[right][sub] __________ 𝙿𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚕 𝚂𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚟𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎 & 𝚆𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚎 𝙳𝚊𝚠𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚂𝚘𝚒𝚛é𝚎 𝟼𝟿 𝙶𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚂𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝙼𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚘𝚗𝚊, 𝚆𝙸 __________ [/sub] [/right] Pearl’s acrylic nail extensions first became a permanent fixture due to the fact her natural nails split with a sneeze. They were wafer-thin and brittle as a breadstick. With just a bit of pressure, they’d fold like an envelope. As a little girl, she’d bitten them right down until they became sore and puckered, little flecks of hang-nails she’d gnaw off with a whetted wince. When her Mama noticed those “stubby little boy” fingernails, she’d invented a punishment that would act as a deterrent for the bad habit. Soaking them in acetone, the chemical stinging extra good as it sunk its claws into the little nibble wounds, was something her mama ordered sometimes as much as once a day. It took a while to establish a successful causal effect. Not only did it set her skin on fire with every soak, Pearly’s fingers then tasted chemically acidic every time they absent-mindedly found themselves between her incisors. Consequently, even in adulthood, her nails never grew past her fingertips. They’d crack and fissure if they managed to become anything more than just pink pillows. So the trademark nail extensions became a necessity as soon as Pearl discovered she could simply pick and choose a length and style with the sweet little Vietnamese girl downtown. She always asked the girl to make her pinky nail extra long and shaved into a sharp point. Then the extensions became more than just an aesthetic choice. They were useful tools. Like a pocket knife that doubles up as a corkscrew or somethin’. Her elongated, pointed pinky became a miniature shovel to plunge in her packets of white. It was more practical than a rolled up bill or a plastic straw cut in half. Felt more divinely feminine, too. It was transportable, no chance of her ever getting caught short. All she had to do was pluck the baggie from her bra or her panties and she could baby bird that shit right into her nostril of choice. Plus, it was real good at hooking boogers. And tappin’ rhythms on the bar top. They weren’t so useful when balled into a fist and flying into faces, though. No, they tended to get in the way those times. Though Pearly never failed to find a way of blaming the person on the receiving end of those beatings for her broken nails. Nothing quite irked her like the clatter of an acrylic nail pinging across the floor. [quote] “[i]And that’s why I couldn’t do it, Winifred![/i]” the Madam exclaimed, waggling her fingernails as if she were playing keys in the blues band downstairs. “[i]These babies just ain’t built for hard labour. And I don’t think even I could pull off those overalls.[/i]”[/quote] Winnie didn’t answer. She was making quick work of resetting Dixie’s room. The hunched, hobbling troll-like physique moved with slow, deliberate precision without so much of a grunt in response to Pearl’s projectile-vomit conversation. It was a far cry from the mess the Cleaner was accustomed to: [quote] “[i]You could’ve dealt with this in-house, Pearly…[/i]” she’d grumbled when her wonky form first shuffled into the bedroom. Her pebbled eyes swept across the room, taking in the scene.[/quote] There was none of the usual blood spatters, no murder weapon, no body. But Winnie had still treated it like a surgical procedure, as usual. Scrubbing in with her Marigolds and pinny, she didn’t even spare a second look for the naked babydoll stood shivering in the corner, still cradling the phantom swaddle of clothes that Roge had snatched from her moments before. Dixie hasn’t said a word since Pearl had instructed her to keep quiet. Save for the occasional sniffle, Dixie obediently stood silently as if she were just a part of the backdrop. A cardboard cutout of a whore whose dilated pupils and trembling bones were the only giveaway she was indeed flesh and blood. Occasionally, Pearl fixed her with a disapproving look as Winnie made her way around the room, the grim realisation that this here was an animal in need of putting down knitting the Madam’s brow together. The Cleaner stripped the bed sheets and vacuumed the whole room. She plugged in her steamer with a huff but not before excessively spraying every surface the eye could comb over. It smelt like citrus and headache-inducing disinfectant. She ran her rag over each and every touch point; The headboard, the bed-frame, the doors, the handles, the light switch… No square inch was safe from Winnie. Clouds of intoxicating cleaner spritzed into the air, their mist settling on unsuspecting skin in a sheer chemical curtain. Pearl’s eyes rolled and she sucked corrupted air through gritted teeth. [quote] “[i]I can’t stay in here no longer, goddamn![/i]” Pearl griped, tottering over to the entryway, clutching her chest and theatrically struggling for breath. “[i]You’re damned near disinfectin’ the oxygen out the air, Winifred![/i]”[/quote] A small smile poked its head round the corner of Winnie’s mouth, her focus firmly fixated on the circular motion of the rag in her pruned hand. There was something hypnotic about watching the cyclicism of Winnie’s handiwork, like the trance of your favourite pair of panties swirling round the washing machine at the laundromat. Pearl hovered at the doorway for a moment, lips parting with the conception of a premature thought, quickly deciding against any parting words before slinking away back to Soirée. Whenever Pearl left a room, the silence that fell in her absence was cavernous. Winnie set free the bird of her breath that had been caged in Pearly’s company. She straightened for a beat, hands hanging loosely by her sides, rag pinched between fingertips like a hankie. The itch of irritation skittered down every knob of her spinal cord. That devilish Madam got under her skin better than any medical-grade disinfectant ever could. The Cleaner’s dark brown eyes softened as she finally noticed the naked, twiggy body in the corner of the room. She cleared her throat, awkwardly fingering the rag as she searched for words that didn’t feel too-tight wrapped round her tongue. [quote] “[i]This your mess I’m here for[/i]?” Winnie asked, distributing her weight onto the handle of the vacuum for support. “[i]Don’t worry, chile. You alright. I’ll be out your hair in no time. Then you can get yourself to bed and sleep away them bags under your eyes.[/i]”[/quote] Dixie’s widened eyes flitted across Winnie’s face searchingly, her bottom lip wobbling with words unsaid. The Cleaner sighed, turning back to the tasks at hand. [quote] “[i]You poor lamb[/i],” she muttered, her daughter and granddaughters faces superimposed onto this bag of bones that rattled as it stood. “[i]You must be exhausted, huh? Why don’t you get into somethin’ a lil more comfortable? You’ll catch a cold.[/i]”[/quote] Like a wary street cat, Dixie shied away from the caressing tone and the coax of Winnie’s softness. The Cleaner busied herself by making the bed, wrapping the mattress tight like Christmas, then nodded her head at her handiwork. [quote] “[i]Why don’t you climb on into bed, hmm? I’m sure Madam’s busy elsewhere for now. Get some shut-eye.[/i]”[/quote] Like a ghost, compliant and obedient, Dixie floated across the room. Her naked body sighed between the fresh sheets. Winnie tutted. Her chalky, weathered hands shot out and caught Dixie’s ankles before they disappeared beneath the sheets. The Cleaner unbuckled the straps at her ankles, letting the heels thud to the floor. Then, she tugged at the covers to tuck her in. Brushing invisible crumbs from the duvet, Winnie looked upon the woman that could be no older than 21, who still had the dismay of a scolded child draped across her face. The Cleaner never usually involved herself like this, preferring to take a “don’t speak unless spoken to” approach. But Tony had opened a door for her earlier, a slither of freedom creeping through the gaps, and it sweetened her. If she were to keep an ear to the ground for Luca as requested, she’d have to network. So, despite discretion always being her default, the next sentence clumsily tumbled from her lips spurred on by Tony’s promise. [quote] “[i]I’m going to start packing away now, mmkay? Think I’m just about done here!”[/i] she side-eyed the young woman, inching away from the bedside. Those weary, bloodshot eyes were staring back at her from above the duvet, tracking her every movement. “[i]You know… People disappear all the time in these streets. It’s dog eat dog, right? So I don’t want you worryin’ yourself sick about this. Madam’s got it covered, ain’t she? And Winnie’s got this place so clean you could do open heart surgery right here.[/i]”[/quote] It was meant to lighten the burden, maybe even ignite the spark of a smile on her face. But Dixie’s eyes fell onto the bed she’d been tucked in to, the same one she’d been sprawled across just hours earlier, and an injection of horror spread across her features. To Winnie, it seemed like the poor girl was reliving some godawful memory. Quickly regretting her rebuffed offer of comfort, the Cleaner began to pack up her cleaning paraphernalia, clicking her tongue in tuts of disappointment. But it was too late. The dam had been broken. Dixie’s silence melted away into uncontrollable tears. She didn’t wail. There was no dramatic eruption. She muffled her cries into a pillow pressed so firmly against her face that Winnie despaired for the crumpling pillowcase. Those suffocated sobs, stifled of their chance to be heard beyond these walls, disappeared into the depths of the lumpy cushion. [quote] [i]“I d-d-didn’t mean to!… I didn’t fucking mean to!…”[/i] Dixie’s almost inaudible, wretched cries were nearly lost. But Winnie caught them in her wrinkled palms. She folded her fingers around them and clasped them closer to her curious, pricked ears. [i]“It was an accident. A goddamn accident. He liked it! He s-s-said he liked it!”[/i][/quote] Winnie was back at the bedside in a couple of shuffled steps, crooked back bent over Dixie, patting the inconsolable girl like a stray dog. [quote] [i]“I didn’t know it was him! I didn’t know, okay? If I’d have known… If I’d have known?… Oh, I don’t fucking know! I would’ve been more careful. Or s-somethin’. If I’d have known it was him I-“[/i][/quote] There was no interjecting. No pacifying. This girl had finally snapped what little string of sanity tied her together. She bawled. Winnie watched on, unable to look away. [quote] [i]“You sh-should’ve seen her face when he said his name![/i]” she’d ripped the pillow from her face now. It was pinned down at her side, her mouth freed and louder for it. Those eyes were 8balls in her upturned face. “[i]P-Pearl. Her face! Oh fuck, her face when he said all casual ‘It’s Luca what’shisfuckingname.’ She looked at me like she could k-kill me!…[/i]” Then, all softly, Dixie added in a hoarse whisper “[i]She’s going to kill me.[/i]”[/quote] Suddenly a shrill, eardrum-perforating ringing struck out in Winnie’s lugholes. She blinked. She did nothing save for blink. Had the hysterical girl just said what she thought she’d said? That downturned, agonised mouth was sliding in slow motion over her gums. The words she so nonsensically stitched together sounded distant and garbled now. All Winnie could hear was [b]that[/b] name, echoing as if called into the tunnel of her mind. A shaking hand, tremors of disbelief trembling her fingers, hovered up to the girl’s snot and tear-streaked cheek. She rested her skin against hers. A genuine, whisper-soft touch. Dixie ground to a halt. Quickly, the sobs were snatched from her quivering lips. The girl did nothing, said nothing, simply staring back at Winnie whose hand stayed gently cupping that hollow cheek. [quote] “[i]That’s enough, chile…[/i]” Winnie crooned. Once again, she was a mother. An adoring, gentle mother. “[i]Now. I want you to get some rest. It’s time to sleep. That’s right. It’s bedtime.[/i]”[/quote] Dixie blinked, her lashes thick and clumped together with salted tears. She looked like a child now more than ever. An exhausted breath flickered from her lips and like butterfly wings, her eyelids fluttered shut. Winnie stayed for a few precious seconds, her thumb brushing the damp cheek in those same circular movements she’d used with the rag in hand earlier. This time, the hypnosis lulled Dixie into an almost-slumber. The Cleaner edged away from the bed. She moved as if so much as a loud breath would wake the girl. A faint, bemused smile tugged at the corner of Winnie’s lips. The girl had no idea the gravity of the gift she’d just bestowed upon her. Ignoring the remorse that pooled beneath her cushioned ribcage, she excused herself from the whorehouse. Making herself scarce, Winnie gathered her cleaning utensils in a hurry. Roger nodded curtly to bid her farewell and watched from the entryway as Winnie took a couple of trips to load her stuff into the van. She almost left it all there. Abandoned it all. What use to her was it now that she wouldn’t be cleaning? This would be her final job, after all. All because she’d stumbled across a goldmine when she accepted the Madam’s late-night end of tenancy clean. The invoice, creased and crumpled, passed hands. It was futile and inutile now. Rendered null and void thanks to Dixie’s confession. The van’s engine reluctantly sprung to life and Winnie fumbled to shift the stick into gear. Once again, this body resisted cooperation. But she didn’t care. She was free. Soon, she could finally let these weary bones rest. Shooting a final thankful glance up at Soirée, the Cleaner pulled away from the curb. The wider implications of what she’d heard didn’t occur to her. She simply waved away any concerned voices that asked her conscience to consider the distraught whore’s fate. If that was the price of her freedom? So be it. It weren’t her mess to clean up. Not anymore.