, then combed the unruly lock of blond hair back out of his face.
