Keeping Up Appearances 1
Of the many things Josephine Sterling learned from her Main Line mamma, only three stood foremost in her mind.
1. Do not, under any circumstances, lose your shit. Or, as mamma would have said, “Don’t drop your basket, dear. Its unseemly.”
2. If you are, for any reason, unable to resist losing your shit, never do so where it may be seen. “Messy baskets make messy mascara, Josephine, and nobody needs that.”
3. Never, and I mean never, underestimate the therapeutic value of a vodka martini. “Three olives. Dry as dust.”
As Josephine grew to learn, mamma liberally applied the tonic of aphorism number three in order to manage her “basket”.
So it came as no surprise that she headed straight for the sideboard bar that night after a particularly challenging social event. Her husband, Marcus, had once again abandoned her to the petty dramas of the Palm Beach Island social scene, choosing instead to finish up some West Coast phone calls at home. This had left Josephine alone, smiling until her cheeks hurt and glad-handing until her feet ached.
Toeing off her striking silver stilettos, she promptly lost four inches which caused the “floor length” silk sheathe to puddle about her feet. As she was naturally small in stature, Marcus had repeatedly forced her into ridiculously high heels so that they were of a height for the photographers. He also thought they were sexy, so as the good wife the habit had stuck. It also didn’t hurt that he often gifted her with gorgeously expensive name-brand shoes.
This didn’t mean she wasn’t grateful when they finally came off.
Sinking her toes into the thick, antique Oriental rug, she gathered her skirt in her hands and poured a stiff martini one-handed. Mamma had taught her that, too. Spearing her three olives with a toothpick, she plopped them in the drink to marinate, gathered the concoction up and began to make her way through the house to change.
The floors shifted from luxurious rugs to deep hardwoods to marble as she crossed the foyer and made her way up the curving staircase. The wrought iron railing twisted beside her in a delicate dance of ivy leaves and flowers. She sipped her cocktail as she climbed, idly sorting through the night’s event to catalogue who she had met and what follow-ups she would have to make in the morning.
As the Chair of SparkeSoft’s charity arm, she was responsible for making and maintaining relationships that would not only benefit numerous causes, but also shine a good light on the corporation. In addition to the many other organizations that she chaired, Josephine was a well known entity in the fundraising world, one with deep pockets and an ever deeper network. It was important that she knew who there was to know—and that they knew her.
The texture beneath her feet softened as she crossed onto the deep, thick carpet of her home office. Setting the glass on her mahogany desk, she made a few notes in her datebook, and a few more in her journal. This evening’s event had been full of local businessmen and politicians; she would have to make a few phone calls in the morning to deliver the “personal touch”. Picking up her glass, she took a deep swallow before crossing the thresh hold to her private bathroom.
Cool, white marble surrounded her with pretty feminine touches. Marcus refused to share a bathroom with her, claiming that a lady needed her lady space. At first she had been chagrined, but then quickly realized the benefits. Her husband took an impossibly long time in the shower, sometimes disappearing into his own marble realm for up to two hours or more. She had never understood it, but supposed that was just part of what made him tick. Her acquiescence in the matter had yielded her this truly perfect feminine space with soft colours, plush towels and enough counter space to spread out.
She leaned forward to get a closer look at the fatigue and fine lines around her eyes. Just shy of thirty-seven, she was beginning to see the march of time across her pale, Northern-European skin. Mamma would have told her it was almost time for some discreet work; Marcus might have agreed. But Josephine figured that as long as she stuck with good sunscreen and moisturizer, she could get away with dermaplanes and facials for just a little bit longer. With sure, deft strokes, she cleaned the makeup from her face with an organic, hand-crafted creme and applied a thick layer of custom moisturizer. Being in the public eye had its price, she supposed, and good maintenance paid.
She leaned back and unclasped her diamond drop earrings, setting them casually in the dish reserved for just such things. The tennis bracelet joined them. She took her martini into her personal walk in closet and set it on top of the safe, quickly dialing in the combination. Her matching necklace went into its box with the other valuable jewelry, as did her cocktail rings and wedding set. She unzipped the dress and let it slither to the floor before stepping out of it and her stockings. Left only in her delicate lingerie, she locked the safe, hung up the dress, drank her drink and slipped into a black silk robe.
The evening was now, in her mind, nearly complete.
Josephine walked back out into the hallway to head towards Marcus’ office. It wasn’t terribly late—she had left the party earlier than usual, skipping out on the ultra-boring speaker that she had heard before, so she assumed he would still be on his West Coast calls. The time change out there was hell on finance and kept him very busy, but she knew he would want to be kept up with the events of her evening. The carpet soothed her feet, and she finished the last of her cocktail on the way, anticipating joining him for another as he finished up.
She pressed the door open to his professional realm, enjoying the scent of his cologne. Slightly woodsy with undertones of floral. The thick leather chair behind his desk was empty, as was the butter leather couch. The desk light and the computer were still humming and the bathroom door was closed, so with a mental shrug, she assumed he must be there.
“I’m just going to grab another drink, hon,” she called out softly. His bar was a matched set to the one in the dining room, fully stocked with a small mini-fridge humming below. She poured another martini, spearing her olives as she asked, “Do you want anything?”
“Marcus?”
With no answer and the bathroom light on, she padded over to knock. “Marcus?”
The door yielded beneath her knock, so she pressed it open and peered around the corner. He was very tight about his bathroom privacy. “Hon, are you in here?”
Still no answer, so she pushed it open a bit further to reveal a fully empty room. Lights on, steam fading from the mirror, towels piled haphazardly across his dark marble floor. After five years of marriage, she had only been in his bathroom once before. He had drawn so few hard lines during their courtship, marriage and home renovation. He was a generous husband and left her with plenty of her own private time. So when this became one of his hard lines, she had yielded easily.
That didn’t mean she wasn’t curious.
But she respected his feelings, and backed out of the room easily, shutting the door behind her as she had found it.
Martini in hand, Josephine finally let the fatigue from the night wash fully over her. She was home. She had her drink. She was out of those damn shoes. The notes were made, the jewels were locked up. And if Marcus wanted to go to bed early and not wait up for the social download, she was more than happy to comply. Bed it was.
Shoulders finally relaxing, she slipped down the long corridor to the suite they shared. It was her favourite room in the house, with a full wall of french doors opening out to a balcony by the sea. The design had been her husband’s, and as they both had their own dressing closets and full bathrooms outside of the bedroom, it was truly a haven. The bedroom was where one went to relax, to sleep and to simply be.
She couldn’t wait.
Assuming he would either be asleep or reading, she didn’t call out his name as she entered. She didn’t knock as it was her own bedroom and why should she. And, surprisingly, she didn’t drop her martini when she was confronted with what she saw.