Not the maid

My life changed dramatically when our family moved over to Italy. My father had been in the diplomacy for ages and now he had decided to leave Indonesia and to settle down in his home country. We of course were to follow, my mother and I that is, my two elder brothers were already studying in Europe. I had been to Italy various times on family visits and holidays, but now I had to live there. Not that I had to accustom much to the life style, but to cope with the ideas people had of me was something else. Being of mixed race – a European father and an Indonesian mother – I was now often considered the maid instead of the daughter of the gentleman. At first I was shocked by the rudeness and prejudice of some, but after a couple of months it amused me to see the embarrassment of people realizing afterwards that I was of higher descent than they had assumed. I didn’t realize I was playing with fire.

It started like a normal day in August: rather hot and humid like in Jakarta, apart from the lack of airconditioning in the old city mansion of our family. I was to join my grandparents in their retreat at the country side, but that was to be tomorrow. My father had left earlier that the day for some unfinished business in a town nearby, my mother was abroad visiting her parents and the servants had the day off. So I was alone, enjoying myself doing nothing at all, when the phone rang. It was my father. He had an appointment with a certain Montini at our place, but he couldn’t make it in time, ‘Dewi, be a darling and let him in’ (it was in the 80-ies, how different my life would have been if we had cellulars back then).

At 11 o’clock sharp Mr. Montini arrived, I opened the door. Before I could welcome him, he gave me a slight nod. ‘Montini. Inform your Master’. ‘Arrogant prick’, I thought ‘another one taking me for a servant’, I was looking forward to see him confronted with his insolence. ‘Ah, yes, Mr. Montini, if you would be so kind to follow me’. I made him wait at the gloomiest, most uncomfortable waiting room in the house. ‘The Master is delayed, please wait here’. I was definitely not going to offer him a drink, so I bowed my head in reverence and asked for permission to leave. ‘Stay’, he said ‘I want you to keep me company’. He angered me, ‘Who do you think I am?’ I wanted to shout at him. But something in his voice made me obey him. ‘Take a seat’. I sat down and I looked up at him: surely a tall fit man, thirty-ish, well dressed, deep blue eyes, dark blonde curly hair, rather handsome but with a horrible attitude. He didn’t look at me, then he asked ‘Your name is?’. ‘Dewi’, I said. I blushed for no reason, his eyebrow curved as he watched me, a grin on his face. ‘You are very beautiful, too beautiful to be just a maid…’ What on earth was he implying? He approached me, when suddenly the phone rang and I hurried to the hall way, saved by the bell. ‘Dewi, sweetheart’, it was my father, ‘I can’t get home in time. Please apologize to Mr. Montini. I’ll call him for a new appointment’. ‘Papa’, I said, but he had put down the phone. I felt sick, because I had to go back to that strange man. ‘Sir, that was my Master on the phone, he isn’t able to meet you today…’ Martini cursed softly, I saw his anger, this man was not used to come for an appointment, he would make people come visit him. ‘What a waste of time’. He looked at me, I immediately realized that he needed a scape goat to relief his fury. I tried to be ahead of that: ‘Sir, I’ll show you the way out’. I held the door open for him, but he took my hand and closed the door. ‘It would be a pity to waste a beautiful day and not to enjoy it’. ‘Please Sir, my hand, you’re hurting me’. He laughed. ‘I won’t hurt you, that is, as long as you behave like a good girl’. ‘Let go of me’ I shouted at him, ‘I’m not who you think I am’. ‘I know you’re not a servant, a beautiful woman like you surely must be the mistress to her master’. Mistress? How dared he! I wanted slap him, but he pushed me tight to the wall. He tried to kiss me, I evaded his kiss, I wanted to get him off me, I wanted to kick, hit, bite him, but he was too strong. ‘Ah, you like to play it this way. Mmm, then rough it will be’. He lifted me up, pushed a table aside and laid me down on the Persian carpet. ‘Stop it right now’, I shouted at him, ‘stop it’. He was deaf to my cries. I wanted to fight him, but he held both my hands in a firm grip, his weight pushed me down. I was unable to move, my weakness frustated me. So I spat in his face. He wiped it off, and sucked my spit from his fingers. He laughed, leaned over and licked my face. Nothing impressed him, there was nothing I could do. I started to cry and told him it was all a mistake, that I was the daughter of the family. No reaction, he began tearing my blouse open, he cupped my breasts and licked my nipples. I felt his hand pulling aside my panty. He looked me in the eyes, I was terrified. Then I felt something pushing my labia aside. ‘Oh God no, please stop, please, I’m a virgin’. He just thrusted forward. I cried out loud as he deflowered me. He stopped all of a sudden, looking at me. I closed my eyes, feeling humiliated I couldn’t bear his sight. He kissed my eyes and started moving again in and out of me. ‘You belong to me now, Dewi, you’re mine’. All was lost now, I stopped struggling. His thrusts were now no longer violent, as if he had made his point and to my disgust my body started to respond. I moaned as I opened my eyes looking at him: a stranger claiming my body. I shivered as I came for the first time. He smiled and kissed me, never stopping to plough me deeply. By now I automatically put my arms around him, driving my nails in his buttocks and scratching him in delight. Forgetting everything around me, there was only Montini and me. I came for the second time. His pace fastened, his body tightened as he pushed forward and exploded deep inside me. As he planted his seed in my womb, I wrapped my legs around him in utter bliss. He smiled victoriously at me and kissed me. ‘You’re a real woman now, Dewi, and you’re mine’. His? Yes, it felt good being his, whoever he was… Who was he?! And what would happen now?

There was no time for any more thoughts as the phone rang for the third time. I got up – my body was feeling sore, my clothes torn – it was my father, he was coming home in half an hour. I looked in a mirror, I was in a mess, and yet I felt good. When I went back to mr. Montini, he had pulled up his pants and was ready to leave. He didn’t look at me, said something like ‘I’ll call for you’ and left me standing there in total confusion. What did this mean? Did I do something wrong? I felt numb, went to my room and took a shower, trying to understand what had happened to me and how I was feeling. It made no sense at all. When my father got home, I told him nothing about Montini, just that he had come and had left. The next day was as scheduled, I joined to my grandparents.

I heard nothing of my strange lover, until the day of my anniversary a week later. I turned 18 and my family surprised me with a diner party. Just some relatives and – my father continued – Mr. Montini and his family. He was invited as an apology for the missed appointment. I felt a slight naussea coming up. On my birthday and why did it never cross my mind there would be “his family”? Montini must regard me as a cheap prostitute… I was nothing more than that, not even a whore since I got no pay. I tried to avoid the party, even feigned a flu, but to no avail, the party was to be.
That evening I was really feeling sick, not in the mood for anything. And the expected embarrassment would be mine and mine alone. The guests were gathering, I was congratulated and praised for my looks. I just wanted to hide. My father called me – my heart pounded in my throat – ‘Come Dewi, let me introduce you to Mrs. Montini. Mr. Montini, you ‘ve already made your acquaintance to’. The couple turned towards me, an elderly man and his spouse, not the Montini I had met. ‘No, no’, said Mr. Montini, ‘I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting your most delightful daughter’. ‘No indeed’, a familiar voice spoke, ‘that pleasure was mine’. I turned around and blushed: it was him. ‘Mr. and Mrs. Carletti, meet Massimo, my son and successor’. Massimo, his name is Massimo, I repeated in my mind as I glanced at him. Massimo looked at me politely casual as if nothing had occurred a week before. ‘Be careful with your daughter’, the old Montini joked, ‘he is still unmarried and has broken many hearts. But I doubt we’ll ever be grandparents’. Everybody laughed, except for me for the joke was on me. I felt sick. ‘Father, hush, I’m twice her age’, Massimo said and they laughed even harder. ‘You must forgive my father, Miss Dewi, he is embarrassing both you and me’. I didn’t know how to respond to this, I only wanted to get out of there. ‘Would you do me the honor of showing me around, Miss?’ Massimo said. I was grateful for his offer to escape from this awkward situation. He gave me his arm and we left for the garden. As soon as we were outside I tried to run off, but Massimo held my arm tight in his grip. ‘You’re not going anywhere’.