CLEANER: Chapter Seven - Part One

Up Ante

MELISSA

I felt eager and happy as I got off the bus and walked up the lane to Summer top and that became actual excitement as I let myself in and met Dahlia on the stairs.

She stopped when she saw me and started back up. She was grinning too, just as pleased as I was to be on the cusp of another little adventure. We hurried upstairs with a lightness in my heart I hadn't felt in years; a childlike quality.

Dahlia had gone on another spending spree by the look of it and seeing all the bags brought a shadow of resentment that I tried to consciously disregard. I didn't want the shimmers to end. But the crack let in a further shadow, this time just the loosest bit of disdain, to her and her queer passions. She was chattering, rooting through the bags, but I'd been knocked clear off the track. I took a deep breath and made myself smile, tried to get back on again.

"Take a look at this," said Dahlia, lifting a new outfit from one of the bags. it took me a second to get it and then my eyes went wide.

"Is that...?"

"A uniform," said Dahlia. "Isn't it perfect?"

I frowned, unsure if she meant for me to wear it. But surely this was just part of the ongoing game and an outfit for her.

It was cream coloured with red trim on the ends of the sleeves and on various other parts. There was no doubt about its function or form.

"You're going to wear that?" I asked.

"Yes. And I've got some more outfits for you." She busied through the other bags, layiing out an array of possibilities. "As well as these." She presented me with a small plastic case made of two squat overlapping circles, a lid on each.

I regarded them and her quizzically then cringed when the penny dropped. “Contact lenses? No way.”

“Just give them a try. You might like them. And they’ll make such a difference to our little game; don’t you think?”

In the mirror, my sorrowful bespectacled eyes gazed back at me. “Okay... I suppose I could try them.”

“Great! Come through to the bathroom. The optician showed me the principles.”

She dragged me into the bathroom and removed my glasses clumsily and eagerly. As my vision blurred I was left momentarily confused, questioning why she was so intent on “changing” me. Could it be that it emphasised her own change somehow in her mind? Was that it?

She chattered while she helped me with them, teaching me what the optician had taught her, smiling all the while in her excitement as though I were her sister and I’d just received a Christmas present she wanted to play with as much as I did.

I really didn’t want to put the lenses in my eyes but part of me was drawn to it. Could I really look like her if I did it? Or more like her? Would I really feel like a beautiful model when it was done? When I had the wig and clothes to complement it? Dahlia’s delight was rubbing off on me almost uncomfortably powerfully but I gave an inward shrug. It was only in good fun. Why not ride it as long as I could?

First one contact lens went in and then the other and it was the most remarkable thing: to suddenly be able to see again without my glasses – to feel like I did when I was a little girl! Dahlia was beaming at me and I laughed, absolutely delighted.

By the time I was done marvelling and went back out to the bedroom, Dahlia was dressed in the cleaner uniform and she looked a sight. She’d got a pair of matching mules on bare feet and the ensemble was undeniable now. There was no room at all for misinterpretation. With that outfit on she instantly became a certified member of that degrading and humble class of women; that invisible and ubiquitous mass of unseen servants picking up the discarded remnants of the better off.

The uniform didn’t flatter her figure. It made her look fuller round the middle... unless... Unless my theory was correct that she had snuck some padding in there. It had to be that. Her tummy looked fuller now than it had during our last swap and I’d been fairly certain then that something was amiss.

I didn’t say anything; just smiled back at her scoffing a little inside at the silliness of all this. If it wasn’t so blatantly in my favour I would have been laughing in her face. 

She started to put on the wig, tucking her blond curls inside a hair net. Settling the straight brown bob and fringe into place reinforced her apparent position even more; made her look ordinary; emphasised by her lack of make-up. She still had pretty features but no one would have pegged her for being a rich model in a million years.

Then she reached for her glasses and the transformation became complete.

When she put them on they distorted her eyes a little and subtly seemed to alter the shape of her face, especially with the crash helmet sides of her hair coming down, concealing the contour to her cheeks.

“Wow,” I said, amazed.

Dahlia smiled and checked herself in the mirror, instantly dazzled by what she was seeing. I shook my head and reached for my own wig of long curly blond hair.

It was all so unreal; that we were engaged in this; but that unreality made me feel light-hearted and full of energy.

Dahlia helped me with my makeup again and when it was done we stood side by side, admiring our new looks.

We didn’t look like each other – not really – but we did look totally different and we looked natural in our temporary roles. I looked like the rich woman who owned this place. She looked like the cleaner.

It was uncanny.

Nice... but uncanny.