The Lamplighters

by Frazer Lee

  Grabbing clothes from the floor, Marla dressed in a hurry and stuffed her door keys into her pocket vowing never to lock herself out again. Her make-up bag was almost exhausted, so she decided not to bother. She'd save what was left for a hot date. She snorted. Like that’d ever happen.

  Minutes later and she was downstairs. Envelopes lay in disarray on the doormat. More damn junk mail. Still, she picked them up and dutifully separated them into neat little piles for the Mansions’ inmates. The landlady would like that. And a happy landlady was a forgiving landlady—she hoped, wincing as she replayed the sound of the roof tile shattering on the ground. Marla’s rent check was going to bounce again this month.

  Sighing heavily, Marla saw the logo on the envelope first. It was one of those clunky, important corporate stamps. Then she saw her name, and a single rubber-stamped word in red.

  URGENT.

  Wincing at the chicory taste of the coffee, Marla put the cup down and added another two sugars. This was the worst café in London, no question, but on quiet days they never hassled her to free up the table. And today she really needed to be away from her crappy bed-sit and out of the rain.

  She picked up the letter and read it again, slowly this time.

  “Dear Ms. Neuborn,

  I am writing with reference to a potential offer of employment. We acquired your details from the agency and believe you could be an ideal candidate. The position is one of housekeeping in a private Mediterranean community owned and operated by our parent group The Consortium Inc. We are confident you’ll agree that the job placement offers a paradise of opportunity to the right person. Please contact us to arrange an interview. Please note; should you prove to be a good fit, the job requires an immediate start.

  Kind regards,

  J G Mathers, Human Resources

  The Consortium, Inc.”

  Marla looked down at the cup. The agency? Surely she'd dropped off their records ages ago.

  A sickly beige skin had already begun to form on her coffee.

  Marla folded up the letter, paid the waitress, and headed for the nearest phone booth.

  Chapter Four

  The voice on the phone had been friendly enough, but The Consortium Inc. Building was pure corporate terror. Nestled in among the higgledy-piggledy side streets of the City district, it had taken Marla three bus routes to find it. And so here she was, craning her neck up at it, a modernist megalith of black marble cladding and smoked glass. She took a breath, licked her lips, and stepped into the revolving doors.

  Sealed off from the hustle and bustle of outside, the foyer was calm and still. Marla’s footsteps echoed as she approached the reception desk. The receptionist peered at her through layers of make-up, took her name and directed her to the sixth floor. Marla shuddered as she stepped into the elevator—any minute now and they’d find her out, pull her file, hear from the agency about her Big Mistake. It’d be a blessed relief, she thought, then I wouldn’t have to go through with the damn interview.

  Ding. The elevator doors opened and Marla found herself in another reception area. This time, the desk was vacant, with a closed door just beyond it. Marla sat down in a brown leather sofa and waited. She was still, miraculously, five minutes early. The voice on the phone had seemed delighted that she could make it that very afternoon. Wouldn’t be so delighted if they’d read the tabloids, she thought beginning to panic again. Palms sweating, Marla stood up and opted for pacing the room instead of sitting. It helped. Her heart rate slowed and her hands became merely clammy instead of wet hot.

  “Ms. Neuborn?”

  Marla turned, and the voice on the phone now had a face, handsome and tanned, with a prominent jaw and strong hairline. He’d either had work done, or simply looked after himself. Maybe a bit of both.

  “Marla?”

  His teeth were so white.

  “Yes that’s me,” she spluttered.

  He thrust his hand out. Marla discreetly wiped her palm on her hip and shook his hand. What a grip—the guy definitely worked out.

  “A pleasure to meet you. I’m Mr. Welland. But you can call me Bill. Come on in.”

  Welland’s office was the cleanest room Marla had ever been in. Even her time in hospital had seen more dust than this. He asked her to take a seat and offered her a coffee. Trying not to recline into the soft comfort of the leather swivel chair, she refused the offer of a drink. Probably spill it all over his desk in a matter of seconds. Damn her nerves.

  “So, I take it our letter came as something of a surprise?”

  Marla cleared her throat, “You could say that, yes.”

  “But a welcome one?”

  He beamed at her.

  “Of course.”

  She leaned forward a little, intent now on giving it to him straight. “To be brutally honest, Mr. Welland…”

  “Please; Bill.”

  “Bill. I had kind of given up on that agency… I’ve sort of, moved on since signing up with them.”

  “No problem Ms Neuborn.”

  “Marla.”

  He grinned again. “Marla. Our company has very specific requirements; the right candidate for the right job. We put feelers out everywhere. We have employees from the world over, offices on every continent. I personally am a firm believer in appointments that are meant to be. Your resume and experience, coupled with your age could make you an ideal candidate for the job.”

  Marla braced herself for the questions. So long since she’d done an interview. Deep breath, don’t mess it up.

  “This isn’t an interview, as such,” Welland continued, as if clairvoyant. “No, I prefer to keep things as informal as possible. Our meeting is merely an opportunity to tell you more about the position and answer any questions you might have. Okay?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Marla’s voice betrayed her unmistakable relief. Welland didn’t seem to notice, or care.

  “This isn’t your regular job, I can assure you of that. If I were to tell you that it would involve living in real luxury on a Mediterranean island would you have a problem with that Marla?”

  His eyes positively twinkled. Smooth bastard. Marla shook her head, smiling.

  “Good. Now we’re past that difficult question,” he chuckled. “Onto the details… The Consortium Inc. represents a quorum of very rich clients, who would like to stay that way. Each of the members has a variety of business interests, and the day-to-day running of these is handled largely by us. One such area entrusted to us is the safekeeping of an island community owned entirely by our clients. Are you with me so far?”

  “I’m with you.”

  Welland rose and continued speaking as he glanced out at the gloomy city sky.

  “The mansions on the island are inhabited very rarely, usually when our clients are taking their annual break or attending a special event on the mainland. This makes it very difficult for them to fulfill their resident status requirements; have you heard of those?”

  “I’m… No I don’t think I have.”

  “No problem, Marla, I’ll explain. The system is exactly the same in Monaco and other…prestigious areas; wealthy homeowners are required to prove residential status in order to qualify for generous tax benefits. If they only use their homes for a week or two a year, they don’t qualify. So, rather than lose out, they employ housekeepers to keep things in order for them. These employees use up a bit of gas, water and electricity each day, tend to the grounds and generally enjoy all that the lifestyle has to offer.”

  “Sounds too good to be true.”

  “Indeed it does,” he turned smiling from the window. “Especially when you also take into consideration the fee you get paid on top. The Consortium holds a monthly salary in an account for you. Once your contract is complete, the money is yours.”

  “May I ask…”

  “How much? Of course,” he chuckled. “It’s a little more than double what the agency was offering you, per hour, as a base rate.”

  Marla whistled. She could
already see the possibilities; a University course, no more debts, no crappy bed-sit… She snapped back into reality. Too good to be true. Has to be.

  “I don’t know how to ask this politely…”

  “Go ahead.”

  “What’s the catch?”

  Welland chuckled once more. He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a folder, sliding it across the smooth surface towards Marla.

  “First catch; before we hire you, you must complete this written personality test.”

  I already have a personality, Marla was tempted to say. I don’t need to take a test. I hate tests. She bit her lip.

  “You don’t have to do it right now. Mail it back to us and we’ll let you know in a few days if you’ve got the job.”

  After a pause, he went on. “Second catch; if we hire you, you must agree to be available without interruption for a year. You will not be allowed to leave the island for any reason during this period. That includes illness, and ‘acts of God’. If you break contract, your earnings account will be closed and no monies paid to you. However, I assure you that if your contract doesn’t reach full term for any other reason, then you’ll be paid in full. And the third catch is our secrecy clause; you shall at no point during your employment be advised of the exact location of the island and you will not be permitted to contact the outside world.”

  “So, no phone calls?”

  “That’s right. No calls, no Internet, no text messages. No physical mail.”

  Marla couldn’t disguise her consternation at this restriction. It seemed such a bitter pill after all Welland had offered so far.

  The warm smile again. Those white teeth.

  “I know it seems draconian, Marla. Believe me, the island is so beautiful you won’t even want to contact the dreary old mainland once you’re there. All our employees say so. Please, take the test with you and give it some thought.”

  Marla warmed a little. She picked up the folder and stood up.

  “Have you been there? To the island?”

  He led her gently to the door.

  “You’re kidding, right?” He grinned. “I started out just like you; as a Lamplighter. I loved it so much I joined The Consortium full time. I’m sure once you take the test you’ll work out just fine…”

  “A Lamplighter?”

  He flicked the light switch off, then on again.

  “That’s what we call the island workers.”

  Lamplighters.

  Marla kind of liked that.

  Chapter Five

  All the way home, Marla had expected a camera crew to jump out on her. Surprise! It was a set-up! There is no job, but you’ve been such a good sport… She leafed through the personality test Welland had given her. Some of the questions were just plain weird, veering randomly from logic puzzles to the somewhat intrusive. Actually, a TV show set-up might be better than all this prying.

  As she climbed the stairs back at her building, Marla had an acute sense that something was wrong. Turning the corner into the hallway, she could see why. The door to her room was wide open. She approached the doorway cautiously, gripping Welland’s folder like a shield. Peering into her room, Marla’s heart thumped hard with the expectation that an intruder would be peering back at her. But the room was empty.

  Marla checked the door lock. The catch was a little screwy as usual and there was no sign that it had been forced. Must not have closed it properly on her way out for the interview. Jesus, when she wasn’t locking herself out she was having an open house party. She flopped down on the bed and smiled grimly to herself. The room was such a mess anyway it’d look like it had been burgled whether the door was left open or not. Then she froze. Her laptop was gone.

  Moments later, Marla found herself banging on the door of the pervert down the hall. She almost had no recollection of walking to his door; the red mist had carried her here. What if it wasn’t him? No. If anyone was going to mess with her things, it was that letch. She pummeled harder on the door, nearly falling inside as it opened. His confused face looked out, half in shadow.

  “I want my laptop back, now,” spat Marla, harshly.

  “Your…what?”

  “Don’t feign ignorance with me, Mister. I know you took it, so just give it the hell back.”

  She shoved at the door, hard, knocking him back slightly. There was a faint odor coming from inside, like soured buttermilk. Marla didn’t even want to guess where the smell had originated. She did a quick one-eighty of the room. It was immaculately tidy. No laptop. He must’ve stashed it somewhere, or sold it already.

  “Where the hell is it?” She was shouting now.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Are you feeling all right?”

  Marla’s red mist solidified into a wall of pent-up rage.

  “I’ve seen you looking at me. Watching my every move. Perving over me when I locked myself out. Biding your time until…”

  “What’s going on here?”

  A sharp voice, from up the hall. Brilliant. Marla’s landlady was standing there, fixing her with an angry stare. She opted for a defensive stance, raising her hands in surrender.

  “My…my room’s been burgled. My laptop’s gone. I was just asking this guy if he knew anything about it…”

  “Accusing me, more like,” he said, indignant.

  The landlady cleared her throat. “Mr. James is one of my best, most reliable tenants,” she said. Her voice wobbled with anger, sounding like a detuned radio announcer. “Unlike you, Miss Neuborn, he always pays his rent on time. I was just on my way up here with this.”

  She held out Marla’s rent check. The bank had rubber stamped it. The words “REFER TO DRAWER” burned into Marla’s eyes.

  “You have two weeks’ notice to vacate your room.”

  Marla’s voice dropped to a breathless retort. “But my laptop has been stolen. I…”

  “No buts Miss Neuborn. I warned you last time, three strikes and you’re out. This is the third and last time. And if you bother Mr. James again, I’ll be forced to evict you immediately.”

  Marla glared at James. He looked as shocked as she did. Her eyes filled with tears. She turned and ran back to her room, slamming the door.

  This time it closed properly.

  Chapter Six

  A week had passed since she’d been given her notice and Marla still hadn’t found a new place. For days now, she’d got up early and headed out to scour the newsagent notice boards and local classified ads—nothing affordable. She’d logged onto countless property websites, using the computers at the local library for lack of a machine of her own. If her friendly local neighborhood pervert hadn’t done it, she could only imagine that bastard Carlo had broken in and taken her laptop. His laptop. Still she couldn’t find anything affordable. Her overdraft was maxed out, and no credit card company would touch her—not with her rating. As usual, the agents were asking for a month’s deposit plus six weeks in advance. Daylight robbery, frowned Marla as she headed back to the bed-sit, her home for one more week.

  Crashing into the bombsite that was her room, Marla kicked aside yesterday’s t-shirt, socks and panties. She flopped onto the bed and squeezed her eyes shut in frustration. There had to be some way of appeasing her landlady. Anything would be preferable to the nightmare of moving. If she could just buy some time until she heard about the job.

  The job. She’d almost forgotten to mail the personality test back to them after her scene in the hallway the other day. Surely they’d had time to go through it by now? Probably just a scam, she thought bitterly, they’ll get back to me and offer me some crappy telemarketing gig. Sighing, Marla curled up under the womblike darkness of her bedclothes, contemplating dull years of work cold-calling angry strangers through a plastic headset. Perhaps that was her destiny; maybe she should just resign herself to it.

  It felt like only minutes had passed when Marla was awoken by a sharp rapping at her door. Blinking tiny traces of sleep from her eyes, she mumbled, “Who i
s it?” The sharp knocking again, rap-rap-rap. Not her landlady again, not now please. Marla shook off the duvet and stomped sleepily over to the door.

  It was Mr. James.

  “Sorry to disturb you. Were you sleeping?”

  “No, not really, I…” Marla tried to waken herself up. “I was just chilling, taking a quick nap.”

  “There’s a phone call for you. On the payphone, downstairs.”

  “Oh, thanks.”

  Marla slipped out of the door. Mr. James stepped back to give her some room to get by. An awkward moment passed between them. Marla felt suddenly embarrassed about shouting at him, accusing him. She turned.

  “Listen, by the way, I’m really sorry about the other day.”

  He smiled back at her, “It’s okay. No hard feelings. And it sucks—about your laptop, I mean.”

  “Never really worked properly anyway,” said Marla as she headed for the stairs. I can identify with it, she thought to herself.

  “Ms. Neuborn? We received your personality test. I wanted to personally thank you for taking the time to complete it for us…”

  The voice on the phone was just as friendly as before. Friendlier. Here it comes, she thought.

  “And I wanted to be the first to congratulate you on making the selection.”

  What? Oh no, not another interview. I’ll simply die.

  “Ms. Neuborn? Are you still there?”

  “Yes I am still. Here.”

  “Pending contractual arrangements, we’d like to offer you the position of maintenance operative as part of The Consortium’s island workforce.”

  “Oh.”

  Marla had a sudden, violent, urge to pee.

  “Oh!”

  “May I ask if you’re still interested in the position?”

  “Oh yes. Yes. I am.” The urge to pee stopped, replaced by vague thoughts of a strong alcoholic drink.

  “Well I guess that makes you a Lamplighter. Congratulations Ms Neuborn. And welcome to the team. We’ll be in touch with all the details.”