A young maid cleans a patio overlooking the south Caribbean Sea. She leans a broom against a corner railing and lifts a throw pillow. Gently beating the dust, bugs, sand, and whatever else out of the cushion, she stares longingly at the water. How she misses home. Across that water, a better life awaits, and she is eager to return. It is a place where she can live as a slob; a place where she would not need to stay on her feet, in these heels, and keep everything tidy. How silly she feels in this costume. She looks down at her skimpy black and white French maid uniform, seemingly acquired from a costume shop. How degrading. When she first laid eyes upon the outfit, she thought Santino was joking. Do maids really wear this? Hasn’t the look been modernized, made a bit more conservative… less objectifying? This is Columbia and Santino is her “master”, he can request her to wear anything he prefers. “Master,” she hates saying it, and referring to Santino in that manner. But “Santino” is unacceptable. “Santino” is reserved for peers. And he is not shy about reminding her they are certainly NOT. She places the square pillow perfectly in a kitty-corner of the wicker love seat and exchanges it for a round throw pillow. Carrying the pillow to the railing, she repeats the cycle. She meticulously places the pillows, square behind the round, just the way Santino likes them. Such attention to details does not go overlooked in the Cortez mansion.
“Oh Fifi,” the bratty voice of Santino’s daughter Sierra, calls to her. Sierra’s voice spikes hatred in the maid, the primadonna latina walks around in clothes too tight thinking she’s God’s gift to Columbia. The maid replies in a suppressed curt manner, “C’est Monique. Je m’appelle Monique.”
Sierra ignores her, keeping her eyes and hands locked on texting. “When you are done in there, could you wash Asesina?” She motions to the black poodle at her feet. Monique sneers. Wash the dog? Are you kidding me? This was certainly not in the job description. Asesina certainly has an attitude problem. That ragged little bitch tried to bite her last two times they were in the same room together; who names their miniature poodle “assassin” anyways? Are these people for real? Monique feigns an overjoyed tone, “Certainment Shakira, this room ees almost tidy and I will wash the dog next.”
The teenager glares up from her cell phone and scathes a correction, “Sierra”. Monique smiles, if she is going to be referred to as Fifi, then she can only return the favor. Sierra walks away, leaving the canine curled on her fluffy dog bed. Monique debates which of the pair is the bigger bitch.
The dog expresses growing discord as Monique approaches. “Well this won’t be pleasant for either of us, I am sure. I’ll go prepare the bath. Don’t go anywhere.” Monique walks across the living room to a terracotta tile bathroom she had cleaned earlier in the morning. She stops the drain and turns on the water. A vibration tingles her right leg. She retrieves from her garter belt, yes Santino even insists on a garter belt, an almost unnoticeably small cell phone. She shuts the bathroom door and flips open the phone.
“Very funny Susan. Status check.” A distant male voice speaks from the phone.
“Still has no idea who the leak is. He took out one of his gunman last Monday on suspicion. He’s not satisfied he has sealed the leak either.”
“Good, let them eat themselves…”
“I don’t know how much longer I can stay here Ed. This mission is really not what I expected…”
“Just hold tight Susan. Don’t do anything brash. We need you there, should anything unexpected occur. Until the time is right, we will continue to deter his suspicions elsewhere.”
“They’re having me wash their dog, Ed.”
“It won’t be much longer. Trust me, keeping you safe is our utmost priority.”
Susan sighs, “Fine, I will be their obedient little maid until further notice.”
“That’s a good girl. We will be in touch.”
“Oh Ed? One more thing…”
“Would you be opposed to me killing the daughter?”