Respecting Maryam Reaps the Rewards

I'd been determined to make it alone in the big city and for the first sixth months I'd plodded along just fine. Sure, making it alone actually meant that my parents had put a deposit down on a house, but they were more than happy to help out their only daughter. I'd taken out a mortgage for the remainder. Things had been a bit tight from the day I signed the contract, but it was manageable. I was proud to be a homeowner. I had a steady, reliable job as an administrative assistant at a law firm and the mortgage repayments, as well as my household bills, were mathematically within my means.

On paper I could manage the bills, but I was hopeless when it came to organising my finances. Rather than put money aside for the mortgage every payday; I'd party it up on the weekends. My salary would disappear as I plundered it on alcohol and recreational drugs. Nothing too illegal or dangerous, just irresponsible more than anything. I justified it to myself that I was still young and deserved to have fun, despite already being into my 30's. I realise now that I was merely burying my head in the sand, rather than accepting my carelessness and doing something about it while I still could.

My mortgage payments began to slip and before long I was in arrears. Letter after letter arrived in the mail declaring final notice and demanding payment. I managed to fend it off, bit by bit, delaying the inevitable by another month each time. Still, even though I was on the brink of losing the house, it didn't stop me hitting the booze. My worries seemed to dissipate when I was on the end of a bottle.

The shit hit the fan when I was laid off from my job. Work had dried up and my employer simply couldn't keep me on. I begged and pleaded and explained my financial situation with my boss. She was sympathetic, and hooked me up with a role at another firm. I was relieved, but it was short-lived: the salary was a lot less.

There was no way I could keep the mortgage payments up. With all of my partying and reckless spending I hadn't put any money aside. My savings currently read as zilch. I approached my parents for help but rather than understanding, they were furious. They were living off of their pensions and had put up their savings for my deposit. Unsurprisingly, our relationship completely broke down.

Inevitably, I had to declare bankruptcy and the house was repossessed. I'd squandered close to £10k of my parents' money through the deposit, not including all of the payments I'd made myself. I lost pretty much everything. There I was, the latest victim of the housing bubble.

The bailiffs gave me a week to find a new place to live before they would change the locks so the race was on. I barely kept my job, but with nowhere to live that would surely be on the line too. I needed that income if I was to stand any chance of finding a new place. I'd most likely have to turn my eye to a smaller apartment, or even settle for a house share. Anything was better than the unimaginable alternative: the streets.

My next problem was that with my bankruptcy and appalling credit rating, none of the estate agents would go near me. Private landlords weren't any good either as they all wanted months of rent upfront as a deposit, which I simply couldn't afford. I tried advert after advert, but was turned away every time.

I was losing hope as the week disappeared when a new advert appeared in the window of the local corner shop. It was for a small room, house sharing with the landlady. The price was the cheapest so far and I didn't hesitate to phone and arrange a viewing.

I arrived at the house right on time. It was rather large and in a nice area of the city. No doubt the landlady was wealthy to own such a place. So, I was most surprised when she answered the door. Before me stood a young, middle-eastern girl, barely over 5 feet tall and petite. I wondered if she was the landlady's daughter, but she shook my hand and invited me in. I figured immediately that she was Muslim as she wore a headscarf and her skin was a light brown. Perhaps a judgment on my part, but I was ignorant when it came to these sorts of things.

The house interior similarly had a middle-eastern feel to it. The décor, furniture and paintings gave off the vibe of Persia. It was all very clean and tidy and I suspected I stood no chance when it came to the room being offered.

The girl introduced herself as Maryam and said that she was the sole owner. She invited me to the living area and I was offered some Turkish tea, which I drank with delight.

"I haven't long lived here," she explained, in a very noticeable accent. "I've just started a new job in the city and emigrated here from Iran."

"I'm amazed at the size of your house. What do you do for a living if you don't mind me asking?" My voice was laced with envy.

"I work as an investment banker, mostly dealing with commodities for corporate hedge-funds. I did quite well back home and was headhunted by one of the larger banks here. Their offer was too good to turn down, so here I am."

I tried to ham up the friendliness. "How do you like it here so far?"

"It's a lot colder than back home." She smiled and shook her head. "But I'm settling in just fine. It's a bit lonely though. That's why I thought it might be nice to have someone else around the house."

That explained the price she was asking; clearly, she was new to this and money wasn't really a concern to her. She was only a couple of years younger than myself but seemed to have her life pretty together; especially in comparison to my own. It would be somewhat humiliating to have a young, well-off landlady. The fact she was an immigrant and successful -whereas I grew up here and was a failure- made it even worse in my eyes. But I was desperate, and I saw no alternative. She seemed polite and nice enough, so perhaps I could make it work.

"Have you had much interest?" I asked.

"You're the first woman that's replied. All of the others have been men, and that's not really what I'm looking for. I can't live alone here with a man; my parents wouldn't approve. I should have made that clear in the advertisement really."

"Well, I can assure you I'm not a man," I joked.

Maryam laughed and I took that as a good sign. I felt that I could be honest with her and I went through my whole situation. She nodded along and seemed sympathetic. She was a bit worried about my track record, but liked me and was willing to give me a chance. She had reservations, but we talked through them, eventually culminating in her offering me the room, but with conditions that she expected to be met. The rent had to be paid on time every month, there would be no partying in the house and no stumbling in drunk in the early hours.

I really liked the room and especially the area the place was in, and for the price she was asking it was a bargain. My only concern was that I could see an immediate personality and culture clash. She laid out a lot of smaller rules that she expected to be followed. Most revolved around common decency and cleanliness. Cleaning dishes after they were used, respecting privacy and not making any loud noises after a certain hour. That sort of thing.

It all sounded fairly standard, but once I settled, I knew I'd return to my heavy partying, it was simply in my blood. From first impressions it seemed that Maryam was the complete opposite and very strict. I reasoned that if I kept my partying away from the home environment then things could work out.

I accepted her offer and had moved in within a couple of days.

Over the next few weeks I learned a fair bit about my landlady, Maryam. She was indeed of Persian descent and had spent her whole life in Iran up until the past few months. Her features were exotic and quietly enticing. She spoke with a Persian accent, though her English was fluent and of a high standard. A devout Muslim, her religion appeared to be a very important aspect of her daily life and she prayed multiple times a day. However, she appeared to be a workaholic and spent most of her time at the office. The evenings she would usually spend relaxing, often catching up on Iranian soap operas or quietly reading a book in Farsi.

Maryam's clothes were traditional, yet stylish and fashionable. Her hair was usually hidden beneath a headscarf. She owned many, colourful and stylish in their own right and always sitting in perfect harmony with her choice of traditional dress. From her brown complexion and dark eyebrows, I figured her hair to be black, though I'd never seen it.

By comparison, my choice of clothes were plain and boring. My physique was average, my height gangly and my hair an unappealing rusty red. We looked quite an odd pair to be house sharing.

I'd made an extra effort to be on my best behaviour the first few weeks, particularly as Maryam seemed very conservative. Despite the differences in our backgrounds, we got along fairly well and I found her easy to talk to. I learned that her family was traditional and her parents had been trying to match her with a husband for years. Maryam was independent however, and though she embraced the traditional values of her family, she wasn't ready to settle down. For now, her career was her most important passion and she appeared to be very successful.

She took her work very seriously. She'd wear a more professional suit to the office, though the headscarf was ever present. The suits usually led down to high heeled pumps, but at home, her attire was more comfortable; sandals or slippers were the favoured choice.

Everything was going along just fine. I was up to date with my rent and had respected all of Maryam's rules. She seemed happy enough with me as her lodger. That was until I returned a bit worse for wear from a work social.

I'd spent about 5 minutes trying to unlock the door with my keys, then collapsed against the wall while taking off my boots. I was loud and careless, knocking a potted plant over in the hallway and spilling a glass of water up the stairs.

Maryam stood in her bedroom doorway waiting for me, arms folded across her chest and a look of disapproval upon her exquisite face. She looked even prettier when she was stern and serious. "What sort of time do you call this, Katie?" She asked.

I tried to steady myself against the wall, but swayed from side to side.

"Are you drunk?" Maryam added.

"Maybe a little bit," I giggled.

"I don't think this is at all funny. This is no way for a lady to behave."

"Oh, come on," I slurred. "We're not all boring. Try having a bit of fun some time, you might like it."

Maryam's face didn't stir from disapproval. "I'm really annoyed with you, Katie," she said. "I thought I was very clear about the rules here and you're showing me nothing but disrespect."

"Okay, I'm sorry. Look, I promise it won't happen again." I tried to straighten myself up on two feet.

"I think you moving in here may have been a bad idea."

With the threat of being kicked out on the streets, I suddenly sobered up a bit. I was still absolutely wasted, but I knew I was messing things up. "I didn't mean to upset you. I do respect you and your rules, I swear!"

"You have a strange way of showing it."

Perhaps it was due to the alcohol, but I reacted in a way completely out of character. Usually I'd tell someone that was scolding me to piss off, but with everything I'd been through and lost, I felt desperate for Maryam to forgive me and give me another chance. I dropped to my knees and threw myself at Maryam's feet, wrapping my arms around her ankles. "Please, Maryam." My cheek rested against the top of her foot and I instinctively kissed the instep of the other. It was more fuelled by my drunk desperation. "Please don't make me leave. I'll behave." I kissed again.

Maryam just stood there with her arms crossed. She seemed a bit caught off guard and unsure of what to do. As a result, she just watched in silence and let me kiss her foot for a few seconds. I offered little pecks all over the tops of her feet and toes, hoping to inspire some sympathy within her through my begging display. Her feet were pretty, pedicured and well taken care of but her nails were nude and without polish. I noted that she wore a gold chain around her left ankle, which I'd previously never noticed. There was little odour to her feet as my nose brushed above, as she'd likely showered not long before. I wasn't really considering how pathetic I must have looked. My mind was distorted by the alcohol and self-preservation was all that mattered. If it took kissing up to Maryam to be forgiven, then that's what I'd do.

Maryam cleared her throat after a couple of minutes. "I suppose that's one way of showing me respect," she said. "But better you get some sleep now. We'll talk about this more in the morning." She pulled her foot from my lips and left me alone on the landing.

I didn't realise it at that point, but through my drunken actions a precedent had been set that night.

The next morning, I felt terrible. My mouth was dry and my head throbbed. My memory was a bit hazy and distorted. I'd see flashes but nothing was making much sense.

"Feeling a bit rough, are we?" Maryam said as she waltzed into the kitchen. She opened cupboards, took out bowls and glasses, wiped down pans and put them away, all with loud bangs and crashes. Clearly, she was doing it on purpose.

"I'm sorry about last night," I said.

"You already apologised, or don't you remember?" She stared at me intently and waited for a reaction.

When the memory came back to me, I blushed at the recollection. I'd kissed her feet and begged her to stay. How humiliating.

"Anyway," Maryam said. She seemed to sense my embarrassment and didn't prolong it any longer than necessary. "Rent is due. Do you have it for me?"

I rubbed my head and groaned. I'd spent way more than I'd meant to the night before. "I'm a little short. Could I maybe have another week?"

Maryam stared at me blankly. She blinked in disbelief. "Are you serious?"

"I'm sorry," I said. I looked over Maryam's shoulder at the wall in shame. I couldn't bear to meet her eyes and see the disappointment.

Her elbows came to rest on the table, and her hands formed a bridge beneath her chin. "Do you not have my rent because you drank it all last night?"

"I guess so," I mumbled. My head was still throbbing, my tummy felt dodgy and I wanted nothing more than to creep off back to bed.

"I think I made myself pretty clear what would happen if you let me down. I gave you a chance Katie and this is how you repay me?"

"Please, Maryam. I'm sorry. I really do feel awful. How can I make it up to you?"

"Well," Maryam spoke. Her lips moved like she was about to say something else, but she bit her tongue and held back. "No, it doesn't matter."

"Come on, tell me what I can do please. Anything. Whatever it takes."

Maryam slipped her feet from her slippers and placed them on the breakfast bar, crossing her legs at the ankles. "You can start by showing me a little respect," she said. She looked towards her feet and wiggled her toes invitingly, then her eyes met my own. There was hesitancy in them for the first time, and I suspected she was out of her comfort zone. She broke eye contact and continued in a whisper. "Just like you did last night. If you want an extension, you'll have to convince me."

I knew what that meant. My head was still pounding, but I didn't want to be on the streets. I clambered across the breakfast bar and placed my lips on Maryam's foot. "Please could I have another week to pay the rent, Maryam?" I asked. I looked up at her from beneath her foot and tried to sway her with a pair of adorable, puppy dog eyes she couldn't refuse.

She seemed lost in her own enjoyment. "That's much better," she cooed. "That's the way to show me respect."

I continued to place delicate pecks along the sole of her foot, all while looking up and keeping eye contact. She was rather pretty the more I thought about it, and my kisses along her sensitive feet seemed to soften her sharp facial features. The headscarf only heightened her exotic beauty too, like an air of mystery; an unobtainable Persian beauty. She examined me curiously, appearing to revel in my subservience. Perhaps it was somewhat fitting that a good for nothing scrub like myself should kiss the feet of this independent, successful woman. Or maybe I was doing my bit to make up for all of the prejudice she'd no doubt encountered over here; there were plenty of ignorant idiots around. All sorts of weird justifications crossed my mind. Whatever the reason, Maryam just sat there and watched while I kissed.

Eventually, Maryam tired of my grovelling, maybe she was just joshing with me after all, and giving me a hard time for being a drunken fool. "Fine," she said. She withdrew her feet and slipped them back into her slippers. "I'll give you another week to get it together, but that's all you're getting. If this happens again, you'll be out."

I made a concerted effort for the next few months to behave. When I did go out with my friends and got drunk; I crashed at one of their houses to avoid Maryam having to suffer my drunken stupor. I barely kept up to date with my rent, but for the time being, I was surviving.

I would still slip up and break Maryam's rules, usually by accident. When it happened, I'd get a lecture and then she'd demand I showed her some respect. We both knew what that meant; I'd have to drop down on my knees and kiss her feet all over until she was satisfied. This occurred during whatever she happened to be doing at the time. Preparing us dinner, watching one of her soaps, reading a book, and on one occasion straight after a yoga class, which was the stinkiest and most punishing of ordeals.

I think in some ways she got a rush from it; being able to have a local, white girl drop and kiss her feet whenever she demanded. But she never explicitly expressed it in that way. It was always focused around me showing her the respect she deserved. And there was always a reason for it; some rule that I'd broken. She never demanded it of me at random.

I could have stood up for myself and refused; I didn't actually like humbling myself at her feet. But Maryam had a way of making me feel guilty for breaking her rules, as if I'd severely wronged her and her hospitality. Her personality was confident and her attitude composed. Kissing her feet felt like the appropriate way to right my mistakes. For some reason I never refused, so she grew comfortable enough to demand it whenever she didn't feel respected, which seemed to be often.

It wasn't long before I messed up majorly once again. I'd gone out with a few friends, after one had said I could crash at their place. Unfortunately, she had hooked up with a guy and forgotten all about little old me. Drunken and all alone in the cold, I was left no choice but to head back home. I hoped I'd make it to bed without being caught, but I should have known better. It wasn't as late as I first thought, and I disturbed Maryam with my drunken buffoonery while she was at prayer before she slept. To say she was not amused would be putting it lightly.

"How dare you come home in this state," she fumed, while rising from her prayer mat. She would use the living room to pray as it offered the most space.

I hiccupped. "I'm not that drunk," I slurred.

Maryam stomped over to me and looked up at my glassy eyes. She lifted up onto her tip-toes and took a whiff of my breath. "That's it," she said. "I want you out by next weekend. I've had enough of this. I let it slide before because it was a one-off, but I'm not allowing this to become a regular thing. I bet you've squandered away all my rent, tonight haven't you?"

I couldn't stop myself laughing at her overreaction. "Probably. Anyway, I'm really tired and worse for wear. Could I go to bed and we'll talk about this in the morning?"