Maid To The Billionaire(12)
“Good morning. That smells amazing,” I told her, padding out in my robe and slippers. “What are you making?”
“I have the works,” she said. “French toast, bacon, sausage, fresh fruit and fresh squeezed orange juice.”
“You’re amazing. You’re my favorite roommate.”
“I know,” she said. “Grab some juice and have a seat, I’ll fill you up.”
I got my juice and sat down. Within minutes, my plate was filled with beautiful, fattening food. I picked up the maple syrup and began pouring it onto my French toast. I love maple syrup, I usually overdo it. That’s why I was surprised that as soon as the sweet, syrupy fragrance hit my nostrils, my stomach lurched.
I put the syrup down, pushed back from the table and all but ran into the bathroom. I dropped to my knees in front of the toilet and began to heave. I was shaking and I could feel sweat beading up on my forehead and running slowly down the side of my face. I emptied my stomach and reached up to flush the toilet before almost collapsing back against the cabinet behind me. I was light-headed and I could actually see gray spots in front of my eyes. I’d never passed out before, so I wasn’t sure, but it felt like I was about to. I leaned forward and put my head between my knees while I let it pass. In the meantime, I heard Liz knock on the door.
“Hey Vicki! Are you alright? What happened?” I didn’t answer her right away so she pushed open the door. When she saw me on the floor she sucked in a sharp breath and said, “Oh my goodness, honey, what’s wrong? You’re so pale!”
“I’m not feeling so good,” I told her.
“Here, let’s get you up and back to bed,” she said. She helped me to my feet and I stood in front of the sink and brushed my teeth and rinsed out my mouth. Then I mistakenly took a drink of water. As soon as it hit my stomach, I was hanging my head over the toilet again. “Jeez, honey. You have something bad. Have you been around anyone with the stomach flu?”
“Not that I know of,” I told her, starting the teeth brushing process over.
“What did you eat last night?”
“Just the pasta salad. The same as you.”
“Hmm, at least it’s probably not food poisoning. I had that once after eating some bad salmon. That was the worst. It was even worse because my periods were spotty back then and I thought I was pregnant.” I saw the question in her eyes before she asked it. I was trying to do the math in my own head. When was my last menstrual cycle? Oh damn!
“I’m not pregnant,” I said, too quickly.
“Did you and Jason use protection?”
“Not condoms, but I was on the pill. We both got tested regularly for STD’s. Jason hated condoms.”
“Did you remember to take them every day?”
“Yes Liz. I’m not pregnant. It’s the flu.”
She seemed to accept that and said, “Okay honey, let’s get you to bed.”
CHAPTER SIX
VICTORIA
I lay in bed, grateful once again for Liz who brought me some saltine crackers and a seven-up and then after putting a bucket by the bed “just in case,” she left me alone with my smelly misery. I nibbled on the crackers and after a while my stomach began to settle down. I only took sips of the seven-up, although I wasn’t nauseated any longer, I was still cautious of putting too much into my stomach. I seriously despised throwing up.
By noon I felt better and I got up and took a shower. While I was standing under the soft spray, my mind went back to Liz’s questions about the birth control had I remembered to take them every day? There was one week, right before Jason and I started our “break” where I’d messed up somehow and forgotten to take one. But I’d doubled up the next day and the gynecologist had told me once before that was safe. I couldn’t be pregnant. I hadn’t had my period in almost two months, but that wasn’t unusual either. My cycles were fickle and some months, if I was really stressed out, I wouldn’t have one at all. I couldn’t be pregnant. I didn’t have the money to be a mother or the time. Babies are expensive and daycare is even more expensive. What would I do about work?
I thought back to when I was a kid and my mother worked at that strip club just outside of Seal Beach. I hadn’t told Alex the day he and I talked about it, but that was why I spent so much time there. She would drop me off at the pier before she went to work from the time I was ten until I got to about fourteen. When the sun went down, there was a little room in the back where I would watch television until she got off at two. I was never allowed in the club area, but I heard a lot of “shop-talk” going on between the strippers, since their dressing room was only separated from the room I was in by a curtain. Over the years a few of the other women brought their kids too and we formed a little club and called ourselves, “Seal Rats.” It was corny, but none of us had much at that point.