There was something between them, maybe. No one knows for sure.

Felice would never say. But maybe—that was it.

THE FOLLOWING THURSDAY, I WAS INSTRUCTED BY AVA TO ARRIVE at Metti’s apartment at 1:00 P.M. sharp. I would be cleaning the apartment alone.

But what about Felice? I asked in a panic.

The client has insisted, he wants just one maid. He will pay the full fee as if there were two. He said—Just the girl next time. Not the other.

PLEASE WAS A WORD THIS CLIENT OFTEN UTTERED. PLEASE WAS SO pleasant a sound in Metti’s deep-modulated voice, you did not (immediately) register it as a command.

Have you a few extra minutes, please?

Or—Do you have time to do an errand for me? Please.

Soon it became routine. If Dr. Metti returned before I’d finished cleaning the apartment he would ask me to do something extra on my way home, a “personal errand”—a “favor.”

Would I please?

Seeing my hesitation (for I had a class at the university that evening) quickly adding that he would pay me extra. Of course.

Directly to you—is it Vivian?—Violet? Not to the cleaning service. Cash in hand.

A shivery sensation, the possibility of cash in hand.

That’s to say, from Metti’s (warm) hand to mine.

Exhausted from several hours of housecleaning nonetheless I smiled at the client. Taking care that my shoulders not slouch and hoping that I did not look as disheveled as I felt.

Had to smile—I suppose: no matter that I’d explained to Metti that I had a class in the evening he seemed never to recall from one week to the next. As if the cleaning-girl in his employ existed only when Metti was conscious of her and ceased existing otherwise.

For I understood how easily Metti could fire me. All it would require would be a telephone call to the Agency and I would never see him again, as Felice was never to see him again.

(Poor Felice! When we encountered each other at Maid Brigade she stared at me in contempt. Her indignation was such, the hurt brimming in her eyes so intense, I had to turn away, shamed.)

Few other clients tipped so generously as Dr. Metti, it seemed. Few were as attractive as Dr. Metti.

So I said OK, yes. Whatever additional tasks Metti wanted from me did not seem like such a burden.

Agreeing was in fact a kind of pleasure. Smile smile for the attractive (male) (unmarried) client who seemed barely to glance at me but who tipped more generously than anyone in my experience.

I had not surrendered my dignity. I didn’t think so. Metti had not laid a hand on me—had not come close.

As an animal—to avoid punishment, to assure nourishment and approval—can learn to behave contrary to its nature, and convincingly, I smiled at Orlando Metti. And I smiled.