Landlady Takes Control

Natalie opened the door for her new landlady. This wouldn't have been so bad, except for the fact that Natalie used to own this house. Now, she had lost all the equity she had built, and the place was sold from beneath her feet. And who was the buyer? Someone Natalie loathed: Charlotte Lamberton.

"Good morning, Nat!"

Charlotte was dressed in her usual sundress and strappy sandals, practically smirking at Natalie as she strolled into the home that was now hers. She had on a pearl necklace, and carried a large Starbucks frappucino. She kicked off her sandals and waltzed into Natalie's living room, placing her bare feet on the coffee table atop one of Natalie's literary zines.

"I brought over the new lease for you to sign. Oh, and I need the deposit -- does three thousand work for you?"

Natalie seethed inwardly as the bitch smiled at her. It took all the restraint in her body to nod in agreement. Charlotte wasn't satisfied.

"What sort of host are you?" the blonde woman joked, "aren't you going to offer me something? Food, a drink, a foot massage?"

She wiggled her toes a little, and Natalie watched as some dirt fell from the woman's soles onto one of her favorite publications.

"Would you like anything, Charlotte?" Natalie asked through gritted teeth.

"I prefer Miss Lamberton. But no, thank you, I don't want to put you out. I know you need to save money. Come on, let's get this over with!"

Natalie balled her fists and approached the plutocrat that had bought up her home. The bitch could carry a grudge, that was for sure.

A few years back, Natalie had been drinking wine and saw a post on Charlotte's Instagram. Basically, the woman was showing off all her designer clothes while insulting people who couldn't afford such luxuries. Natalie found this particularly offensive, and she posted a cutting remark that made local news. Charlotte was spiteful enough to keep tabs on Natalie for years, waiting for her chance to get revenge.

Eventually, Charlotte learned that Natalie was struggling to pay her mortgage. When Natalie's house went up for auction, Charlotte bought it with cash on the very same day. Now she was Natalie's landlord, but it was worse than that of course.

Natalie blanched as she read the rental agreement.

"The rent is eighteen hundred a month??" Natalie asked. It was practically the same as the mortgage she was paying beforehand!

"Yes, Natalie," Charlotte answered, savoring the girl's outrage, "That's the fair market price for the area; take a look around if you don't believe me."

"But that was a mortgage for an entire house! This is just to rent single room!"

"Well yeah, that's how it is structured," Charlotte said, "I mean, I like this place! It's cozy. I want to stay here too sometimes, to watch over my investment."

Natalie blinked, and felt her cheeks going red. Charlotte watched with amusement; she had been waiting until the last moment to spring this little surprise on Natalie. What better revenge than to make Natalie live under her thumb? To have the girl rent a place she used to own, and admire all of Charlotte's nice things up close and personal while obeying her stupid rules?

"But what about these rules?" Natalie asked, glancing at the ridiculous number of blank spaces she expected to sign her initials.

"I can't have guests over after 6PM or before 10AM? Quiet hours? I have to maintain ALL common areas?"

Charlotte felt a thrill as Natalie rattled off all the humiliating points of the contract. That would show the little leftist bitch to question power. She pictured the brunette girl sitting quietly in her tiny little room, cursing her own stupidity for crossing a superior woman. No time for yoga classes or organic food now!

"Listen Natalie," Charlotte began, "those are the rules. You can take it or leave it, but if you leave it you have to be out of here by next week. There are several people interested in renting your room."

Natalie grimaced as she read the other points: this 'rental agreement' was downright exploitative. If she signed the lease, she knew that Charlotte would have countless ways to boss her around. But what was her alternative? She didn't have any family nearby, and she didn't have enough money to find another place. Also with her recent foreclosure, no landlords would rent to her.

"Char-- I mean, Miss Lamberton," Natalie started, annoyed at having to address the woman so formally.

"Can we at least take out the part that says I have to maintain the garden?"

"No, sorry," Charlotte said with mock sympathy, "I have a very specific way I like things, and if you are my tenant I expect you to maintain things to my liking."

Natalie didn't have a lot of options. She initialed the document countless times -- certainly more times than was necessary. She knew that Charlotte had designed it in such a way to humiliate Natalie by making her sign away so many of her rights one by one. All the while, Charlotte sipped her cold drink and admired her pedicure.

"Do you have the deposit and first month's rent?"

"Yes, Miss Lamberton," Natalie murmured.

Defeated, she walked into her room and pulled out the $4800 that represented the last of her life's savings. She went back to her hated rival and handed her the cash, watching her dazzling smile as she counted all the bills. A single piece of Charlotte's jewelry cost more than all that cash, and she was wearing quite a collection.

"Awesome! Listen Natalie, I know this is hard for you," Charlotte said, "but I think this can really work out for both of us. Maybe by being around me, you can learn how rich people think. And I can have you around in case I need help. Oh, speaking of, could you fetch my sandals please?"

Charlotte was grinning sweetly, but Natalie knew the underlying threat. If she misbehaved, the woman could quite easily have her out onto the street by upping her rent due to the month-to-month nature of the agreement. Natalie nodded, and went to fetch the woman's well-worn leather sandals. Seeing them up close, she noticed that there were deep indentations where Natalie's toes rested along with other signs of wear.

"My back kind of hurts today. Could you please help me with my shoes?"

Natalie glared at Charlotte, but the woman knew she had her beat. Without a word, Natalie knelt before her new landlady and helped guide her feet into her sandals. Charlotte said, 'thank you,' but that didn't lighten the mood. Natalie badly wanted to wash her hands after touching that woman's feet. She hated feet.

"Okay, so just get all your stuff out of the master bedroom, and I'll be back tomorrow to move my stuff in! See you then."

Charlotte left the house, and Natalie went to the sofa and sat with her head in her hands. There was a copy of the rental agreement on the coffee table, for her records. She couldn't bring herself to read it again, so she just went into her old bedroom and began the long process of moving out.

**

Things got worse for poor Natalie, and they got worse rather quickly.

Charlotte moved all her stuff into the new home, with Natalie's help of course, and immediately started bossing the girl around.

"Oh, Natalie. I kind of have this thing about feet," Charlotte said when she noticed that Natalie was barefoot, as she usually was in the comfort of her own home.

For a moment, Natalie got her hopes up: maybe Charlotte wouldn't want her to touch her feet after all!

"Like, I don't like seeing anyone else's bare feet. It sets me off," Charlotte said.

"So whenever you're at home, you need to wear socks or something. Here, I got you these."

Charlotte reached into glossy paper bag and pulled out an offensively pink pair of ballet slippers. Natalie just looked at her.

"Well, come on!" Charlotte said, handing the shoes over to Natalie.

With a sigh, Natalie slipped them on her bare feet, noticing that they were just slightly too tight. Her toes felt a little scrunched together, and the length of the shoes was just barely too short -- her feet were noticeably constricted. As soon as one shoe touched the floor, there was an audible tapping noise that rang out. Were there taps on these shoes?

"Yeah, I hate it when people sneak up on me. Like, if I'm going to share this house with you, I need to know where you are. So just keep those on whenever you're at home," Charlotte demanded, not bothering to hear Natalie's answer.

The brunette girl frowned as she looked down at her feet, now encased in the soft pink canvas of her ballet slippers. She loved going barefoot -- it gave her a sense of freedom and power. Now she had on girlish little slippers that clicked with each step. And after a few moments, the tightness became even more obnoxious -- maybe it had something to do with the pointed toe?

The wealthy woman had hired movers to transport all her heavier stuff, and she did nothing to help them except order them where to place each item. It pained Natalie to see her former room full of another person's stuff -- even worse that it was that bitch Charlotte Lamberton's things. She had entire boxes of designer shoes and handbags, the exact sort of luxuries that Natalie found pointless and wasteful.

"Natalie would you help unload my boxes please?" Charlotte asked, sipping sweet tea while watching some right-wing news program Natalie despised.

"Um, I can't," Natalie said, already afraid of offending this woman. "I have work in half an hour."

Charlotte narrowed her eyes for a moment, but quickly regained her composure.

"Where do you work?" she asked as though she didn't already know the answer.

"Uh, at Gelman's, it's a law firm downtown."

"I know Gelman," Charlotte spat out, "that left-wing nut who keeps getting in the way of business. How much does he even pay you? Not much if you can't even keep your house, must be."

Natalie winced.

"It's about $20/hour," she answered.

"That's it??" Charlotte asked. Natalie nodded, wanting to punch the woman for her arrogance.

"You could make way better money as a personal stretcher. I'll see what I can do, my friend's business is hiring."

Natalie politely demurred.

She had seen ads online looking for 'personal stretchers,' usually with subtle implications that they wanted young, pretty girls to apply. It seemed to be a new fad among the rich: they would go into a comfy yoga studio looking space then lie down on cushioned beds as physical therapists helped them through a program of assisted stretching. It was a good idea, in theory: Natalie could definitely see the therapeutic benefit. But the price tag ensured that only the wealthiest people could afford it, and generally they wanted more novelty and relaxation than physical therapy.

Natalie supposed there was nothing wrong with it, she just didn't like the idea of touching rich women all over as they lied back and relaxed. There was something so servile about it -- it flew in the face of all her political beliefs. Natalie was a staunch critic of income inequality. She found it abhorrent that women like Charlotte and her clique had more money than they could ever spend, while Natalie and others went without. For Natalie it was offensive to work at Stretch Lab, using her body and mind to make rich women a little more comfortable. It was offensive.

"Well, something to think about," Charlotte said.

"Oh, and tell Mr. Gelson I said hello!" she added in a cryptic tone, probably getting the man's name wrong on purpose.

Natalie felt very uneasy as she walked out the door, but on her drive to work all she could think about was how much of her income would go to Charlotte now. As much as it upset her, she couldn't help but think about how unfair and stupid it all was.

According to her calculations, she made about $2400 a month after taxes. Her rent was $1800. This meant that three fourths of her income went directly into Charlotte's purse, and the only thing Natalie had to show for it was a tiny room to sleep in within a house that once belonged to her.

The slender brunette gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles went white as her mind offered up even more annoying figures. She would have to work 110 hours every month to pay her rent -- money that Charlotte didn't even do anything to earn! Most of her time spent at work would be to benefit the wealthy blonde bitch who had taken her house, and now lorded it over her with all kinds of strings attached. She couldn't believe Charlotte could be so mean, and she vowed to find some way out of this situation.

**

As soon as Mr. Gelman found out about Natalie's situation, he calmly explained that he could no longer employ her. Natalie sat there quietly as the middle-aged man summarized the vague threats that Charlotte's lawyers had sent his way. They even found a way of implying that if Gelman got rid of some staff (by which meant Natalie), it would set everyone else up for a better career trajectory.

"I'm sorry, Natalie," Mr. Gelman said, in the tone of someone who has gotten very used to losing in his lifetime.

"She is too powerful. She could crush us with frivolous legal fees, and drive us out of business. Then we wouldn't be able to help anyone. I know this is unfair, and bullshit. I wish there was more I could do."

Natalie stared at the man. He still had a full head of hair, but some of it was greying. His suit was tailored and fit well. She used to hold him in such high esteem -- thinking that he was a crusader for the downtrodden and an advocate for the working class. Some crusader! As soon as Charlotte Lamberton threatened him, he offered Natalie up like a sacrifice.

Despite her anger, though, Natalie knew Mr. Gelman didn't really have a choice here. That's what made it so frustrating. Natalie was scowling as she packed up her desk and left Gelman's law firm, drawing sympathetic glances from her former co-workers. None of them bothered saying goodbye, and few even dared to make eye contact.

She dreaded going home and announcing that she had lost her job -- she kept envisioning the smirk on Charlotte's face as she relished her new power over her.

Her rent was due in three weeks, and she barely had a dollar to her name.

**

She did everything she could to avoid working at 'Stretch Lab' but nothing worked. All of Natalie's friends were too concerned about their own jobs: employers were laying people off, not hiring. After a week of hitting the pavement and sending out her resume, Natalie finally approached Charlotte about the job.

This was especially annoying because Charlotte had been ordering Natalie around all week whenever she was home. It felt like every day, Natalie was on her knees scrubbing the woman's toilet because of Charlotte's 'OCD.' The woman would regularly leave food out, with the clear expectation that it was Natalie's job to clean up after her. The girl felt like a servant in her own home, and Charlotte rarely offered a kind word. A few times, Charlotte had lost her temper and Natalie was afraid she would get violent!

Charlotte was watching some news/entertainment program when Natalie asked if she could talk.

"Um, Miss Lamberton, is your friend's job still hiring?"

Charlotte's smile widened. She felt the usual thrill she got whenever the brunette girl submitted to one of her ploys. She was going to love seeing Natalie in the stretcher's outfit -- maybe she would give her some practice at home!

"Yeah, of course!" Charlotte answered, "but the only problem is, you're unemployed right now. So, he's going to want to low ball your pay. I know it sucks -- you really should have taken the offer last week."

Natalie balked.

"Couldn't you just tell him I'm working?" she pleaded.

Charlotte loved how immature and helpless the girl looked, her bushy eyebrows contorted into the portrait of pathetic supplication.

"Sorry," Charlotte said, "I don't want to lie to my friend like that. I'll call him though, and see what I can do. In the mean time, I have a load of laundry that needs to be done. Could you help me out too?"

Natalie sighed, and agreed. Now she was doing Charlotte's laundry too? Where would all of this end?

The laundry took quite some time. All of Charlotte's clothes were designer brands, and had to be handled in a very labor-intensive way. Natalie was tired at the end of it, lying on her bed trying to relax. Charlotte opened her door without bothering to knock, and came into her room.

"Good news! I got you a working interview tomorrow. The pay isn't the best -- only $11.15 starting, but if you get enough five-star reviews they will bump you up to $13. And the clients tip, too."

Natalie set down her book and tried to think of a polite way of expressing how angry she was. $11.15 was about $9 after taxes. Didn't Charlotte say that she would make more than $20 an hour working as a stretcher?!

"Charlott -- I mean, Miss Lamberton. My rent is like $1800! How will I earn that much? I would need to work like 50 hours a week."

"Yeah, I thought of that," Charlotte answered, and Natalie got a sinking feeling.

"I'm willing to let you pay some of your rent in sweat equity. So instead of giving me cash, you would spend a few hours a week working around the apartment, and I would deduct it from your total balance. Does that sound fair?"

Natalie went pale. She was horrified at the prospect of being made to work in her own (rented, she reminded herself) house. And worse, for Charlotte Lamberton! But considering the alternative, she had no choice to accept.

"I guess," she murmured

"Great! You can start right now. Give me a foot massage for an hour and I will knock $15 off your rent," Charlotte chirped.

To Natalie's amazement, the woman actually came into Natalie's bedroom and lied on her bed, stretching out her long legs and making herself comfortable. Charlotte was seriously going to have Natalie massage her feet on her own bed?

Natalie felt a pit in her stomach as she looked at the woman's bare feet. They were meaty, with defined arches and shapely nail beds -- not bad visually but Natalie was revolted at the thought of touching feet. It made her skin crawl.

"Miss Lamberton, is there any way I could do something else?"

"Nat, come on. I'm trying to help you here. It's just feet, and they're clean! Look," Charlotte said, lifting her sole up in the air for Natalie to inspect.

With a long sigh, Natalie moved down to the bottom edge of her own bed and took Charlotte's feet into her lap. She cringed once as the woman rested her heels against her thighs, and again as she put her hands against the soft flesh of Charlotte's soles. She had never given a foot massage before, and just started applying firm pressure with her thumbs. Charlotte beamed a lovely smile, and played on her smartphone.

"This is perfect -- I love having a foot massage while I text people. It makes me feel like a princess."

Although Charlotte's feet looked clean, Natalie noticed a faint aroma coming from them -- sour and acrid. They were cold to the touch, but quickly started warming up as Natalie ran her hands all across them. She felt disgusted with herself. Here she was, giving a foot massage to the woman who she had considered her enemy. Sitting on a twin size bed in a rented room, in a house that belonged to Charlotte Lamberton.

"A little more pressure, Nat," Charlotte said. "And actually look at my feet! It helps to create a mind-body connection."

Natalie lowered her vision, staring at Charlotte's pale feet. She had a fresh red pedicure, and the subtlest of tan lines. This continued for about an hour, and Natalie never quite got used to the sensation of touching another woman's feet. Each stroke was a fresh violation -- a new low at the feet of her former rival. She desperately wanted to go wash her hands, and it felt like they were contaminated with Charlotte's mank feet grime. Couldn't the woman at least have the consideration to wash her feet before making Natalie rub them?