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floor　and　opened　the　heavy　stainless…steel　fridge。　Inside　were　piles　of　fresh　produce；　containers　of

orzo　salad；　and　curried　salmon　filets　garnished　with　yellow　currants。　Where　were　the　cold　leftover

chicken　nuggets；　or　at　least　the　PB　and　J？

Behind　her；　Edgar　and　Nils　began　a　wrestling　match　in　the　middle　of　the　floor。　Vanessa　usually

let　them　do　this；　hoping　they　would　tire　themselves　out　like　the　puppies　she？d　once　filmed　at　the

Union　Square　dog　run。　She？d　been　hoping　to　catch　a　dogfight　or　see　one　of　those　rat…eating　hawks

the　city　had　released　swoop　down　to　pick　up　a　Chihuahua；　but　had　been　forced　to　settle　for　puggle

playtime　instead。　She　figured　that　eventually　the　boys　would　flop　onto　their　backs　like　the　dogs；

their　tongues　hanging　out　to　the　side；　panting。

？Boys！？　Ms。　Morgan　barked；　and　then　smoothed　her　knife…pleated　khakis。　Her　ivory　tank　top

was　trimmed　with　a　thick　brown　satin　sash。　Looking　at　her　weirdly　taut　face　and　defined

cheekbones；　it　was　hard　to　tell　if　she　was　thirty…two　or　fifty…five。　？You　can　head　upstairs　to　get

ready　for　dinner。？

She　turned　back　to　Vanessa；　the　wooden　heels　of　her　huarache　sandal　wedges　clacking　on　the

floor。　？Vanessa；　we？ll　be　having　the　salmon　filets；　and　if　you　could　just　throw　together　a　little

fresh　salad；　maybe　a　dill…yogurt　sauce　for　the　fish？　That　would　be　lovely。？

Wait。　Throw　together？　What　did　Vanessa　look　like；　the　。　。　。　the　。。。

Help？Oh。　Right。　Except　she？d　never　cooked　anything　but　boiled　ziti　with　jarred　Ragu　in　her　life。

？You　got　it；？　Vanessa　told　her　as　she　started　searching　for　dill　in　the　produce　drawer。　Upstairs　she

could　hear　the　boys　making　explosion　noises　and　then　screaming。　She　turned　around　to　hold　up　a

pile　of　leafy　herbs？was　this　dill？　cilantro？　crab…fucking…grass？？when　she　was　met　with　a

frightening　sight。

Ms。　Morgan？s　pale；　skinny；　dimpled　ass。　Oh。　My。　God。　Vanessa　quickly　swiveled　around　again。

Even　with　the　refrigerated　air　hitting　her　in　the　face；　she　could　feel　her　cheeks　burning。　Loudly

clearing　her　throat？had　Ms。　Morgan　just　forgotten　she　was　there　or　what？？she　turned　back；

holding　the　herbs　directly　in　front　of　her　face。

She　peeked　out　from　behind　the　greens　only　to　see　her　employer；　arms　akimbo；　standing　in　only

her　wooden　huarache　sandals；　a　sheer　applered　thong；　and　a　lacy　black　bra。

？Something　wrong？？　she　asked。

？Um；　no；　of　course　not。？　Vanessa　began　a　sudden；　uncharacteristic　cuticle　examination。　Her

hands　sure　were　rough！　But　she　couldn？t　help　sneaking　a　sidelong　glance　as　Ms。　Morgan；

liberated　woman　of　the　twenty…first　century；　tugged　off　her　bra　and　let　it　fall；　oh…so…casually；　onto

the　arm　of　a　kitchen　chair。

Vanessa　willed　herself　to　look　her　boss　in　the　face。　？Um；　could　you　excuse　me　for　a　second？　I？d

like　to　put　my　things　in　my　room。？　Shehad　to　get　out　of　there。

？Top　of　the　third　staircase。？　Ms。　Morgan　started　rooting　around　in　her　monogrammed　canvas

boat　bag；　presumably　for　something　to　wear。

Let？s　hope　so！

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