You are hopeful, reckless. You are stronger than you appear, a girl who never complains, fit for the rigors of housecleaning that will pay better than your other shitty jobs and will not require smiling until your face aches.

Thinking—If Mom finds out, what will she think?

Thinking—Will Mom understand why I am doing this, or will she be ashamed and hate me more?

Off the Books

THE CLIENT WAS A “DOCTOR”—THAT IS, HIS NAME WAS PREFIXED by Dr.

The client had money, clearly. Divorced, living alone in a high-rise condominium building overlooking the Saint Lawrence River. A reputation for good tips but a short temper, high expectations, don’t “engage” with this client you will regret it.

Most of the Agency’s clients were women. Wives of well-to-do husbands, in large homes. You did not “engage” with them either if you could avoid it. If you were wise. Often, these clients did not tip. They paid (by check) through the Agency which would then pass on to the worker a small gratuity.

Except, I was a new hire. A part-time hire. Not full-time. No benefits. No weekly checks. Off the books.

GOES WITHOUT SAYING, OK. BUT AVA SCHULTZ AT MAID BRIGADE will say it, frank, blunt, no-bullshit which is what people love about brass-blond Ava with studs in eyebrows, nostril and the husky upper arms of a woman who has put in time as a house-cleaner herself.

Don’t fuck with the client, see? Like stealing some dinky thing you think they won’t miss because they will miss it.

And don’t fuck the client. Period.

HIS NAME WAS ORLANDO METTI. WE WERE TO CALL HIM DR. METTI.

I’d been cleaning houses for just two weeks and I was still learning. Still undecided if I wanted to clean other people’s houses. If I was that desperate for money. Willing to stoop, to kneel. Willing to scour away other people’s grime, filth, shit. Willing to grovel for tips. This afternoon I’d been paired with a middle-aged Guatemalan woman named Felice who’d been cleaning for the client for several years. When we arrived at Metti’s apartment on the seventeenth floor of a dazzling high-rise building overlooking the Saint Lawrence River Felice murmured to me, “We take off our shoes now, please. When we go in.”

Take off our shoes! I hadn’t been forewarned. Fortunately I was wearing gray woolen hiking socks without obvious holes, that would keep my feet reasonably warm through the hours of our labor.

THE MAN IS A PERFECTIONIST. DO NOT RUSH THROUGH THE CLEANING, he will complain to the agency. The master bed especially—be very careful making the master bed. Kitchen, bathroom, sinks, tub and shower—be sure that they are shining. Otherwise he will refuse to pay the full fee. He will request that you never return.