The Yellow Suitcase

by L. W. Clark

  I ate a piece, and it was delicious.

  “This is very good, thank you,” I said as I moved to the right again. By now I was at the end of the sofa.

  “See? I knew you’d like it!” he said, and now, he was right next to me.

  This isn’t a habit. He’s just some old man who wants to be close to a young girl.

  We were so close our legs and forearms touched. I froze and stared straight ahead, not looking at him. I didn’t know how to react. He suddenly went quiet and put down his plate. I reached to grab my cup of coffee when I felt his hand on my thigh. I jumped up, spilling some coffee.

  “Where’s the bathroom?” I asked.

  “Just around that corner, in the hall.”

  I stayed in the bathroom for a while, washing my face with cold water. I was blushing. I almost started to cry but then became angry.

  I want to take that piece of cheesecake and smash it in his face and then pour that cup of coffee right on his head.

  I came out from the bathroom with an attitude and sat on the armchair opposite him, without looking at him. I completely ignored him.

  Sometimes when you try to be warm and friendly to another person, they misread it for flirting and try to take advantage of you. Just because someone acts nice and treats you well it doesn’t mean there’s an attraction. I knew this. I should’ve kept my distance from a stranger until I got to know them, but I had let my guard down.

  Luckily the phone rang, and we had to go. He knew I was pissed, and he became quiet. His party was over. He didn’t even ask me if I was going to finish the stupid cheesecake as he quickly cleared the table. He put it all in the kitchen and we left.

  What about his wife? Did he even have one? No, he did. They had pictures of themselves in the living room, at different places. They looked like a lovely couple.

  There weren’t any jokes or laughs while he was driving now. I sat in the back and any conversation between us was over. I thought he was a kind grandfather, but he turned into a creep in a heartbeat.

  When we had reached the house for the interview, I was astonished by its size. This wasn’t a house. It was a palace. It was so big that I couldn’t imagine just four people living there. I pictured myself living in this house and it made me excited, even though it was for work.

  It was a Victorian style house with huge rooms. Inside was beautiful, with a big foyer opening up into a dining room with large windows. It had a long hallway with many individual rooms and a huge open kitchen at the end. I couldn’t keep track of how many doors I saw. The house had a basement with a playroom for the kids and a gym for the adults. There was an upstairs with two individual rooms and a bathroom for house workers. A young woman opened the door and pointed to the large living room, which looked like an entire apartment. There, waiting for me, was Anna.

  She seemed pleasant, right from the beginning. We sat down and she explained the job. I tried to understand but it didn’t matter. I would agree to whatever she wanted me to do. She didn’t spend much time with me. She seemed rushed. She walked with me as we made our way out of the house and told me she’d call Lora to let her know her decision.

  I’m confident about getting this job, just like last time. I think she liked me, and we had good chemistry. I wish she would’ve just hired me right then and there, but she had to talk to her husband first. I don’t get it. Why all the formality? It’s just housekeeping, mostly.

  She was a busy lawyer and her husband owned a business. He was around the house more often than her. They had a four-year-old girl and a five-month-old boy. They already had a babysitter for the two of them. She needed another person in the house who would do house cleaning, laundry, and help the babysitter whenever she needed it. It didn’t seem too hard, and there wouldn’t be much English needed.

  She walked me to the car where Alex was waiting for me. He got out and said hello to her. They had a brief conversation while I was sitting in the car. I sat in the back seat again. As Alex drove, he kept looking back at me through the rearview mirror.

  “She liked you,” he said. “She just needs her husband to agree.”

  “Thank you.”

  I can’t even look at his face. It makes me nauseous.

  “Goodbye,” Alex said as he dropped me off.

  I left the car without a word, went inside and waited.

  TEN

  May 1996, Long Island

  Leaving Lora and Viktor’s house was a relief. I finally landed a job. Anna called the night before and told Lora she wanted me to start working the next day. Lora asked her father for help again. I didn’t want to see this guy anymore, but I had no choice. I wasn’t nervous or afraid of him. I just didn’t want to deal with him. If he even so much as brushed up against me, I’d slap him. That I knew for sure. I sat in the back seat again and didn’t even look at him. He acted as if nothing happened and was being chatty and sweet like before.

  I had a contract with Lora and Viktor. Now and then one of them would drive to Anna’s house to pick up my salary until I paid them off. After that, they would return my passport. I was now a live-in helper for six days with one day off. I didn’t need any spending money during my workdays, so that was helpful. For my one day off, I asked Anna if I could just stay in my room, since I had nowhere to go. Fortunately, she agreed.

  Alex dropped me off in front of Anna’s house and drove away. He didn’t even wait until someone opened the door. I rang the bell and waited for a while. I rang again and waited. The house was big so it could take a while for someone to walk to the front door. As I rang a third time and nobody answered, I felt a pain in my arm from holding my yellow suitcase. I put the suitcase down and sat on the stairs.

  I just sat and waited. Somebody would show up eventually. I wasn’t concerned or anything. It was just weird. When I looked around, I could just about see a neighbor’s large house. There was a lot of land for each home. I ended up in the middle of nowhere again, but with better housing.

  Where is the shiny, exciting, crowded, fun city that I saw on television? It must be around here somewhere. I hope I can go there soon and that it’s like what I imagine.

  Forty minutes passed. I was daydreaming when a mailman approached the house and said hi as he handed me the mail and some magazines. I looked at the mailing label. Anna and Michael Weizmann.

  Nice names.

  I rang the bell again even though I thought no one was home. But then Anna opened the door looking like she was half asleep, with her hair all messed up.

  “Come on in,” she said. “I’m so sorry. I fell asleep.”

  She was home by herself. No kids, no husband. The house seemed peaceful.

  I happily grabbed my suitcase and walked into the house. She looked astonished that I was carrying this huge suitcase. I pretended it was light and fancy.

  “I decided to work from home today,” she said. “This way I can show you the house and explain the job.”

  What kind of work from home job includes falling asleep?

  I followed her as she showed me the room where I was going to stay. It was up a narrow set of stairs and I had a hard time with the suitcase. I had to stop a few times to take a break and change hands. She didn’t see me struggling up the stairs since she walked so fast and didn’t look back. The room was small, clean and bright. The entire house looked brand new. There was one single bed and a small dresser. On the same floor was another bedroom that belonged to the babysitter, and a bathroom we would share.

  “Make yourself at home and let me know if you need anything. After you get settled in a little bit come downstairs and we can get started,” she said as she left the room.

  I sat down on the bed. I had a room to sleep in, a job, and I could start paying off my loan. I closed my eyes and tried to relax, but I was too excited. I changed my clothes and went downstairs.

  “The house is so beautiful,” I told her.

  “Thank you, it’s brand new. It’s a gift from my husband. He had it built for me. We a
lso have a place in Manhattan, so we go back and forth. But we’re mostly here. Do you know Manhattan?”

  “Yes, I know Manhattan, or at least I’ve heard of it. I haven’t seen it yet.”

  “You’ve never seen it?”

  “No, unfortunately.”

  “You will,” she smiled. “Here’s a notebook and pen so you can write some things down. I’ll show you around and explain the job.”

  She showed me every room and explained in detail what I was supposed to do. How to do the laundry, how to clean the rooms. There were a lot of instructions and as I was writing, I became completely confused. The laundry had all these rules. Which clothes to wash together and with what water and soap. Which cleaning products to use, depending on what you were cleaning. I never saw so many different cleaning products.

  Her bedroom was huge, with a walk-in closet and a huge bathroom with a standing shower and a big Jacuzzi bath. The most complicated place was the kitchen. There were actually two kitchens in one area. There were duplicates of everything—appliances, sinks and utensils—because they were a devout Jewish family. She explained that dairy and meat couldn’t be eaten together, so even the silverware and all the dishes were separate. They couldn’t even touch each other so they had separate cabinets. She said I had to follow their eating rules while I was in the house.

  My head was spinning. I didn’t understand all the rules. But the most shocking moment was when she opened a door and took me into what she called the “food storage room”. It looked like a big grocery store. Shelves took up all the walls, each stacked with food. I had no idea what was what, but there were boxes, packages, cans of foods, bottles of water and all kinds of juices.

  I would never think of collecting this much food. I know they’re rich people, but why? Why store so much food? Did they hear a war might be starting soon and they had to be prepared?

  But I did love that room the most. I used to go there in my free time, like going to an art gallery. I’d look and try to make out the meaning on the labels. After all the instructions she told me to relax the rest of the day and meet her at 6:30 the next morning.

  I met her in the kitchen right on time. She was all dressed and in a hurry. I already knew what I had to do that day, but she asked me to add one other thing. She asked me to make dinner for her and her husband.

  Wait … what? She never mentioned cooking in the interview.

  “I’m not sure I can cook,” I said. “I don’t know the products and I can’t read the labels.”

  “Don’t worry. I wrote down the recipe and all you have to do is follow the instructions. Thank you so much. I really appreciate it. I have to go now. Have a nice day. Bye.”

  She ran out so fast I couldn’t even respond. I looked at the recipe. I could read some of the descriptions and the ingredients, but I didn’t know what the products looked like.

  Geez, I can barely read her writing. I guess I’ll go to that food storage room and look for the stuff. I can’t focus on anything else until I figure out how to make this dinner.

  I grabbed the piece of paper and went into the food storage room. I stayed in the room looking at the writing and then tried to find the right product. I did this over and over again. I had no idea what ingredients to collect for this recipe. I became nervous. It was my first day and I wanted to do well so they would keep me on.

  The babysitter was near the kitchen area taking care of the kids as she watched me. She could tell something was wrong as I went back and forth to that “food Disneyland”. She was a Hispanic girl named Kalian. She came to me and asked me to give her the recipe and hold the baby. She took the recipe, and collected all the right ingredients. We kind of exchanged jobs for a little bit.

  “Thank you so much Kalian. I really appreciate it.”

  “No problem. If you ever need anything, just ask. I’m happy to help.”

  “That’s very nice of you. Thanks again.”

  She was a kind person. I got my notebook and started my work. I did some extra cleaning work even though Anna didn’t ask me to, trying to impress my new employers. Then it was dinner time. Since I had all the right ingredients, I felt fairly confident I could prepare a nice meal. Kalian would stop by the kitchen now and then to make sure I was all right. She mentioned that the house had cameras recording everything, so I should try not to mess anything up.

  By the time Anna and Michael came home I had finished all my work and the dinner. Chicken in tomato sauce with vegetables. It smelled delicious, and Anna thought so too. I didn’t take a break all day. I felt a little tired, but the family had a couple of friends over for dinner, so Anna asked me to help.

  I set the table and served them. While they were having drinks and dinner I stayed in the kitchen. Anna didn’t tell me I could go to my room, so I didn’t know what to do. I was shy to ask her if I was done for the day, so I stayed in the kitchen until all the guests left. That evening seemed so long. I was standing and hanging out in the kitchen like an idiot.

  I’m starting to feel a little sad. Look at my feet. They’re all swollen from standing all day. I’ve never been a servant before. I’d help my family or friends but that was different. It was my choice. When I serve others like this, I feel like I don’t belong to myself. I can’t believe my swollen ankles. I used to walk so much, and this never happened. What’s different now? Maybe it’s because I was up at 6:30 and now it’s around ten and I had no down time. This is pretty brutal.

  While I was hanging out, Michael would come to the kitchen for more drinks and just smile at me. Instead of just standing there, I’d pretend I was busy doing some work. There was nothing else to do. I did all the cleaning. The kitchen was ready to be closed and I was ready for bed.

  It’s no one’s fault but my own that I’m too shy to ask to leave. I hate my shyness. They’re busy with dinner and their guests so obviously they’re not thinking of me.

  I cleaned the kitchen area, again.

  “Thank you so much for dinner,” Anna said. “The chicken was more than delicious. Goodnight.”

  That’s nice to hear that but somehow, I know I’ll be getting “the cooking recipe of the day” from now on.

  “Goodnight,” I said.

  “Yes, thanks again for everything,” Michael said as he opened the refrigerator and grabbed a big carton of ice cream. He sat at the table eating the ice cream with a big spoon.

  Well, this is new. I’ve been learning so many interesting things since I landed in this country. Having ice cream in the middle of the night? And he’s scooping it out, like he’s determined to finish it all? I would never think of having so much ice cream all at once. Back home, we only have it in the summer, and always during the day. Maybe in the evening on a hot summer day we’d have a scoop or two.

  I probably look surprised, so he offered me some. I wanted to try American ice cream, but I said no thank you.

  “No? It’s delicious and this one? Mint chocolate chip. It’s one of my favorites. You should try some next time.”

  “OK, next time. Goodnight,” I said as I turned to leave.

  All I want to do is go upstairs to my room.

  When I got to the room, I was so tired I thought I would crash in a second. But instead I laid down on the bed and cried. I cried so hard. I looked at my swollen ankles and I cried some more. I felt sorry for myself. And I had the same questions that I had back home, standing and looking in the mirror.

  Why? Why me? Why am I doing this to myself? At home I was poor, but at least I was surrounded by people I love, sleeping in my own house and my own bed. Is this what I want? Do I really want to work for these people and lock myself in someone else’s house? My mind is going dark, where I had visited many times, and I don’t like it at all. I always try to escape but I keep going back. I need to stop. It’s not healthy or helpful at all.

  I knew that. I was fully aware of it. But my subconscious mind was so powerful that it pulled me along.

  I miss my house and my country. I miss my
friends and having a good time. I wish I was with them. Maybe I made a big mistake coming here. I don’t care about the money, or the future. Or do I? Wait a minute. What about all the bad stuff? Remember how hard life is there? Did I forget how I struggled financially, and not only me but my entire family? Did I forget that there’s no path to success? Just a seemingly endless road of misery, disrupted now and then by the joy of being with family and friends, mostly fueled by alcohol. What I have here is an opportunity to change my life, and all I’m thinking about are the good times back home?

  I even feel uncomfortable in this beautiful house and in this nice clean, brand new room. It would be nice to have this room back home. But I hate this room. I don’t give a shit about the money. I want to go home, but I don’t even have the money to do that. Or my passport.

  I remember all the guys who were in love with me, or at least they said they were. The old ones and the new ones. I miss them all. I appreciate their love for me now. Not so much before. I miss my best friend, Nikki. I forgive her for what she did. She’s so smart and lucky she stayed there. I picture everybody and everything as so beautiful over there.

  The mind is remarkable. When it gives you a signal of your desire for something or someone, everything needed to make it happen feels so positive and beautiful, even when in reality, it’s not. It can actually be worse for you. We just want it all. It’s like a little kid who just wants candy, cake and oh by the way, that toy, too.

  I have to stop torturing myself. Either I have to find a way to go back home now or just deal with this until I have my own money and then make a decision. I’m ashamed of myself, thinking like this. I was fine all day. I felt strong, motivated, positive. I learned a lot and the couple seems to be happy with my work. I have a job and at the end of the week, I’m going to get paid. I’m living in a beautiful house with nice people. What else do I want, my evil, subconscious mind?

  Before I could answer I drifted off to sleep. The loud alarm woke me the next morning. I was in a better mood. More calm and peaceful. But I felt so sore. My legs were hurting, and my arms ached, especially the right one. I could barely get out of bed.