Behind the Kitchen Door
I got up quietly the morning after my sister had fought with Lucia Mirabella at Emily’s Beachside Bar. I’d left Emily’s early and taken a cab home so Bella could have some time alone with Stephen. I hoped that Bella’s victory and the gracious way she’d treated Lucia afterward might be enough to finally get Stephen to commit. For too long he had said ‘we’re hanging out together.’ I knew Bella was anxious, if not exactly desperate, to get him to the ‘dating’ stage.
I need not have been so quiet. I was in the kitchen making coffee when my sister emerged. She was wearing her bathrobe. Her feet were bare, and her robe was open enough to reveal that so was the rest of her. She was glowing – and not with warmth either. I grinned. “You scored with Stephen, huh?”
“Hush, he’s still asleep.” I almost choked on my coffee and Bella laughed. “Beth, it’s not the first time you or I have brought a man home.”
That was true. Once we’d had a double date and we each took our date home. That had made for an interesting morning after. I grinned again. “Go back in with some coffee. I’ll bring in a breakfast tray in ten.”
I fussed around the kitchen. I wanted to take my mind off things. I was happy for my sister – she deserved a good man – but I couldn’t help thinking that I hadn’t had a boyfriend in ages. I’d had two affairs that year. Both had ended badly. The first was with Henry Vaughan, my boss. It ended when the HR manager at work took me to task over it. I was still friendly with Henry. He’d invited me to a book launch and an exhibition opening. Still, the lecture from the HR manager left a bad taste, so I had no romantic intentions toward Henry. The second affair was worse. I had really set my heart on Peter Balfour. He ticked all the boxes. He was a few years older than I was, and I’d always liked mature men. He was successful and prosperous and every girl likes a man with the money to spoil her. He was clever and creative and I’d always enjoyed intelligent conversation. He was a gentle and accomplished lover and every girl liked that. The only problem was – as I found out one awful night – he was my boss’s boyfriend.
I shrugged. This train of thought was getting me nowhere. I had to fight down my negativity. If I didn’t, it would take over again, just like Bella had said. Still it kept eating away at me all that day. No boyfriend – loser. Failed relationship – loser. The work problems that I’d argued about with Bella the day before – loser. At least that argument had had a good outcome. Bella probably wouldn’t have fought Lucia if she hadn’t been a little angry with me – and if she hadn’t fought, she wouldn’t have bedded Stephen.
I went out walking with Bella and Stephen that day. The fresh air and some good conversation kept the negatives at bay for a while – but not for long. I couldn’t shake the funk I was in.
Work on Monday and all that week – the last week before the sailing club fund-raiser – was far worse. St Leon was full of herself. She’d made a mess of the New Globe fund-raiser. She’d screwed the boss’s boyfriend. She’d declared war on me. Instead of getting fired or chewed out by HR, she’d gotten a promotion. All the harpies took that as a signal that she was the golden girl and that I was out of favour. The bitches played all their tricks all over again. They hid my personal items. If I was about to go into a meeting, they stole important documents from my files to make me look bad. They mocked me. They pushed me around – not enough for me to say they assaulted me – but they bumped me and made me spill my coffee, or pretended to be in a hurry and ‘accidentally’ jostled me into the wall.
There was nothing I could do. I couldn’t complain to management. The HR staff would just think I was trying to make trouble. I couldn’t fight them in the middle of the office and they all left in a pack after work. I couldn’t talk to anyone about it. Once again the word had gone around – St Leon was in favour and I was not. No one wanted to be seen with me.
I had to rush home on Friday to get ready for the fund raiser. All the managers – people like Kelly who were going as paying guests – got to go home early. Not us. I grabbed a subway roll and a coffee on the way home. That was all I’d get. We’d been told that the food at the fund raiser wasn’t for us – at least not till all the guests had been fed.
It was bad enough to be volunteered – we weren’t asked to work the event, but simply told. It was worse to know that we weren’t just free wait staff – we were eye candy to be leered at. We’d been told to wear heels, short skirts and show some cleavage – not quite in those direct terms, but the implication was obvious. I changed into a clinging black sleeveless dress that showed plenty of thigh, with a plunging neckline. I was proud of my boobs and wasn’t afraid to show them off – but I liked to do it when I
wanted to – not because I’d been ordered to. By the time I’d added matching four-inch patent pumps and done my makeup, I barely had time to wolf down half the sub and run out the door again. Now I was not only tired but hungry too.
I didn’t think it could get any worse when St Leon and her harpies began mocking me. Every time I came back to the kitchen to refill my tray of food or glasses, one or more of them would be there. They would remind me just who was the team leader – and that it wasn’t me.
I was wrong. It did get worse. It was toward the end of the night. The guests were all fed and watered The charity auction was over. Some of the guests were leaving. I thought it was time to kick back a bit. I looked forward to a glass of wine and some food.
Instead, when I walked into the kitchen, there was St Leon , Baur, Gomez and a few of the other harpies. St Leon was dressed to the nines in a midnight blue sheath dress that clung to every curve, and matching stiletto heels. She glared at me. “So Bethany…I guess ass licking doesn't work.” There was laughter from the others. “We know you've been sucking up to Kelly Haldane. We saw you working back every night, trying to do your pathetic best to ‘help’ with this event. And why? Because you thought you'd get a reward…maybe something as little as a smile or a pat on the back. Hey, maybe you even hoped for a promotion? Well you didn't get it, did you? I did. So why don't you just crawl away to wherever the losers go?”
There were a few girls who I liked, who I'd helped along the way. I tried to appeal to them. “Suzette…Clare…you know I help people- I've helped you. We work as a team.”
They just stood there and said nothing.
Baur sneered. “Some team player. You sleep around. You lick ass. Why don’t you get lost?”
I tried to bluster. “You don't want that,” I shot back. “Who'd do all the work that you can't do?” I sounded more confident than I felt. Why did they hate me so much?
“Oh we can handle it. At least we wouldn’t have you around, picking fights,” said Gomez.
That was so unfair. “Baur picked the fight! She lost. So did you. You tried to make me kiss your toes.”
“Better to kiss her toes than kiss ass,” St Leon sneered. “That’s what you did. You slept with Henry to try to get a better job. You slept with Peter Balfour to get a contract. You kissed up to Kelly to get ahead…and none of it got you anywhere.”
I wasn’t going to put up with that. Without another word, I kicked off my heels and flew at St Leon. If I beat her, I'd be able to deal with the harpies.
I tried to knock her down with a sudden rush. I almost succeeded. She stumbled back. I slapped her face. She was too busy trying to retain her balance to defend. I rained down hard slaps on her face. I remembered how my sister had beaten Lucia, and how she had almost beaten Kelly Haldane. She'd started by slapping. She swung from her hips so each slap had her weight behind it. I did the same now. I must have gotten in a dozen slaps – and each slap damaged her – before Jo pulled herself together. Her lip was puffy, her cheeks burning red by the time she began to defend. I switched my attack, punching her in the chest. Down came her hands. I returned to slapping her face. She batted some of my slaps away. A lot more got through. I was hammering her.
She retreated, she dodged, she defended but I still slapped away and still hit her hard. She broke away, putting some distance between us. I came after her, trying to slap. She kicked out. I swung to the left and slapped again. She ducked. My slap whizzed over her head. I was stretched out and couldn't defend quickly enough to avoid her punch. It hammered into my side. I’d twisted so it didn't hit my middle. I remembered how hard she could punch – and how much she liked punching.
I knew I had to defeat her quickly. She was still probably fitter than I was and she’d probably outlast me. That just
could not happen. I could not lose this fight. I'd have to quit my job. I'd probably have to leave Chicago. I couldn’t face the harpies if she beat me again.
Jo stood up and slapped my face. I gasped. She slapped again. I parried her slap with my left and slapped back with my right. That hit. For a long moment we traded slaps, each defending with our left hand and slapping with our right. She’d recovered from her initial shock at my furious assault but not, I hoped, from the assaults themselves. Her face was even redder. Her eye was puffy. Her lip was split. She had suffered. I was going to make her suffer more.
At first St Leon only slapped from the shoulder, she didn't swing her body into each hit. Those of her slaps that broke though my defense stung rather than hurt. Mine thudded home hard – each one made her gasp – and more of mine hit home than of hers. I knew she was losing this stage when her gasps turned to groans. She caught on to what I was doing and started swinging from the hip, but by now it didn't do her much good. By now almost all my slaps were hitting. I mixed them up, some to her face, some to her boobs. I’d had an early success in my last fight with this bitch by attacking her boobs. They were sensitive. I could see her nipples poking through her tight-fitting dress and I aimed for them. Just like before, I struck hard and inflicted pain. St Leon groaned loudly when my slaps hit home. She tried to block my slaps, bringing her arms down to protect her chest. I switched back to her face, slapping even harder.
St Leon tried to break away. I didn’t let her. I went after her, swinging my whole body from the hip. She kicked at me. I dodged to avoid it. I closed again. She fired a punch but I swerved and it just kissed my ribs. I slapped at her boobs and she groaned. Her eyelids fluttered and I knew I’d hurt her. She punched again. Again I swerved. This time I avoided the punch entirely and my slap hit home on her face. She gulped and spluttered blood – I'd either busted her lip or she’d bitten it. Either way she was in trouble.
She fired another punch and again I swerved. Bad move. She anticipated my dodge this time and fired a punch with her other hand. It sank into my gut. I gagged and went rigid. I felt the pain seep in, beneath my skin to my abs where it felt like a knife. I would have cried out if I’d had enough air. She followed it with another punch which hammered my ribs and made me stumble to the side. I successfully defended her next few punches but I paid a price for that. I had to give up my own attack and concentrate on defending. St Leon drew on her ample reserves and pressed me. I dodged, parried and deflected her blows away. Few of them hit but some did and they hurt. I back pedaled, putting a few feet between us. She came after me. I kicked at her and she stopped just as I’d done earlier. I stood gasping for air. Again she closed, again I kicked and again I bought a few more seconds.
That was enough for me to regroup. I slapped hard at her chest with my open hand, slamming it into the outside of her left breast. She cried out loud this time. Her teeth were bared as she swung her fist at my face. I expected the punch and bobbed down. I punched upwards into her gut, rising and using my knees. I felt my fist drive deep into her abs. I saw the look of shock on her face, her eyes going wide as a spray of spit, mingled with a little blood, erupted from her mouth. A second later her face whitened as the pain registered. Her eyes closed for an instant. She faltered, then brought her hands down to protect her stomach.
I drew back and slammed my fist into her face. She'd turned a little to avoid my left, and my right hit her nose. Blood gushed from it. St Leon staggered back and I went after her. She defended grimly and blocked most of my punches as she slowly gave ground. Despite the damage I'd done to her she fought back with punches of her own. She didn't hit often but when she did, she hurt me. Her punches seemed harder than those I was able to deal out. I realised again just how fit and strong she was. Still I kept slugging away, damaging her, trying to keep her on the defensive. I was wearing her down.
The trouble was, she was wearing me down too. My eyes stung with the sweat that ran down my forehead. Rivulets of it trickled down my cleavage. I was breathing hard. I told myself – truthfully – that I'd damaged her far more than she'd damaged me. That wasn't the point. It had been the same in our last fight. She’d still beaten me.
Her punches hammered home more often. I was pushed to defend. I managed to stop most of her blows. The cost was that I wasn't hitting her much – only when I could see a break in her attack, and those breaks didn't come often. She mixed up her attack. Her punches seemed to hit my face, my stomach, my boobs more and more often. My defense started to waver.
I lunged forward and grabbed a handful of her hair. I wanted to get in close so she couldn’t fire those heavy punches. I jerked her head around. She stumbled. I remembered that she was still in heels. I jerked harder and slapped her face hard with my free hand. She stumbled again. She didn't hit back. It was all she could do to stay upright. I jerked her head harder, bending her over. I rammed my knee up into her gut. She gagged. I felt hot breath and wet spit and probably blood too on my thigh. I knew I'd hurt her with that one. I thrust my knee up again but she pushed it aside. Her parry knocked me off balance a little. It gave her the chance to stand again. She grabbed my hair. We stood jerking each other's hair with one hand and slapping or punching with the other. But now my blows were harder. My jerks and St Leon's heels kept her off balance. She couldn’t stand and deliver the heavy punches she had. I was again hitting her and she was defending.
“Ooof!!!” Air gushed from my chest as pain stabbed through my stomach. She'd kneed me. I let out a long groan as the pain seeped deep inside. My grip on her hair slipped. St Leon wormed her way free.
For a few seconds we glared at each other, chests heaving as we sucked air back into our lungs. St Leon took the time to kick her heels off. Now my great advantage had gone. I had to finish the fight before she wore me down like she did last time.
I surged forward. I slammed my knee into her thigh. She gasped and her leg buckled. I stepped back, then kicked out. I felt my foot hit home on her leg, just above the knee. I charged, hoping to knock her down but I realised too late that I'd already succeeded. She had dropped to her knees after my second kick. I tried to stop but left my upper body bent over her. I’d thought to slam into her, chest to chest, and I couldn’t stop in time. I was strung out, stretched over her, when she thrust her shoulder into my gut.
It felt a hot poker inside me. I couldn’t breathe. I lurched back. The pain sank into my bowels, into my womb. Bile bubbled up in my throat. I almost vomited. I threw my hands up blindly to defend. St Leon stood back and fired measured, heavy punches. I tried to block them but she was mixing up her blows as she'd done before and now my defense was weak, I was too breathless to do much more than suck air. I gave ground, dodged and ducked but she was relentless. Her punches pounded my flesh, each one eliciting a gasp, a groan or a yelp. My face stung, my boobs ached and my stomach – where she concentrated most of her blows – was a mass of pain. It hurt more than I thought possible, more even than when Wendy had pounded my belly. Tears streamed from my eyes.
I gagged as another punch broke through my defense. Every time I got a little breath back, she knocked it out of me again. I needed to break away but Jo wouldn’t let me. No matter how I twisted or turned or tried to defend, she just kept beating me. I wanted to give in. I had no more fight in me. I knew what would happen if I lost but it no longer mattered. “Please…” I croaked. I'd leave – I’d have to. I'd quit my job – I’d leave town – it only it would stop her.
“It's not over till
I say it is,” St Leon smiled cruelly, “and that's not for a long time. You won't ever show your face around here again.” She came closer. Again I saw that evil grin and it terrified me, but it was the looks on the spectators’ faces that scared me most. Gomez and Baur were smirking. Suzette looked terrified. This wasn’t just about me – this gang of bullies would pick on someone else when I was gone. I couldn’t let that happen. But I had nothing left.
St Leon closed on me, ready to beat me again. I let her get close, then I did the only thing I could think of. I darted forward, got my hand in her face and gouged her eye.
I'd never done anything as cruel as that in any fight ever. I scared me that I’d even think of it, but I reminded myself that this was different. I wasn't just fighting for me. I was fighting for all the girls who St Leon's gang had bullied, or would bully in the future if it didn’t stop here and now. I felt my thumb jab her eyeball. She screamed in pain and staggered back, clutching her eye. I pounded her belly and chest with well aimed punches. She hardly defended at all. Blow after blow hit home, each one drawing a loud cry of pain now. When she doubled up, I judged the time was right. I fired an uppercut to her chin that straightened her up again.
I ducked low and charged in, body slamming her as I shoved myself upward. The impact lifted her off her feet and threw her over onto her back. She hit hard and lay there groaning. I stomped on her stomach just to be sure. What was left of her breath exploded out of her. She didn’t have enough air to scream. She just gurgled and curled partway into a ball. I smiled down at her. My chest was heaving, my lungs burning, but I managed to pant out, “It's over now, isn't it Jo?”
I decided to be magnanimous. I was glad I had that chance. I bent down to help her up but Gomez dashed forward and pushed me aside. “You dirty coward!” She almost spat the words.
I went over to Suzette, but she shrank from me. “I never thought I'd see you do that.” There was horror in her voice.
“I did it for you and for the reset of the staff!” I argued. “To stop the harpies from bullying you like they did me!”
“I don't need that sort of help!” she replied with disgust. “Get away from me!” She gave me one last glare and turned her back on me. So did the other girls. There was fear on their faces as they left with Gomez and Baur almost carrying St Leon.
I shivered as I stood there alone – in every sense of the word – in the kitchen. I’d done it for them! No one believed me. No one believed
in me. No one wanted me there.
But I'd beaten St Leon. At least I could hold onto that. I walked out.
When I was growing up there was an English period TV show broadcast in Australia called Upstairs Downstairs contrasting the life of the rich and their servants in Edwardian England. This is what happened "downstairs" while Kelly and her friends were enjoying themselves at Christmas Charity Clash Once again I have to thank the usual suspects Braveheart and the Scribbler chief among them. 
