" Maid in USA " by Noochy

[esercito sconfitto]

Maid in the USA


by Noochy

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Oksana had dreams.

Frankly, her dreams were never enough for her so she had to actualize them. First step was leaving Moscow. She'd miss her family, but she could send for them as soon as she became something.

What was that something she could become? Perhaps, a model? There was no doubt that she was beautiful. Auburn hair that almost flowed to her waist. Her eyes had this glow to them, you could almost get hypnotized at the alarming shade of blue they were. She had thin lips though. She hated them. However, with the right shade of red contrasting against her alabaster skin, she left a striking image in many a man's head. All 5'11 of her.

Yeah, she could definitely be a model. She doesn't want to be, but she definitely could be. No, Oksana was a nurturer. She loved people and people loved her twice as much. She had that essence about her. It's the medical industry she wanted. But she doesn't have the money for schooling.

Her sister, Lasha, told her of an exchange she wanted to do in America. She'd easily make enough money in America, with persistence. Still, she didn't care much for America. Her uncle Viktor lives New York and regales the entire family with stories of rude Americans in his cab when he comes back for visits. The worst offenders appear to be a certain type of woman. The business type, with $10 cups of coffee and the latest piece of Steve Jobs' inspired technology.

Oksana HATED these women. Oksana, wincingly grasped at the opportunity and was sent to America with the clothes on her back and the love and well wishes of her family.

On the flight she was seated next to the worst possible flight annoyance there was. A terrified unaccompanied minor. Her name was Brittany and she was from America, leaving her boarding school in Russia. Little Brittany held her teddy bear tight until Oksana used her limited skills of English to try and soothe the little girl. The little girl then suprised her by speaking perfect Russian and Oksana succeeded in breaking down her defenses. Brittany thanked Oksana with two gestures. One, she taught Oksana a few more phrases of English and two, she noticed her tattered Doc Martens and drew on them as a reminder of who she was. Oksana thanked her, and in a day they landed in New York.

Oksana was scheduled to be picked up by the Blake family who lived on Park Avenue. And here's where fate intervenes.

Marianne Blake was a lonely woman. She was married and had all the creature comforts in life, and loved them very dearly. But she always felt like something was missing.

She was a former television presenter for Sky in the UK. She was so beautiful that Rupert Murdoch himself goosed her while his wife wasn't looking at an annual staff evaluation.

Who could blame him? With her olive skin, dirty blonde tresses taped in curls, full lips, and devastating brown doe eyes, Marianne was a 10 even at 40. Until, Michael claimed her. Michael was a hard man, 6'0, not the most ruggedly handsome man, but a superior interpersonal force indeed. For all of his personal charms, he claim with noticeable baggage. He was a drinker. He was a violent drinker. And a single dad. He never abused his daughter, but he certainly did on Marianne. But she loved him, and pledged to stand by him no matter what. But her first objective was to get Brittany out of the way.

Oksana and Brittany waited together for their respective employer and step-mother at JFK. They shared a candy bar and Brittany continued helping her friend learn English.

Suddenly, a woman wearing a fine tan pencil skirt, a black blouse, strappy platform high heeled sandals, and dark sunglasses with a C and another C interlocking on the sides, stormed the table.

Marianne was incensed at what she saw. Who was this stranger talking to her stepdaughter? And why was Brittany so much more enamored with the woman than her? Brittany, upon sight of her stepmother began to recoil in fear as she dragged her away. Oksana looked on helplessly as the woman shouted at Brittany to stop dawdling as they had to find Oksana.

Oksana perked up and said in her very thick Russian accent, "I am Oksana."

Marianne had a look of disbelief. How was this beauty her new maid/companion? Did she even comprehend English? She didn't even look like she comprehended basic fashion, by the looks of her boots and tattered jeans and sweater. "Well then, Oksana come along," Marianne said in her fine accent.

Back at the house, Marianne acclimated Oksana to her new surroundings and Brittany looked on in glee. Oksana marveled at all the fine things in the penthouse until she saw it. One of those gadgets, uncle Viktor told her about. It dawned on her that she was working for the enemy. Who knew the enemy dressed so well?

Marianne was once again in the throes of loneliness. She had gone into Michael's secret stash and pulled his favorite, Johnnie Walker Blue. She sniffed it to remind her of him, it was a pity that the stash had to be poured down the drain. "Just because he's in rehab, doesn't mean I am." And with that Marianne got hammered. Bottle after bottle was consumed and before the bat of an eyelash, Marianne was gone.

Oksana awoke to hear a loud crash. And another. And another. And another. She went downstairs to find Mrs. Blake destroying pictures of Michael and Brittany with empty Johnnie Walker bottles. Immediately, Oksana lept into action and then proceeded to sweep everything up, including Mrs. Blake. This is where everything goes wrong. Damn Oksana and her beautiful nature.

"DON'T TOUCH ME YOU *****."

"Excuse-I do not know..."

"You're ****ing right, you do not know. I used to do reports on animals like you. You some sort of abused sex slave whore are you?"

"Miss, I try to help. Please Brittany, she sleeping..."

"What?"

"Brittany, sleeping."

"WHO THE **** ARE YOU TO TALK TO ME ABOUT MY KID?!"

With that Marianne reached back and threw the hardest punch this side of her old Manchester primary school days.

Oksana immediately fell to the ground. As she fell to the ground, her uncle Viktor's stories came flooding back to her. Every rude passenger, every $10 coffee, every gadget. Oksana grabbed the gadget and swung it at her employer. Immediately, Marianne was knocked unconscious.

Oksana immediately looked at what she'd done. There she was. Dirty blonde hair spread out, slacked jaw, and full lips open. She then saw everything else. The fine black blouse. The beautiful tan skirt. And her personal favorite those beautiful black high heel platform sandals.

Oksana then saw what she was wearing. A white tank top, her old athletic shorts from her school days and finally on her own feet, nothing. How unfair was it that this woman got to wear such beautiful things? She wondered what it would be like in her shoes. Fortunately, there they were right there.

She lifted Marianne's right foot up, and unbuckled the top strap. Oksana sat down to compare her foot to the vacant shoe. The sole read "YSL." Whatever that meant she was assured that it was expensive, but more importantly, it was her size. She put the shoe on her foot and preceded to do the same with Marianne's other shoe.

She admired herself in the mirror, and then decided that the look wasn't quite complete. She looked at Marianne and then removed her skirt, revealing Marianne's black thong. Oksana had never seen such underwear before, so she proceed to discard her shorts and put the thong on. Followed by the skirt.

Still it wasn't enough. She saw Marianne's fine black blouse and proceeded to wear that as well. She admired Marianne's matching black bra, but decided that she had done enough. But not quite. She darted upstairs and found her (and Marianne's apparently) favorite lipstick. Red naturally. She admired herself in the mirror, and once again realized what she had done. There was an unconscious woman downstairs, her employer, and Oksana was responsible for her condition...




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Oksana was a woman transformed. She stood there thinking about what she had done. This wasn't what she came to America for. This wasn't who she was. She wasn't the type of person to assault someone and steal their things.

An overwhelming sense of guilt befell our heroine, as she realized the former occupant of these clothes lay sprawled out half naked on the floor of her penthouse.

Oksana still had reserved anger at Mrs. Blake, but her nature couldn't allow her to let her lay there and potentially asphyxiate on her own vomit. She may be out of job, but she certainly wasn't out of compassion.

She descended the staircase, the sound of her new Yves Saint Laurent heels echoing in the now silent penthouse. As she turned the corner, Oksana was startled to see little Brittany standing near the blood of Mrs. Blake. Curiously, there was no Mrs. Blake.

Brittany waved her arms to alert her friend of the danger that lurked behind her. That danger being Michael Blake, returned from rehab.

Michael Blake walked into the doors of his penthouse, aghast at the damage in his home. He wasn't nearly prepared to see the sight of his wife lain across his hardwood floors.

Michael immediately shifted into a state of panic. Who had done this to his beautiful Marianne? The same man who had once struck his wife with less than reckless abandon, couldn't tolerate this injustice. Then he saw it.

Marianne's vagina exposed in a less than chaste manner. Did this monster do the unthinkable? If so why? Michael had heard stories of famous newscasters stalked and attacked in their homes, but who would be this sick? Did they care that she was somebody's wife and stepmother? Michael weeped. Until he heard two sounds, the first was Marianne whispering that she was okay. The second, was the sound of a high heeled shoe upstairs.

Michael sprung into action. He grabbed his wife and carried her upstairs ever so quietly, after placing Marianne in the guest room, he crept over to his daughter's room and greeted her the only way he could. In his family's native Russian. Brittany in turn told her papa about their wonderful new maid Oksana. Michael didn't hear this and warned his daughter that there was a great danger in the house. Brittany listened to her papa and promptly followed his instructions. The first was to stand in the exact spot that he told her to be in. The second was to alert him when she saw or heard the bad person move.

Unfortunately, the bad person was Oksana. Brittany attempted to wave her off and warn her of the impending danger. Oksana never saw him coming. Michael swung his fist and Oksana crumbled. Brittany screamed at her father that he had made a mistake. This was Oksana, her friend. Michael looked at the woman, and how could he not? She lay there unconscious, with a certain amount of beauty that could never be quantified. Her skin was a glowing ivory and her mouth was emblazoned with a bright red lipstick. But even more stunning was her wardrobe. The clothes seemed familiar, but Michael never suspected they were of his wife's personal collection.

Michael was stupefied. He didn't expect to come home from rehab to nurse two unconscious women. He expected to enjoy a nice personally homemade breakfast with the two ladies he loved most in this world. He wanted to assure Marianne he was a changed man, and to let Brittany know to not be afraid of her stepmother anymore. Instead, he's got the love of his life knocked senseless in the guest room and the most alluring woman he'd seen in quite sometime. And she was from the Motherland.

Oksana woke to see a man standing the ray of the sunrise. Curiously, he greeted her in her mother tongue. She responded in kind, and soon he thanked her for looking after his little girl on the flight. This was Mr. Blake. He then wanted to apologize for the misunderstanding last night. Someone attempted to sexually assault his wife apparently, and he was only responding in kind. Oksana didn't have the heart to tell him what really happened.

Mr. Blake offered her scrambled eggs and bacon with a coffee. Oksana thanked him graciously, and they began to talk. And talk. And talk. Soon, they felt like old friends. Michael was born Mikhail, but his parents from Leningrad Americanized it so he could fit in with his peers at school. He met Marianne during a business venture with James Murdoch. From there, Oksana told him of her dreams, and her purpose for being there. Brittany periodically came down to enjoy her father and her friend's company. She stayed for an hour then retired to her room to nap.Then suddenly, Oksana and Michael kissed.

Michael knew it was wrong. His wife was upstairs, laid out and possibly still shaken by the events of last night. But the actions just felt so right. He loved Marianne, but Oksana just spoke to him on a spiritual and physical level.

Marianne awoke. The clock next to her read 3:00PM, but that couldn't be right. She didn't even remember the events of last night, beyond her drinking. She staggered over into the bathroom, there was a slight scar above her eyebrow and a headache that wasn't just your standard hangover headache. She dressed herself in jogging attire and checked on a sleeping Brittany before walking downstairs before finding Michael...and that ***** who knocked her out...in her clothes!

Marianne immediately saw red. Oksana saw nothing. Michael saw war. Oksana and Marianne brawled until Michael pulled them apart to make sense of it all. Marianne attempted to explain that Oksana was in fact their maid, but her assailant as well. Michael didn't understand. How could that same woman be the callous creature who attacked his wife, and how could he be so fooled?

Oksana didn't understand much English, but still she could see the writing on the wall. She immediately made a run for it with Michael and a livid Marianne in tow. She made it into an elevator, with a curious looking young woman already inside.

Becky was bored. She was only 17, but she knew the purpose of her life was to live it. Being the building superintendent's daughter was not living. This white tank top was not living. The ripped blue jeans, and thrift store brown riding boots were not living at all.

A scowl came across her freckled face. She brushed her red hair away from her green eyes and thought of the lives of the occupants of this building. How much more interesting they were compared to hers. What she would give to just come in contact with one of them.

Then suddenly, as if the gates of heaven opened and answered her prayers. A model runs into the elevator. She was wearing the finest clothes she could ever dream of. How she wished she could ask to swap clothes with her. And suddenly, fate intervened. The model asked in a thick Russian accent to switch clothes with her...




1/20/2013, 6:51 am