4

Alissa carried the plates to the dinner table with Gia as the family sat around the table. Miss. Cromwell had arrived home an hour ago and had gone straight to her room to freshen up and change for dinner. Misty Cromwell was a living Barbie doll with her long golden hair and ivory complexion. She had the perfect hourglass figure and dark eyes. She was a stunningly beautiful woman. The kind of woman other women longed to be like. Though she was beautiful on the outside, she was ugly on the inside. She had a very nasty, selfish personality, but she was rich and pretty, so people forgave her many character flaws.

Personally, Alissa hated the woman.

Alissa and Gia stepped back from the table but stayed in the room in case the family wanted anything. Alissa hated this part. She had to stand quietly while they talked about the staff like they weren’t even there. Misty went on and on about Paris and how wonderful it had been. Then she picked up her crystal glass and lifted it to her lips only to pause and frown. “I see things have become lax around here, my glass is spotty, and the silverware is tarnished,” she said, picking up her fork to inspect it. “I certainly hope standards will be higher tomorrow night at the party when all of Louisiana is in attendance.”

Alissa rolled her eyes; there was nothing wrong with the crystal or the silverware; she and Gia had spent hours polishing both they were pristine.

Misty gasped in the offence. “Did you see that, Mother; this ungrateful coloured bitch just rolled her eyes at me,” Alissa cringed. She hadn’t expected anyone to notice her reaction. She was in trouble now.

“She did not,” Donavon argued. “And don’t call her that,” he scolded his sister.

“Oh, why not?” Newton snickered. “Does it offend you?”

“As a matter of fact, it does. Civil people do not reduce themselves to using racial slurs,” Alissa smiled. She appreciated his defence of her. He then picked up his glass and inspected it. “I see nothing wrong with the crystal, and the silver looks as though it has been sufficiently polished.”

“You can’t trust a man’s opinion on the keep of a home. If it does not have to do with profit margins, they see nothing,” Misty argued. “The entire table setting is subpar. And her rolling her eyes at me is unacceptable. I demand she be reprimanded.”

“And she will, a day’s pay docked for insubordination,” Mrs. Cromwell announced.

Alissa was outraged, but she said nothing.

“That is hardly fair,” Donavon sneered.

“If you don’t take a firm hand with these people, they will get out of line,” Mrs. Cromwell said as she ate her salad.

“Labor laws say you can’t do that,” Donavon argued. “You already pay the staff so little. The Civil Rights Act says black workers are to be paid a fair and equal wage as any white worker that might fill the same position, yet you pay these women $0.77 an hour when a white maid is making at least $1.60. That is 52% less than the law requires, yet you do it because no one in the southern states enforces labour laws.”

“Nobody makes them take these jobs. They agree to the wage when they accept the job. They can always refuse,” Mrs. Cromwell stated.

“And do what? They need to survive. If they refuse one job for another, they still don’t get a fair wage. What are they supposed to do, go homeless and starve to death on principle while they wait for a livable wage? We both know they could be waiting until the second coming of Christ.”

“Surprise-surprise, Donavon’s an abolitionist,” Newton snickered as he sipped his wine.

“Oh, shut up, Newt,” Donavon snapped.

“Don’t call me that,” Newton hissed.

“At least I have principles,” Donavon growled. “You are just a spoiled little parasite who thinks everything should be handed to him and doesn’t care about who he steps on to get it white or black.”

“That is enough politics at the dinner table,” Mr. Cromwell scolded. “And do not think to tell your mother how to run her household. She has been running this house for thirty-two years, and she has done a damn fine job at it. Now apologize to your mother for raising your voice to her.”

“I will not,” Donavon said as he stood up and tossed his cloth napkin on the table. “I have lost my appetite. I think I will retire for the evening,” Donavon then looked up at Alissa, and their eyes met. She held his gaze and tried not to smile, but it was so hard. He then stormed out of the dining room.

Alissa looked back at the table to see Mrs. Cromwell glaring at her. She didn’t like the way Alissa and Donavon looked at one another. Alissa forced the half-smile off her face and remained silent while the family ate. After dinner, Alissa and Gia began to clear the table when Mrs. Cromwell came back into the room. “Get out,” she ordered Gia.

Gia looked at Alissa and then reluctantly left her alone with Mrs. Cromwell. “Don’t think I didn’t see that little exchange between you and Donavon,” she said, coming closer. “My family employees, your mother and both your brothers and our close personal friends the Blackstone's employee your father as I hear it. One call from my husband, and that can all change. I am a very powerful enemy. So, unless you want your whole family unemployed, you will keep your eyes down and your distance from my son. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

Alissa didn’t want to be the reason her family lost their livelihood, so she lowered her gaze. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“Good, and if the place settings are not immaculate tomorrow night, you will be looking for employment elsewhere. Understood?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” she said through clenched teeth. Mrs. Cromwell then turned on her heels and left the dining room. What a bitch?