by Frank Martinet
Erin was so nervous to meet Ian's family that she'd changed her outfit six times. She couldn't decide what was most appropriate. She didn't want to dress like a slut, so nothing too sexy, but she couldn't go too casual either. Her instinct was to dress up, but Ian came from money and it was possible they'd see her best dress as either a gaudy knockoff or a blatant attempt to curry their favor.
She finally settled on a simple red dress. It wasn't a designer label, but it was one of her favorites. It was tight and slinky, showing off her curves - especially her bottom - but it was dignified and the collar went practically all the way to her chin. She prayed it was the right balance between chic, conservative, adventurous, comfortable, and formal.
Yet when she saw the house, her heart went cold and her armpits started sweating.
From her perspective, the place was a mansion. Ian had talked about it being the family house, out in the Vermont countryside, and she'd gotten the idea that it was more modest and cozy than their 'real' home in Manhattan. But here she was seeing a 120+ year old house that looked like something out of a storybook.
Three stories tall it had an entryway that rivaled a plantation in Gone With the Wind. Erin was in awe and felt underdressed just walking into the place. Inside she saw antiques and hand-crafted furniture everywhere. It was like a New England museum. She didn't know how to react. Just the place settings at the table had to be worth more than her car.
But Ian's parents couldn't have been more charming. Miranda, a tall full-figured woman in an elegant navy skirt with a flawlessly white blouse with a heavily starched collar, beamed at Erin as though she were her long lost child.
"Welcome, my dear," she said, sweeping her arms to guide the young lady into the home. Her husband, George, was a robust man of about sixty with the gray hair to prove it. He also beamed at Erin and remarked at how lovely she was.
Ian took off his fiancée's coat and hung it in the foyer closet. He and his dad immediately started talking business, while Erin found herself under Miranda's friendly wing. They ended up in the massive kitchen - highly renovated since the original construction, of course, though done in a colonial style - and Erin was amazed at everything she saw.
"Please, let me help," she said, but everything was already done. The roast was in the oven, the potatoes simmering on the stove. All that was left was putting everything on the table. She did her best with that, but felt bewildered, as she didn't know the layout of the kitchen or the house and couldn't do much beyond carrying things.
The dinner was splendid. The Hastings had many questions for Erin and she did her best to answer them. She told them a little of her background - omitting the gory details about life in a trailer park and living off food stamps - concentrating on her success at Stanford and the compression algorithm she'd invented that had won her the scholarship.
"So what are you doing now?" asked Miranda. "Ian said something about a new venture?"
"I'm working in artificial intelligence. I'm at a startup in San Jose."
"A startup, eh?" said George. "They give you good stock options?"
"I've got a small piece of the company," said Miranda. "Or I will, if they go public, I guess. But that's years away."
"She's doing incredible work there, Dad. She's too modest, but it's going to change the world."
"Ian, it's just speculation. It could be significant, but we have to perfect the technology." She looked at the older couple. "I'm sorry, I can't really explain what we do in more detail. It's all under NDA."
"NDA?"
"I signed a Nondisclosure Agreement," she said. "The research is top secret."
"Which tells you how big it will be," Ian said proudly, giving his fiancée a hug and then a kiss on the cheek.
Miranda's gray-blue eyes narrowed, as did her lips. Her look screamed, "Not at the table, dear," and her son got the message and returned to his dinner. But he didn't seem particularly sorry.
"How did you two meet again?" Miranda asked.
"I told you Mother, we met when I was at a conference in Silicon Valley."
"He was the speaker," said Erin, smiling at her husband-to-be. "I was dragged there by some friends - this was back when I was between jobs and I was exploring my options - and I ended up attending his session on VC financing. I'd had the vague idea of starting my own tech firm. Of course, I didn't understand a word of his presentation, but I thought Ian was amazing."
"She came up afterward to ask me some questions," said Ian. "I asked her out on the spot. It was two or three in the afternoon and we skipped out of the conference and I took her for coffee."
"We talked for three hours straight and then he took me to dinner," Erin said, grinning. "I didn't get back to my apartment in Palo Alto until after ten that night!"
Miranda looked at her husband, then back at the young couple. "But you live on opposite coasts. Surely that has been a strain."
"We've made it work, Mother. Between Skype and my frequent visits out west, we've seen each other quite a lot."
"What about the future?"
Ian shrugged. "We're still working out the details. Erin needs to be close to her colleagues, so I'm probably going to be moving to the west coast."
Miranda froze, fork midway to mouth. She carefully set it down on her plate. "Ian, your business is out here."
"I know, but I can work from just about anywhere. Besides, there are a lot of exciting opportunities in California. I'm looking at expanding the firm there. It could be huge for us."
"I see," Miranda said, looking at George for help. Unfortunately, he was grinning and nodding at his son.
The meal concluded with less enthusiasm than it had started, the guests unsure what had caused the change of mood. After dessert of apple pie with French vanilla ice cream, Miranda reminded George about the car.
"Didn't you want Ian's advice on the matter, hon? Perhaps he'd like to take a look at it with you."
"Now?"
"Why not?"
George shrugged and looked at his son. "It's a 1959 Alfa Romeo Giulietta Spider. You've got to see it and tell me I'm not crazy for buying it."
Ian looked at Erin. "Do you mind, honey?"
"No, of course she doesn't," said Miranda, swooping in and embracing Erin from behind. "You men go do boys stuff. We ladies will be just fine. It'll give us some time to bond."
Once the men were gone, Miranda said to Erin, "It's a 30 minute drive and if I know those two, they'll be studying that car for at least an hour. That gives us plenty of time to get acquainted. Come to my study."
Erin obediently followed the elegant woman into a beautifully appointed office with a huge cherry wood desk, built-in bookcases, and brick fireplace. A small, cozy fire crackled under the impressive wooden mantel.
She was a bit surprised when Miranda closed the door behind them. Was it her imagination or had she heard the click of a lock turning?
Thoughts of that vanished, however, when she felt the woman's hand on her ass. Erin stiffened, her face flushing.
"You have a lovely figure, dear," whispered the woman in her ear. "A perfect hourglass shape. Slim, but not too slim, with broad child-bearing hips. And such a plump rump!"
This last was delivered with a sharp slap and squeeze to Erin's right buttock. She gasped.
"Were you spanked as a kid?"
"Excuse me?" Erin said, blushing deeper and stammering in her confusion.
"Spanked. Did your mother discipline you? You've got such a jutting bottom it seems likely that she'd smack you there."
"Uh, not really," said Erin, unsure how to respond. The truth was that Erin was more of a mother to her mother than the other way around. The woman had meant well, but she was always working and it had been up to Erin to run their little family.
"Shame. Girls who are spanked are generally of good moral character," said Miranda. Then she swept past Erin and settled herself behind the desk as though it were her throne.
Erin felt misgivings. She had a sense of déjà vu that puzzled her until she realized she felt a little like a student called into the principal's office. She was going to dismiss the feeling when she saw that Miranda's attitude had done a 180. The gray-haired woman's expression was dour, all trace of good humor gone. In fact, her expression was one of disgust and utter contempt.
"How much do you want?" she snarled, opening a drawer in the desk and removing a large check ledger. "Ten thousand enough?"
"Excuse me?" asked Erin.
"Ten grand. Is that enough to get you the hell out of my son's life?"
"I... I don't understand. Mrs. Hastings, I love your son. We're going to be married."
Miranda gave a cold, hard laugh. "Of course you are," she drawled. "Let's say we make it $25,000. That's enough for even a harlot like you. How do you spell your last name?"
"Mrs. Hastings, I'm not taking money from you!" said Erin, shocked at the woman's sudden turn. "I don't understand any of this. Why are you saying these things?"
"It's obvious you're a gold digger. You're just after my son for his money."
"No! Absolutely not. I don't care about money. I can earn my own money."
Miranda leaned back in her leather chair. For a moment she didn't speak. Then she said, "I had you investigated, you know. I know you grew up piss-poor in Turlock, California, in a place called Heavenly Estates that is nothing at all like its name. I know you're in debt to the tune of about 11K in credit cards and 30K in student loans. Your mother, all the family you have in the world, is in even worse shape and you keep trying to help her. I know that your salary at your so-called startup - which is under-funded, by the way - is a pathetic $80K a year, and after taxes, rent, and what you give your mom, you've got just about nothing left. Have I said anything untrue so far?"
Erin blushed all the way to her ears. She wasn't sure if she was more angry or embarrassed, but she didn't know how to react to either since this was her future mother-in-law and she didn't want to be rude.
"That's accurate," she finally said. "But the salary's just a starting point. It's half of what I'm going to get, just for the first year while the company's getting going. None of that means I'm after your son for his money. I didn't even know he was wealthy when I met him. I didn't know anything about him."
"Don't give me that horse manure. A slut like you can smell money from a mile away."
"Mrs. Hastings, please! I swear-"
"Twenty-five grand isn't enough? How about I wipe out all your debts. Let's round it up to $50K, give you some walking around money. Is that enough?"
"I'm telling you, I don't want any of your money!"
Miranda glared at Erin for a long time. The two faced each other at an impasse, each waiting for the other to crack. Finally the older woman shrugged. "Fine. A hundred K. That's my final offer. I won't go a penny higher. So take it before I change my mind."
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