Sister Wife Inc.
Melissa Wieland looked across the mahogany desk at the svelte, smartly dressed woman and felt feelings of inadequacy and inferiority rise in her. She had not always been so insecure. There was a time when she exuded self-confidence and a sense of personal worth.
"While my associate is interviewing your husband, why don't you tell me something about yourself?" the other woman suggested. "For instance, what's a typical day like for you?"
"I'm always the first one up. I grab a quick cup of coffee and make breakfast for my husband and kids."
"How many children do you have?" Faith Demarais asked, taking notes on a pad of paper she kept nearby.
"Three. All boys."
"And their ages?"
"Five, eight and ten."
"I assume they're all in school then."
"Yes. The youngest just started kindergarten this year."
"Was there ever a nanny?"
"No. I worked from home when they were babies. Now, I have a sitter come to the house when they're not in school."
"Any other domestic help? A part-time cleaning woman perhaps?"
"No. You see, I had this image of myself in my mind," Melissa answered, her words sounding more like an apology than an explanation. "I was going to be the perfect wife, perfect housekeeper, perfect mother. I had no doubt I could juggle a husband, a home and children, all while continuing to work."
"What is it you do?"
"I'm a computer programmer."
"Full-time?"
"Yes."
"Do you have any hobbies?"
"Who's got time for hobbies?" Melissa laughed. "Look, are all these questions necessary?"
"If you are to be happy with our recommendation, then yes. Now, getting back to your day."
"After I make breakfast, I wake the family up. While they're eating, I hop into the shower and get dressed. Next, I prepare the lunches. Then comes the point where I try to put on my makeup."
"What do you mean you try?"
"It seems that's when everyone needs my help. My husband can't find one of his socks, a button came off his shirt or some other issue. And the kids! One of them forgot to finish his homework, another needs help getting dressed or making his bed, the zipper on someone's jacket is stuck—you name it. By the time they're ready for me to drive them to school, I'm lucky to get mascara on both eyes."
"Where's your husband when the kids need help?"
"Nash is the first one out the door in the morning. He's a lawyer, you see. He keeps long hours."
"Okay. You drive the kids to school and then you head right to work?"
"I go through a drive-thru for coffee first. By then, I need more caffeine. I usually get to my office around 8:30 even though I'm not supposed to start until 9:00."
"Why is that?"
"Honestly? That's probably the most relaxing half hour of my day. The office is usually empty, and I can sit and drink my coffee in peace."
"And when the other employees get there, what is your workday like?"
"I sit at my desk most of the time and write code. It may sound boring to some people, but it's a good job. It pays well, I get great benefits and my boss is very understanding."
"How so?"
"If one of the kids is sick, I can either take time off or work from home. He's got kids of his own, so he doesn't object."
"What about after work?"
"I go home and start dinner and make an effort to clean the house. Then when Nash gets home, we sit down and eat."
"And the rest of your evening?"
"I clean up the kitchen, run the dishwasher, help the kids with their homework, make sure they bathe and brush their teeth and then put them to bed."
"Okay. So, that's the time of day when you can relax. Do you watch TV? Read?"
"The television is on, but I usually don't pay much attention to it because that's when I do the laundry, pay the bills, write my shopping list, go through the mail and take care of all those other little time-consuming chores I can't squeeze into my day. Finally, around ten, I get ready for bed. Then I get my six or seven hours of sleep, and it starts all over again the next morning."
"What about the weekends?"
"They're usually hectic. That's when I do the major housecleaning and grocery shopping. Then, of course, I have to drive the kids to sports practice, games, friends' houses, the library, the mall. Occasionally, we go on a family outing."
"Where do you like to go?"
"An amusement park, the beach, the movie theater, a baseball game."
Faith put down her pen, indicating that she had enough information to suit her needs.
"It seems to me," she declared, "you take on much more than you should. You have no time for yourself."
"I do miss my 'me' time," Melissa admitted.
"What was your 'me' time like?"
"When I was still working from home, there was a time every morning when Nash left for work and the kids were still in bed. I would make myself a cup of coffee—not just plain coffee, but mocha. Mmm! I would pick up a book, sit in the recliner with my feet up and read. This usually lasted anywhere from half an hour to forty-five minutes, and, I'll be honest, it was the best part of my day."
"Your situation is not unique—far from it! There's an entire generation of women out there who believe that equality of the sexes means women should take on the work of a man while continuing to fulfill traditional female roles. In essence, they try to become superwomen. Something eventually has to give. More often than not it's their marriages. Those who don't get divorced often quit their jobs. In some extreme cases—thankfully, only a small minority—they just pack it in. They leave home, desert their families and run off."
"I could never leave my kids!"
Faith made a mental note that her client said "kids" but not "husband."
"Now, with regard to your marriage .... Without getting into too much detail, tell me, do you and your husband still have romantic moments? Do you hire a babysitter and go out for the occasional candlelit dinner followdc by an evening on the town?"
"Only on our anniversary."
"What about at home, after you put the kids to bed?"
"Look, if you want to know if we still have sex, just ask. The answer is yes. Nowhere near as much as we used to, but we somehow manage to squeeze it into our busy schedules every once in a while."
Melissa's describing lovemaking as something that had to be squeezed into her schedule like another household chore was telling. The marriage, in Faith's opinion, was at a dangerous point.
"One last question."
Thank God! the beleaguered wife thought. I don't think I can take much more of this interrogation.
"Whose decision was it to come here to Sister Wife? Yours or your husband's?"
"Nash's. Why?"
"It's just something we take into consideration when deciding on the right match for your family."
Faith rose from her desk, indicating that the interview was finally over.
"What's next?" Melissa asked.
"My associate and I will come to your house to visit with your children. Then we will compare notes and pick a sister wife for you."
"I thought Nash and I would actually pick her from several candidates you recommended."
"This isn't a dating service, Mrs. Wieland. We at Sister Wife use a scientific formula to pair you and your family with a wife, one who will meet the needs of everyone in the household."
"So, how does this work? She'll have our last name and, I assume, certain legal rights."
"That's correct. Since Congress decriminalized polygamy with an Amendment to the Constitution, it is no longer illegal for a man to have more than one wife. However, you have primary rights as the first wife. If your husband should die, for instance, you would inherit three-fourths of his estate including the family home and all goods in it, except for the sister wife's personal belongings. Also, you would have sole custody of the children you bore."
After scheduling an appointment for a home visit, which was to be held in two weeks, Melissa met up with her husband in Sister Wife's lobby.
"That wasn't so bad," Nash said as they walked to the parking lot.
"I had to answer a lot of questions."
"Me, too. But I expected that. We don't want to blindly enter into this union."
"Is that how you see our marriage? Do you think you jumped into it without giving it enough thought?"
"You're being silly!" her husband laughed. "I married you because I fell in love with you. This is an entirely different situation."
And what if you fall in love with her? Melissa thought as she opened the car door and got into the passenger seat. How will I handle it?
* * *
A week later, the Wielands had just finished eating, and Melissa was in the middle of her usual post-dinner multitasking mode (trying to clean the kitchen and get the two older boys to do their homework and the youngest to take a bath) when the doorbell rang.
"Can you get that?" she called to her husband, who always needed prompting to tear himself away from his computer.
"Sorry, but I'm right in the middle of something," he replied.
Drying her hands on a dish towel, the harried mother walked to the front door and peered through the peephole.
"Oh, shit!" she exclaimed when she saw Faith Demarais and another woman on the doorstep. "What are they doing here?"
She forced a smile and opened the door. "I'm surprised to see you," she declared. "I thought our appointment was for next week."
"Forgive me," Faith apologized. "I deliberately misled you. We always show up for these home visits unexpectedly. We don't like people to prepare for them ahead of time."
"That makes sense. Won't you ladies come inside?"
"Thank you. This is my associate, Camilla Olmstead."
Nash suddenly stepped out of his home office.
"Hello again," he said to the second woman. "I'm afraid we weren't expecting you."
"That's the way we like it," Camilla explained.
"Sorry about the mess," Melissa said, referring to the toys, books and clothing strewn about the living room.
"May we see the children now?" Faith asked, making no comment about the untidiness.
"Of course. I'll get them."
Normally, the mother would have just shouted out their names, but she went upstairs to summon them in person instead. She did not want to give her guests the wrong impression by screaming like a banshee. Once the three boys were assembled in the living room, the interview began. Nash, whose presence was not mandatory, had returned to his computer. His wife wanted to stay, however.
The first questions were general in nature, concerning the boys' schooling, extracurricular activities, hobbies, sports, friendships and eating habits. Camilla asked most of the questions while Faith observed the children's facial expressions and body language. On the whole, Melissa decided, things were going well. Her sons' behavior and their answers seemed to indicate that they were "normal" children, not serial killers in the making. Then it was Camilla's turn to be quiet and Faith's to ask questions.
"What about your religious education?" the tall, thin woman who would have looked right at home on a Paris runway inquired.
"What's that?" the youngest asked.
"Do you go to church or Sunday school?"
"I'm afraid there just isn't time," Melissa said, quick to jump in and answer. "With Nash and I working all week, Sundays can be quite busy."
"And what about at home? Do you read to them from the Bible? Do they say their prayers before they go to sleep at night?"
"No, but if I had more time, I ...."
"Mrs. Wieland, please don't think we're in any way judging your parenting skills by asking these questions. They're just routine. We ask them of all our clients. Not every family that comes to us is religious."
"We're not atheists," Melissa quickly assured the two women. "My husband and I were both raised as Christians. My family were Methodists, and my husband's Catholics. We just don't have time ...."
"We quite understand," Camilla said, cutting the woman off. "Our purpose in asking these questions is only to match you with a suitable sister wife. To some people, religion is a major part of their lives; to others, it's not. We would hardly want to put a nonbeliever into a home full of fundamentalists."
"Well, Nash and I are both very open-minded when it comes to religion. We feel everyone should be left alone to believe what they want to."
There were only a few more questions, mostly concerning the boys' medical histories. Did they have any allergies? Were they on any medication? Were there any genetic disorders in the family? The answers to these questions were all negative; the boys were the picture of good health.
"That's all the questions we have," Camilla announced, turning toward her associate for confirmation.
"Yes," Faith agreed. "We're done here. Thank you, boys, for all your help."
"Can we go now?" the oldest child asked.
"Sure," his mother answered. "Go finish your homework and then you can watch TV before bed."
The two women from Sister Wife Inc. gathered their belongings and headed toward the front door.
"What's the next step?" Melissa asked.
"Camilla and I will confer, look through the files of available candidates and make the right choice for your family. We will call you back at the end of the week."
"You mean we've been approved?"
"There was never any doubt about it," Camilla replied. "The only question was whether we could find a suitable mate."
"And do you think you will?"
"Rest assured, Mrs. Wieland," Faith said as she opened the door to leave, "I have an excellent person in mind already."
* * *
Melissa was nervously pacing the floor as she and Nash awaited the arrival of the sister wife. The children had been packed off to Grandma's for the weekend so that the adults could get to know one another without interruptions.
"They're here," Nash announced when the car pulled into the driveway.
Faith accompanied the young woman into the house and made the introduction.
"This is Tatiana."
Relief flooded over Melissa. She had expected—dreaded—someone like Faith or Camilla with the face of a cover girl and the body of a swimsuit model. The young woman selected for them had neither. In fact, the kindest, most complimentary way to describe her would be "wholesome looking." She was, quite honestly, plain bordering on homely.
At least I don't have to worry about Nash falling in love with her, she thought. She's definitely not his type.
As his wife was assessing Tatiana's physical appearance, Nash was discussing the marriage contract with Faith.
"They'll be a two-week trial period," the consultant explained. "If you decide the arrangement won't work, you can request another sister wife. If you should decide a third mate is no longer desirable, we will delete you from our records. However, your deposit is not refundable."
"I understand."
"After the trial period, if you should want to move forward, we'll execute the contract and hold a wedding ceremony."
"A wedding?" Melissa echoed. "Is that necessary? It's such a major expense."
"The cost of this one is included in your fee. It won't be anything big, just a simple exchange of vows held at our office, a civil ceremony presided over by a judge."
There being no other questions, Faith departed and left Tatiana to get acquainted with her intended mates.
"Let me show you around," Melissa offered and gave her a tour of the house.
"You've got a lovely home," the young woman said; opening her mouth for the first time.
It took several days for Tatiana to emerge from her shell. Even when she did, she remained quiet and unobtrusive. Her continued reticence worried the Wielands.
"Don't you like it here?" Nash asked her as they neared the end of the trial period.
"Yes, I do. Very much. Why do you ask?"
"You're so quiet."
"That's just my nature, I'm afraid."
"Well, I hope you are happy and that you're not just saying that because we're all pleased with you. We'd like you to become a permanent part of our family."
It seemed as though a weight had been lifted from Tatiana's shoulders. She blushed and her plain face lit up with joy, making her appear almost pretty.
"I'm so relieved! I was afraid you'd send me away."
Three days later, the trio—shortly, the Wielands would no longer be a "couple"—went to Sister Wife's office to be married. Nash wore a suit, Melissa put on one of her special occasion dresses and Tatiana wore a floor-length gown. It was not like anything ever seen on Say Yes to the Dress. It was not even white, the traditional wedding color, or any of the off-white shades such as ivory, bone or ecru. It was black. The silky ebony fabric seemed to be draped over her body like some poor imitation of a Roman toga. With its long, dolman style sleeves and pronounced cowl neckline, it reminded Melissa of a cocoon.
Are we marrying a woman or an insect in its pupal stage? she wondered as they entered the so-called nondenominational chapel for the ceremony.
The trio brought no guests to the service, not even the children. The wedding was to be little more than a formality, a rubber stamp to their agreement. Yet, there were several women in the room for the occasion.
"Who are these people?" Melissa asked Faith.
"They all work for Sister Wife Inc. You know Camilla, of course. The woman on her right is Florence Stoddert, our legal consultant and a former judge who served in the state supreme court. She'll be officiating.
She looks too young to have been a judge, the first wife thought, sizing up Ms. Stoddert. All of these women look young—not to mention stunningly gorgeous. I wonder if beauty is a requirement for working at Sister Wife.
As the three betrothed individuals took their place in front of the judge (there was no altar or any religious icons on display), the lights were dimmed and Florence began to speak. Her words included none of the phrases heard at more traditional Christian weddings. She did not begin with "dearly beloved, we are gathered here today ...." There was no reference to "holy matrimony," no "for better or worse" vows, no "with this ring I thee wed." Her words were cut and dry with no flowery semi-poetic phrases thrown in. Basically, the judge summarized the terms and conditions of the marriage contract, in her own words, leaving out all the legal jargon and mumbo jumbo.
The moment Nash was to give his formal, verbal response to the judge's question, Melissa sensed another presence in the room. She turned her head and saw an outline of a man in the doorway. In the dim lighting, she could not distinguish his features. She assumed he must be another Sister Wife employee, perhaps the company president, chairman of the board or the owner. Once Nash and Tatiana had agreed to abide by the contract, the man vanished as quietly as he had appeared.
"And you, Melissa," Judge Stoddert intoned. "Do you agree to welcome your sister wife into your home and share both the duties and the blessings of your marriage with her?"
Why do I suddenly feel like I'm in Gilead?
But Tatiana was not being called upon to produce a child as in The Handmaid's Tale. This was still the United States of America where women were allowed to read and have careers. They were not pigeonholed as Wife, Handmaid, Aunt or Martha, and Nash was no Commander.
"Melissa? Are you having second thoughts?" the judge asked when she failed to get a response to her question.
"No," replied the real wife—which was how the first Mrs. Wieland would henceforth think of herself. "I agree to abide by the contract."
Nash then placed a simple, inexpensive gold band on Tatiana's finger.
"I now pronounce you husband, wife and sister wife."
That's it, Melissa thought in a moment that she felt called for black humor. I'm now officially a bigamist!
* * *
There was no reception following the service and no honeymoon to some exotic or romantic locale. A celebratory dinner was held, however, at a fine-dining restaurant. The children were invited along with their maternal and paternal grandparents, all four of whom seemed uncomfortable in the presence of the new Mrs. Wieland.
"It just doesn't seem natural to me," Melissa's mother told her daughter during a private conversation in the restaurant's ladies' room.
"It's perfectly legal and aboveboard," her daughter argued. "Polygamy is now even protected by a Constitutional Amendment."
"Be that as it may, I would never condone your father having another wife, especially under my own roof! It's a sure invitation to disaster."
"She's just old-fashioned," Nash said when he heard of his mother-in-law's concerns. "My mother is the same way."
Despite their parents' misgivings, the polygamous marriage got off to a good start. Tatiana's presence proved to be a calming influence on the previously chaotic household. Although quiet and reserved, she was highly organized and efficient at whatever task she undertook.
"It's amazing!" Nash exclaimed one night as he and Melissa got ready for bed. "Not only can she do everything, but she can also do it well. That dinner she cooked tonight was worthy of Julia Child. And I haven't seen the house this clean since we moved in."
"It's like living with goddamned Martha Stewart," his wife said, feeling the sting of the implication that she had kept a messy house.
Or was it more than just a knee-jerk reaction to an unintentional insult? Could living with a younger, more competent woman be stirring up deep-rooted insecurities? Or was it plain, ordinary jealousy?
I've got nothing to be jealous of. It's not as though Nash is sleeping with her. All parties agreed it was to be a platonic relationship.
Tatiana sensed her sister wife was not as pleased with the marriage as her husband was and decided to take steps to bring the two of them closer together. When Melissa's alarm went off and she stumbled, half-asleep, down the stairs to the kitchen, she was surprised by the smell of freshly brewed coffee (especially since she and Nash had grown used to Maxwell House instant).
"What's this?" she asked when she saw Tatiana at the stove, flipping pancakes.
"I thought you could use a break, so I'm making breakfast today. I've also got the lunches packed, including yours. I hope you like chef's salad."
"It's one of my favorites," the older woman replied, unsure of how she felt about the change in her morning routine.
"Here's your coffee. Now, why don't you take it into the living room? You can sit in the recliner and read while you drink it."
It had been so long since she had any "me" time that Melissa no longer bought any books. Yet, there was a James Patterson novel on the coffee table. Apparently, Tatiana had thought of everything.
I could get to like this, she thought as she put her feet up and opened the book to the first chapter.
She continued to read as first her husband and then her children came down to breakfast. There was no need for her to serve them; Tatiana had things well in hand.
* * *
Every year, on the night of their wedding anniversary, Melissa and Nash always sent the kids to their grandmother's and returned to the restaurant where he had proposed. This year, in light of their revised marital status, he decided to abandon that custom.
"Why?" his wife demanded to know. "It's still our wedding anniversary. That hasn't changed."
"But what about Tatiana? She's bound to feel left out if we go off to dinner by ourselves."
"I'm sure she'll understand."
But Nash was adamant.
"All three of us will go out together on our new anniversary."
Although Melissa had no qualms about letting her sister wife perform the household chores, she resented the intrusion into what she considered her sacrosanct personal life.
Miffed at her husband's refusal to celebrate the occasion, she went down to the dining room—since Tatiana took over cooking the meals, the family no longer ate in the kitchen—and sat between her two oldest sons.
"Did you try out for soccer this year?" she asked.
"Yeah," the oldest boy said. "Tryouts were last month. We played three games already."
"And you didn't tell me?"
"We told Tatiana. She took us to the tryouts and to every practice and game."
"And she stayed to watch us play," the middle child said.
"Then she takes us out for ice cream," the youngest added.
The sister wife happened to enter the room at that moment with a heaping dish of homemade macaroni and cheese.
"You took them to the soccer tryouts without telling me?"
"You were at work."
"You could have said something when I came home."
"I don't like to bother you with the day-to-day details of what goes on around here."
"These are my children. I'm interested in what happens in their lives."
"Then why did you wait a month to ask them about soccer?" Nash queried, coming into the room and joining in the conversation.
Melissa was hurt by what she believed was her husband's defection.
"I didn't know about the tryouts," she declared defensively. "If I had known, I would have taken time off from work."
"That's what a sister wife is for," Tatiana said. "To share the responsibility, not just for housekeeping but for childrearing, as well."
"I'll rear my own children, thank you!"
"But Tatiana is our mom, too," the eldest son argued.
"She is not your mother, and you are never to call her Mom. Do you hear me?"
"That's enough!" Nash shouted.
"It's enough, all right!" his wife concurred. "From now on, I'll do the parenting, and she will stick to the cooking and cleaning."
"Tatiana is part of our family, not a servant. You can't dictate what she can and cannot do."
"We'll see about that!" Melissa cried and then got up from the table and stormed out of the house.
It was the first time the Wielands ever broke a cardinal rule and argued in front of their children, but it would not be the last.
* * *
The arguments continued with both Nash and the children taking Tatiana's side against Melissa. The fighting escalated, and things came to a head when the husband in the polygamous marriage announced a change in sleeping arrangements.
"But we all agreed that you and she would not ...," Melissa began to protest.
"I've changed my mind and so has Tatiana. She'll be sleeping with me in the master bedroom from now on. You can stay in the guest room."
That was the final straw, as the old expression goes. It may not have broken a camel's back but it definitely destroyed what was left of the original monogamous marriage.
"I've had it!" the scorned woman screamed. "I want a divorce. You and your new wife can pack your bags and leave."
"If anyone is going to leave, it's you. And don't think for a single moment that you'll get custody of the kids. I'm a lawyer, and I can assure you the courts will find Tatiana is a better parent for the boys than you are."
"How dare you!"
Months of backhanded compliments and innuendoes had taken their toll on Melissa's psyche. For one brief moment, she snapped. Grabbing the lamp off the night table, she brought the heavy bronze base down on her husband's head with such force that she cracked his skull with one blow.
"Oh, God! Nash!" she cried when she saw the blood and brain matter escaping from the wound. "What have I done?"
She raised her head and saw Tatiana standing in the doorway. The sister wife crossed the room and removed the murder weapon from Melissa's trembling hand.
"I didn't mean to do it! It was an accident. I was just so enraged, and then he told me ...."
"Hush! What's done is done. You can't change it."
"But I've killed my husband."
"Our husband."
Melissa broke down, sobbing hysterically.
"Do you have any idea what all this will do to the poor boys?" Tatiana asked.
"What are you saying?"
"You'll be arrested and tried for murder. Your sons will have to go through life with a murderer as a mother. The only time you'll get to see them is when they visit you in prison. Their happy, carefree lives will be over, I'm afraid."
"But I didn't mean to kill anyone. My actions weren't premeditated. I'll be found guilty of manslaughter, maybe, but not murder."
"Are you sure? If I am called to testify, I'll have no choice but to tell them about your many arguments with Nash, your jealousy toward me and the fact that you were bound to lose your house and custody of your children in a divorce."
Melissa stared in astonishment at the younger woman. The quiet, efficient, plane-Jane sister wife was gone, replaced by ... what? A vengeful widow?
"If you really care about your children, you'll kill yourself as well. There is a bottle of sleeping pills in the medicine cabinet. Take them and put yourself and your boys out of misery."
The sister wife's eyes glowed with hatred.
"Why are you doing this?" Melissa sobbed.
"Did you think I was impervious to your feelings toward me?" Tatiana replied, her voice filled with suppressed rage. "Your resentment? Your jealousy? Kill yourself, sister. Do us all a favor. Stop being so selfish. For once in your life, think of someone besides yourself."
As though in a drug-induced daze, Melissa walked toward the master bathroom. Lacking the will to stop herself, she opened the door to the medicine cabinet and found a new prescription in her own name.
I never had this filled, a part of her mind protested.
She opened the cap and shook four capsules into her palm. They went into her mouth and were washed down by a glass of water. She repeated the process again and again until the bottle was empty.
"That's a good girl," Tatiana said, with undisguised loathing. "Now lie down on the bed and take a nice, long, permanent nap."
* * *
Although both sets of grandparents fought for legal custody of the Wieland children, since Tatiana was legally married to the biological parents, they were awarded to her. It was best, she insisted, that they be raised far away from the malicious gossip and prying eyes surrounding the murder-suicide of their father and mother. In a surprisingly short amount of time, the house was sold and the sister wife and children were gone.
At the office of Sister Wife Inc., Faith Demarais congratulated Tatiana on a job well done.
"Do you think the master will be pleased?" the former sister wife asked.
"I know he will. You brought us three healthy young boys with uncorrupted, malleable minds. With proper instruction, they will make fine soldiers in his growing army of worshippers. Someday, thanks to people like you, his kingdom will come."
"I am pleased I could be of service."
"And you shall be rewarded for your efforts."
The young woman—once described by Melissa Wieland as a plain Jane—was suddenly transformed into a stunning beauty. When she saw her reflection in the mirror, Tatiana all but groveled at Faith's feet.
"I don't know how I can ever thank you."
"Your new face is but little payment for what you have brought us. Now, take some time off and go enjoy yourself. Come back in a few months, and I'll assign you to a new family. Right now, I've got to go. I have to meet with another couple who want a sister wife. They have five children, all under the age of ten."
Faith then went to the lobby to greet the clients, leaving Tatiana alone in her private office with the lingering scent of brimstone in the air.
Salem doesn't believe in polygamous relationships. When he was a kitten, he had two older sisters who liked to push him around.
