Part II

I'm trying to be polite, or at least I was, but warmhearted kindness is not what I do best. I know not to roll my sleeves up at a table, and the lady always sits in the middle. This has nothing to do with class. I am a gentleman of sorts, but I am not a nice person. I am going to be informal. I am going to use foul language not because fuck and shit are great adjectives, but because it'll remind you that I am not a nice person.

The Seleck case wound up being a joke. Their kid, that Elizabeth girl, turned up about two days after I started asking around. It wasn't very hard. The Help...hang on. I'm going to start capitalizing the H. As far as most of Park Avenue is concerned these people don't have names. They are vacuum cleaners and dust pads. They are the Help. The Seleck home was a little weird to me. It was like a mock democracy. Mr. Seleck was Roosevelt, Hitler, Stalin, and Churchill all rolled up in barbed wire and cotton. Mrs. Seleck was the queen. Neither of them were of any use to me being their princess might as well have been Jesus as far as they were concerned. No, I was after the Pope; the oh so holy bridge between God and the slaves. I was after Josephina Merenga. She had to know something, she played both sides and played them well. She would tell me where to find the bitch of an heiress.