1
Cyndee
Kelly Clarkson belted out “Underneath the Tree” while I scrubbed a toilet that didn’t need scrubbing. Her powerful voice blasted through the speakers and put me in my happy place.
No scrubbing other people’s toilets wasn’t my happy place. Like, who would enjoy cleaning a stranger’s toilet? Especially a sparkling clean porcelain bowl? It literally felt like I was wasting my time, but I scrubbed-scrubbed-scrubbed with a smile on my face just in case there were hidden cameras watching my every move.
I believed, without a shadow of a doubt, that Mr. Ferrari precleaned his bathroom before we came to clean it. I never found a single water spot on the facet, mirror or counter. No evidence of toothpaste in the sink like most normal people would have.
OCD much?
One million percent!
Come on, there had to be a little residue of something to clean. Otherwise, why have a cleaning service?
Mr. Mega Bucks always kept his condo spotless. He didn’t need our services. He was just wasting his money, but then, he was rich so what did he care?Strange.
The man was stranger than Doctor Strange. But whatever. He paid well and money was all that mattered to my sister and me.
Not that we were greedy girls. We charged a fair rate. We also did excellent work and received large tips, which provided a few extras in our humble lives.
But dammit, times were tough.
Rent and food were through the roof. Getting our cleaning service off the ground,Two Sisters and a Vacuum, had been a struggle. There’d been days I’d thought we’d have to fold and move back home.
But then a miracle would happen, and we’d get a new client onBillionaire’s Row, one of the most exclusive neighborhoods in San Francisco. BR also happened to be where Mr. Ferrari lived. Wealthy clients had kept us afloat.
Of course, if we’d listened to our parents and not moved to San Francisco, we might not be eating so much ramen, bean burritos, and spaghetti.
Never mind any of that. December arrived a few days ago and I couldn’t be more excited about this Christmas.
A jolt of merry happiness shot through me and the music whisked me away. I danced around the massive Italian marble bathroom, shaking my bottom and humming Kelly’s song.
Nothing, and I meant nothing, would bring me down this season. November had been our most profitable month and after getting paid today, and hopefully tipped generously by Mr. Ferrari, Celine and I would make it home to Boston.
It had been four years since we spent the holidays with our parents and extended family. My sister and I couldn’t afford to fly from the West Coast to Boston.
But this year was different. We could afford to pay all our bills, eat meat when we wanted, and indulge in a few treats each month. More importantly, we could afford to buy two planetickets and take the week of Christmas off to spend the holiday with our family.
I smiled as I sprayed the mirror with window cleaner. Bobbing my head to the tune, I wiped and made sure not to leave a single streak.
If I played my cards right, we might even be able to afford to take the train to New York City to see the tree. Growing up, my parents always took us to Rockefeller Plaza to marvel at the giant tree and ice skating. They weren’t rich by any means, but they saved all year to treat us for Christmas. As a kid, I’d felt like the richest girl in the world.
Geez, I hadn’t felt so carefree in ages. Adulting had been a lot harder than I expected, but at only nineteen, I’d followed Celine to the West Coast. Moving across the country had been her idea. She’d watched too many television shows that had been set in California and wanted to experiencethe good life.
Okay, okay… I watched all the shows with her. And I couldn’t let my older sister leave by herself, no matter how much I wanted to stay with my parents.
We’d gotten tired of the cold and snow, and wanted warm, sunny days. And everybody knew California was loaded. It had the most money in the world, which meant, a lot of uber rich people. Many lived on Billionaire’s Row.
But as cleaning ladies, we were invisible to wealthy people.
“Sister! I’ll be done in twenty minutes,” Celine hollered from the bathroom door. “I don’t want to be here when Mr. Ferrari arrives. You know how he is. Always grumbling under his breath about his family.”
“I’m almost finished,” I shouted above the music. “But someone has to be here to get our tip.”
Fabio, Mr. Ferrari, never added the tip when he paid his invoice. He was kind of old-fashioned in that way. Or maybe conceded. He’d retrieve his black leather wallet from the pocketinside his blazer, then open it up and reveal a stack of bills. He always made a show of his wealth. Celine hated it. But me? It didn’t bother me one bit. He was so handsome and confident, what did I care if he liked to show off his money? Like good for him, y’know?
“Then you stay, and I’ll wait in the van for you.”
