The Cleaning Job

by Pea Jung

  I thank him politely and ask: “Aren’t you afraid you’ll get a caffeine high?”

  He smiles into his mug: “it’s milky coffee. I’m more likely to get a calcium shock. Besides tiredness always catches up with me in the afternoon if I don’t get my lunchtime coffee.”

  “What do you do?”

  “I’m an investor,” he replies, and I nod, though I have no idea what that means exactly. But he explains it himself: “I invest in anything that presents itself to me as worthwhile. Sometimes in companies or in products, all sorts of things. More recently, I’ve been working as a producer on film projects, etc.”

  “Ah, interesting,” I swallow and fill in: “I’m a waitress.”

  He laughs hoarsely. “That’s nice.”

  “Yes, very nice,” I mutter. “But seriously, I like it. I don’t have to think about a lot, I have contact with people, a lot of movement and relatively flexible working hours.”

  “Which restaurant do you work for?” he asks interestedly.

  “The Black Widow.”

  “Oh, I know it. I’ve been there to eat, but you weren’t our waitress.”

  “Yes, I do have a colleague and my boss is also always there.”

  “Then your colleague probably served us. I would remember you. I noticed you immediately at the Steak House. Even my friend Marek, who never usually wastes a look on strange women, stared at you,” he says, and fixes me with a look across the table.

  Although I barely saw his eyes the evening in the pub, this look seems so familiar, as if I had just been waiting to look into his eyes. I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my face without my asking.

  “I confess, I only noticed you when you were on the dance floor and suddenly held out your hand,” I whisper.

  “I know. You were too busy before that with my friends, one of which is, by the way, happily married,” says Adam and I feel like I’ve been caught.

  “Was it Marek? That evening I was kind of in a strange mood. I’m not normally so bold,” I’m embarrassed.

  “Then maybe we should meet there again, when your mood is, as it usually is,” he proposes, and I raise my eyebrows slightly surprised. “How about tonight?” he asks, and I’m more than perplexed.

  “Well, you’re lucky. I’m off today.”

  “Super! Say when.”

  “I don’t know, 8:00 would be good. I think my friend will have definitely picked up her children by then.”

  He smiles: “I’m looking forward to it. By the way, Marek didn’t dance with you. He was the fourth in our group.”

  I smile happily at Adam and try to remember the fourth man at the bar. I can hardly believe I’ve agreed to a date with this man.

  Chapter 12

  Carina and Björn pick up the children in the afternoon and I am visibly nervous as I enter the pub shortly before 8 o’clock. Adam is already sitting at the bar. I place myself next to him and say: “Hello!” He immediately gets up off the bar stool. While one of his hands finds a place on my back, he asks: “Shall we find a table?”

  I nod and let him lead me to a free table.

  “Have you given the children back in one piece?”

  “Yes, of course, all good,” I smile as we sit, and ask: “Do you have children?”

  “No, unfortunately not. It somehow never came about. But I’m an active Godfather.”

  “Oh, really?” I encourage him because he looks so proud.

  “You have met the father already,” Adam explains with a twinkle in his eye. I nod understanding. “And you? Do you have a boyfriend?” he asks.

  “Maybe I’m married,” I murmur and notice his gaze on my ringless finger.

  “You are not,” he says quietly, and I catch myself immediately taking a closer look at his hands. He laughs. “I’m not either.”

  “I have no boyfriend,” I add. “It seems like most men my age are already taken. I have to wait for the first divorces.”

  Here Adam changes the subject. “So Josefine, what do you do when you’re not working as a waitress or looking after other people’s children?”

  “Oh, I meet my friends, I enjoy going to the movies… though, actually I borrow more films from the video store.” And because he looks at me so curiously I keep talking: “I took over a big debt from my father and need to be careful with my money. At least I now have a cleaning job and don’t have to count every euro before I spend it anymore.”

  “Cleaning job?”

  “Yes, I clean for a gentleman twice a week,” I explain, and notice how my voice varies insecurely, which is why I try to change the subject again. “But I’m not here to cry about my financial situation to you.”

  “No, it’s okay. It sounds to me as if you work very hard.” He speaks softly to me, almost like a psychologist or a clergyman. “What did you study?” he asks suddenly.

  I don’t reply. He seems to sense my discomfort and explains his curiosity: “I was just wondering because… perhaps I could offer you a position in my company, which would be better paid than your work as a waitress and a cleaner combined.”

  “I don’t think so. The cleaning job pays really well,” I say without thinking, and scold myself for my thoughtless comment.

  “I can’t imagine that. What does a cleaning lady earn per hour? Definitely not more than…”

  “I earn enough,” I interrupt him and add: “I haven’t completed any vocational training. Therefore, you don’t need to think any further about my hourly rate.”

  “I’m sorry,” he whispers to me and I casually shrug my shoulders. “Don’t be. You should have compassion for my parents. I believe they find it much harder to deal with that I do.”

  “No, you don’t understand. I’m sorry that I was so rude. It’s really not my style,” he whispers, and suddenly I feel his hand on mine. He presses my hand lightly and gives me a smile I’d like to dive into.

  Usually, I would fight against such intimate contact with an almost stranger. But it seems to me, as it appears to him, as a completely normal gesture. Probably because of the dance, we already have a common experience. It feels really familiar and completely appropriate.

  Despite that, I pull my hand away after a while, because I can’t stand it any longer, how he’s looking at me and touching me. Fortunately, my drink has now arrived, with which I can busy my hands.

  “What do you do, when you’re not investing or drinking too much coffee?” I ask him.

  “I drink some more coffee,” he laughs and I laugh with. Then he turns serious. “Now I’m in my late 30s, I have neither a wife nor a family. Sometimes I have the feeling that I still haven’t found my way.”

  “But you’re successful in what you do, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, very much so. But that’s not everything in life, as you can see.”

  My eyes go wide with amazement, but he weakens his statement with a sympathetic smile and I smile back.

  Then he changes the subject. “I also go to the movies a lot. Will you go with me sometime?”

  “Yes, gladly. I have next weekend off, I think.” I’m so good-humored that I show him, totally undiplomatically, how excited I am.

  “Shall we meet there?” he asks and I nod.

  “Could you give me your phone number? Then I can call you if something comes up.”

  He grins mischievously. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  Then he pulls his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans and looks for a business card. “Here are all my contact details. I’ll write my private phone number on the back.” mesmerized I watch as he clicks his ballpoint pen and writes his number on the back of the card for me.

  “Unfortunately I have not got a business card. Josefine Wagner, waitress and cleaning lady. Do you think it sounds good?”

&
nbsp; “I think it sounds better than good,” he whispers to me, his eyes half closed as he looks at me intently.

  “Wait. I have an idea,” I say and search through my purse for a business card from the black widow. Then I inform him dryly: “these are my business details. I’ll write my private number on the back.” It’s good to hear that he understands my humor as he laughs with relish as he passes me his ballpoint pen.

  “I hope the name of the pub does not describe your tactics,” I hear him say as I write up my phone number.

  “Of course. Why else do you think I work there?”

  He grins cheekily at me while he puts my business card in his wallet.

  We talk for a while about all sorts of things. I notice that we have a lot in common to laugh at. Shortly before midnight, I look at my watch for the first time this evening. “Oh, Jeez, it’s so late. I should really get going, even though I have tomorrow free.”

  “Unfortunately I have to get up very early, so I agree. Can I take you home?”

  “No, I’m not far. Is only a stone’s throw away.”

  “Are you sure?” he asks again and beckons the waitress over as he pulls out his wallet.

  “Yes, I always walk the short distance home,” I explain.

  “Do you mind if I join you?”

  “Not if you want to get to bed later.”

  “I thought it was just a stone’s throw away.”

  “It is indeed. Less than ten minutes.”

  “Are you paying together?” asks the waitress.

  “Yes,” responds Adam and pays my half.

  Then we stroll toward my apartment and I’m now glad that Adam has accompanied me. We walk in silence, which is not at all unpleasant, quite the contrary. I stop in front of my building: “here we are. Thank you for the company and the invitation.”

  “No need to thank me, I was glad to accompany you.” Before I can say anything else, he gives me a short kiss on the lips. “See you soon,” he whispers to me and then goes back to the bar, where he probably parked his car.

  Wow, I think to myself, he doesn’t hold back! I should be careful. Nevertheless, I am overjoyed when I fall dead tired into bed.

  Chapter 13

  On Tuesday I spend the day cleaning my apartment again. Is that my strategy, to combat the excitement of the upcoming evening? Because the memory of last Thursday, when I entered the apartment unannounced, has caught up with me.

  Again, I’m a little late and I hurry anxiously into the bathroom. I’ve now started looking forward to the costume, and have to laugh as soon as I see what he has placed out for me: A nurses costume and, as always, one with very little fabric.

  On the front of the white skirt, which a cheerleader might wear, there is a small apron sewn with an embroidered red cross. There’s a white top, a kind of Dirndl blouse that ends with a balconette bra. For my hair, I find only a headband, which is also emblazoned with a red cross. Fortunately, there is also underwear. White panties, more than half of which however is only made of thin transparent fabric. Fortunately, the crucial point is covered in very pretty embroidery.

  I don’t find any stockings or shoes, which makes me kind of nervous. It may sound slightly stupid, but the long boots or stockings made me feel less naked and today, when even my stomach and a large part of my back are on show, I get no stockings.

  I can not complain though, because I at least have decent underpants. Barefoot, I enter the kitchen and wait for 7:00. He also appears to be a little late and I sink my gaze, as I am now used to, as he enters the kitchen. He rushes towards me with quick steps and stops in front of me: “Hello Kitten, are you feeling better again?”

  “Yes, Sir” I murmur.

  “All good?”

  “Yes, Sir,” I say, still less convincingly.

  “Kitten, are you being honest with me?”

  “Yes, Sir,” I respond sheepishly.

  “Well, then we’ll go into the bedroom, and make the bed.”

  Luckily he has already turned away from me and proceeded out of the room. So, he did not see my face, which probably speaks volumes. He has the crop with him.

  I watch him briefly as he drops down onto the bed. I know the black mask well enough. I’m surprised that he is also barefoot. He has rolled up the sleeves of his white long-sleeved shirt almost to the elbow. He seems to like wearing his comfortable jeans.

  “Well, then, off you go, Kitten!” I hear him say in his conversational style.

  I hesitate however when I look more closely at the bed linen. No question, here he screwed the dark-haired wife of another man and I now have the honor of rummaging in it. Wonderful!

  I get to work silently and sullenly, and after some time he grumbles almost unfriendly: “What’s wrong today?”

  “Nothing, Sir,” I mumble, as I pull the fitted sheet off of the mattress.

  “Come here, Kitten!”

  When I look at him, he is impatiently waving me towards him. I crawl over to him and lift my head, just as he told me to. Of course, his gaze falls on my chest, which doesn’t matter to me.

  “Look at me, Kitten.” I stop and force myself to look him in the eyes. He fixes me with his gaze and I must pull myself together so that I don’t jerk back when he comes towards me with the crop.

  He strokes a couple of times over my cleavage with the end of the crop, slowly. His gaze remains rigidly focused on my eyes. Finally, he holds the rod under my chin and lays his head on one side: “You have had such a grumpy face throughout the evening.”

  I want to lower my eyes. “Look at me” he hisses. “I pay you a bunch of money for you to be here, so I can at least expect a neutral facial expression.”

  Again, I can see in my mind’s eye what he did in this bed with the other woman. “Yes, Sir,” I breathe very quietly and try to smooth out the crease between my eyes.

  “We’ll leave the bed. Come with me into my office!” he says suddenly, gets up and leaves the room.

  I follow him slowly. He is already sitting behind his desk as I enter the office.

  He hums “Come to me,” and I go to him behind the desk. “Sit on the table!” he rolls the chair away from the table a little as he says this.

  I put my butt on the desk. As I sit, the chair rolls closer again and I feel the crop between my knees.

  “Open up!”

  Slowly, I open my legs a bit.

  “Further.”

  “What should I clean, Sir?” I ask quietly and feel stupid asking this question.

  His eyes sparkle angrily at me, as he presses the crop against the inside of my thigh. “You’ve been lying to me, Kitten, and that makes me angry,” He growls as he uses the crop to makes sure I open my legs. “I could now say that I lied when I said I would not touch you,” he hisses and I am terrified. The crop goes up my thigh and I can see his gaze is caught between my legs. “How gladly I would touch you and show you, what I have been doing with you in my mind for a long time!” I close my eyes. “But I’m not a liar. Too bad.”

  The crop now travels along the fabric of my underpants, to be exact, right between my pussy lips.

  “Kitten, what aren’t you telling me?”

  “Nothing, Sir,” I groan and when I look at him, I notice his gaze is still focused between my legs as he moves the crop delicately over my pubic mound and then quietly says: “How I’d love to feel with my hand inside these panties and with my tongue…”

  “Please, stop!” I implore him and press my legs together. “this is going too far.” I add harshly “I can’t do it. Do it with your girlfriend.”

  “My girlfriend?” He sounds amazed and annoyed. At least he finally pulls back the crop away from me.

  I jump down off the table. “I was here last Thursday. I saw you… with…” I cannot say more. Even
I’m surprised it still hurts me.

  He sinks back into his chair and looks at me. “Get changed and come into the living room!” he says with a quiet voice and stands up.

  “Well come in!” I hear him say annoyed as I stand at the door to the living room a short while later. I take a deep breath, go into the room and stand behind the chair where I normally sit. “Sit down?! We have to talk,” he snaps at me.

  Skittishly I walk around the chair and let myself fall into it.

  “So, you were here last Thursday?”

  “Yes.”

  “This woman…” he whispers.

  Nervously I interrupt him: “It doesn’t matter to me. You can sleep with whoever you want. But leave me alone.”

  “It clearly does matter to you,” he states calmly and crosses his legs. “Why did it upset you so?”

  “I’m upset with myself because I don’t recognize myself anymore. I mean, I never thought it possible, that I would clean for a man half-naked. But I find myself in that position it seems,” I whisper quietly but he listens carefully to me.

  “You still do not feel comfortable in my presence?”

  “It’s just weird to be half-naked in front of someone who is completely dressed.”

  “Would you feel more comfortable, if I had less clothing?”

  “No, not really,” I sigh. Unless it’s a raffia skirt.

  “Why do you keep coming here then? It’s not just because of the money.”

  “Frankly, I… I enjoy the fact that you like my appearance.” This confession breaks out of me. I haven’t thought about it before.

  “It excites you when I watch you, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “And that excites me. Therefore I would hate to lose you. I’m sorry that you were in that situation last Thursday. I don’t want – how should I express myself – I don’t want it to spook you.”

  “Why don’t you do this role playing with the other woman?”

  He just laughs. “I like to keep things separate.”

  I nod and am about to get up when he speaks again. “You really are a beautiful young woman, but sleeping together is not part of our contract.”