Stars Align

Sandra had been working as a housekeeper in the building long enough to develop a passing familiarity with the employees who stayed late.

Although she didn’t necessarily know their names or faces, they were always the ones on the lowest rungs of the totem pole, hunched over in front of the computer in their cubicles located in the middle of the floor. Occasionally, a middle manager might stay after, especially at the end of the month when all the most important reports were due.

What Sandra had never seen in all her years working there, though, was an executive working late. If they were important enough to have their own office, then they were always long gone by the time she started her shift. That’s why she was so intrigued when she noticed the lights on in an office on the north end of the floor.

Even more curious was the fact that she’d seen the guys from Service and Maintenance carrying in furniture to that office just a week prior, but there was still no name plaque on the door, so it must be someone who was newly promoted.

Indeed, the one time she’d made a pass through there, there hadn’t been so much as a single balled-up piece of paper in the wastebasket, so she had no idea who he was or what his role at the company was.

Keeping her eyes on the mysterious executive’s office as she did her rounds, she caught the occasional glimpse of someone pacing around. It was hard to tell from this distance, but he seemed quite young, perhaps in his late 20s or early 30s.

Nonetheless, she expected him to wrap up his business, whatever it was, and leave long before she got close enough to see anything else.

But he didn’t leave. He also didn’t seem to be on the phone, and he definitely wasn’t working on his computer, so what exactly was he doing in there? The blinds were open, so it couldn’t have been anything too private, causing her inquisitiveness to grow stronger.

Finally, after collecting the overflowing bag of used paper cones next to the water bottle at the end of the row where all the copiers stood, she got her first clear look at him. He was definitely a couple of years younger than her, dressed in an expensive-looking suit, although he had ditched the jacket, which was hanging on the back of his chair.

For all the world, it looked like he was just... thinking about things, which made no sense. Executives told other people what to do and then went off to a fancy meal in town where they’d swap jokes and network with fellow elites, not hang out in the office after hours to meditate on the meaning of life.

After cleaning out the corner office belonging to the head of the floor as well as his secretary’s desk, Sandra decided it was time to drop in on the late-night executive and see what he was up to. After taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she rapped on his door, announcing “Housekeeping!” so as not to startle him.

When she walked in, he was standing at the window, gazing out at the city skyline. At first, she thought he might be wearing headphones, but then he turned to look at her, revealing a handsome face and a thick head of hair that got her pulse racing. Nonetheless, he never said a word as she pulled out his empty wastebasket and put in a new liner.

Ordinarily, that would have been the end of it. She would move on to the next office down the line, and he would go back to doing whatever it was doing, both of them in their own separate but parallel worlds. They might both be employees of the same company, but normally, their paths would never cross.

Yet something caused her to speak up that fateful night.

“Is everything okay, sir?” said Sandra, surprising even herself as the words came tumbling out.

“Huh? Oh yeah, yeah,” said the guy. “Well, I mean, no, actually. Not really.”

“Ah,” said Sandra, bringing her cleaning cart to a halt, unsure how to process that.

Was he going through some kind of emotional breakdown of some kind? It certainly didn’t look like that. His eyes weren’t red or puffy, and there was no sign that he’d been drinking. So why was he confessing to a lowly housekeeper that he wasn’t okay?

“It’s just that I’ve got to write this email,” said the guy, giving her a sheepish grin. “And I don’t know where to begin.”

“Ah,” said Sandra.

That, too, seemed difficult to believe. An executive of his rank would definitely have a secretary, or access to secretarial support, and failing that, there was always ChatGPT and other AI tools. In this day and age, how incompetent do you have to be to be unable to cobble together an email?

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” said the guy with a little chuckle. “You’re thinking I should just let AI do it, right?”

“Um...” said Sandra, trying to think of a polite way to say the obvious.

“The thing is, though,” said the guy, nervously scratching at the collar of his button-up shirt. “I tried that, and it said that that kind of content wasn’t allowed. Can you believe it?”

For a second, Sandra just stood there, trying to figure out what he was saying. Then it dawned on her that maybe he had taken some kind of pill or other drugs. That was the only thing that made sense. He was acting so incoherently because he was high.

“Anyway, it’s a pretty delicate, uh, topic, so it’s probably better if I just write it myself,” said the guy. “Say, you wouldn’t happen to have any writing experience, would you?”

“Me?” said Sandra, her eyes going wide with disbelief. “I’m... I’m the housekeeper, sir.”

“Well, I know that,” said the guy with a little laugh, his eyes dipping down to her uniform. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t know how to write, does it?”

“Oh,” said Sandra, her dazed brain unable to come up with a more detailed reply.

Housekeepers were the invisible people of the land, barely seen or noticed, and treated more like machines than human beings. As soon as folks saw the uniform and the equipment, all sense of equality went right out the window. Unless a housekeeper made a mistake, they might as well be ghosts.

“It’s okay if you haven’t,” said the guy. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot there.”

“No, um, it’s fine,” said Sandra, her rational faculties slowly coming back online after recovering from the initial shock. “Actually yes, I used to write for my college newspaper.”

“Excellent!” said the guy, giving her a warm smile that had her buzzing all over. “Then you’re just the person I need. Do you mind helping me out?”

“Um, uh, okay,” said Sandra, nervously glancing around to see if anyone was witnessing this unexpected interaction, but of course, the office was deserted.

“Great, here take a seat,” said the guy, holding out the chair for her like a gentleman as he helped her get comfortable in front of the computer.

“What, um, is this all about?” said Sandra, her pulse racing.

“Oh right, right,” said the guy with a self-deprecating chuckle. “I guess I forgot to mention that, didn’t I? Sorry about that. It’s for my brother. He’s in a care home.”

“Oh,” said Sandra. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah, me too,” said the guy, pausing for a moment to let out a little sigh. “Well, technically, he’s not my brother, but we grew up together and we’re the same age, so, you know.”

“Right,” said Sandra, her mind spinning as she tried to figure out what his angle was.

Based on the cut and quality of his suit, there was no disputing that he was a high-paid executive in the company. He also certainly had the confidence and mannerisms of someone who had enjoyed a lifetime of easy success. The real question, then, was why he was treating her so nicely. Surely, there had to be a catch somewhere.

“Anyway, he’s got M.D.,” said the guy. “Oh sorry, that’s Muscular Dystrophy.”

Sandra’s heart sank. She knew exactly what M.D. was because it was the merciless killer that had struck down her own mother. She’d gone from having an unexpected tremor in her right hand to the grave in just five years.

The disease hadn’t just stolen her mother from her, but devastated their entire family. Sandra had been forced to drop out of school to take care of her mother, and then after the heartbreaking decision to terminate life support at the end, she’d been "rewarded" with a slew of medical bills which she’d probably be still paying off even if she lived to be a hundred years old.

“I... I know what that is,” said Sandra, her mouth as dry as dust.

“Oh, you do?” said the guy. “Well, then you know it’s a motherfucker. Oops, pardon my language.”

“It’s... It’s okay,” said Sandra, smiling despite herself. “M.D. really is a motherfucker.”

“Damn right,” said the guy, tilting his head and giving her an intense look. “Say, did you used to be a nurse or something?”

“A nurse? No. At least not officially,” said Sandra. “My mother had M.D.”

“Ouch,” said the guy, wincing. “I’m really sorry to hear that. I’m assuming since you used the past tense that she’s passed?”

“Yeah,” said Sandra, her voice going quiet. “She died six years ago.”

“Oh man,” said the guy, shaking his head. “I can’t even imagine how it’s gonna be when Johnny goes. And your mother? Wow. I really don’t know what to say.”

“It’s okay,” said Sandra, still trying to figure out why she’d shared such personal information with him.

“Well hey, maybe the fates brought us together for a reason, yeah?” said the guy. “You’ve got the writing chops, and you know first-hand how bad M.D. can be.”

“Maybe,” said Sandra, although she highly doubted it.

“Shit, where are my manners?” said the guy, extending one manicured hand. “My name’s Morrison.”

“Morrison?” said Sandra, unable to repress a giggle as she shook his hand. “Is that your last name or your first name?”

“Huh?” said the guy. “Oh, no. Yeah, it’s my first name. Pretty pretentious sounding, right? I guess you could say my dad had high ambitions for me.”

“Well, it seems to have worked,” said Sandra, gesturing around at the grandeur of his office.

“Yeah, so far, so good,” said Morrison, giving her a toothy smile.

“My name’s Sandra,” said Sandra. “It was my grandmother’s name.”

“Wow, you know what? That name really suits you,” said Morrison, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Aww, stop,” said Sandra, not quite sure why her cheeks were tingling with heat.

“It’s a short version of the name Alexandra, right?” said Morrison.

“Wow, that’s exactly right,” said Sandra, astonished. “How did you know?”