The Washingtons

Polly couldn't believe her luck when she'd gotten the news: her job application had been accepted. She - Polly Louise Dinkel - Little Miss Nobody, was going to be the media manager for the Washington Family.

She'd been a huge fan of the Washingtons and their YouTube channel since she was a senior in high school. Back then, they only had two kids - Johnny and Maggie, their three-year-old twins - and a measly five thousand subscribers. Today, eight years later, they were working on kid number seven, and days away from crossing the ten million subscriber mark. Anyone who was anyone knew the Washingtons. If they claimed otherwise, they were either a liar or had spent the last ten years living under a rock.

Some people might ask, "what's the big deal?", and if they did Polly would pull up her Powerpoint presentation and give them a rapid-fire education. Sam and Barbara Washington were perfect: that was the big deal. Each new video showed off that perfection in crystal-clear 4K resolution: they lived in the biggest, most perfect house in Northern California; they ran a farm on the most perfect piece of acreage, raising livestock as well as growing their own variety of fruits and vegetables; their litter of kids were always perfectly behaved, strutting their stuff on camera with natural charisma that most child stars on TV could only dream of possessing.

Everyone wanted to be part of the Washington Family. That's why millions of viewers flocked to their channel every week, to escape their own humdrum lives for just a few minutes. Most of their content was slice-of-life stuff; completely unscripted moments of happiness featuring the family working on the farm or relaxing at home after a long day. Sometimes, Sam would put up a video on his own, showcasing whatever he was currently tinkering with in his workshop. Barbara uploaded plenty of her own content as well, showing off new recipes in the kitchen, kid-friendly crafts in the playroom, and even offering tips on beauty and self-care from her bathroom vanity.

To say Polly was excited for her first day of work would be a horrendous understatement. She was vibrating in her seat when her car pulled into the Washington's sprawling front lawn, so pumped up she might implode at any second from fangirling so hard. The house was even more perfect in person than it looked in the videos: smooth white columns supporting the wraparound porch; baby blue shutters gleaming with fresh paint; meticulously maintained shrubbery on either side of the wide, inviting front steps. Even the rosy red bricks forming the structure looked like they'd been scrubbed clean, showing nary a speck of dirt. It was so perfect, like Polly had wandered into a dream. She was drawn up those steps like there were magnets in her blouse, unable to resist touching one of those pristine, stately columns.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

Polly leapt out of her skin with a startled shriek, whirling around automatically to see who'd yelled at her. She could have died happy on the spot, because Barbara Washington herself was on the porch. For half a second, though, Polly almost didn't recognize the YouTube celebrity. Barbara was usually so poised and graceful, styled to the nines in her hand-sewn, flowy dresses and blouses. The Barbara Polly was looking at had on ratty sweatpants and a t-shirt stained with baby vomit, with her usually coifed blonde curls pulled back in a messy bun. Most jarring of all, however, was the deep frown etched into her pretty - usually smiling - face.

"Uh, hello?!" Barbara snapped, "I asked you a question! You deaf, or just stupid?! This is private property!"

Polly shook off her stupor, wiping her hand on her pink tweed skirt before offering it politely. "Oh, um... hi," she stammered, "Sorry for scaring you. I'm Polly: your new media manager. Can I just say, Mrs. Washington, that it's such an honor to-"

"Yeah, whatever," Barbara interrupted, digging into her sweatpants pocket, "You're half an hour early, you know that?! Next time, stick to the schedule we give you. No exceptions."

Barbara made no motion to take Polly's hand, so she pulled it back with a quiet, nervous cough. "Oh... okay," she muttered, tucking a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear, "I'll try my best, Mrs. Washington."

"You can drop that nonsense too," Barbara grumped, "Sam thought up that 'Washington' crap; thought it would sound more 'All-American' or whatever. You can call me Barb, or Mrs. Gilleski when the cameras aren't rolling. I'm fine with either."

A moment later, Barb finally produced the item she was digging around for in her pocket. To Polly's shock, it was a pack of cigarettes. The blonde shook out a Virginia Slim like she'd done it a thousand times, holding it in her mouth as she pulled a lighter from her bra.

"Um... should you be doing that?" Polly asked quietly. "I mean, you're trying to get pregnant again, right?"

The tip of Barb's cigarette glowed orange a second later as she took a deep drag, then blew her second-hand smoke toward the yard. "Yeah, right," she snorted afterwards, tucking her lighter deep into her bra cup again, "Sam was right: our idiot viewers will believe anything."

Polly just stared at her new employer, too stunned to even think for a second. "Huh?" she finally managed.

"Honey, look at me," Barb said, jutting out her slender hip as she crossed her arms. "If I popped out six kids, do you really think I'd look this good?"

Polly's jaw dropped open in shock, like a bucket of ice-cold water had been dumped over her head. "B-But your kids," she stammered, "If they're not yours, then-"

"I never said they weren't," Barb cut in sharply, "Every one of those little rugrats are my flesh and blood. Sam's too."

"But... how-?"

"Let's just say we've helped several healthy, underprivileged young women cross over to this side of the poverty line," Barb winked, taking another drag of her smoke, "you'd be surprised what some people will do if you offer them enough money."

"Barb?! Where are you?!"

Polly recognized the voice as Sam's long before his face appeared behind the screen door. Unlike his wife, he looked just as perfect and polished as he did in their videos: nice jeans; crisp plaid shirt; neatly combed hair. Barb dropped her cigarette on the porch and crushed it under her fuzzy slipper seconds before he stepped outside, muttering a very unladylike oath under her breath. Although she'd put it out in record time, Sam had clearly seen enough.

"Are you smoking again?!" he snapped, shifting the nine-month-old in his arms (kid six) to his other shoulder. Without waiting for Barb to answer, he jammed his hand into her pants pocket, almost tearing it when he pulled the pack of smokes out.

"You promised me you'd quit!" he snarled, tossing the pack into the bushes before grabbing her wrist threateningly. "Why the hell aren't you in hair and makeup yet?! We're scheduled to go live in twenty minutes!"

Barb yanked her wrist free, rubbing it as she scowled at her husband, "I'm down to just one pack a day," she argued, "at least I'm making an effort! Tell you what: I'll give up my smokes for good when you give up your scotch and hookers!"

Sam's face flushed with anger, but he stopped himself before saying something he might regret when he noticed Polly standing a few feet away. In seconds, his anger disappeared completely, replaced with the same cool charm he displayed in his videos.

"Hi; you must be Miss Dinkel," he said, offering his hand warmly, "Sam Washington. It's wonderful to meet you in person." His icy blue eyes flicked over to his wife for a moment, making Barb flinch noticeably, before fixing on Polly again. "You must excuse my wife," he insisted, "she hasn't been well lately. Hopefully she hasn't said anything too off the wall."

Before Polly could answer, Barb snatched the baby from Sam's arms and stomped into the house. "Little Sammy needs a change," she muttered. "Maria?! Ugh, where is that useless nanny?!"

Sam sighed heavily, smoothing a hand over his crisp dark locks with a weary chuckle. "Sorry; my wife gets confused sometimes," he explained, "Maria's just a friend of the family... but she does babysit occasionally, whenever Barb's too busy cooking, cleaning, or filming. Come on in: I'll show you the house."

While meeting her two favorite online personalities did not go as well as planned, Polly brightened up immediately when she saw the inside of the house. Just like in the videos, each room she saw was as immaculate as could be. Everything was so clean, tidy, and organized, even the kids' toys. Not a thing was left out of place, making it hard to believe the Washingtons even had kids at all. A soft hum left Polly's throat as she caught a mouth-watering waft of melted butter and yeast coming from the kitchen. Today must be baking day, which explained why they were going live that morning. When the tour ended, Polly made her way back to Barb's huge, gourmet kitchen to get a sneak peek of what was cooking.

Someone was hard at work there already, being careful not to bump any of the lights or the camera tripods littered around the kitchen... but it wasn't Barb. Polly and the older, heavyset woman both froze and stared at each other for a long, awkward moment when their eyes met, neither seeming to know what to say.

"Hi," Polly eventually said, breaking the silence, "I'm Polly; the Washington's new media manager. Are you another friend of the family?"

The older woman burst out in a fit of chuckles suddenly, wiping her flour covered hands on her apron. "Friend?! Nein," she said, "I'm Inga: the cook. Willkommen to the family, Polly! And good luck. With this crowd, you're going to need it."

"Cook?" Polly echoed, flabbergasted, "I thought Barb-... er, Mrs. Washington did all the cooking for the family?"

Inga's doughy frame shook with another small barrage of laughter. "Ja, and wienerschnitzel was invented in China," she joked, "That woman can barely boil water without burning it!" She grew very quiet after a moment, looking around quickly before leaning in closer to Polly. "Things are never what they seem around here," she whispered, almost fearfully, "watch your step, Liebchen... especially around Herr Washington."

"Inga? I thought you'd gone home already," Sam strode into the kitchen with a warm grin - right up to Inga - but it didn't quite reach his cold blue eyes. "Thank you again for coming over this morning. I know Barb always appreciates a helping hand on baking day."

Inga's round, rosy cheeks turned as white as her hair, her sparkling brown eyes lowering to the floor nervously. "Oh... j-ja," she stammered, "Of course. Always a pleasure to help whenever I can, Herr Washington. As soon as those last few loaves are done, I'll go."

"Don't worry about it," Sam insisted, putting a hand on her heavily padded shoulder. "Barb will handle that once she's done putting her face on. Go on now, scoot: we've taken up enough of your time today."

Inga looked like she wanted to argue, but she shut her mouth as soon as she opened it. With an anxious nod, she took her apron off - casting one last warning look at Polly - before waddling out of the kitchen. Polly wasn't sure why Inga was so afraid of Sam, but it was clear she was terrified. Aside from that small outburst on the porch, he seemed like a decent guy. In their videos, he always proved himself to be a doting father and a loving husband. Despite all the evidence to the contrary, Inga's words of warning still rang in the back of Polly's mind: "Things are never what they seem around here."

Polly tried to ignore that little doubting voice as they got ready for the stream to start. Sam clearly went off on Barb like he did because he was worried about her health. Any good husband would be. Minutes before the stream was scheduled to go live, Barb finally sauntered into the kitchen with eighteen-month-old Susie on her hip (kid five) and two of her older brothers in tow: five-year-old Joey (kid four), and eight-year-old Davey (kid three). She looked more like her usual self, dressed in a blue and white floral dress and a matching checkered apron, with her hair and makeup flawlessly done.

"Do we really have to do this today?" Barb grumbled. "I've got a migraine."

"The fans are waiting, Hon," Sam insisted, his voice carrying a strong note of warning. "Kids, go outside; Johnny and Maggie need help feeding the piggies. You're not scheduled to come on camera until later."

Joey reached up shyly and tugged on his father's pant leg. "But, Dada, I'm hungry," he whispered. "Can we have breakfast first? Pwease?"

"I said later," Sam warned, his tone a little sharper, as he pried the five-year-old's fingers off. "Go outside. Now."

Davey quickly dragged his little siblings away, pulling Joey along behind him while carrying Susie under her armpits. Polly was stunned by how quiet the eight-year-old was. In the family vlogs, he was always smiling and the most energetic of the bunch. Looking at him now, the poor kid was like a zombie: no life or laughter at all behind his big blue eyes.

"Okay, we're going live in ten," Sam said, moving behind the camera and fiddling with the laptop set up beside him, "Get in place, Barb." He counted down slowly from ten, mouthing "two" and "one" before pointing at Barb. In a second flat, she screwed a smile onto her face, right as the red recording light flashed on the camera.

Everything went swimmingly for the first half hour or so. Barb was a natural when the camera was on her, kneading the dough Inga had pre-made while answering the questions Sam read aloud from their viewers. Watching the two of them work was like poetry in motion; the culmination of a lifelong dream for Polly. She felt so stupid for ever listening to Inga. Sam was a wonderful man. The perfect husband, even if his wife wasn't so perfect. Perfect or not, Barb hid all her flaws well in front of the camera... but eventually, her mask of perfection slipped.

When it came time to take Inga's loaves out of the oven, Barb tripped on the camera tripod. The bread pan hit the floor with a tremendous crash, and Barb wasn't far behind. Instead of popping up right away, she just lay there for a moment - groaning - then punched the tiles under her with a frustrated snarl.

"Dammit, Sam! I told you not to put the camera that close!!"

Polly's eyes flicked over to Sam automatically, but he didn't say a word. The light on the camera was off; he must've killed the stream the second Barb fell. He worked quickly to type up a message in the chat, apologizing for the interruption and assuring their viewers that Barb was okay, before ever going to check on her. Afterwards, he calmly walked over to his wife and yanked her to her feet... by the hair.

"What is wrong with you?!" he roared, throwing Barb against the fridge, "All you had to do was take the bread out, hold it up, and smile! A trained monkey could do this job better! Next time, watch where your putting your big damn clumsy feet!" He took a deep breath - letting it all out in a rush - before moving toward the camera again. "It's not a total loss," he muttered, "We'll just record the rest, and edit it all into a video instead. Now, pick up the bread and go again."

"No," Barb sniffed, wiping her nose on the back of her shaky hand, "I'm not doing it! I've had enough! I... I want a divorce!"

In a heartbeat, Sam was in her face again. Barb pressed her back flat to the fridge, trembling all over with fright, even though he didn't say a word.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, "I-I didn't... m-mean it. I can... d-do the take again. Just... l-let me do it again. P-Please, Sam!"

Her frightened cries fell silent when Sam wrapped a hand around her throat. A second later - when he remembered Polly was in the room - he let go again, causing Barb to slide to the floor.

"I forgive you," he said calmly, then turned to Polly again with that same, cold smile frozen on his face. "I'm sorry you had to see this, Miss Dinkel. Barb has these... 'episodes' all the time. We've learned to work around them. Hey, why don't I show you the farm? You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"I, um... n-no," Polly said quickly, backing out of the kitchen, "I'm sorry, but I don't think this job is a good fit for me. Thank you for the opportunity, but-"

"You're not quitting, are you?" Sam asked, moving closer to Polly with every word. "The day's just begun, and we really need your help around here. Please, stay; I insist."

"No," Polly said, a little more strongly, "I really need to leave now. Goodbye, Mr. Washington."

She turned her back to him for just a second, but it was a second too long. The next thing she knew, Sam Washington had her by the neck.

"That wasn't a request," he snarled.

***

Maureen couldn't believe her luck: the Washington Family had reconsidered her application. She was going to be their new media manager. Everyone she knew would be so jealous of her once they found out. The Washingtons were the perfect family, after all.