The Cleaning Job

By Pea Jung

The Cleaning Job – It’s not about the dirt
The waitress Josefine sweeps up a few shards of glass from under a table. An ordinary job for a waitress, right? Not even close. Because a mysterious stranger is staring at her butt and then pays her for the privilege. The next day an unexpected job offer appears out of nowhere.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BadPress
• Release date: Dec 20, 2017
• ISBN: 9781547511464

Book preview

Chapter 1

Is Herbert behaving himself?" Jörg, my boss, asks me.

We’re getting along okay. I smile and pick up the dark beer I ordered so that I can take it to Herbert.

Herbert is a regular customer and he likes to come in when I’m serving, which is often the case. As I arrive at his table he gives me a lewd smile.

So, here you go, I say and put the glass down in front of him.

Thank you! he replies with a voice that is probably supposed to sound sexy. His gaze is stuck to my cleavage and I quickly straighten up again.

On the way to the counter, my colleague Saskia approaches me. She only works here part-time.

Can I go on a smoke break? she asks.

But before I can reply there’s a crash in the next room, which has been reserved for a business meeting. I vaguely noticed that a bunch of guys in suits had disappeared into the room. Saskia is responsible for these gentlemen, while I take care of the rest of the premises.

Saskia rolls her eyes and strokes a blond streak out of her face with a sigh. Nothing but grown men and they break a glass!

Shrugging I nod to her. Just go smoke. I’ll do it.

Quickly I get buckets, rags, dustpan and brush and set off to work with energetic steps. When I enter the room astonished faces look up at me. Apparently, the gentlemen had been expecting Saskia.

Good evening, I say loudly and search for the broken glass.

A half bald elderly gentleman beckons me over. Do forgive me, I dropped the glass in the heat of the moment, he says.

I walk around the long table. The man moves to assist me, but I quickly call: leave it! That’s what I’m here for.

Nevertheless, he stands up and pushes his chair back, so that I can better reach the mess. I squat down, even though I’m wearing a very short skirt. Fortunately, the glass seems to have been empty. With practiced movements, I sweep the pieces together.

Be careful, your hair’s on the ground! calls the older man and my long ponytail is indeed touching the ground.

Just as I am about to straighten up I feel a hand lay my hair on my shoulder and gently touch my neck. I gasp and I don’t dare to see who it is, but instead occupy myself with the remaining small shards.

There is still a large piece there, another man calls, pushing his chair slightly back and indicating under the table.

I go down on all fours to retrieve the shard from under the table. On the way back, I throw a quick look at the legs of the man who touched me. Fine trousers, shiny shoes, just like most men here. I crawl out from under the table and turn immediately to the older man, who thanks me.

Yeah, thanks! I hear a deep voice say from behind me. I haven’t had such a tantalizing view in a long time.

I ignore the man because he is obviously of that ilk. Fortunately, the other men are deep in conversation again and didn’t hear his outrageous line.

Quickly, I leave the room and breathe out in relief as I rush behind the bar. Phew, Saskia, I’ll gladly leave that group to you! There’s a guy in there that’s worse than Herbert.

She looks at me irritated. Which do you mean? They’re all quite alright.

I scrunch my forehead. Oh well.

Saskia takes care of the businessmen for the rest of the evening while I concentrate on the guests in my room.

I’m just on my way over to Herbert with a beer in my hand as the group leaves the small hall. The older gentleman from earlier stops me and says: I have a very guilty conscience as I was the reason you had to crawl around under the table.

Laughing, I answer: that’s all right. I’m used to it.

Once again, thank you very much. I gave your colleague a little tip for you. He winks at me.

At that moment, Herbert calls: Hey, sweetheart, don’t let my beer get warm.

Excuse me please, I say, and the man steps aside so that I can pass him.

Saskia calls out of the room: Josi, where did you leave the broom? I think there are still a few fragments.

I put down Herbert’s beer. He leans back so far that I brush against him with my chest. Hey, Herbert, that’s going too far! I scold him.

Honey, it was an accident, honest.

With compressed lips, I go over to Saskia and growl: come on, let’s swap! I’ll finish cleaning your room if you keep an eye on Herbert in the meantime.

Saskia nods.

I pick up the dustpan and the broom and go back to the room. After I’ve pushed away some chairs from the table again, I crawl under it and sweep the floor.

Suddenly, the lights go out. Wait, I’m still here! I call out. I hear the door to the next room close. It is pitch black. Just super!

I’m just about to back out from under the table when I sense that I’m not alone. There is someone there, definitely!

I look around: Herbert? Is that you?

No reply. But I can hear someone sneaking across the room.

That’s not funny. I look around searchingly. My eyes have slowly started to become accustomed to the darkness, I can see the legs of a person walking around the table. Those are the shiny shoes I already saw up close once today!

Does Herbert harass you?

You’ve got to be kidding me! I don’t move an inch or make a noise until the steps suddenly stop.

I’ll scream, I call and hear a hoarse chuckle.

I don’t want to hurt you. Does he bother you, this Herbert?

No more than you, I hiss from under the table and move to sit on the floor because I’m starting to feel stupid on all fours.

Stay! The sharp tone of the man causes me to obey. He pulls a chair up in a position that I don’t like and sits down.

What do you want?

I want to watch you clean under the table.

A shiver runs down my spine. It’s dark. I can hardly see anything.

Then you’ll just have to work more thoroughly.

Are you a pervert? When he does not answer, I sigh annoyed: This is crazy!

I’ll give you 50 euros if you just shut up and clean under the table on all fours, he growls and adds: I promise I won’t touch you, and I won’t hurt you.

I’ve never heard of such a thing, I mutter, more to myself, and actually begin to sweep under the table. All of a sudden I find the situation less scary, rather absurd. So I let him have his fun.

As I’m finished and crawling out from under the table, I hear the man get up, pull out his wallet and put a bill on an empty chair.

It was my pleasure, he says huskily and clears his throat. You really do have a hot ass. His footsteps fade away.

Before I can make a move, the light goes on and he leaves the room. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the light, and even longer before I get the idea to go after him, to catch a glimpse of him. I can’t believe what I just did. What worries me most is the fact that it didn’t bother me, crawling under the table for this guy. On the contrary. It actually excited me.

I want to make money that easily, admits Anja who slaves away in a bank day after day.

The strange incident was a week ago already and until now I haven’t said a word about it to anyone, instead I saved the story for girls-night in our local.

Was he at least good looking? asks Carina.

I don’t know. I didn’t see his face. But his legs looked slender and his feet in those elegant shoes appeared quite big, but not particularly wide.

So you wouldn’t recognize him if he talked to you on the street? Jana exclaims.

Perhaps by his voice, but if he was sitting here now, then I wouldn’t know it was him.

Of course, I’ve closely examined every man who entered our premises in the last few days. We even have a new regular, but he is big and wide and built like a cabinet.

And how did his voice sound? asks Anja.

He was definitely a man.

Everyone laughs and I’m considering the question more closely when Carina asks: Old or young?

Somewhere in the middle.

Jana sighs: like us?

Maybe slightly older, mid to late thirties I would say.

Hey, I’m 36! protests Carina and I nudge her apologetically. She smiles. Of course the young chicks refer to us as ‘older’.

We toast to Women over 30!

The evening becomes playful, especially when a glass breaks at a neighboring table and my girlfriends’ scream. Josi, come on, show us how to do it! I laugh with them.

Chapter 2

When I come home next day from the morning shift and empty my mailbox, my gaze falls on an important looking letter. The sender: a local law firm. Curious, I tear open the letter.

Dear Ms. Wagner,

I am contacting you on behalf of one of our clients. Our client is interested in a business arrangement with you.

Please call me in the next few days.

With kind regards

Angelika Preu

What’s that about? I haven’t applied anywhere, I work full time at Jörg’s and I don’t have any interest in a further job.

However, my curiosity leads me to dial the specified phone number.

Preu, reports a sharp woman’s voice and I immediately feel like a defendant in the courtroom.

Good afternoon, I’m Josefine Wagner. I received a letter from you in the post today. There must be some mistake.

Ms. Wagner, what is it concerning exactly? Help me out here! Mrs. Preu is talking uncomfortably fast.

It’s about a client of yours, the letter doesn’t mention them by name. You wrote that he would be interested in a business arrangement with me. But I haven’t applied for anything. That’s why…

Ah, Yes, I remember it clearly now. Could we meet? I would like to make you an offer.

I have a job and I’m not going to quit.

That’s okay. It involves a very simple activity, twice a week, always in the evening, from 7 pm to 9 pm. You could choose the days yourself.

Why is your client interested in me? And what’s his name?

He wants to remain anonymous, in the contract as well. How he came across you, I don’t know, but he gave me your address. I really must talk to Jörg again about whether it is really necessary to wear nametags with our full names. Any idiot can look up my address in the phone book.

I have nothing against an additional source of income. Since I accepted my inheritance when my father died five years ago, I have taken over his debt-laden apartment, and managing the debt devours most of my income. I’m constantly having to divide my money and scrimp and save.

Mrs. Preu notices my hesitation. What about if we meet? I’ll explain everything to you, completely non-binding, and then you can think about it.

What’s the activity?

It’s best I explain that when we meet in person. Would tomorrow morning work for you?

The next morning I arrive punctually at the specified address and wait outside the door of an apartment building. No one answered when I rang the bell. But when I turn around, I see a tall woman approaching me: trouser suit, flat shoes, mid-forties, long, very straight blond hair. She smiles and asks: Mrs. Wagner?

I smile back. That’s me.

We shake hands briefly.

Let’s go up and I will show you everything.

She opens the front door, and we proceed. We take the lift to the third floor and Mrs. Preu unlocks an apartment. I stare at the strange box next to the door.

It’s a fingerprint scanner, she explains. If you work here, then you’ll enter using your print. I purse my lips because I have experience with such a device from the 24-hour video store, and I often have problems when my fingerprint is only accepted after many attempts.

Mrs. Preu reads my facial expression correctly and adds: After you take a shower, you should apply cream to your hands, then it works without any problems.

We enter the apartment. Behind the door, we are welcomed into a large room, from which it appears all other rooms can be reached.

Here you will find the cloakroom where you can hang your jacket, and as you can see, there is also a shoe shelf.

I’m about to take off my shoes, but Mrs. Preu shakes her head. Not today, just in case you take the job. I’m supposed to tell you welcome, from my client. He very much hopes you will sign the contract.

Contract?

I brought it with me. We can look through it together after I show you the apartment.

We go into every room. Living room, bedroom, office, kitchen and bathroom. Mrs. Preu indicates a chair in the bathroom. When you enter the apartment at precisely 18.45, your work uniform will be available here. You will put on everything that’s there and nothing more. If there should be shoes, put them on, if not, stay barefoot. This also applies to your hair. If there is a hair band or clip ready, then put your hair up, if not, you can leave your hair down.

Wait, I’m not quite with you! What is this actually about?

You are supposed to clean the apartment, responds Mrs. Preu casually, and my client will be present during this time to… monitor you.

I laugh out loud. This is supposed to be a joke.

Meanwhile, I have a relatively good idea who the mysterious client might be.

Mrs. Preu remains serious. I don’t think so. Can you understand now why my client wants to remain anonymous? He has some special preferences, that he may like to live out, but still, does not want to share with everyone.

I explode with laughter and cross my arms. I’m not a hooker! He should hire a professional, she would probably lick the floor for him naked.

Is that a no?

I hesitate. Why do I hesitate?

Fortunately, at that exact moment, the lawyer’s telephone rings. Excuse me, I must take this. She leaves the bathroom.

I remain where I am, still shaking my head. My eyes fall on the mirror. What has this guy seen in me? Not that I think I’m ugly. Apparently, it’s not his financial limitations that have forced him to ask me. If he can hire a lawyer just to appoint him a cleaning lady he can’t be strapped for cash. The rooms seem less lived in than a furniture store. The apartment seems first and foremost to serve his… preferences.

… I don’t think that she will agree…, I hear Mrs. Preus’ voice in the hallway.

I go over to the bathroom door and listen: No, I have not informed her yet.

After a pause, I hear the lawyer say: she asked why you haven’t hired a professional. It stays quiet for a long