A barrel of angst

♦2. Mr. Sanderson.♦

I have stayed with madam Konica for a month now, never leaving the house. And in that time I'd learned that cigarette boy was Madame Konica's son. The product of a condom mishap. Those were her exact words. I also learned that Madame wasn’t all that she had portrayed herself to be. No, she was nothing like she'd portrayed herself to be. Case in point Vance, the cigarette boy. No one back home knew about him, we had all assumed that she’d never been married, and never had children.

The money waving and flashing was also just for show. The Madame was broke, she did not run a successful business like she claimed. Oh she ran a business alright, the success part was what I wasn't so sure of. I was however sure that it wasn’t legal. She was amongst many other things a fence, a criminal middleman or woman?

Who was I to talk, it's not like I'm a foreign national here with a tourist visa. You see, Madame Konica ‘helped’ illegal immigrants like myself get bad paying menial jobs such as cleaning, maid work, prostitution, etcetera. She took care of identification, and every other paper work, and by took care I mean forged. For all of her efforts we had to give up sixty five percent of all our earnings. Unfair I know, but what other choices did one have. The Madame was not a kind woman, I doubt the words kind or generous were ever used together with her name in any sentence.I was out at the back washing the Madame and Vance’s clothes when I heard her call my name in that dry croaky voice she had. Until I got ‘posted’ to an employer, one of those housekeeping jobs; I had been declared not attractive enough for the other jobs, that was the only time I had ever been happy to hear those words. Until I got posted I had to earn my keep. So I washed and cleaned and did every other thing. 

I quickly wiped my hands on one of the unwashed clothes, and hurried to answer her call. Anger is generally an ugly thing, but hers was grotesque, and the quickest way to rouse it was when one was being sluggish. I could do without that anger right now, and so I hurried along. 

“Yes madam?” I said on entering her presence. There was a man with her. He was a rather austere looking man. Though I couldn’t see all of his face, I was sure that he was not one of her previous, more frequent guests. When the madam entertained visitors, I was required to attend to their needs, serving the drinks and narcotics they so enjoyed. Each one of them had been a loud, garrulous and unsavoury character. This man was neither, he had the face and bearing of a cultured aristocrat.

“Get a drink for our guest, I’ll have a glass of water.”

“Okay ma’am.”

I got the drinks, set them down carefully, taking pains to avoid a spill. “Will that be all madam?”

“Yes, that will be all. You can go back to your work.”

“Yes ma’am,” I said turning to leave. As I did I caught the eye of the man, they were the bluest, most mesmerising eyes I had seen since I got here and for a moment I stood transfixed, lost in the swirling depths of his eyes.

A not so quiet cough from the madam broke the spell. Mortified, I left the room as quickly as propriety would allow. No sooner had I dipped my hands into the soapy water again, did I hear her call, and like before, I wiped my hands again and hurried to answer her. The man was gone, and the glasses had been moved to the side of the table when I got there. Clutched in her hands was a stack of papers, she always seemed to have a stack of those handy, perusing them through the lenses of her glasses.

"You called, Madam?"

She set down the papers and took off her square glasses "Yes I did,” she said. “I have found a place for you"

*****

My new boss just so happened to be the man with the captivating blue eyes. He name was a rich, single top shot lawyer. The rich single lawyer part was not what I was joyful over. No, I was joyful because finally I’d be able to earn some money, and with time send some back home too.

His house was huge, cold and imposing, and so too was its owner. His name was William Sanderson. Twenty nine years old, Tall with broad shoulders and an imposing figure. His face was a handsome one, with a strong jaw covered in a neatly trimmed beard, platinum blond hair, and of course blue eyes.All in all, he was a fine male specimen, and oozed virility. I could bet a lot of women wanted a piece of him. Not me though, I preferred my men on the darker end of the spectrum, anywhere between very dark to milk chocolate. Preferably less milk than choco. Funny, not like I had the slimmest chance with him.

"There are five rooms, six bathrooms, a kitchen and two sitting rooms. I expect them to be spotless at all time”

“Yes sir.”

“You will also do the laundry, you will keep the place in order. The sheets on my bed are to be spotless white linen, always. Hence they must be changed every day,” said Mr. Sanderson.

“Also, on no account should you ever go into my study, the door should be left open too, except when I say otherwise. When I need it cleaned I will inform you, then and only then are you permitted to go in.”

“If ever you feel tempted to go in there, bear in mind that I will know, and you will most likely die for it,” he concluded.

I stared wide eyed at him, waiting for him to break out in laughter and tell me he was joking, but that didn’t happen. It quickly became clear that the man meant every word that had left his lips. It scared the life out of me, he truly was going to kill me, and just for going into a study. Such a trivial thing to die on account of. I couldn’t work for this man, he made my skin crawl. I would tell the Madame as much when I got back. I resolved to let him finish showing me the rest of the house, he need not know about my decision.

I looked back at the study in question, the door was wide open, and I could see a large bookshelf, it carried as many books as it was designed to carry. In front of the shelf were a large semicircular table, and a throne like chair. The table had on it a large computer screen, and some randomly strewn papers. I saw nothing so important in there to warrant my head. My assessment of the room was cut short when he began talking again.

"And lastly, the room at the end of the hallway shall be yours. I'd prefer to see your work, but not you. As much as you can, stay out of sight and never, use the front entrance,” he said walking away with a finality that brooked no questions. Not like I had any to ask, but still. There must be something in the air here, everyone I have met seemed to be either rude or short tempered or both. Yet they had the nerve to call us uncivilised.

Curiously, I went over to the room that was to be mine. I was not going to accept the job, but there was no harm in taking a quick look around. It was a small room, but only relative to the other rooms, it certainly was larger than my room at the Madam’s place and it had an adjoining bathroom too. A shame I was going to turn down the job, it would have been nice to have a bathroom to myself, even one this small. Alas, it was not to be. I walked out of the room and closed the door behind me, then I walked out of the house, and I did not use the front entrance. *****“What do you mean by you can’t work for him?” she asked.

“Aunty, I can’t explain it. He just doesn’t rub off well on me.”

“Of course he does not, you’re his maid and not his masseuse,” She shot back.I resisted the urge to point out the flaw in that analogy. To begin with, the expression was not the appropriate one, but more importantly, correcting the Madam would be near suicidal.

“He threatened to kill me aunty,” I said instead, letting a bit of the trepidation I felt while in his presence colour my voice.

“Now why will he do that?” she inquired unbelievingly.

“Aunty, he said he’ll kill me if I ever went into his study, and from the look in his eye, he meant it, a study! Can you imagine that aunty?”“Yes, I can.”

“Humph! Aunty, abeg I no come London to die oh,” I said obstreperously in our patois.

“You no well,” she replied in the same patois. “Anyways, I see no problem,” she said, reverting to proper English. “Just don’t go in there. It’s as simple as that,” she said, as though stating a fact. 

“Look Deola, I’m sure you noticed, but on the very slim chance that you didn’t, I’ll tell you; that man is rich, he is very rich. The average cleaning job pays eight pounds per hour. This man is willing to pay twenty, that’s roughly nine hundred every week. You can convert that into a currency you’re familiar with, to better appreciate just how much money is at stake here,” she said, then paused in what I assumed was for effect.

“Add to that, you also get a roof over your head, and have as much food as you want. Well, maybe not as much as you’d like, but I’m sure you understand. Be smart Deola, what happened to sending money to your people back home? I don’t think you want to throw all of that away because a man threatened to kill you if you stepped out of line.”*****I’ve had a change of heart. The talk with Madame put things into perspective. A lot of money was at stake, I was just going to have do exactly as I was told. I will clean the rooms, change his sheets daily, and I will not step foot into his study.If Madam was to be believed, then he was going to be dishing out a lot of money, way more than the average maid was paid. As much as I’m glad, after all it meant more money for me, however, I’m a bit skeptical and wonder why he is willing to pay so much.

*****I've been working for mister Sanderson for three weeks now, I do the laundry, iron them, take out the trash, dust the house, I kept it spotless. I didn’t cook for him though, for obvious reasons. He didn’t cook for himself either, I guess he ate out, breakfast, lunch and dinner, and maybe brunch. He certainly had the money to afford such a lifestyle. As for me, I cooked for myself. I soon located a place where I could get some of the food that I was used to, but at very exorbitant prices. It was soon clear to me that I’d have learn to do as the Romans do, since I was now in Rome. Sometimes I’d find a box of pizza with my name on it. I very much appreciate the gesture, but not so much the pizza. It was not all that I thought it would be. The first bite had been anticlimactic, but it was food, and if not to my taste, it was not foul. I also noticed that the milk and a certain brand of cereal I liked so much were constantly being replaced, for that I was truly grateful.

In the three weeks I’ve been here, never once have I seen him, which was fine with me. I made myself scarce, like I’d been told, I’d wait till I was sure he had left the house before I started the day’s work. When I was done, I would sit or lay in my bed, and read the latest epic fantasy book I’d gotten from the bookstore close by. I loved to read, fantasy especially. The man at the book store had been a bit surprised when I had showed up carrying a small number of books that were in no way romantic. The books I read like all books had imagined, yet vivid characters and fantastical worlds I wished I lived in. 

At the end of each week I would find my pay at my door, in a yellow envelope. Sometimes he'd have guests over, and most of those times they'd stay the night. I know this not because I’ve seen them, no, I’ve kept myself hidden like I had been told to do. I know about his overnight guests because of their loud moans, and the incessant ‘oh my god’ a testament of their romp in the hay. There were never pizza boxes with my name to be found after such nights.

After one of such nights, when I was sure he and his guests had left, I went about my duties. I washed and put away the wine glasses they had used, swept away the cigarette bottoms and ashes, and then I aired the room. They were quite the messy bunch, spilling wine on the tables and on the couch, I’d have a tough time getting those out.

I saved his room for last, it smelled in here too. It smelled of sweat and wine and s*x. I got the impression that there had been more than two people romping in this hay, the mess was beyond the capabilities of just two people no matter how inebriated, or impassioned they were. Lending credence to my theory were the three glasses on the table, none empty and one had lipstick on it. An orgy then, with twice as much testosterone than estrogen it seemed. Such a nasty man, my boss. On second thought, all three of them were nasty. 

I could see no used condoms around, “thank God!” I said under my breath, for it would have been horrible, picking it up. I guess one of them cared about the sensibilities of the house keeper, another possibility was that there was never any to begin with. If the former was the case, I very much doubt it had been my boss. And if it was the latter, well, most diseases can be treated these days, if not cured.I stared at the bed sheets now lying on the floor, crinkled my nose at it, and seriously considered just throwing it away. I did not relish the idea of having to wash it. Using my feet, I moved it out of the way and spread a clean one over the bed mattress.

“Ahem, ahem”

I turned to see where that had come from, and mister Sanderson was at the door, his door. I felt so mortified. Not only because I wasn’t supposed to be seen, but because I was not supposed to be seen like this. Bent over like I was, tucking in the sheets, my pink pant clad butt cheeks were peeking out from the oversized shirt I wore.

"I am so sorry sir,” I said, scrambling off the bed. “I didn't think you'd be back this early. I'll continue this once you've gone," I said, hurrying to leave the room as quickly as my legs would let me.

"Hmm,” he said, looking at me with a glint of skepticism in those blue eyes. I quickly dropped my eyes to my feet.

“I forgot a file and needed to get it. Continue your work, I'm leaving already"True to his word, he left and I haven't seen him in days.