The Maid's Five Masters

Chapter 2

My mom and dad are not home yet, and I'm worried because I know for sure that they're drunk right now. And I don't have a choice but to pick them up. I called my mom's number several times before someone answered, whom I expected to be my aunt.

“Hey, sweetheart. Your mom and dad are still dancing. Don't worry, they are not drunk,” my aunt says, barely coherent due to the loud noises in the background. I doubt what she said. My mom probably told her to say it since I got mad the last time they went home drunk.

“Tell my mom I'm coming over to pick them up,” I respond.

Later on, I gently put my son in a rear-facing car seat and fasten his seatbelt before rounding the car and slipping into the driver's seat. Minutes later, I'm in the middle of a highway, on the way to my auntʼs place. However, just when I'm about to swerve right toward the village where my Aunt lives, a black Lamborghini suddenly appears. Fortunately, I was able to step on the brake before I collide with the car. I turn my head to my son to see if he's alright before I unbuckle my seat belt and climb out of the car. I just want to remind this i***t is that he can't act as though he owns the road. However, just when I approach the car, it suddenly roars to life and speeds up ahead. I watch in disbelief as it fades in the distance. I feel my nose turn beet red in anger as I'm restraining myself from shouting 'f**k you.' Fortunately, I have his plate number memorized in my head.

I slip back into my car and continue my drive toward my aunt. I reach the place ten minutes later. Every time I come here, the massive mansion a few blocks away from my aunt's house catches my eye.I wonder who lives there. There's no way that only one family lives there.

My aunt's house is a bit big; it's a two-story house and she lives alone. That's why she frequently throws parties. She's a widow, and she has no children as she's infertile. I pull into the driveway and honk before I get out of the car. When I enter the front door, I catch sight of my parents in the living room along with my aunt and her other friends. My aunt beams and waves at me. She nudges my mom to tell her that I'm here already before she hastily makes her way to me and takes my son from my arms.

“Did you miss me, Timothy?” she asks as she carefully carries him. She laughs and gently pinches his nose when he giggles.

“Do you see that? He said he missed me.”

“His giggle is his way of saying that he doesn't miss you at all,” my mom interrupts, her tone falling up and down in drunkenness while my dad has his arm wrapped around her waist. Actually, I wasn't mad at them because they were drunk, I was mad because they insisted on driving home when I told them to wait for me, and so on their way home, they collided with a tree. Fortunately, they only got little bruises.

Aunt just lets out a huff and continues playing with my son.

We linger for thirty minutes more before we bid our goodbyes, but before we leave, I let my curiosity take over me; I ask my Aunt who lives in the mansion. However, she says that she's too busy with her life to be able to know who lives in there.

The next day, it just dawns on me that the place where I'm going to apply on monday is located in the village where my Aunt lives when I check the location indicated on the job description again. I won't be surprised if it's the mansion adjacent to my aunt's that is looking for a handmaid.

My parents are still clueless about my joblessness, and since I normally don't work on Sundays, they don't wonder yet. What if I can't get this job? I shove that thought away and curse myself. However, when Monday arrives, the question pops up again in my head when I see about twenty women standing outside the huge black gate when I arrive. They are probably here to apply too. I scan the faces of the women and if their qualifications for a handmaid are based on looks, I'm unqualified as there are faces that really stand out.

When I get off the bus, the women turn their heads to me. There are some that raise an eyebrow, but most of them just mind their business back. Most of them don't seem to want to apply because they want or need the job, but for something else, and I'm curious to know what it is. I clutch my shoulder bag as I approach the group.

“I can't wait to see them,” I hear a woman whisper to another woman as she giggles. I guess I'm right. Based on the voices of the men whom I talked with on the phone, I'm guessing they are only in their late twenties or early thirties.

Shortly after, we all fall into silence when the gate slides open, revealing a woman who seems to be in her fifties already. She scans us before she gestures for us to follow her inside. I let them enter first before I step across a cemented path and tail behind them. The mansion looks even bigger from a closer distance. I let my eyes wander around. There's a fountain on the west side. On the eastern side is a wide parking lot, and there are five cars parked on it. However, I furrow my brows when one of the cars is familiar to me. My suspicion is confirmed when I have a closer look of the plate number. So he lives here.

“Hi, nice to meet you. What's your name?” asks a woman as she gets beside me.

I take my gaze off the car and turn to smile at her. “Carolina.”

She asks me questions and just stops when we're already at a black wooden double door. Just when the old woman leaves us alone, the door opens, revealing five men, sitting across a wide and long black sofa. My fellow applicants gasp in unison and their cheeks turn beet red. I get it now. I think I'm the only one who doesn't react.

I wonder who among them owns the lamborghini.

“They're so hot,” Charlotte, the woman who bombarded me with questions, mutters as she clutches onto my arm.

I don't pay her any heed, but she's right; they're so damn hot. A second later, we're instructed by a servant to enter inside and sit on a sofa across from the men, meaning to say we're now in close proximity.

The rest of them have a smile on their faces, except for the one in the middle and next to the man beside him. They seem to loathe their parents for making them. The one in the middle seems to be the kind of person who would just speed up his car after he almost got someone into an accident; I have this feeling that he's the owner of the Lamborghini and the one who answered the call first. I watch as he runs his gaze to the first woman, the second, and to me, who's sitting last. I notice his eyes linger a bit longer on me than the rest.

“Introduce yourselves and tell me why we should hire you,” commands the guy I'm facing. His hair is dark brown, and he has a letter X tattoo across his neck. I wonder what the letter X implies, but most likely it doesn't mean anything at all.

When it's my turn to answer, I feel like burying myself beneath my spot in embarrassment. Their eyes are all trained on me as they wait for my introduction. I swallow the lump in my throat and say, “I'm Carolina Morgan. I'm twenty-eight and. . . ” I pause for a second before I think of a reason why they should hire me and my son pops up in my mind. He's the reason why I need the job.

“I was fired from my previous job because the company is currently at the point of bankruptcy, so they didn't have a choice but to oust some of their workers from employment. I have a three-year-old son and starving him is the last thing I want to happen.”

The men flash me a smile, except for the one in the middle.

“All right. Can you stand up?” asks the one who's sitting second to last. He's referring to the woman who's sitting in the middle. She hastily stands up in excitement.

“And you, you, you, and you,” he continues, and my heart picks up a beat when he doesn't make me stand up.

“Thank you for coming here. You can go home,” he announces. The women who were asked to stand fall into silence as their minds process what they just heard. I watch as the women are escorted out of the house. I feel my heart calm, but at the same time, I feel a bit sad because Charlotte is one of them.

Later on, I find myself sitting with the two women left.

“Carolina, right?” asks the man in the middle, which surprises me because he seemed to be avoiding asking me questions earlier.

“Yes,” I respond.

"What could be the reason why we won't hire you?" he asks, his gaze piercing my soul. Damn. Why won't they hire me? Think fast, Carolina. Fortunately, an answer which I think is perfect to say immediately pops up in my mind. When I'm the only one left, I'm jumping on the inside in utter happiness, but not until I hear the man in the middle disagree with the rest of the men to hire me.

“No. We're not hiring her.”