Acting as a Cleaning Lady Chapter 11 The Tribunal
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Acting As A Cleaning Lady - Chapter 3 - Maria's First Job free porn video
Acting as a Cleaning Lady
An Unfinished Story by Susannah Donim
Dave, now Maria, begins earning his pay as a cleaning lady. It turns
out not to be as bad as he expected.
Chapter 3 - Maria's First Job
At half-past seven on Monday morning, Sally and I - that is, Sally and
Maria - rang Dorothy's doorbell. We'd already apologised for having
to be here this early, but Sally had to be at work by eight-thirty.
It was a chilly morning so I was wearing dark glasses, my headscarf,
and an old coat of Sally's over my cleaning lady costume and carrying
my handbag. Also, having learned my lesson at Anna and Phil's, I had
an old basket full of essential cleaning materials, in case Dorothy
was as under-equipped as my sister.
"Listen, are you sure this is... well... right?" I asked Sally, in
Spanish. "We're deceiving an elderly, handicapped lady for monetary
gain."
"We're not robbing her," she said, reasonably. "You'll be working
your balls off for her... well not balls, obviously; you've already
put them out of reach... as it were. You'll be doing her a real
service, something she desperately needs. You're not proposing to
attack her, or rifle through her drawers or anything, are you? You
want a fair day's pay for a fair day's work - as a humble cleaning
lady."
The door opened to silence any further conversation and Dorothy
blinked nervously at us in the morning sunlight.
"Morning, Dorothy. I'm Sally and this is Maria."
I smiled and bobbed something that might have been a sort of curtsey.
Then I realised she wouldn't have been able to see me smiling.
"Oh, do come in," Dorothy said warmly. "It's so kind of you to help.
Let's go into the kitchen first, then I can show you around. Do you
want to hang your coats up?" She pointed to a row of coat hooks
behind the front door.
She was a lovely old lady - mid-seventies, I guessed. She ushered us
in and led the way confidently. She obviously knew her way around her
own home, despite her poor eyesight.
On the way to the kitchen we passed her sitting room. I noticed all
the furniture was round the outside of the room against the walls, so
there was nothing in the middle of the room for her to trip over.
There was an occasional table beside each armchair; a television in
the opposite corner; and plenty of bookshelves, but there were no
books or magazines on any of the chairs or tables.
The kitchen was similar, except for a counter dividing the room in
half, with a chair each side. I imagined that as she lived alone she
would take many of her meals here. There was a radio at one end of
the counter.
We refused her offer of coffee as Sally was pressed for time, and
began our tour of the house. Dorothy led the way, giving instructions
to Sally in English, which she translated into Spanish for me,
although of course I understood everything Dorothy said. I just
nodded, smiled and said "Si, si," and "Si, si, Se?ora," in a breathy,
high-pitched Spanish accent. Dorothy showed no sign of suspecting I
was anything other than what I appeared to be.
Apart from the kitchen and breakfast room, the ground floor consisted
of two reception rooms and a cloakroom with toilet and washbasin. Up
the first flight of stairs were four bedrooms, one with an en suite,
and a family bathroom. A second flight of stairs led up to two more
small bedrooms, which had no furniture to speak of and were clearly
used for storage.
I had a notebook in which I recorded everything she wanted me to do.
I wrote in Spanish, just in case, though it was fairly obvious she
wouldn't be able to read my scrawl anyway. When we finished the tour
we returned to the kitchen.
The house had clearly not been cleaned properly for some weeks. The
kitchen and toilets were looking grubby, and there was dust
everywhere. But it wasn't untidy like Anna and Phil's place. Even
the memorabilia and junk in the attic rooms were all neatly packaged
up and labelled in boxes and suitcases. I wouldn't need to be making
continual trips out to the bins with rubbish. I guessed I could
complete the job comfortably in three days. Sally relayed my estimate
to Dorothy.
"Would you like her to do some washing and ironing for you too?" she
asked.
"Oh would she?" Dorothy smiled at me. "I do find that difficult these
days, particularly the ironing."
That would probably mean four days, and very nearly another mortgage
payment sorted. Sally had clearly realised the same thing. She
opened the discussion of payment. Dorothy actually offered a rate
even higher than Anna had paid me, and Sally accepted happily. I was
glad there was no need for any negotiation. Sally is a tough
negotiator but I already liked Dorothy too much to want to make her
uncomfortable.
"Maria doesn't have a bank account over here," Sally said, "but if you
make out a cheque to me, I'll pay her in cash."
Dorothy was fine with that. I felt I had joined the ranks of
generations of cleaning ladies who worked hard and saw their wages
commandeered by their spouses. At least I could trust Sally not to
blow my hard-earned money on booze and fags.
"I should offer to make lunch, shouldn't I?" I suggested in Spanish.
"She must struggle with the cooker controls." Sally nodded.
"Maria's asking if you'd like her to make lunch for you both later
on," she interpreted.
"Oh I don't think..." Dorothy began.
"It really would be no trouble," Sally pressed. "She'd be happy to
help out," she said on my behalf.
At Dorothy's invitation I checked her cupboards. For today I
suggested chicken soup from a tin, and bread and cheese. She was
happy with that. I told Sally that I would bring something from home
to make lunch for the next three days. She relayed the message and
Dorothy looked very pleased. She asked Sally to tell me to help
myself to coffee and biscuits whenever I wanted. I smiled and asked
Sally to thank her. This speaking-through-an-interpreter business
felt a little silly but it was obviously necessary, and it would be so
easy to make a mistake and answer Dorothy directly in English!
Sally left to go to the bank and I got to work. I started at the top
of the house flicking away spider-webs with a long-handled feather
duster; dusting all the lower surfaces - mantelpieces, bookshelves,
table tops; vacuuming to remove the dust; wiping down all the
paintwork with a cloth, a sponge and a washing-up bowl full of soapy
water; and finally cleaning the insides of all of the windows.
The hardest part of the work was moving all the heavy boxes so that I
could vacuum thoroughly. I hoped Dorothy wouldn't be suspicious that
I was capable of moving such weights.
Each of the attic rooms took me about three-quarters of an hour. When
I'd finished the second one, I made my way back downstairs to make
myself a cup of coffee and empty the dirty water from my bowl.
Dorothy was in the kitchen on the telephone. She smiled at me; I
smiled back. I don't know if her vision was up to seeing that.
"Yes, she's here now," she said into the phone. "She seems very
nice..."
I studiously ignored what I was hearing, as I wasn't supposed to
understand an English conversation.
"Well, I haven't had the chance to look at anything she's done yet...
I might not be able to tell how thorough she is anyway..."
This was a little worrying - not that I was ashamed of my work, but
who on earth was she talking to? And why were they interested?
"... with my eyesight, you know...? Well, why don't you come round
after she's gone and see for yourself?"
It was getting harder to concentrate on being oblivious to what I was
hearing. I just hoped that the mysterious person at the other end of
the telephone didn't turn up while I was still here. Should I have
asked Sally to tell Dorothy that I was too shy to meet anyone? I
dismissed that idea as soon as I'd thought of it. Anybody would be
suspicious of that.
After my coffee break I carried on with the much larger bedrooms on
the first floor and managed to get one more done by lunchtime. But
now, and for the rest of the day, I was worrying about being seen at
close quarters by someone with 20-20 vision.
I came down at about ten past one to find Dorothy dozing in an
armchair in the sitting room. I didn't disturb her yet but went into
the kitchen to start preparing our meal. I deliberately made more
noise than necessary with the saucepan and the grill, in the hope that
she would wake up without me needing to go and rouse her.
As planned, I heated the chicken soup and made some cheese on toast
and a pot of tea to wash it down. It was all just about ready when
Dorothy appeared. She smiled and sat down at the kitchen counter.
Lunch was a strange affair. As I served the meal the two of us
communicated almost entirely by sign language. I worked out what she
was trying to say most of the time, and bobbed, and whispered, "Si,
Se?ora," as appropriate; but I was never sure she had caught any of my
signals, given her vision issues.
Still she ate hungrily, and we each returned to our morning
activities: me to scrubbing the bathroom, Dorothy to dozing in the
sitting room.
Progress was a little slower in the afternoon as the other bedrooms
were in a poorer state. I suspected Dorothy had grandchildren who
came to stay and who were still at the stage of knocking over any
vessel containing liquid. I spent a lot of time with carpet shampoo
and scrubbing brush. More than once it occurred to me to wonder
whether she would appreciate what I was doing. Did she know about the
many orange juice and milk stains? Would her eyesight be up to seeing
how much better the carpet looked after I'd finished?
I took her in a cup of tea and a plate of chocolate digestives at
about half past three, but otherwise saw no one for the rest of the
afternoon as I laboured away. At one point it occurred to me that I
was actually enjoying myself, and I began to wonder why. I had always
been a bit of a neatness freak, but still...
Sally returned to collect me at about five-thirty. Dorothy asked her
to tell me how pleased she was with the rooms I had cleaned, and how
much she appreciated my work.
"So how was it?" Sally asked in Spanish as we left, just in case
someone was hiding behind one of the road's tall privet hedges.
"Oh it was fine. I'm quite used to cleaning now, as you know."
"This was the first time you've done it in drag though," she mocked.
"It's just wearing a costume - playing a part. No biggie. Though all
the tight shapewear and padding is quite uncomfortable. The wig too.
I'm pretty sweaty underneath. I'll need all clean underwear
tomorrow."
"Yes, I can tell you do need a shower," she said, sniffing me
ostentatiously. "The trouble is, you don't smell woman-sweaty; you
smell boy-sweaty. I think we'd better dowse you in girly anti-
perspirant tomorrow, just in case."
"Anyway I can put up with it all for the moment," I said. "It's a
fairly painless way to earn the extra money we need to keep ourselves
in the black."
"But don't you find it all a little demeaning?" she said after a
little thought. "Someone with your qualifications doing unskilled
labour, and female labour, at that?"
"That's a bit sexist, isn't it?" I said. "I definitely prefer
cleaning toilets, even in a bra and panties, to emptying bins or
digging holes in the road. And as for unskilled labour, there's
nothing wrong with that. We can't all run British Airways or
Microsoft."
= = =
And so the week progressed. Sally came with me each morning to take
and translate Dorothy's instructions. I brought a light lunch in each
day. I dusted and scrubbed and wiped and polished and vacuumed, and
gradually the house began to sparkle. Dorothy was delighted. On
Wednesday I started putting in loads of washing between cleaning
sessions. By Thursday morning there was only the kitchen left to
clean and a huge pile of ironing to do.
On each day that week I finished early enough to shower, wash my
shapewear, organise our dinner, and still spend an hour on my
computer. Being Maria during the day and Dave in the evening was hard
work but altogether a fulfilling and satisfying experience.
There was one disturbing episode however - well, three episodes, in
fact. I kept overhearing Dorothy talking about me on the phone.
Obviously she completely believed in the fictional Maria and her
inability to understand English, or else she would have been more
discreet. Each time she reported to her caller how satisfied she was
with my work and invited her (I heard enough of the caller's voice to
know she spoke to three different women) to come round in the evening
to see for herself.
It sounded like other local ladies might be interested in Maria's
services. In principle I'd be happy with the work and the money, as I
couldn't earn anything as myself at the moment and I felt I was
letting my wife down with no salary. But we both knew my disguise
wasn't good enough to be around sharp urban women in full possession
of their faculties. It was time for Maria to go back to Spain. The
only problem was my sexy olive skin. I needed to return to pale white
Dave as soon as possible. I determined to find out all I could about
exfoliating.
On the Thursday afternoon I had just finished putting all of Dorothy's
newly washed and pressed clothes back in her wardrobes and drawers
when Sally came by to collect me. Perfect timing. A smiling Dorothy
pushed a large cheque into Sally's hand and said she hoped I would be
available for a couple of hours a week for the foreseeable future.
Sally promised to see what could be arranged. I was standing behind
Dorothy shaking my head vigorously. So Sally backtracked a little,
saying she wasn't sure how much longer Maria would be staying in the
UK, but she would discuss it with me.
Back at home, she wanted to talk about it further.
"I hadn't realised just how good you are at cleaning," she began. "I
mean, I know you keep our place looking amazing, but you've really
impressed your sister - and Dorothy."
"Well, it's not rocket science," I began modestly. "It's just a
matter of being organised and following a few simple principles..."
"No doubt, but I don't think you could be as good at it as you are
unless you were actually enjoying yourself."
"Well I wouldn't go that far," I said. "I find it... restful. While
my body gets on with the physical work, my mind wanders free. I get
creative. I've got a couple of new ideas for my digital currency app
to test out tonight."
"I think it's more than that. I think you really like being a
cleaning lady!"
This was a little embarrassing. I hoped she wasn't losing her respect
for me as her husband. She must have guessed what I was thinking.
"No, don't worry," she hastened to say. "I think it's great. Since
you can't make any money in software engineering at the moment. It's
a great side-line to have. People will always need cleaning ladies."
She went off to fetch a bottle of wine, chortling to herself.
= = =
I was still in bed at eight o'clock the next morning when my slumber
was disturbed by Anna bursting in, followed by my wife. Sally was
fully dressed and ready to leave for the bank, but I was surprised to
see my sister. Her bursting into my bedroom while I was trying to
sleep was nothing new - she'd been doing it all my life - but I didn't
think that dedicated lady of leisure ever got up much before nine.
"Sorry to disturb you so early," Anna began, quite plainly not in the
least sorry, "but this can't wait, and you both need to hear it." She
sat down heavily on the bed, narrowly avoiding squashing my foot.
"Who's died?" I asked, suppressing a yawn.
Anna tutted. Sally grinned.
"No one's died, idiot! Dorothy called me last night. Three of her
friends are desperate for Maria to clean their houses - and they're
promising big money. Between them you can probably make enough to
cover all your mortgage payments up until the Tribunal."
Anna sat back in triumph. I looked at the two dominant women in my
life. I yawned and stretched.
"I thought we were clear about this," I began. "There is no Maria!
She's a fiction, make-believe, play-acting. For God's sake, Anna,
she's not real."
"She's real enough to make nearly eight hundred pounds in four days.
Don't you want to keep this house?"
"Of course we do, but I thought we all agreed: I could only get away
with pretending to be Maria with Dorothy because of her poor eyesight.
Anyone else would soon see through me. And they'd probably call the
police - a man getting into their homes under false pretences. It's
tantamount to rape!"
"You're exaggerating," she scoffed. "Anyway all we need to do is
improve your disguise. I've even found a service that can do that.
It's called Transformations."
Sally perked up. "What do they do?"
"They use computers and 3D printing to make masks and prosthetics and
stuff to disguise people. Apparently they're very big in the cross-
dressing and transgender communities." I must have been looking
sceptical. "They're very discreet. You can be anonymous. They don't
advertise. You have to know someone..."
"They must be expensive," said Sally dubiously.
"Don't worry about that," Anna said. "It's just a one-off cost. Then
you can make seven or eight hundred a week! You'll have plenty of
customers. Phil and I can cover any up-front spending and you can pay
us back whenever you're ready; there's no hurry. Or maybe you can do
something else for me..."
"I don't know..." I began.
I knew they could afford it easily - I'd seen their bank statements
and credit card bills when I was tidying their place, but I wasn't
keen to be beholden to my sister, of all people.
"Well it can't hurt to go and see them, can it?" said Sally. "If they
can't make you a more realistic Maria, or if it's too expensive, we
won't be any worse off, will we?"
Maddy
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