Miriam’s Mood Swings

The Royal Janitor


John Presco

Copyright 2018

It can be said Miriam is always experiencing mood swings, but several days after she and Victoria returned from Eugene Oregon, her mood had taken a turn for the worse.

“I hate my room. I need to be relocated. My accommodations are not austere enough. I need an environment that is more, severe.”

“Didn’t we go through this when your were hired? You saw all the rooms at Osborne, and settled on the chore girl’s room. Didn’t you measure it? Is the bed – too big?”

“Stop patronizing me. I know the story of Goldylicks.”

“That’s – locks!”

“Whatever! I have studied Osborne House. The chore girls were sluts. They didn’t last long. They got pregnant in a year. I feel like I’m living in a whore house.I’m a good Christian girl.”

“Well! Aren’t we picky. How about the boiler room?”

“Show me!”

It was love at first sight! Miriam shrieked when she saw the old army cot.

“Is this – mine?”

“Ahh – yes. The boiler man uses it when there is boiler trouble and he has to spend the night.”

“Is he an old guy?”


“Tell him he can have my old room.”


Well, the boiler guy was not told anything, and when he came to make his weekly check on his boiler, there was Miriam laying naked on his cot staring up at the monograms on the boiler. She had an earplug in that broadcast tinny music and the news report from he crystal radio set she made. The boiler guy studied her long lithe form lit by Miriam’s kerosene lamp. A wave of jealousy swept over him. This is how he longed to live, but, then he would not find the right person to live with him. And…..there she be!

“I deserve you!” The boiler man said in a haunting voice. Miriam jumped up, and was ready to pounce. The old man saw the fire of the furnace between her long legs. her eyes were ablaze.

“Thank you. I will be going now!”

Miriam lay back down on her cot. A man had just seen her naked in Osborne House. She went back to studying the monogram, and let out a quite whimper because she was mind-blind to monograms. She could not fathom them, see the letters.

“Why?” she asked. Miriam was talking to herself, and it was noticed. Victoria summoned her to her office.

“Miriam. It has come to my attention you are talking to yourself.”

“Did that old fuck say something?”

“If you are talking about the boiler guy, he quit. You really stressed him out. I might have to ask you to wear more clothes.”

“Good! I want his job!” Miriam asked, and Victoria was relieved a fight over her dress had been avoided another day.

“You got it. No need to tell me you studied-up.”

“Did you know twenty percent of the boilers in the great estate were maintained by The Dorchester Orion Amalgamate. Union members wear the belt of Orion. The Romans commissioned them to supply wood for their baths throughout England. They are way older than the Catholic church. My menstrual cycles are affected by Orion’s Belt.

“Really!” Victoria said, and sucked in some air through her gritted teach. She was not in the mood for more strange Communist cosmologies that developed behind the Iron Curtain in the 50s. “Miriam. I think it would be best that you go out, more often. No, that was bullshit. Miriam, you need a social life. Your moods have soured. If you were a feline, I would buy a cat for you to play with. You are in need of a companion. We have found someone your age who will play with you. We do not want you hitting the pick-up bars. You don’t take rejection well.”

“Are you paying her to play with me?”

“No – yes! She’s a professional model, and, her whole life is dedicated to her craft. Models are always, on. Even when asleep.”

“How do you know she will get along with me?”

“We don’t. Thiis is why we thought it best she be on the payroll.”

“May I ask, who “we” is? Have you, and the others, been spying on me?” With that question, Miriam turned her back, but not before Miriam shot Victoria a very lethal look. Now her boss felt all the cylinders of her fury being ignited.

“Gulp! Did I just tell my deadly bodyguard I am paying someone to play with her. What kind of asshole am I? I’m – dead! I deserve to die.”

Miram gripped the handle on her desk drawer where she hept her required weapon. But, Mirriam turned, and was wearing a bright happy look!”

“What’s her name. I can’t wait to meet her! This will be so much fun!”

“Ah….Let me see!” Victoria flipped through her notes. “Her name is Barbazanya! I want you to take a week off in order to get know each other.”

“What a beautiful name! I will send you pics!”

Then one day, Nattitude announced

“Hey – look! I just got some pics of Miriam. Come look!”

Victoria rushed over feeling a pang of jealousy.

“She was supposed to be sending me pics!” Victoria gasped. “Oh my God! Is this our Miriam? She looks so – artificial! That’s Barbazanya? She’s gorgeous! What!? Miriam won a string bikini contest? I told her not to model!”

“Yeah! But, you didn’t tell her she couldn’t enter a beauty contest. You got to be specific. My thirteen years old daughter can bend light around corners.”

“Why does Barbazanya have her arm draped over Miriam’s leg? She not writing. She’s just pretending. What the?”

“Their posing.” Nattitude said. ‘They’re posing for you.”


“They want to make you jealous. How many girlfriends did you have growing up?”

“None!………What a phony!”

Nattitude cleared her throat, ever so slightly, then, put her Rubic’s Cube down on her desk. She was done figuring this one out.

“Look at that – baby face! Those are pouting baby lips! Barbazanya has taken her cute little baby to the beach wearing her baby bonnet! What is this, stuff? Who shot these pics? These aren’t selfies. This is professional eroticism for women – only! Do men look at these magazines, Nattitude? Do black women have similar magazines? Why haven’t I seen this before?”

“Hey, leave me out of this! The answers are, no, and no!” Nattitude looked at her computer screen to avoid seeing Victoria home-in on those baby bee-stung lips, that are very popular. Many women desire to own lips like this, and spend millions on plastic surgery.

“Looks like we have a hot commodity working for us! Barbazanya should be paying us!”

When Miriam got back from vacation, she was curt. She never made eye contact with her boss. Then, Miriam came to work with her underwear showing. The button on her jeans was undone. She read ‘Calvin Klein’. Fashion World had invaded the headquarters of BAD. Victoria felt her heart drop – in a deep plunge into pure jealousy. Barbazanya had done a Calvin Klein layout  that was on T.V.. These were – her underwear!

You bitch……Victoria said under her crimson blush. You paid me back. You’re telling me she owns you, now! You are her little slut, now!

Miriam stood at Victoria’s desk, rubbing it in. She leaned foreword and pressed her mound of Venus against her boss’s desk.

“You wanted to ask me something?”‘

“Yes. I don’t want you walking around the office with your underwear hanging out. I understand this look is sweeping the fashion world, but, we………..”

“O.K. Anything else?”

“Yes. I don’t want you to see Barbazanya again.”

“You got it!”





About Royal Rosamond Press

I am an artist, a writer, and a theologian.
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1 Response to Miriam’s Mood Swings

  1. Reblogged this on Rosamond Press and commented:

    The world is in THE BOILER ROOM. I have been using Starfish as a Psychic Guide to see into the future. https://rosamondpress.com/2019/09/17/miriams-tree-house/

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