Physical Address
304 North Cardinal St.
Dorchester Center, MA 02124
14.
“One of my friends… grew up lower middle class. When she was in college (early 1990s), she dated a guy, who turned out to be from a very wealthy family. She didn’t know this at first; that’s how she found out. Let’s call him Nate There were some occasions they went to where they were dressed very nicely – like a formal party or something that the college wore afterward, and Nate asked her, “Do you want to come back to my place now? I knew Nate was a member of a fraternity.” Lives off campus, So she wasn’t really happy about it, but Nate assured her that he wasn’t taking her to a frat house but rather to his “little apartment” and she asked him if he lived with anyone else, and he said, “No, I technically live alone, but they don’t live there.” “So I agreed.”
“He led her to a small lane near Fraternity Row, but that part of town had some old fancy buildings. …I assumed they were in front of a small block of apartments. Nope. One house.” .
When they entered the door, the butler asked to take her coat and asked her to take off her shoes. She was shocked but a little embarrassed because she was wearing a set of worn out flats that were scratched and had a big hole in her white leggings at the toe. Don’t worry about it, Nate asked. Want a late night snack? I agreed. They went into a small dining-room, and very quickly the merchant and another person, a maid of sorts, brought in a few stacked trays of hors d’oeuvres, some sweet cakes, and tea from a silver tray. Not a lot of food, but a lot of gourmet food. While she was eating these random sweet things, the butler and maid stood along the wall, staring at nothing.
“I thought you said you lived alone?” She whispered.
‘I do.’
“Then who are they?”
‘from?’
“These two?”
‘What? Help? Oh, they don’t count. “They brought the apartment.”
This was the first red flag, but she decided to move forward. She ended up going upstairs with him to his bedroom, which was the entire third floor. They made love, and fell asleep exhausted. When she woke up in the morning, she was alone. I noticed a basket of toiletries on the chair, along with instructions on how to use the shower. The basket had everything she needed: nice soap, a well-known brand of toothpaste, a brush, and other such things. She took a shower, and when she looked for her clothes (which they had thrown on the floor the night before), she saw that all of her clothes were neatly folded, and she could smell that they had been dry-cleaned. Her stockings were mended.
She got dressed and went downstairs to see Nate reading at the dining room table. The “help” made her breakfast, anything she wanted. “My clothes are cleaned,” Nate asked. Does this mean the butler was in our bedroom while we were sleeping? Like, naked? Nate looked indifferent, as if he had never thought of that before. ‘I believe?’
When she left, she found that her shoes had been repaired and her jacket had also been dry-cleaned.
I stopped dating the guy, and part of the reason was because of how rude he was about “help.” He didn’t even consider them people. I rubbed it the wrong way. Many of her friends said she was crazy, but others said, “No.” I get it. Real psychopath feelings.”
