Morning all, home again. Which is a relief. Not only do I find it easier to write in my own space, but me being home means that all has gone spectacularly well with my mother. Which makes me do the happy dance. Repeatedly. In a tired way. I slept soundly last night but I am still exhausted. I suspect it will take me the rest of the week to sort of edge back into normal sleep patterns and recover. But For now, The coffee is brewing and I am ready for the morning prompt. Ready? Excellent. Timers set and off we go.
It took me a while to figure out where I was going. Lots of fumbling, but I do like the kind of Trimalchio keeping up with the jones without quite getting it right aspect. It would need a lot of work and back story but I like the concept.
Monday, March 24th: It was a highly saturated yellow.
It was a highly saturated yellow, so bright it almost hurt the eyes. Sarah had to look away.
“And these are for the draperies in the salon,” Margaret said. Sarah smiled , nodded and wrote the information down. She was not here to offer opinions. She was not meant to speak. In fact her boss, when assigning her to the task of assisting Margaret Baywater informed her that it might be best if she pretend she was mute.
It took her less than ten minutes in Margaret’s company to realize that was not a bad plan. Not only did Margaret brooked no contradictions to her pronouncements, but she did not favor questions. Sarah wrote down what she was told and passed the messages on to David. If he had any questions, then he would send a message to Margaret directly.
He had done so twice and Sarah had painstakingly taken down the details to pass along to David for clarification. There was the heavy implication from Margaret that she thought David was an imbecile for needing such clarification.
Part of the opinion was because Margaret did not like to be questioned. The other part was that she had heard David’s accent. To Sarah’s ears it wasn’t a thick accent. Barely discernible unless he grew frustrated, it sort of whispers around the edges of his words. It was a very posh accent, but the posh area from which it originated was a different posh area from where Margaret’s own accent came. Anyone who did not possess Margaret’s accent was considered by her, if no one else, to be lower class and their taste, opinions and intelligence up for questioning.
As David’s accent wasn’t too different from her own Sarah was thrilled her duties did not include speaking. She had no desire to listen to Margaret over enunciate every syllable as though she was dim witted. The fact that Both Sarah and David’s families were higher on the socio economic scale than Margaret’s own were irrelevant to her thinking.
It was the accent that got her. Sarah had to stifle her own amusement as one of the people she was looking to impress was in fact Sarah’s uncle. His wife Renee was one of the tastemakers in the city. She set the standards. She spent part of her childhood in the same district as Margaret’s family before her mother remarried and moved. There she met Roger and fell in love.
‘And that’s how power couples are created,’ Sarah thought as she made another note about the details of the room.
Margaret idolized Renee and her husband was desperate to do business and to be seen doing business with Roger.
‘Renee may like yellow but I think even she would balk at those curtains,’ Sarah thought. The room boasted an entire wall of floor to ceiling windows. The room itself had a seventeen-foot ceiling and the rails for the curtains were hung a mere inch and a half from the ceiling. The curtains were designed to hang the length of the window and even pool a little on the floor, as was the current style. Sarah’s eyes nearly watered thinking of the effect.
Ten til Midnight 