Christmas lights wrapped the trunks and limbs of every tree on Mary’s street in lockstep precision. The Homeowners’ Association wielded their will with an iron mitten, promising large fines to anyone not following the strict Decorations Code. One of many Association Bylaw documents, the Decorations Code detailed a list of expected and forbidden holiday decorations, along with preferred vendors. The neighborhood Christmas display was the most extravagant, with an except for the two Jewish families. They were allowed to simply put a menorah in the window since the Association didn’t really understand what was involved in Hanukah. All the Christmas décor had to be removed no later than January first, lest more fines be incurred. Easter demanded inflatable bunnies, chicks and eggs in the yard; on the Forth of July each home had to display no fewer than four flags, prescribed bunting and a mandatory contribution to the neighborhood safe-and-sane fireworks display. Halloween opened the door to some revolt; Mary had put together a zombie-baby display with severed parts that a special a sub-committee decided was not “fun scary” but “scary scary.” Mary’s yard was memorialized on the Association website as a shameful example of what not to do.
Pam Cummings was the Association President. Her husband developed the neighborhood during the 2006 housing bubble and they lived on the best piece of land with the largest home. It was, quite literally, Pam’s world and everyone else just lived in it. The Homeowners’ Association was no secret, but unknowing homebuyers fell in love with the tidy sheen of the neighborhood and gave little thought to the forces at play beneath the surface. Pam’s goal was to create a pristine environment denuded of any unplanned beauty or detractions from it. No cars parked in the driveway or on the street, no brown spots in any lawn, no untrimmed hedges or trees, no house colors outside of the approved pallet of gentle, soothing, earth tone pastels.
But Pam didn’t just enforce her rules on others; it was a code she lived by. Inside her home, the décor was a cross between tech start-up and Guggenheim Museum. Every surface, piece of furniture, painting, pet or appliance was a slightly varied shade of white. There were no soft surfaces; the floor was wood or stone with occasional area rugs placed only for effect, never for comfort; the furniture was angular, cold, and uncomfortable.
Her husband was typical of his kind, ambitious, successful and with an eye that wandered more and more the closer he came to death. His golf course leathered skin did nothing to slow his bedding of much younger women eager to enjoy his money and the many luxuries that went with it. Pam’s duty was to look the other way, lest she risk her own position. She wasn’t happy with the situation, but accepted it. Pam’s outlet was her chef, Roberto, a Panamanian by birth who had worked his way up through kitchens, restaurants and catering companies until he developed his own short list of clients. He promised healthy, tasty meals that would keep his clients thin and was not above offering a bit of himself for desert. After a few months of appetizers, Pam offered him a full-time, live-in gig as her private chef. To say no meant Pam would poison his reputation among the other wealthy housewives; to say yes meant steady, easy work, a fine salary and sex with a woman that had once been very attractive and was now was at least handsome. Since he had started out on a rubber raft bouncing over the waves in the roasting sun and landing on the beach in Florida with only a t-shirt and ragged shorts, he felt that he could make peace with his career path. Roberto’s frustration only leaked out occasionally, landing squarely on the Jamaican housekeeper.
Louise arrived by Uber each morning and had a regular routine of cleaning and laundering to do. She cleaned the entire house, ceiling to floor each week in order to keep the it in a pristine, museum-quality state of cleanliness. She of course had to clean the kitchen and Roberto would berate her for interrupting his work, for using disinfectants too close to the food, and for generally being underfoot. But it was just a release for Roberto. He had no other outlet, and Pam kept a close eye on him given that he was serving her meals at least 3 times a day and feeding her drinks in between. He also had to tend to any of her frequent guests. Louise understood Roberto’s dilemma and felt fortunate that she had a home and family to return to each day. Roberto was alone and had been without any family since he was sixteen. So she let Roberto be rude as a kindness to him. Pam treated Louise well, always paying her on time with a bonus every Christmas. Roberto was showered with more extravagant gifts: a gold necklace, expensive form-fitting clothes and even a fully loaded Audi convertible for trips to the market. Pam also bought him hair gels, colognes and lotions to aid in his presentation; one of them had a finely ground material that left his skin glittery like he’d just returned from the beach. Pam liked to see him shine though his unbuttoned shirt.
Most of the women in the neighborhood, whether they worked or not, had housekeepers. Many of them were Jamaican because there was an understanding that they were the best and most reliable. When one of the wealthy women was in need of a housekeeper, she would ask another wealthy woman to ask her housekeeper to recommend someone. As a result, all the housekeepers knew one another and freely shared gossip about their employers. And the most sought-after dirt was that of Pam Cummings.
It was Pam that required all the housekeepers wear uniforms approved by the Homeowners Association and required that all hired help must come and go either through the back door or the garage. The polyester uniforms were hot, itchy, fit poorly and were universally hated; Pam was hated by extension. So when Louise shared the details of Roberto’s chef duties with the other housekeepers they scolded her for not telling them sooner.
“How long have you know about this?” asked one.
“A few months after I started working there. At first he just seemed like a full-time chef, but later I knew he was a kept man.”
“Does Mister Pam know?” asked another.
“He’s rarely home, and doesn’t seem interested in his wife. But no, I don’t think he knows.”
“Someone should tell him. She is cheating on him, and in his house no less. In a bed he paid for!” another housekeeper lamented.
“Not only that, he’s a pig!” Louise shared, “he put his hands on my ass the last time he was home, and stares at my chest whenever he talks to me; worse than a creep on the bus. I’m glad Missus Pam has Roberto.”
“But if we let her know that we know about Roberto, and threaten to tell Mister Pam we can extort her, and maybe we wear normal work clothes instead of these miserable clown suits. They give me a rash!” still another complained.
“What can we do? We’re just the hired help. Nobody will listen to us,” Louise said, suddenly worried about her job.
“If we tell the other women, they will tell on her. They all hate her, even though they act like friends. I hear them cursing her and her rules and the fines,” still another housekeeper offered.
Louise was becoming uncomfortable. She wished she’d never said anything. She didn’t like Pam but did like having a job. She was also worried that the story would somehow be traced back to her, and she’d be blamed for whatever happened to Pam and never be hired by anyone again. The white ladies expected the housekeepers to be as interactive as wallpaper and have the memory of a mayfly.
“No, we can’t tell anyone anything. They might fire us all, because you can’t trust these white women. They are no one’s friend. But maybe we can help them to discover the truth,” Louise said. “But we will need the help of Missus Mary.”
***
Mary’s housekeeper received a text from Louise that Pam had slipped into Roberto’s room for a late morning “snack.”
“Missus Mary, Missus Pam needs to see you,” said her housekeeper.
“What? What do you mean?” Mary asked.
“Her housekeeper just sent me a note that Missus Pam wants your help with choosing the decorations for the Easter egg roll and brunch.”
“Why didn’t Pam just call me?”
“She lost her phone, but needs your help. She had Louise send me a text.”
“How do you know her housekeeper?” Mary asked.
“We, uh … we met when we shared an Uber a few months ago,” the housekeeper stammered. “We sometimes share one to save money, and so exchanged phone numbers.”
“God, what does that bitch want now?” Mary complained, checking her hair and makeup in the hallway mirror before she went out the front door. She walked over to Pam’s house and before she could ring the bell Louise opened the door, acting surprised.
“Oh! Excuse me Missus, I was just going out to sweep the front porch. Are you here for Missus Pam?”
“Yes. Do you know what she wants?”
“I don’t know Missus. I think it’s about the Easter Party.”
“Jesus, how did I wind up worrying about rabbit cut-outs? I went to Columbia for God Sakes! Where is she?”
“Upstairs Missus, should I go get her?”
“No, I’ll go. She’s probably sweating over whether the egg dye will give the kids autism. Critical life issues. I’ll find her.”
“Yes Missus,” Louise said and quickly went to the other side of the house, but remained within earshot, which was easy in the hard-surfaced echo chamber of a house.
Mary walked in on Pam and Roberto, in flagrante delicto, with a half used basket of sex toys bouncing on the edge of the bed. Louise heard a scream, followed by laughter, followed by yelling from Missus Pam, followed by footfalls on the stairs and a slammed door. Louise was scrubbing the powder room toilet when Pam, wrapped in a half-open bathrobe, found her.
“Why the fuck did you let her in the house!?” she yelled.
“Missus, I did not let anyone in. Who was here?” Louise said, her heart throbbing in her chest as she tried her best to look calm.
“You idiot! The woman who just burst in on Robert and I while we were … going over the menus for dinner! She just wandered in?”
“She must have let herself in with her key, Missus. Remember, she collects your mail when you travel with Mister.”
Pam had Mary gather up her mail from the mailbox on the street. Pam remembered saying, “You can’t trust these housekeepers when you’re not home. They’ll rob you blind.”
Pam pondered this, then finally said, “That bitch. She meant to do that. God Dammit!”
Roberto was immediately fired and replaced with a portly female chef.
Word spread quickly in the neighborhood, eventually filtering back to Mr. Cummings. When he asked Pam about why Roberto had been let go she joked, “Never trust a skinny chef,” and pointed to Roberto’s replacement.
Using the affair as a handy excuse, Mr. Cummings filed for divorce and assets were split. Pam kept the house among and received a comfortable alimony settlement.
Now alone in her house, Pam further tightened her grip on the neighborhood. She hired a security crew to seek out rule violations and to issue citations. She put out a weekly newsletter with tips about housekeeping, lawn care, property maintenance and lists of the previous week’s infractions: “Oil spot on driveway, $100 fine;” “Broken tree limb not properly trimmed, $75 fine;” “Weedy plant visible through front window, warning with no fine;” “basement egress window with cracked pane, $250 safety violation and mandatory immediate repair.” Pam also turned the screws on Louise, working her even harder to keep her house in perfect repair and sparkling condition at all times: tile grout scrubbed weekly; toilets and tubs bleached and pumiced every other day; floors dusted daily and waxed and polished every other week; window sills vacuumed twice a week and crevices within the vinyl sliders polished with a toothbrush monthly. Louise finally went home one day and never returned.
When the Great Recession hit many in the neighborhood took the opportunity to simply walk away from their mortgages and Pam’s miserable reign. The abandoned homes gradually decayed and Pam still carefully noted each rule violation and associated fine. She was unable to keep a chef or a housekeeper due to her ever-escalating demands. In the end, she took to cleaning the house herself but was overwhelmed by chlorine gas when she mixed bleach and ammonia while trying to remove an imagined ring from the tub of the master bath. By the time she was found she had liquefied and drained away, leaving behind hair, bones, nails, ligaments and two breast implants.