Free Money Hungry by Sharon Flake Page A

show off for the girls.”
    Cars behind us are beeping.
    “She can talk all night to this thing. It ain’t gonna help,” Zora whispers.
    But finally Bessy gets going.
    My girls ain’t saying a word. They’re rolling their eyes at me. I’m wondering how Miss Baker’s gonna pay us for cleaning when she don’t have enough cash to keep her ride running straight.
    Miss Baker is a tiny little lady, can’t hardly see over the steering wheel. She stays a long time at every stop sign, and she lets other cars pass in front of her.
    Jade Street is only twenty minutes away from Mallow, but it takes Miss Baker forty minutes to get there. Once I see the house we’ll be cleaning, I’m wishing the car had broke down right outside the store.
    That’s when Miss Baker explains this ain’t the house she lives in. It’s a boarding home she owns. “I got ten boarders living here. Me and my daughter run it together.”
    There’s bottles, cans, paper, trash everywhere. Miss Baker says, “You all got your work cut out for you.”
    I don’t want Miss Baker to open the front door. From the yard, I can see some old guy in a wheelchair. He’s shoved up to the window in dirty pajamas, drooling spit.
    “I feel like I gotta throw up,” Zora says.
    Ja’nae grabs her hand and holds it tight.
    When we get inside, Zora is holding her nose. It smells like pee in here.
    One woman is sitting in a wheelchair with socks on her hands, rocking. She’s younger than the rest. Miss Baker says that she was in a car accident. She’s brown as me, but her skin is ashy, and cracked like she’s covered with chalk dust. She’s hunched over to one side of the wheelchair, humming.
    Zora says, “I’m getting out of here.”
    The words ain’t hardly out of Zora’s mouth when some old hunchback man comes up to her and grabs at her jacket.
    He’s so bent over all he can do is stare at the floor. Zora yells for him to stop touching her.
    He twists his whole body to the side and looks up at Zora as best he can. “Had my own tailor shop. First black tailor in the city,” he says rubbing his fingers together real quick. “Still can spot me some good leather,” he says reaching over and touching Zora’s coat again. Then he turns his face back to the floor like a child who just got his fingers smacked, and drags his feet up the hall.
    Miss Baker tells us we can hang our stuff up in the corner. That there’s buckets and rags waiting for us on the second floor. Ja’nae is already doing something we ain’t hired to do—wiping dried oatmeal off some old lady’s mouth. Talking to her real quiet. Asking her name. Saying she would brush her hair if she wanted.
    Zora rolls her eyes. “You have any gloves? Lysol?”
    Miss Baker laughs. Shakes her head and laughs some more. “Gloves? Lysol? Where y’all think you at, some hotel? I got buckets, rags, soap, bleach, and water. That’s all you need to clean.” She moves closer to Zora and looks down at her boots. “And you better do a good job too. The state health inspector is coming in two weeks and things got to be in order, so let’s get to work, girls. I ain’t paying you to talk.”
    For starters, there ain’t no carpet on the floors and we have to mop them. We each mop one floor apiece. My arms ache. Cleaning up with that cheap stuff Miss Baker gave us makes Mai’s fingers swell up and turn red.
    “I’m calling my father to tell him about this funky place,” Zora says.
    “You call and we gonna lose out on all that money,” I remind her.
    Zora don’t argue. She picks up a rag and we all start dusting woodwork.
    “Told you to start with the woodwork first. Now we gonna have to sweep the floors again before we leave,” Ja’nae says, coming over to me.
    “Don’t forget the windows,” Miss Baker says, inspecting the floors.
    She hands us a bunch of newspapers and some vinegar and tells us to be sure not to scratch up her mirrors and windows. There’s thirty windowpanes in all. We count