Story: The Cleaner Returns. Chapters 23-24.

by BigBird74

23.

Sooner or later, Dahlia knew there was an important line she would approach and, at that moment, she would have to take a decision whether or not to cross it. A bit like Caesar’s crossing of the Rubicon, it would mark the moment she took this a step farther than would be ‘advisable’. A game is a game, a controlled experiment in a secluded place another, but this was fast developing into something beyond that, something that may have lasting consequences. She wondered when that Rubicon moment might be? Would she even know when it had happened?

‘Could it be now?’ Dahlia mused as she sat in the cleaners’ room looking down at the food left there for her lunch. She had expected to eat in her room. But when she had returned there earlier, Ms Nechita pounced on her from somewhere close, as though she had been waiting for her.

“You are not allowed in there. That room is for patients only. You are cleaner,” she exclaimed. Dahlia searched her face to see if she could determine whether or not she was serious. Did she really not know I was a patient here? Confused I nodded, agreeing with her. “You have lunch now. Make the most of it. I will come find you in half an hour”, she barked at me, clearly not wanting to waste a moment longer on me than was needed.

As I wandered back along the corridor, I turned to see if she was watching me. As if to emphasise that there was no entering the room, she turned the key on the door locking it shut, making a scene of placing the key in her top pocket.

Now, in the cleaners’ room, I wondered just who knew what. Clearly the nurse knew who I was. Surely Ms. Nechita did too? My train of thought was broken as I found the spread of food waiting for me, my mind contemplating whether this was my moment at the Rubicon. I sat down and looked at the tray of calorific carbohydrates arranged upon it. I felt nauseous. Was I meant to eat this? Almost my entire adult life had been spent avoiding such moments. I had found ingenious ways of never having to subject myself to such temptations, rigorously controlling the types of food I was exposed to.

My stomach rumbled. I was hungry. Though my duties till now had been relatively light, it was still a hard, physical slog. I dwelt on what I had done already and what was likely to follow. I knew I needed to eat something or I would never manage that afternoon. I started picking at the food, selecting a large baguette filled with coleslaw and ham and sank my teeth into it.

For the past decade, I had followed a strict regime of reduced carbohydrates, close to zero sugars and low fat. In that mouthful I encountered all three. It tasted wonderful as my dietary bogeymen all conspired to dance on my tongue. I felt that guilty sickness again and placed the half-finished sandwich back onto the table.

As I did so, I heard a knock on the door frame. I turned and saw the doctor. He smiled, his eyes wandering to the table of food, surveying its contents, before returning to me.

“Not hungry?” he ventured forth.

“I .. just.. need to watch what I eat,” I answered a little lost.

His smile grew wider as he came and sat next to me. “Does it not taste good?” He reached out and took a pastry, surrounding it in a napkin before taking a bite. “The food here is good.” He could see Dahlia was hungry and wanted to eat, so he offered her another pastry. “Try it… it will not harm you,” he joked.

I took the pastry from him and, reluctantly, took a bite. My eyes must have lit up as my reaction provoked a chuckle from him. “It is okay Dahlia. How long will you be here? Just a few days. Enjoy the food.” He spoke quietly as though he did not want anyone else to hear. “Remember how it felt that time you did it before, when you were at home? How you loved the feeling of being full” After a moment’s pause, he asked: “Do you think Petra would be so careful?”

I sat and watched his lips form each word as he spoke. For a moment, I felt light-headed, as though I was having some out of body experience that let me watch the whole scene from afar. I reached for the second half of the pastry and this time found the anxiety within me faded away. The sense of relief was enormous. The guilt seemed to evaporate in that moment as I stared into his eyes replaced by a sense of euphoria. I wanted so much to please him and in this curiously arousing moment, finishing the pastry would do the trick.

To someone who had denied herself the rich pleasures of food for so long, since she was a little girl, the fact I was able to enjoy food again without guilt was a massively liberating experience. I grabbed at the remainder of the baguette, before moving to the rest of the plate. By the time I had finished, I guess I would have eaten almost twice what I would normally for a lunch, at least in terms of calories. It felt so thrilling. The doctor looked equally pleased. Yes, I assured him, I would eat whatever they felt was best for me. It would scarcely be enough time to put much weight on and I could slim back down later.

Of course, at that moment, I did not realise I would be there far longer than I could imagine.

 

24.

The net effect of eating so much at lunch was to make me work that bit harder at my afternoon duties. After finishing the baguette, pastry and chocolate treat, I felt compelled to throw myself into my cleaning. Front and centre in my mind was the thought that I needed to burn off some of these calories! Scrubbing and carrying was certainly one way to do it and so different to what I relied upon normally.

One of the main features of my house was a large private gym equipped with all kinds of expensive toys. I viewed my exercise equipment that way as I normally needed encouragement to get down there and work up a serious sweat. Having a few gimmicky ‘toys’ only helped with that. Though my sense of duty and hard work normally shone through, there were days I simply wanted to give it a rest. That was the danger most women my age would encounter, as their lives became ever busier with work, childcare and other mundane chores. Little time is left to look after yourself properly, let alone pamper yourself.

Still, I did not have that excuse. Though I blamed poor luck, I sometimes wondered how much my relationship difficulties were just me avoiding commitments that would complicate my life. Being a supermodel meant tough choices. It meant not following one’s heart wherever it lead you. It meant sacrifice. That was why all my life was set up to avoid such temptations that would get in the way of pursuing my career.

But, as I fell to my knees to clean an awkward spot on the bannisters, I felt a delicious twinge that signalled – right now – I was not what I was. Again my hand rested on my slightly bulging tummy. It felt so taboo, so wrong. The doctor was right. It felt so good to stop worrying about my career. I could pick that up again in a few days and get back on that tiresome wheel of life, placing my own comfort behind my career.

But why? Surely I had done enough by now to sate my sense of pride? Was I simply pushing myself now, at the end of my career, in an effort to please others? I had long suspected Tommy was pushing me farther partly for his own sense of achievement. Was my wellbeing really his concern? I mean he earned a generous commission each time I forced myself through that terrible cycle of anxiety, fear and elation. Just the elation - or perhaps I should say relief - was becoming less of a factor as I grew increasingly jaded.

That delicious lunch, such a trite matter to most, represented a loosening of the chains that had held me in place for so long. It was a minor act of rebellion. I mean it would be months before I could ever expect another show now, perhaps even longer after the disaster two days ago. I could afford a few weeks to let myself go and enjoy this adventure.

I felt mildly ridiculous as I thought that. I was a grown woman for Pete’s sake. I did not need to ask anyone’s permission! I cursed myself for worrying too long about all those hangers-on. For the first time in a long while, I felt genuine anger. Not at Tommy or any of the others of my extended entourage, but at myself for having bound myself in such meaningless discipline. Life was for living and I was tired of saying no to myself.

Ms Nechita came to look for me. When she saw me, she raised an eyebrow as I had worked up a visible sweat scrubbing at a dirty spot on the floor. She did not know it was a flush of anger and assumed it was something else, perhaps an acute sense of embarrassment? I looked up at her, my eyes clear and sparkling, showing I was living the moment. In a flash of recognition, she could see that I was getting off on this, that something inside of me craved this.

Her inscrutable manner suggested nothing. Not one flicker of emotion. She simply smiled. “Well done. I see great progress today, Petra.”

Curiously a sense of pride swelled within my breast. I was a glutton for praise, betraying the fact that I was, at heart, lacking in self-confidence. After showing me where to stow my things for the night, she accompanied me to the room I was staying in. In a similar fashion to how she had locked the room, so she opened the door for me in a mildly theatrical manner. As I walked inside, my curiosity about whether she knew who I was sated: “Goodnight Petra. Say hello to Dahlia for me and make sure you are ready at 7am sharp tomorrow.”

With that she turned on her heels and closed the door for me.

 

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