Priscilla November 2006

by Chastiney Ingram
Photos by Amanda Rohde

The name, Priscilla, would resonate throughout Sharon’s mind for as long as she would live. For no other person could leave an imprint of such magnitude again.

20/20 hindsight is an amazing, yet sometimes frustrating phenomenon.

Only four months had passed since Sharon had sat at the kitchen table flipping through the newspaper. She read her horoscope only occasionally, but that morning she had clipped it out and decided to carry it in her back pocket to let it help guide her.

Her personality didn’t exactly match the typical Leo persona since she wasn’t really a leader. However, that morning her horoscope read:
Your opinions are apt to be strong today and you may feel on top of the world, dear Leo. Remember, however, that there are other people who share the world with you, so don’t disregard them as you plow though the day. Expressing your thoughts should be no problem, but expressing your emotions could be a whole different matter. Don’t push it if it doesn’t feel right to share them with others at this time.

She decided to follow that advice as if it were a string tied around her finger reminding her to keep her mouth shut.

That morning her husband’s new secretary was about to arrive for work and Sharon would once again be forced to surrender her castle to a woman who insisted on quiet working conditions — a fact that Priscilla made clear the second day she worked in their home. Sharon was vacuuming the room outside of the office and Priscilla stuck her head out of the office door and screeched, “I’m working the numbers!”

Sharon felt like her hands were tied. On one hand, previous to hiring his new secretary, her husband, Marshall, was getting home later and later at the end of his work day, complaining that he spent all his time figuring out payroll, taxes, and endless piles of paperwork. Sharon was the one to encourage him to hire a qualified secretary. She often considered doing the job herself, but her husband was a different person in his home from the one in his office.

As an added problem Sharon didn’t deal well with money, or lack thereof, which was often the case in the construction business. It was either feast or famine. She thought it best to keep work and home separated.

From the start when Marshall called her and said, “Come home, I want you to meet Priscilla,” something in the pit of her stomach made her feel queasy. She and her husband were happily married for nearly 15 years. Was she being paranoid? And why? After all, she was the one who encouraged Marshall to hire someone. Still, she questioned herself.

“I’m just around the corner,” she replied into her cell phone.

She stole a quick glace at her make-up in the rearview mirror. She looked tired. She was angry with herself for the dark circles under her eyes and the hair that she neglected to trim the past six months. In fact, she hadn’t even taken the time to style it that morning, and had it pulled back in a messy bun with a scrunchie. She was letting herself go and made a promise to herself to do something about it.

When she drove up to the house she saw a Saturn sedan parked in the middle of the driveway blocking the route to where Sharon normally parked in the garage. She drove down to the end of the cul-de-sac, turned around, and parked in front of the house on the street.

Priscilla was comfortably seated in the front room in the middle of the couch with Marshall across from her perched on the edge of his seat like a schoolboy. Priscilla was a soft, plump little woman in her 50s. Her flame red hair was obviously colored from a bottle of drug store dye and ratted into a fine hive on her head. Priscilla’s skin was a bit saggy with fine wrinkles that looked like a slept-on pillow. Her skin was so pale Sharon was sure the little woman had Milk of Magnesia running through her veins. She was conservatively dressed in a cheap blue business suit with a white blouse. On her feet were white square-toed pumps with 2-inch heels.

At first glance she looked to Sharon like a plump little grandma — the kind of elderly woman who does so much primping that she ends up looking like a clown from the Barnum & Bailey Circus.

Sharon was determined that all would be fine, and vowed to congratulate her husband later on his choice. There would be no threat presented by this quirky little woman.

“Nice to meet you. You are so young!” Priscilla said reaching her hand out for Sharon to shake. She had both a peculiar look in her eyes and a clammy cold hand that sent a chill down Sharon’s spine.

Sharon was disappointed in herself for feeling funny about the woman. How could she possibly pose any threat? She was only there to help out her husband and relieve some of his stress so he could get home earlier.

Priscilla was soon moved from the filthy workspace Marshall carved in the corner of his shop to their home office. Sharon reasoned that anything to make her husband’s job and life easier was worth the sacrifice and vowed to get along with the little woman. Who knew? Maybe they would even become friends.

At 8:30 on the dot each morning Priscilla rang the doorbell and Sharon greeted her. On Priscilla’s first day, Sharon offered her coffee but she declined citing her religious background. Sharon got an ear-full about The Word of Wisdom and about her body, “a precious gift from God.” Priscilla’s lengthy monologue went on to describe Joseph Smith and the history of the church he founded.

Sharon wasn’t comfortable discussing religion with any person she didn’t know well and she feared this would create conflict between her and Priscilla, since Priscilla was obviously passionate about her beliefs.

The next day Sharon opened the door as usual but made a quick exit to the other side of the house where she stayed until she heard the door to the office shut. When she snuck out to get another cup of coffee she found the pot was empty. Later that evening, after Priscilla had gone home for the evening, there was a dirty coffee cup in the sink. I wonder what Joseph Smith would think about that? Sharon thought to herself.

“Why don’t you get a job? I’ve got it! You should take some classes!” Priscilla suggested. “You really need to get out more often.”

Sharon felt as if a low voltage current was traveling through her body. It was uncomfortable and a little painful. She didn’t like talking to Priscilla. Leaving the house wasn’t such a bad idea. Anything would be better than having to tiptoe around so that she wouldn’t be a distraction.

One morning when Sharon returned from running some errands she found the refrigerator and pantry completely rearranged. It sent a chill down her spine. She knew it had to be Priscilla, but why?

That night Sharon needed to talk. She met Marshall at the front door. “Honey, how is it going with your new secretary?” she asked.

“She’s doing fine. The problem seems to be that she only just graduated from community college, but she’s learning and I don’t have to think about the payroll and taxes anymore except to sign my name on the dotted line every once in awhile.”

“Great, honey!”

“She is up on the latest tax and insurance policies. She is doing the things that I wanted to hand off. And I’m sure she’ll get better and better. She wants a cell phone. What do you think?”

“Why would she need one? She’s here in this office all day.”

“You’re right, but she keeps nagging me about it,” he said.

“Honey, you need to tell her ‘No.’ If she wants one she should get it herself.”

Once again, Sharon felt ashamed with herself for giving this secretary thing a second thought, but the rearranging of the cupboards was odd.

A few days later Marshall was going over paperwork in the office with Priscilla. It sounded as though they were arguing. Sharon poked her head in the door and asked, “Honey, have you seen my cell phone?”

Priscilla swung her head to face Sharon, her neck twisted and deformed.

“I thought I saw it in here somewhere.” The room was silent except for the sound of shuffling papers while Marshall searched. Priscilla continued to stare, looking Sharon up and down. Then, as if it just occurred to her, she leaned over and reached into her gold-colored handbag lying on the floor next to her feet. In the tips of her red polished fingers she held a pint-sized, shiny pink cell phone. “Here it is,” Priscilla said with a queer smile on her face.

“Oh, that’s not my phone,” Sharon said.

“Yes it is. I exchanged it for this one.”

Sharon stood speechless. She had the urge to squeeze the woman’s wrinkled, white neck.

“I needed a cell phone. Marshall and I discussed it the other day and this was going to be most economical for the business,” Priscilla explained.

“Marshall, what’s going on?” asked Sharon.

;“Honey, now isn’t a good time. We’re bogged down right now. Let’s figure this out later,” he replied.

As Sharon turned to walk out she heard Priscilla saying to Marshall, “Do you like my new color? Did you notice my new hairstyle?

A moment later there was a loud slam and Priscilla yelled, “What do you mean? Don’t you trust me? I don’t need anyone looking over my work!”

Marshall called Sharon into the office. “I need some lunch. I can’t think,” he said.

“We’ll finish our work this afternoon. I’ll be back in an hour,” he said to Priscilla.

Once in the car Marshall said, “I didn’t tell her she could get a phone. And I certainly didn’t tell her to take your phone and trade it in!”

Marshall phoned the police and explained the situation. They agreed to meet him at the house, but warned him they wouldn’t be able to do anything but ask a few questions.

When Marshall, Sharon, and the two police officers arrived at the house the gold Saturn was parked in the driveway. Marshall entered the house and called for Priscilla. She came around the corner from down the hallway and was wearing skimpy, sheer lingerie that showed every nook and cranny. She looked a bit like an English crumpet. Marshall grimaced.

“Priscilla, what are you doing?”

“I’ve been waiting for you. You know I love you, don’t you,” she whispered in her best Marilyn Monroe imitation.

The two officers walked through the door to see a face that was all too familiar. Priscilla was a regular at the station, known for her mental instability and domestic disturbances.

“He loves me! He loves me. I know he loves me!” She bellowed as they carried her away. °