Our Beloved Tyrants Scene 39

“Of course I do, you silly darling,” answered the lady, kissing and nuzzling the cooing, gurgling twenty-something year-old woman in her arms. Nicoleta, lounging on the opposite divan next to a very full ashtray, looked on with some distaste, and was only distracted when the maid, who had entered the living-room as stealthily as a commando cat, leaned over her to empty the tray. Yanlin, the live-in maid, was another of their kind: a very pretty, long-haired Chinese boy who had been initiated at seventeen. He wore a uniform consisting of high heels, sheer black stockings, and pink panties with black lace ruffles that were, on the whole, not brilliantly concealed by his black latex minidress and white lacy apron. Having collected Nicoleta’s small toxic waste dump of cigarette ends in a plastic bag, he replaced the tray, curtseyed, and meekly asked if they required anything else.