It was normal to be nervous when blackmailing someone. Or, she thought it was normal. It has to be normal the first time, she figured. Maybe big lawyers and politicians weren't nervous when conducting their fiftieth blackmail, but, wait, did they even conduct their own blackmail at that point? Surely, they had guys for that; fixers, they were called, or aides or associates.
This is ridiculous. What the hell am I buzzing about? Just stick to the script.
She had a glass of water in her hand and it had been stuck in her hand for about a minute as she went on and on and on in her head about what she was about to do. Quickly, she took a couple of gulps to calm her pounding heart. She looked around the opulent kitchen that was about the size of her mom's living room and bedroom put together. No one was in here. Mrs. Morgenthau didn't come in here often and the cook had left an hour ago. It was quiet in the Victorian style manor. Mr. Morgenthau hadn't come yet and little Tad was sleeping.
Wetting her hands, she pressed them against her cheeks before tip-toeing out of the kitchen. The carpeted hallways were dimly lit as she moved through them, adding to her anxiety. She reached the foyer and climbed up the dark wooden stairs. Checking up on Tad, she found him still fast asleep. Such a sweet child he was. It was truly a shame he was a bastard.
No reason not to now,
she thought, gently stroking his dark curls. A different voice piped up, saying,
Plenty of reasons not to, for example, morals?
But she shut that part up and left the bedroom.
Morals
.
What have morals ever brought me?
Just as she reached the master bedroom in the east wing of the manor, the huge grandfather clock began to chime in the distance, indicating midnight, exactly when her shift ended.
Now or never.
She knocked on the glossy ebony door. It only took a second knock and a minute of waiting before she heard movement and the handle twisting down. Not that she was surprised. Mrs. Morgenthau was a haughty, dark beauty in her late thirties who liked to sneer and scowl and stare everything down her fine Greek nose. She was the classic evil-looking wife from those Disney movies.
"It's time for you to go then is it," she began, her hands already reaching into her purse. She could smell the wine in her breath. "Please, tell your people to fix their bank issues
quickly.
Handing over cash like this is just..." her voice faded out, not bothering to finish that sentence as she counted out the bills.
Now or never.
Her heart was pounding but somehow, her lips began to move.
"Ma'am, I just wanted to take a second to expr- extend my sympathies to you," Christine managed to spit out.
Mrs. Morgenthau looked up from her wad of bills, her green, mascaraed eyes narrowing. "Sympathies for what?"
Christine took a breath as she tried and failed to remember what to say. "About little Taddie and Mr. Morgenthau," she blurted out. "I can imagine it's a difficult situation for you, ma'am."
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What was I thinking?
The two women looked at each other in silence. Mrs. Morgenthau's face had gone paler than normal even though her eyes screamed danger. Christine stood stock still, blue eyes wide, sweat beading across her forehead and other, very uncomfortable places as she realized she had made a huge mistake. She wasn't ready for this. God! Where had her brain gone?!
Suddenly, Mrs. Morgenthau smiled. "My dear, was that an attempt at blackmail, I just heard?" she asked, her voice so sickeningly sweet.
"No, no, no, I- I just- my intenti- I didn't mean..." She shut her mouth, unable to speak. Her horror at the unravelling of the whole situation was growing, burrowing into her stomach and weakening her legs.
I'm so fucking screwed.
Instead, Mrs. Morgenthau kept smiling and resumed counting the bills. The whole act seemed to take forever. Her pedicured nails, painted jade green, moved back and forth and around before a hand stretched out, green dollar bills clasped within.
Christine swallowed and took the money, shaking all the while. Without another word, the ebony door slammed shut, causing her to flinch.
Dismissed. Like a fucking ant, just swatted away,
she thought, self-loathingly, feeling like she deserved it. She quickly exited the grand old house and made her way over to her car, a silver, reliable old camry, and started her way home.
Idiot. Moron. Stupid. Fucking failure.
The five words that summarized the thoughts swirling violently in her mind. Various types of 'I told you so' thoughts arose too, basing themselves in morality, self-doubt. That perpetual doubter inside of her was loving this, she knew. That same doubter that had stopped her from applying to the top universities, the one that told her she couldn't pull off the best dresses for prom or that she couldn't compete with her other, more educated coworkers at her day job. By the time she arrived at her house -- well, technically, her mom's house -- tears and runny makeup covered half her face.
Goddamn miracle, I didn't crash,
she thought, wiping at her face using the sun visor mirror.
Fucking would have been better if you had,
a voice whispered in her head. She closed her eyes and took deep breaths. It wouldn't do to walk into the house at midnight looking like an emotional wreck. That would only invite unwanted questions.
After a good ten minutes of calming nerves, she headed inside into the small, blue house. Immediately, the sounds from the TV came rushing to greet her. Laughter from the audience, then quiet as the comedian continued with his routine, setting up the next punchline, the next joke.
That would be me,
she thought glumly. Wandering into the living room, she saw her mother sleeping on the couch, her wine glass unemptied.
"Mom. Time to get up and go to your bed," she said loudly, clicking the TV off.
No response.
She looked at her mom and studied her for a moment. Had she been twenty years younger, Christine and her would have been regularly taken as sisters, unquestionably. They had the same light skin, same flaxen-blonde hair, same blue eyes that were startling bright and vivid. Even their body types were the same, if her mom's old pictures were to be trusted, although these days, her mom had put on some weight and added more curves. Still, Christine was prettier. She'd always known that.
"Mom!" she cried out, this time shaking her. It took a good bit before she was responsive; probably the effect of those prescription pills she'd started taking after Dad had run out on them. After groans and much frustration, the nightly routine of cajoling her mother to bed was over and Christine hit her own bed as the clock blared one thirty AM. the red LEDs screaming failure.
Seven AM found her groggily getting to her feet and beginning her morning routine of exercises and bathroom activities and breakfast cooking and etcetera etcetera. Healthy body, healthy mind and all the other advice she'd read across various sources. By nine, she was pulling into her workplace at Conrad Consulting and half an hour later, Christine was at her desk, mulling over her stupidity from last night.
What a bright idea. Attempted blackmail of the wife of a soon-to-be billionaire.
She needed to get tested for mind-altering drugs, she decided. And maybe also stop watching all those dumb procedural TV shows with cops and crimes and insanity. They were making her stupider.
She wondered when her agency would give her a call, letting her know of Mrs. Morgenthau's complaint and her subsequent removal. It was even likely she would get fired if Mrs. Morgenthau wanted to twist the knife and ensure her misery which sounded much like her. Christine had risked it all for a biscuit and now, not only was the biscuit gone, but the crumbs would likely follow. A reliable revenue stream, gone. But it was what it was. There was no point in getting emotional. She would be fired and job hunting season would begin.
By noon, the call had still not come. She'd gotten calls, yes, but mostly from her superiors in accounting, calling just to pile on more tasks. Arrogant jerks. They were very happy with Christine, of course, given how willing and eager she was at accepting more responsibilities. They thought they were reducing their workload while not realizing their facilitation of her education. College might have been a pipe dream for her because of her dad's debts, but a practical education was still available. In the two years since being hired as a receptionist, the twenty year old had risen and traversed through most of the departments, gaining knowledge and the fondness of most of the higher-ups for her competence.
And yes, she was willing to admit that her beauty had helped her along, but she'd never done anything illicit. In fact, she had done her best to shut down any pats on her ass or late-night dinner invitations. She wouldn't sleep her way up.
At least not without a guaranteed pot of gold,
she thought while sending a smile towards Mr. Henderson waddling over to lunch.
As the clock hit quarter till five, she glanced through dry weary eyes towards her telephone. Not a single call from the agency.
Ah fuck it.
She struck her computer's power button and picked up the receiver to dial.
"Hello. This is Rosemary Nannies and Babysitters, how may I help you?"
"Hey, Peggy, it's me."
"Oh hey, Christine! How's it hanging?"
