And I could hear the smile in her voice. I spent the next day preparing. I dressed in my oldest clothes, the ones I’d worn to clean houses 40 years ago.
I styled my hair plainly, wore no makeup, and practiced looking defeated in the mirror. When I arrived at Cafe Luna, Freya was already there, holding court at a corner table with two other women I didn’t recognize. She’d clearly been telling them about me because they all looked up with identical expressions of pity mixed with superiority.
Eileen, Freya called out loud enough for half the cafe to hear. “Come sit with us.” I shuffled over, clutching my worn purse like a lifeline.
The other women introduced themselves, Linda and Margaret, both dripping with jewelry and judgment. “So, you’re Brent’s mother,” Linda said, looking me up and down. Freya’s told us about your situation.
“Yes, well,” I said, letting my voice waver. “Times have been difficult since my husband passed.” “Of course they have,” Margaret added with false kindness.
“It must be so hard at your age.” “Starting over,” Freya ordered for all of us without asking what I wanted. A $30 salad that I knew she expected me to pay for, testing whether I really was as broke as I claimed.
“Now about this job opportunity,” Freya said, leaning forward with practiced concern. “The Ashfords are looking for someone to clean their house twice a week. It’s a big job.
Six bedrooms, four bathrooms, and they entertain frequently. “That sounds wonderful,” I said eagerly. “What does it pay?” $15 an hour, she said, watching my face for disappointment.
Cash, of course, under the table. $15 an hour to clean a mansion. Less than minimum wage. And she was presenting it like a gift.
I’ll take it, I said immediately. When can I start? Well, there’s one small problem, Freya continued, her voice taking on that syrupy tone she used when she was about to twist the knife.
They require a security deposit. $200 to ensure you don’t steal anything. $200 money she knew I couldn’t afford to lose. I I’m not sure I have that much, I said, letting genuine panic creep into my voice. Oh, that’s unfortunate, Linda said, not sounding sorry at all.
The Ashfords are very particular about their help. Maybe I could work for free the first few weeks to prove myself, I suggested desperately. Freya exchanged glances with her friends.
I don’t think that would work. They need someone who can commit financially. Please, I said, my voice breaking.
I’m behind on my rent. I might lose my apartment. The satisfaction in Freya’s eyes was unmistakable.
This was the moment she’d been waiting for, to see me truly broken, begging for scraps. “Well,” she said slowly, “I suppose I could lend you the money as a family loan.” “You would do that?”
I asked, tears gathering in my eyes. Of course, family helps family. She pulled out her phone and made a show of calculating.
200 for the deposit plus interest. Let’s say 25%. You owe me $250.
25% interest on a $200 loan. Legal loan sharks charged less. I don’t know how to thank you, I whispered.
Don’t thank me yet,” she said with a cold smile. “I’ll need you to sign a promisory note, and if you can’t pay it back in 30 days, there will be additional fees.” She pulled out a piece of paper, clearly prepared in advance, and slid it across the table along with a pen.
The terms were even worse than she’d stated verbally. “Compound interest, late fees, and a clause that would allow her to claim my few possessions if I defaulted.” This seems a bit complicated, I said, scanning the document.
Business is business, Eileene, she replied sharply. If you can’t handle simple financial obligations, maybe you shouldn’t be working for people like the Ashfords. Her friends nodded in agreement, clearly enjoying the show.