Zahra thought that using Noor as a housekeeper would be perfect, since she knew all those answers and then some beyond the nosy housewives’ wildest dreams. Zahra could see why Sami would ask Noor not to repeat things she saw and heard—he probably knew his friend’s affinity to gossip.
Zahra reassured Noor that she had three words for the housewives: “yes,” “no,” and “nothing.”
When they had finished their day’s work at two-thirty, the housewife of the day named Fifi asked them to stay and help with an afternoon tea hour she was hosting that day.
“I am sorry, Fifi, we can’t. We have another customer at three,” Noor said.
“Who is it? Call and cancel them, I will pay you double,” Fifi said.
Zahra kept her eyes down and hoped Noor would handle the situation in time for them to show up at the police station when she told the detective they would.
“American, you don’t know them!” Noor replied.
She assured Fifi that she could not cancel so late in the day, and that she and Zahra could return the next afternoon if Fifi wanted. Fifi gave up with a sigh and handed Noor the cash.
“Her real name is Fadwa, but she goes by to Fifi! Fadwa is too baladi for her! Not fancy enough!” Noor laughed.
“She wants us to stay so she can look fancy at her party, remember she came to Lulu’s brunch last week, that’s when she asked for our number to clean her house. Turns out she wants to show us off at her party!” Noor said.
She was referring to a social affair where Zahra and Noor helped a few days back. Zahra didn’t remember seeing Fifi there, but she never looked at the women’s faces or their elegant elaborate outfits. Noor did the exact opposite. She came home every day with a full detailed report of who wore what, of which housewife was trying to lose weight, and so many more details that made Zahra look forward for Ramadan ending, so she never had to see those women again.
Being around the rich housewives made Zahra tired and bored. Their voices sounded the same, their houses looked the same, and making the arguments those women got into seem even less logical. Noor updated an uninterested Zahra about the various animosities and alliances daily.
“Those women show off their maids like they show off their shoes. Lulu has a very rich husband—she is the richest one of them. That is why Fifi wants us to stay. It is all one big one up game to them. Those women don’t dress up for their husbands or their kids, they dress up, put on their makeup, and wear their fancy bags to spite one another!” Noor outlined all this as they ran down the sidewalk to catch the bus to the police station.
The direct bus was gone, and they had to connect buses downtown, which made them even more late. Noor and Zahra finally got there just before four o’clock.
Chapter Eighteen
The first detective that Noor talked to had already left for the day by the time they got to the station. His replacement was a woman named Officer Marsh who asked Noor and Zahra to come into her office. The police station was nothing like the ones Zahra had seen on TV. It looked like a big office with desks on which people had pictures of their loved ones.
“Can I get you anything to drink?” the officer asked.
Both women shook their heads. The officer was wearing a police uniform.
“Do you know why you are here today, ladies?”
“Anthony said there was a robbery at the building where we worked a week ago,” Noor responded.
“Yes. It happened at the apartment you two cleaned. I want to hear what you have to say about it,” Officer Marsh said.
“Like what? The glass was clean, but we cleaned every window anyway, the floors were clean, but we vacuumed and mopped like she wanted us to. We are maids, not thieves!” Noor exclaimed.
The officer’s face was blank. She listened to Noor’s annoyed explanation. Zahra elbowed Noor, but Noor kept going.
“The concierge, Anthony, opened the door for us, he let us in and walked us out. Did you ask him if we were carrying anything? Okay, and what is missing anyway? If you are going to interrogate us like thieves how about we find out what we stole. He said some sculpture, you should see that stuff, a five-year-old with a blindfold can do better. Why would I take their ugly sculpture?” Noor was so upset her neck vein bulged and her face turned a dark red.
Zahra felt her abdomen tighten and her face heat up. A nausea rose in her chest steadier by the minute. The officer’s face remained flat like the walls behind her. Officer Marsh had short, salt and pepper hair, wide shoulders, and a stocky frame. She was probably in her fifties, judging from the depth of the lines on her face and around her eyes. She looked at Zahra while Noor was going on her rant and Zahra smiled to her, apologetically, but Officer Marsh did not return the smile.
“Sit down, both of you!” she ordered and gestured to two seats across from her desk.
“I need to use the bathroom, please,” Zahra interjected.
Zahra was feeling faint. It had been hot, and Noor never let them accept water in the houses they cleaned. On behalf of Ramadan, she almost killed both of them from dehydration every day. The floor was dark gray linoleum and Zahra kept staring at it to forget how sick she was feeling.
“She needs to use the restroom!” Noor snapped.
“I heard her,” Officer Marsh stated.
“Where is the toilet?” Noor queried.
“She means the restroom!”
Zahra got close to Noor and hugged her from the side. Noor had lost a lot of weight, but her breasts remained inflated and perky, unaffected by grief and Ramadan. It looked like she was wearing someone else’s chest. Noor’s eyes were tired and her lashes had no mascara on them, her hair was dull and pulled back into a ponytail. She didn’t have her usual argumentative pose with her chin up and her hand on her waist.
Zahra looked at her friend and was suddenly overwhelmed with a sadness that filled every cell of her body, Noor’s fight was futile. Their dream of saving a lot of money was as unrealistic as Noor trying to prove her innocence to a detective who knew nothing about either one of them. Noor had already lost the fight, not just the fight against a detective in a police station but the fight against everything else that they pretended they could rise above: condescending housewives, and a society that had already decided what they were worth.
“Ma’am, the restroom is just around the corner. You’ll see the women’s sign,” Officer Marsh said to Zahra in the loud exaggerated pronunciation Americans use when they think she was stupid or ignorant.
“Yes, okay.” Zahra headed to the restroom.
The light turned on as soon as she opened the door. There was a mirror facing her. That’s when Zahra realized that she had been crying. She emptied her bag, washed her hands and her face, and closed her eyes until she felt calm again.
When Zahra returned to Officer Marsh’s desk, Noor’s face was no longer red and her voice was low. She seemed calm as she smiled to Zahra. She got up, and told Zahra that they were leaving, in Arabic. She grabbed Zahra’s hand and pulled her towards the door. The two women were practically running away from the station towards the bus stop.
Once they got under the bus waiting area awning, they both started laughing. The laughter got louder and harder until the bus arrived, and they sat down flushed and sweaty in the cool bus air. Noor told Zahra then how it was Mrs. Jeha who called the detective and asked that Noor and Zahra get questioned at the police station.
“She asked all her questions and I answered them, I told her one more time how Anthony walked us to the door and locked it behind us, that he saw us leave the whole building. Mrs. Jeha said we could have taken the sculpture,” Noor said.
“Why did Mrs. Jeha suspect us?” Zahra asked.
“She doesn’t suspect us. She wants to scare us,” elaborated Noor.
“Scare us more than we are already scared of her?” Zahra said in puzzlement. They both laughed.
The bus stopped and a blond teenager with jean shorts, a purple tank, and a very pregnant belly got on and
sat next to them. She didn’t look at them when she sat down, but her eyes widened when Noor started talking in Arabic.
“When I was cleaning Jeha’s house, I saw a framed photo of her daughter and her son-in-law. I recognized the son in law and told Sami,” Noor said.
“So what if you knew her son-in-law?” Zahra was confused.
“I KNEW her son-in-law, ya habla!” Noor pronounced this with an undercurrent that there was more to the story.
Zahra sighed loud and the girl in braids looked once more towards them. Noor calling her stupid was ironic because Zahra was not the one who caused them to be in this predicament.
“Shhh,” Zahra said, and patted Noor’s hand.
Noor lowered her voice and carried on in a whisper that Zahra could barely hear.
“He was my customer once. You know, my other job, that I did before Ramadan? I am going to kill Sami, that gay kalb!” Noor said.
Noor called Sami a “gay dog,” although he seemed up until that indiscretion to have been a good friend. He was the one who found them most of the cleaning jobs. The best paying ones were all his salon customers.
Zahra wanted to find out more, but she decided to wait until they got home. Noor was not always careful when she got upset and she sometimes said enough English words that people gathered what she was talking about. Being a thief was bad enough, but talking about prostitution was definitely not something Zahra was going to do in public.
She hugged Noor and the girl looked at them once more. This time she smiled.
Chapter Nineteen
After meeting with the detective, Noor promised Zahra not to talk about Mrs. Jeha or the incident with the police. The Arab housewives in Wichita had already found out somehow and the following days were full of disappointment for the two friends.
Every single house they were scheduled to clean turned into a cancellation, the fancy houses as well as the simple ones: the Muslims and the Christians, even the old bachelor from the Orthodox Church, who barely spoke or understood any Arabic, told Noor that he was going to start cleaning his house because he needed the exercise.
The excuses given seemed as contrived as the women delivering them. In one day the two women went from having two to three jobs a day to having none. Noor blamed Jeha and her friend Sami. Zahra attributed things to human nature.
Noor swore on her Nabi Mohamed that she would retaliate and find Zahra new customers, better and more paying ones, but both women knew that Arab patrons were not going to hire them.
As much as Zahra didn’t like being talked to and asked questions by Americans, asking Beth for help finding houses to clean from First Baptist seemed like the only left option.
“Just come to church with me this Sunday and you will meet so many people, all kinds of opportunity will show up. I will pray for you to see The Lord’s will for you. Everything will be fine!” Beth promised.
Zahra told her that she had plans this weekend because of Eid, but hoped to visit First Baptist and meet the men and women who prayed for her when she was still in Lebanon.
In anticipation of Eid, Noor took Zahra to the Asia Market, the Middle Eastern grocery store, that afternoon. Noor said they needed halal meat for Eid, not just any meat. She stored the meat in the fridge and promised to cook it the morning of Eid with eggs and spices. She haggled with the butcher, who was a young Iraqi with dark hair and a charming smile.
“This right here is my sister Zahra—not my biological sister, but I chose her to be my sister!” She pointed to Zahra and winked at the guy.
“Ahlan Zahra, I am Kazem,” the young man offered.
“Oooh! Kazem like Kazem Al Saher? I love him! So handsome! His voice is honey! My favorite singer! Habibi!” Noor was flipping her hair, smiling and exclaiming all at once.
Zahra felt her cheeks get warm. She didn’t really want to be introduced to anyone. Especially not a butcher at a supermarket. Noor was trying to set Zahra up with the butcher. That was why she insisted so much on Zahra coming with her to Asia Market. Zahra got close to Noor and pinched her back, and Noor laughed and pushed Zahra away.
“He likes you! See how handsome he is?” Noor said in a quiet voice.
“Shhh! Bass!” Zahra said, hoping Noor would stop.
Zahra was in America to get her surgery and go back to Beirut. She could continue to live with Hajji and after Hajji passes, she could pay some rent. By then she would have found a job with books. She could go to college and study to be a librarian, work for a school or a college. Nadim surely needed her in his life as much as she wanted him in hers. With her colostomy repaired, Zahra could go to the beach some day with Nadim, they would sit in the sun and talk about their favorite things.
Kazem picked up on Zahra’s lack of interest and went back to cutting a big slab of meat into little blocks that he piled on a big metal tray in front of him. Noor picked a jar of tahini and some spices before they head out of the store.
On their way back from Asia Market, Noor told Zahra about Hussein. She met him at that supermarket one Saturday afternoon. He asked Noor to go on a date with him that same night and she told him she was busy.
“I had a scheduled web client but even if I had nothing going on, I would have said no. I am not an easy girl! Zahra, men don’t want an easy girl. I didn’t even give him my number,” Noor explained. She was smiling as if Hussein had just asked her moments ago to go on a date with him.
Noor seemed happy recalling the details of Hussein following her all the way back to her apartment. “I lived a couple blocks away from Asia Market at that time, and Hussein lived in that same apartment building. Can you believe my luck! I had never seen him until that day.” Noor looked around, seemingly transported back to the time when Hussein wanted nobody but her.
“He said that he was going to stand in front of my building until I agreed to give him my number.”
Zahra wanted to ask Noor if Hussein knew that Noor was born in a boy’s body and that her legal name was that of a man, but Hussein was gone and there was no sense in making Noor upset.
“He was very jealous, so I started dressing a lot more conservatively, of course!” Noor added.
“I find that hard to believe!” Zahra snorted this response. It struck her as so funny.
They both giggled. Noor wore tight tanks and short skirts, when it was not Ramadan. She replaced the tank tops with loose T-shirts and stopped wearing makeup in her modesty initiative in honor of Ramadan.
“I still have to show what God gave me! Oh and what the plastic surgeon gave me!” Noor said and slapped her chest. “I know what you are thinking, a woman with no woman parts is never enough!”
“I didn’t think that,” Zahra said, defensively.
“But you wonder. Everyone who is not born like me does!” stated Noor.
Zahra shook her head. She wondered briefly, but it was the least thing she thought about, almost like questioning for a second or two why someone had a certain color of hair. She wondered a lot more about how Noor would make it now that she lost all her cleaning jobs.
“Hussein loved the way I look from my waist down. He knew what I was when he followed me. He knew when he got in my bed and he knew when he asked me to love nobody else but him,” Noor sighed.
Zahra kept nodding. Soon, Noor would get to the part of Hussein leaving her and her smile would disappear, and surely there would be tears.
“He called me today, Zahra,” Noor said.
“What does he want from you?” Zahra was startled.
“Exactly! I said the same thing! I told him to go call his virgin fiancée in Egypt instead!” Noor had a repulsed expression to an imaginary Hussein. She paused and studied Zahra’s expression after every sentence. “He said he loved me and couldn’t get me out of his mind. He said his mother picked his bride-to-be and that he felt powerless against her choice!”
“You never mentioned his mother,” Zahra said.
“He was sometimes afraid people would find out about us, about my situati
on. I told him I would get my surgery and then nobody would know, especially after I change my name,” concluded Noor.
“Do you have to do the surgery to change your name?” Zahra asked.
“No, I was going to do the surgery for Hussein, for his family.”
Zahra told Noor that she would help her find out what she needed to change her name and gender on her papers.
They were both exhausted that afternoon, Asia Market was a long walk from the bus stop. Noor was going to meet Hussein later that night. She told Zahra that Hussein was probably going to end his engagement and ask Noor to take him back.
“I am not going to make it easy for him!” Noor promised.
She put on a red sundress that accented her curves. She painted her nails a matching red and wore her hair down to the small of her back. Her heels made her look really tall, like someone on stilts, almost. Noor seemed very happy, her laughter was loud, and her eyes sparkled like they did when Zahra got to Wichita.
“I am not going to do anything that our Prophet would disagree of, it’s Ramadan. I will not even kiss him, even though I am dying to. I miss him like crazy, Zahra! I will just talk to him. He seems so desperate to see me!” Noor delivered this information rapidly.
It was dark before Noor started walking away from the house. Zahra felt a knot in her stomach watching her friend disappear into the dark balancing on her pointy heels.
“Noor, intibhi,” she yelled after her, but doubted her friend heard her tell her to be careful.
Chapter Twenty
Zahra kept woke up to a room lit by a faint daylight that mostly loitered by the small ceiling window. Noor’s bed was still made. Above her head, Diane made her usual trip to the kitchen and back to the bedroom, soon the smell of coffee would sneak downstairs, and then the first cigarette smoke of the day would follow. Noor had the vent taped shut, but the house was so small and poorly ventilated that its inhabitants could smell each other’s thoughts if they tried hard enough.
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