Quote:
Originally posted by Nicole
I figured it would work better if from the POV of the help. Finish it:
Alejandra Mendoza (52) climbs the spiraling marble staircase carrying a heavy tray. It's still dark outside. The house feels cold, like its owner. Alejandra is nervous. It's her first day. She has been prepped for this all week by a group of young Latino dancers with rock-hard abs and plucked eyebrows, but she still feels knots in her stomach. Her predecessor, Guadalupe, was unavailable to train her -- she had quit suddenly, after a heavy vase was thrown at her head. Guadalupe did not press charges, because doing so would have meant revealing her immigration status to the authorities.
Alejandra is out of breath when she reaches the top of the staircase. She knows she can't screw this up. Like Guadalupe, she also doesn't have a green card. And she desperately needs this job so she can send money back to Tijuana to her 8 children and 19 grandchildren.
She enters the master bedroom and sets down the tray. From every corner, dead women stare down at her. Large portraits covering the walls: Marilyn Monroe, Edith Piaff, Marlene Dietrich, Jean Harlow, Greta Garbo, Jane Rusell. The effect is unsettling.
Like the lisping dancers had instructed her, Alejandra throws a sheet over every mirror in the large, opulent room. She checks her watch. It's 6am. She walks over to the bed, where a blonde woman sleeps facedown. Alejandra gently nudges her awake. The woman groggily opens her eyes and sits up.
"Oh Señorita Madonna, you is looking so young!" Alejandra says just as the catwalking dancers had instructed, just as she had practiced all week. "Ay Dios Mio, you looks just like the virgin song. I thinking it's 1985!" She crosses herself for dramatic effect, like she just witnessed a miracle from God.
Madonna removes the contraption around her head designed to pull back her skin while she sleeps. She also removes the tape covering and pulling back her frown lines, crows feet, laugh lines and chin.
A bare-faced Madonna regards Alejandra with disinterest.
Ay Dios Mio! Alejandro repeats, but this time in her head. She fights the urge to jump back in fright. She is reminded of the nocturnal creatures in that movie her 12-year-old daughter Maria was watching back in TJ while breastfeeding her son (The Descent).
"Where is my organic Maharaja Chai Rooibos Rejuvenating Black Tea mixed with raw age-defying Moroccan Mint Pu-erh?" Madonna demands in a British accent horrendous in its misplaced dexterity.
"Si Señora," Alejandra says, taking a cup of tea from the tray and handing it to Madonna. A veiny, withered claw snatches the cup from Alejandra.
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The hand retreats, and Madonna sits back into the shadows. Alejandra is unnerved. Despite the aged singer's unsettling appearance, it was far more reassuring if she was visible at all times: the uncertainty of the mistress' mood while draped in darkness chills Alejandra to her very core.
For what seems like an eternity, the maid waits for a sign of approval. Madonna sits up again, her haughty features suddenly reentering the light (Alejandra tries hard not to yelp in surprise). She places the cup down on the tray, and stares into the middle distance. Alejandra waits for her to say something, anything, the immovable mask betrays no emotion. A bead of sweat runs down Miss Mendoza's broad yet maternal face. "Adequate", the
Into the Groove singer finally utters. Alejandra crosses herself for real this time.
"Have the children been awaken for their chores?" She asks coldly.
"No, no Mees Ciccone. I shall awaken them now yes?" Alejandra asks breathlessly, eager to flee the oppressing atmosphere of the echoing bedroom.
"Yes. Ensure that they do not speak back to you and keep their voices below seven decibels at all times. If they do not comply, lightly strike them with the back of your hand."
"Si, si señorita." Alejandra nods and bows. She is certainly familiar with physically disciplining her bambinos.
The maid makes her exit, careful not to turn her back towards her mistress. As she awkwardly shuffles away, she catches glimpse of a photo sitting on the flamboyant dresser. It is of an elderly man in a suit, with a portly young woman linking arms with him. Both are holding microphones. Alejandra recognises them as the esteemed Señor Tonio Benetto and the loco chanteuse Stefani "GaGa" Germanotta. The maid has been nursing a crush on Mr Tony her whole life, and enjoys playing his latest album with the Lady at every fiesta she hosts.
Overcome with excitement, Alejandra forgets herself and calls out to Madonna "Oh Señorita! You enchanta Mr Tony as well yes? I play him many times! Mees GaGa as well! So funny!"
As soon as these words leave her mouth, the already chilly room becomes ice cold. Through the dimness Alejandra sees the sharp yellow eyes of her mistress pierce her like a knife.
"EXCUSE ME?" She bellows. "Do not speak to me of those jesters!" In her rage, Madonna's "English" accent disappears completely and is replaced by a broad, unsophisticated Michigan snarl.
Alejandra flinches as though struck. Tears fill her eyes and she profusely apologises in her mother tongue, her pleas for forgiveness intertwined with prayers to God for salvation. She looks at the photo again, only to now notice the words sprawled across it in thick black ink: TO BE DEALT WITH.
Alejandra snaps - nothing is worth this. She refuses to risk her immortal soul with witchcraft and devilry. She will make her living selling souvenirs or cleaning offices, as long as she makes it out of this place unharmed.
She hears the covers of Madonna's bed thrown off as the woman stands, but she does not see it. She has already turned tail and fled, her shoes slapping down on the stairs as she moves quicker than she's ever done in her life.
She passes Lourdes in the hallway, but does not notice her. The teen watches the maid pelt for the main doors, screaming catholic hymns as she goes. Lourdes turns to see her mother descending the stairs.
"That's another one gone mom, good thing we can afford to keep hiring new people."
Madonna rolls her eyes. "I'm thinking of something other than Hispanic for the next maid. I think the Chinese are much more obedient, no? In any case they won't steal the jewellery, they make enough of their own where they're from anyway."
And with that, she returns to the bedroom, intent on spending the rest of the morning searching for mentions of herself on Internet messageboards.
