Page 48 of Maid in America

“That’s it. I mean, of course, the tip was surely because of my sparkling wit and stellar conversation.”

“Of course.” She laughed. “Wasn’t the washboard abs atall.”

He smirked, popping a few Lysol wipes out of a barrel-shaped plastic container on the glass coffee table and wiping neon body paint off of the upright piano. He tossed the sheet in his bag and grabbed a fresh one.

“Come here for a second.” He waved her over.

She stepped toward him, unable to take her eyes off of his.

“Hold still.” He dabbed softly at her cheeks, wiping away the face paint smeared on them, a visual reminder that she’d recently been face-to-face kissing someone else.

Her amber eyes glinted from the light of a wall sconce with someone’s tank top looped around it. “Oh my God, did my motherhireyou to come clean our house in your underwear? Was that why you were at my house?”

Barrett laughed and released her, her cheeks now paint-free.

“No! Oh, God, no. My grandmother’s friend, Susan, volunteered me at church to come over and clean. She heard I was a maid but didn’t know… you know, therest. But, I had just botched my first gig… hard… so your mom kinda took me under her wing. She and the ladies from the Bible study ended up giving me all kinds of tips and shit.”

“Huh.” Chastity felt slightly dazed by her mother’s confusing display of kindness.

“I think we’re good in here. Let’s hit the hallway next and then go attack the foyer and that billiard area. I think that’s all we have left.”

She nodded and followed behind with the full bag and the barrel of wipes. Barrett grabbed any trash along the way, chuckling to himself about how this felt the way court-ordered highway cleanup looked in the movies for people in trouble with the law.

“Do you sleep with any of your clients? Do some of them pay extra for that?”

“No.Apparently, that’s a huge no-no.”

“Yeah, I mean, technically, I think that counts as prostitution, right?”

“So they say.” Barrett turned to her. “They’re usually not my type, though, and Idohave a bit of a type.”

“Oh yeah? What type is that?”

“Short, feisty, stubborn trouble-makers with dyed hair.” He winked and turned back around. “Oh, and nothing gets me harder than a pair of mismatched socks.”

“You should talk to a therapist about that,” she joked. “Sounds like you haveterribletaste.”

“Well,” he said, turning again and whispering in her ear. “You could always kiss me and learnall aboutmy tastefirsthand.”

His words sent ripples of gooseflesh down her body, metal-studded nipples stiffening through the spandex.

“Been there. Done that.” Her teeth dug into the side of her pouty bottom lip, and she made a checkmark in the air with her finger.

Just then, Sherri Nussbaum stumbled into the foyer, grinning from ear to ear, landing on the spiral staircase with a dullthud.

Barrett approached. “Mrs. Nussbaum, are you alright?”

Sherri laughed, seemingly delighted by the fall. Barrett looked around, confused. Sherri’s broken heels were off, and there had seemingly been nothing on the floor to trip her.

“Who areyou?” Sherri laughed, eyeing Chastity up and down.

Embarrassed, Chastity panicked, opening her mouth to speak and closing it again.

“She was a straggler. She offered to help. Figured you’d want us out of your hair as fast as possible, so I put her to work.”

Barrett pulled the woman back onto her feet, and Sherri erupted into full-blown honks of laughter.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, alarmed by her complete change in demeanor from his arrival. “Have you… been drinking, Mrs. Nussbaum?”

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