07

I shrugged. « I was going to check out the house today and see what I was getting myself into, but I only have five dollars in my account and it’s not looking good. »

She chuckled, shaking her head and walked over to the kitchen. She searched for something in the cupboard and then walked back to my side. « Here you go, » she handed me a fifty-dollar bill, « it should be enough to get you there and back. »

I shook my head. « No, Mrs. Maggie, I told you I’m not taking your money. »

« Child, » she sighed, shaking her head and forced the money into my hand, « it’s not up to you. You don’t have any money to get there and I’m not going to let you walk there alone. So, here you go. Take the money and find out what you need to ! »

I didn’t fight her off any longer. The defiant look in her eyes was enough to make me – a 25-year-old woman – get up from the seat and do exactly as she asked.

Whoever Luca Valente was, lived in a strange house. The building was separated into two floors. The lower part seemed to be an abandoned studio of some sort and above it was – what I assumed to be – his home.

As I heard the taxi driving away, I looked up at the building and shivered. It just gave me creepy vibes. There were no other houses around, either, so it wasn’t a neighbourhood. There were old factory buildings around and shopping areas.

It wasn’t totally abandoned, but it had almost a ‘do not come here’ type of vibe. It was kind of cool and kind of creepy. I didn’t have a phone on me and I was all alone – this had murder written all over it, but I stepped forward, crossing the street and searched around the building for an entrance.

Behind the abandoned studio-thing was a bit of a patch of clean cut grass, so at least he made sure that things were cleaned around. There was no trash around the area either, which was definitely a plus because it indicated that he was a clean man and this would be an easy $1,500.

« Stairs, » I spoke to myself, pointing at the steel stairs leading up to the top half of the brick building. Usually I didn’t really like brick buildings, but there was something about this one that had a bit of an allure to it and I couldn’t quite pinpoint what.

It was a freaking rectangular brick building with glass windows ! Maybe it was the location or the bit of mystery that it held, but I liked it. Besides, I bet that the view at night was spectacular because it sort of overlooked a bit of the city.

I jiggled the key in the door knob and gasped a bit when it opened. Mr. Valente definitely had taste. Everything was spotless and it smelled amazing ! It was a mixture of zesty lemons and some sort of air freshener. This was going to be the easiest job in the world !

I made sure not to touch anything as I walked around, but it was definitely hard when I was in awe at everything. He had paintings along the wall of his hallway that left me breathless. They were beautiful and each different, but sort of told a story together.

There was a closet next to the door, which I’m sure was for shoes and coats, etc. Down the hall was a bit of an opening, with a huge glass window that overlooked the rest of the city. Across from the glass window was a decently sized fireplace with a huge photograph over it.

« Seriously ? » I snorted, « Man has great taste. »

The picture over his fireplace was one of mine. I had taken it right after I graduated high school, so it was really rare and considered one of the most expensive because I rarely sold them. He must’ve stole it from one of my showings or paid lots of money and I wasn’t tooting my own horn, but my manager made sure that he squeezed the hell out of the buyers.

He wanted every penny they were willing to offer and it really surprised me. People were paying so much money for a photo of something I took with my camera. It was unbelievable, but sort of made me happy.

If I ever spoke to the man, I’d never tell him it was one of my photos, though. I was done taking pictures and I’d only pick up a camera, if I felt like it. Not because my manager called me at three in the morning because we needed to take more pictures and showcase them at some fancy galleria.

I forced myself to walk away from the photograph and not tear it apart and walked towards the kitchen. Even though the apartment was built from bricks and it had obviously been remodelled with modern furniture, it had some antique allures to it.

The kitchen was totally remodelled with new appliances ; the countertops were a dark grey marble and the cabinets were made from black wood. The rest of the appliances were all stainless steel and I almost squealed in excitement at the beauty of it all. It was a small kitchen, but it was beautiful and by the looks of it ; Mr. Valenté was a single man or this was his place to cheat on his wife.

The kitchen floors were shiny wood and the rest of the house had white carpet. It was smooth and very white, so it looked like it was definitely the expensive kind. This man had to have money.

And he had so much white around the house that he had to be clean. No person with a right mind would be dirty and have white suede couches. That would just be terrible and if it was my house, I know I’d lose my mind.

After I surveyed the rest of the house, I made a mental note to leave him a note about the leaking kitchen sink. There was only one room and it would be easy, but tedious to clean.

Easy because he had very little furniture in it. Drawers for his clothes and his large king sized bed. Then a closet and his bathroom, which was beautiful but I knew it would be a pain in the ass to clean because it had glass doors and the water would surely leave stains behind.

He didn’t have any pictures of himself or family members, so I didn’t know if he was young or old and I couldn’t really tell from his clothes because they were mostly suits.

Like Mrs. Hannagan had said, there was a packet on the dining room table for me to read over and sign – and it was pretty thin so I’d have to thank him for being short and to the point.

After I left him a note on the counter about the leaking sink and my name (without a cell phone number because I didn’t have one,) I locked the door and walked down the street to sit on the bus stop and wait for a bus.

On the ride home, I read over his rules and was pleasantly surprised that he was really easy-going. He provided the cleaning products and was lenient on the hours I spent cleaning. He didn’t care how long or short of time I spent there, as long as things were cleaned.

It was so strange for me for someone to just give me the key to their apartment and have so much trust on a stranger. Maybe it was because I lived in a really sketchy area and you couldn’t even trust your shadow to watch your keys.

Whatever it was, that man was lucky that I had some morals and wouldn’t rob him. All of this seriously made me think that I was about to be sold into some underground black market and no one would know because there wasn’t much of a trace of me working. I hadn’t signed anything except Mr. Valenté’s « contract. »

None of this was very professional in my eyes, but it was $1,500 a week, so I wouldn’t complain much. Besides, it would be quick, easy money. The man obviously was clean, so all he’d probably want was for me to sweep and take his money.

Maybe he’s a really old man that wants me to wear a French maid costume and clean for him. For $1,500 a week, I’d probably skip around the house for him if he asked !

~*~

I was wrong. I was oh-so-fücking wrong.

Fück me for spending all my money going out. Fück me for thinking that this was going to be easy money. Fück Mr. Valenté for being a fücking pig !

What type of man fucking dirtied their house this badly in a span of four freaking days ?! I had just been here on Monday ! How the hell could there be so many fücking pizza boxes all over the damn floor and clothes ?! It was like I stepped into a teenager’s room !

I was surprised that there weren’t rats living here ! I mean, everything had looked sparkly clean and now it was like a garbage had broken down here !

I had cleaned up most of the mess, but I was about to pop an ulcer at how pissed off I was. This was the first and last time I cleaned for this motherfücker. I thought he was paying a bunch to just fix things up and I thought this was a steal, but clearly he’s underpaying me !

Maybe it was because I was already super pissed, but when I saw that the sink was still leaking, I felt like a wife that repeatedly told her husband to fix something and he kept leaving it « for later. »

I was ready to pack up all his clothes and throw them out the freaking window, but then I remembered that I didn’t know this man and I needed to get my first and only pay check, so I could pay for rent.