New Job

Lotus

Because Madonna was daydreaming she almost missed the bus. She was a
cleaner and she travelled everywhere by bus. She liked to daydream. She
put her hand out at the last second and the bus stopped.
"Hello, Madonna," said the driver. "We don't usually see you on this
bus."
"No," she said.
"It's not your usual bus," said the driver.
"No," she said. She opened her purse. "I've got an interview. I've got
an interview in a lingerie factory."
The driver looked at her. "You," he said. He looked at her and shook
his head.
Madonna dropped her coins and they bounced on the dirty floor. There
wasn't much space for her to bend and it was difficult to pick them up.
Her face was red as she took her ticket.
"Good luck," said the driver and he smirked. "Lingerie factory," he
said quietly and shook his head again.
Madonna walked halfway down the bus, swaying as it pulled off, and
squeezed into a seat. In front of her were two young women. They were
thin. They had big eyes and clear skin and long blond hair. Madonna put
her hand up to her own hair and touched it. She closed her eyes.
When she opened her eyes again she saw that she was nearly there. She
looked out of the window. She watched the passing houses, the children
playing on the pavement. As she saw the green sign, Lotus, she pressed
the bell. The bus pulled to a stop.
"Good luck," said the driver.

Madonna walked back the short distance to the factory. There was a shop
at the front of it and she stopped to look in the window. She stood
looking at the mannequins. She stood like that for five minutes and
then went through the door. A buzzer sounded.
"Hello," said a woman. She was standing behind a counter. She was in
her fifties and had very thin curved eyebrows. She looked at Madonna as
if Madonna had lost her way.
"I'm Madonna," said Madonna. "I'm here for an interview."
The woman looked at her. "Yes," she said. She glanced down at a piece
of paper on the counter. She looked back at Madonna. "I hope you don't
mind," she said. "I called your references already. I hope you don't
mind."
"No," said Madonna, "I don't mind."
"They said you were...." said the woman. She paused. "They said you
were diligent. I'll show you round."
"OK," said Madonna.
The woman went through a door at the back of the shop. As Madonna
followed her she looked at the rails and rails of underwear. They
looked soft to touch.
"This is the office," said the woman. She stopped and turned. "Please
don't touch any of the papers on the desk. Just dust, hoover and empty
the bins. You know."
"Yes," said Madonna. "I know."
"The usual," said the woman.
Madonna nodded. "The usual."
"Right," said the woman. She raised her eyebrows. "This way."
Madonna followed. The woman stopped.
They were in a large room with a concrete floor. There were two rows
of wide wooden tables. Above each row was a low strip of neon lighting.
There were rolls of material and shapes cut from cardboard on the
tables.
"This is the cutting room," said the woman. "In here you need to sweep
up all the offcuts on the floor and empty the bins. They're quite
heavy." The woman looked at Madonna, looked at her arms.
"I think I can manage," said Madonna.
"Yes," said the woman.
"They don't look too bad," said Madonna. "I've lifted heavier."
The woman raised her eyebrows. "Yes," she said.
The next room was the sewing room. On the right were banks of sewing
machines bolted to tables. Above each machine was a low neon strip
light. On the left was a storage area for the new clothes. Madonna
looked at the rows and rows of clothing.
"Again," said the woman, "concentrate on the floor. It gets very
dusty. Don't touch the machines. The girls can do them themselves. Just
concentrate on the floor. I like a nice floor."
"Yes," said Madonna.
"You can use the special attachment on the hoover to suck up all the
dust from under the machines."
"Yes," said Madonna.
"It's important that the floor's clean," said the woman. "I'm very
particular about the floor."
The woman showed Madonna the kitchen and where the key was for the
back door. The toilets were outside and they needed to be cleaned too.
There were four of them.
Then they went back to the office.
"You can work on Sundays, can't you?" said the woman. She sat down
behind her desk.
"Sundays are good," said Madonna. "I don't work on Sundays now.
Sundays would be good for me."
"The shop is closed on Sunday," said the woman. She looked at Madonna.
"You won't bother anyone on a Sunday. I'll give you a key."
"Sundays are good," said Madonna. "I'm sure there is a bus on a
Sunday. I'm sure."
"OK," said the woman. "Sunday it is. You can start on Sunday."
She passed Madonna a key. Madonna looked at it and then put it in her
purse. She said thank you and she left. Outside she stood looking at
the mannequins again. She stood looking for quite some time.

On Sunday morning Madonna woke up early. She was at the shop before
eight. She put the key in the lock and let herself in.
"Hello," she called. She waited. "Hello," she called again. There was
no answer.
She put her bag down on the counter and walked around the shop. At
first she just looked. She gazed at all the clothes. Many of them had
lace and they all looked so soft. There were many different colours.
She reached out and touched one of the garments. It was soft. She
closed her eyes.
When she opened her eyes she saw her big fingers next to the silk. She
pulled her hand away and went into the cutting room. It was time to
work.
The bins were full of discarded material and there were pieces
everywhere on the floor. It was a mess. First she carried the bins one
by one out to the back and emptied them. Then she pulled out the hoover
and set to work. She concentrated on the floor. She picked up every
piece.
She cleaned the kitchen, the toilets, the sewing room and the
office.
When she finished she was hot. She poured herself a glass of water
from the cooler in the sewing room and sat down on a chair. She stared
at all the lingerie hanging in the storage area. She closed her eyes.
Later she went home.
"Hello," she called the next week as she went through the door.
"Hello," she called again.
There was no answer.
She put down her bag on the counter and as she turned to go through to
the office she noticed a sign in one corner of the shop. Sale, it said
in big red letters. She walked over to it. There were a number of
nighties here. She touched one and closed her eyes. When she opened her
eyes she looked to the left and the right. She took a deep breath and
lifted the hanger the nightie was hanging on. She held it against her
body. She looked down at herself and then she went over to the
mirror.
The nightie was a thin line down her middle. On either side of the
soft silk she could see her thick waist. She could see the rough
material of the overalls she wore when she was cleaning.
Quickly she returned the nightie to the rail. She replaced it in
exactly the same place she had found it. She put it between the red and
the black one and then she set to work.
She dusted the lights, emptied the heavy boxes full of offcuts,
emptied the bins. She cleaned the kitchen and toilets. She scrubbed the
sinks with a wire brush. She paid particular attention to all the
floors making sure that she cleaned right under the tables. They were
spotless.
When she had finished she poured herself a glass of water and sat down
on her chair. She looked over at the storage area and then she closed
her eyes.
The next week she didn't say hello when she went through the door. She
put her bag on her counter and she walked around the shop. She looked
at the garments one by one. She took one off the rail and held it
against her body. She put it back. She went to another rail, chose
another garment and held it against her. She took her time. She walked
from rail to rail.
The sixth one she chose she liked. She went over to the mirror. The
garment hung down her middle. It was red and had lace all around the
edges. It was beautiful. She put her head on one side, the other. She
turned to the left and then to the right. She looked at herself.
She lifted the coat hanger and placed it over her head. The point of
the V of the hanger rested against the back of her neck and the two
arms were on her shoulders. The garment hung down her front. Her hands
were free. She moved to the left. She moved to the right. The garment
moved with her. It flowed. It reflected the light.
With the garment still around her neck she went into the back and set
to work. She cleaned the lights, she dusted. She emptied all the bins
in the office and wiped the windows. She cleaned the kitchen and the
toilets. And the floors were spotless. She was pleased with the
floors.
When she had finished she was hot. She had a drink of water but she
didn't sit down. She looked down at the nightie hanging around her
neck. She liked the way the silk reflected the light. She turned around
and around.
As she left the shop she lifted the nightie from over her neck and
placed it back on the rail. She put it in exactly the same place she
had taken it from.
She went home.
The weeks passed and every week Madonna followed the same pattern. She
put her bag on the counter and walked around the shop. She looked at
all the clothes and spent her time choosing. She started putting the
lights on in the shop so she could see better. Each week she hung a
different item around her neck and left it there while she worked. And
the floors were always spotless.
Then one Sunday when the winter had been and the snows had gone
Madonna noticed some folders in the cutting room. They were on the
table with the rolls of material and the cardboard shapes. They hadn't
been there the week before. They had never been there before. Madonna
picked one of them up and turned it on its front. Lotus, Spring
Collection, she read. She took the folder into the sewing room and sat
on her chair. She looked through it, looking at each page carefully. An
hour later she put it back and then she cleaned.
The next week she didn't pick anything from the shop. She put her bag
on the counter and went straight through into the cutting room. The
folders were there exactly where they had been the week before. She
picked one up and took it through to the office. She sat at the desk,
placing the folder in front of her. She was careful not to disturb
anything. She turned the pages slowly and when she came to the end she
went and chose another one. She looked through all of the folders.
There were four of them in total.
When she had finished Madonna scratched her head and stood up. She
went and took the first folder again. She turned to a page and
carefully lifted it out. She placed it on the glass screen of the
photocopier and pressed the green button. The copier made a lot of
noise. Madonna looked through the door of the office into the shop. She
could see the rails of clothes. She could see the glass mirror. There
was no one there.
She picked up the copy, held it up to the window and then put it back
in the folder. She placed the original on the desk. She wiped her palms
on her overalls.
She opened one drawer on the desk, another. She took out a pencil and
a rubber. Her hand was shaking. She glanced towards the door
again.
She stood up and walked out of the office. She went to the front door.
She opened it a crack and looked outside. There was no one there.
She went back into the office and sat down in the chair. She worked
quickly, putting the pencil behind her ear when she was using the
rubber. She screwed her face up in concentration. When she was finished
she snapped the page back in the folder. She fixed it behind the one
she had copied and then she stood and put the folder back where she had
found it. She put it in exactly the same place.
The next week when she arrived Madonna found that the door to the shop
was unlocked and open. She took a deep breath.
"Hello," she called.
"Hello," said the woman. She appeared from the office.
"Hello," said Madonna.
"I had some work to do," said the woman. She raised her eyebrows. "On
a Sunday."
"Oh," said Madonna.
"You carry on," said the woman.
"Right," said Madonna. She put her handbag on the counter.
"You're doing a good job," said the woman. "The floor's are spotless.
Everything's perfect. The floor's are spotless. Good job," said the
woman. She went back into the office.
Madonna didn't look around the shop at all and she didn't check the
folders. She just did her job and went home.
The week after she shouted, hello, when she arrived but the week after
that she didn't. She put her bag on the counter and walked straight to
the sewing room. It was very messy. There was material
everywhere.
Madonna poured herself a glass of water from the cooler and sat on her
chair. She looked at all the new garments. She drank her water slowly
and then stood up. She wiped her palms on the front of her overalls.
She checked the rails one by one. Her hands were shaking. She reached
the end. It wasn't there.
She cleaned. She paid particular attention to the floors. She wanted
them to be spotless.
Madonna never looked at the clothes in the shop anymore. Every week
when she arrived she went straight to the sewing room. She had a glass
of water and then looked through all the new garments.
The weeks passed until one week Winter was just a memory. Madonna was
warm when she arrived. She put her bag on counter and went to get a
glass of water. She drank it quickly and then she drank another one.
She was hot. It was one of those unseasonal Spring days.
She stood up and went to look through the rails of clothes. It was
there at the end on the final rail.
At last.
She lifted the garment down and held it against her. She moved to the
left and to the right. She looked down at herself. She folded the silky
garment over her arm and went to the shop at the front. She opened the
door of the changing room and stepped inside. She pulled off her shoes,
her overalls, all her clothes and then she pulled the nightie over her
head. It was a perfect fit.
The material was soft against her skin. She felt like she was floating
in an atmosphere of feathers. She looked at herself in the mirror. She
turned to the left and to the right. She smiled.
She put her hand up to her head and she smiled.
And then, dressed like that, she cleaned the factory. It took her a
long time. Every five minutes she went back to look at herself in the
mirror. She liked the way the material reflected the light.
When she had finished, when everything was clean, when the floors were
spotless, she put the nightie back. She put it back exactly where she
had taken it from. She collected her bag and locked the door behind
her. She walked to the bus-stop. She saw the bus in the distance and
she put her hand out in plenty of time.
"Hello Madonna," said the driver.
"Hello," she said.
"You're looking well."
"Thank you," she said.
"You are," he said. "You're looking well. You look well."
She walked halfway down the bus and sat down. She didn't close her
eyes.