Blue – October 30
My eyes scan the huge Victorian homes that line the street as I look for the house I’ll be staying in. The sheer amount of property wealth on this street alone boggles my mind. Betty, my late model sprinter van that’s starting to rust around the wheel wells is glaringly out of place in this neighborhood. A glance in the rear-view mirror has me taking in all my worldly possessions and the small space I call home. It might not be much but the twin mattress is comfy and it allows me to always have a roof over my head.
A gust of wind has a swirl of fallen leaves lifting into a small tornado, dancing across the street in front of me and a shiver races down my back. With the weather changing and the nights getting so cold, I need to start thinking about moving south before winter hits. As much as I love my little van haven home, cold is NOT in my wheelhouse.
Every house on this block is decorated for the upcoming Halloween holiday to the point that a picture of the homes would fit perfectly in an expensive, glossy better homes and gardens magazine. There are no blown-up ghosts or monsters. It’s all perfectly placed white twinkle lights, polished pumpkins, and autumn-colored wreaths on doors. It’s kind of sickening that they’ve taken such a fun holiday and turned it into a home designer’s dream. That’s why when I see something so completely out of place for this little slice of Stepford my foot eases onto the brake to slow down and rubberneck.
There’s a red-faced man in a fancy suit on the driveway of a pretentious-looking house made up of metal, concrete, and glass shaking a threatening finger at another guy. The house doesn’t fit the rest of the neighborhood of restored historical homes. He probably bought one and tore it down to build his modern monstrosity and I wonder how pissed off his neighbors were about that.
The guy he’s yelling at takes a few steps back from him before turning away and walking toward the street. I clock the satisfied smirk on his face as my van slowly creeps past the driveway and hard eyes meet mine. One strong, dark eyebrow lifts like he’s asking, “What are you looking at?”. I can’t resist a challenge so I slowly sweep my gaze over his body, dragging my eyes down and then back up again as if in judgment, and then give a small shrug and a smirk of my own like my answer is, “Nothing I’d be interested in.” before I hit the gas to move on.
Lie, total lie. Unlaced, worn black biker boots, distressed and faded low-slung jeans, and a black long-sleeve t-shirt that stretches over a hard, wide chest go with the too-long dark hair that flops over his forehead. His whole vibe and look should come with a side of red flags and that is exactly what I more often than not end up hooking up with. So, hell to the no. I’m here towork and I don’t need the distraction. This is an important job for me and if it goes well, it could mean a major difference in my life.
My gaze zeros in on the grey Victorian that’s my destination so I slow the van again and hit the signal to turn into the driveway that climbs a short rise to the three-story house that will be my home for the next week. House sitting has got to be one of the easiest jobs out there and it was a stroke of incredible luck to hear about this one. I put the van into Park, turn the key back to shut the engine down and move to the back through the space between the front seats to grab my bag.
I stop to take one last look at myself in the cheap mirror I’ve attached to the metal interior wall. My palms smooth down the beige pleated dress pants and a thin striped blouse with the distinct polo player on the chest with a pale pink sweater draped over my shoulders and then run a hand over the smooth fall of pale blond hair I’m currently styling that is anchored back with a black velvet headband. I practice my smile and then nod at what I’m projecting.
Responsible, preppy, reliable.
Nerves strum through me and I clench my fists to beat them back. Ineedthis job. It’s a chance to get ahead and settle some of the stress I’ve been living with since my mother died. A chance to move on and start planning a better future, so with one last steadying breath, I snag my knock-off Coach bag and a well-worn copy of Wuthering Heights and leave the van.
As I climb the steps to the front door, my fingernails dig into my palm at the sound of sharp, yipping barks. I keep the groan suppressed at the knowledge that the pet I’ll be minding along with the house for the next week is one of those yappy annoyingbreeds. Doesn’t matter. Nothing will stop me from nailing this job.
I press the doorbell and paste on my practiced smile and my cheeks start to ache almost immediately from the unnatural expression. The door finally opens and I’m hit with a thick cloud of cologne so strong that I almost lose that smile and choke but I’m a professional, so I hold it while clenching my back teeth. The man who emerges from the noxious cloud is dressed in ironed dockers and a polo golf shirt. My eyes note the Omega on his wrist and the Gucci loafers on his feet before meeting his gaze. A gaze that’s also taking me in with a hint of a sneer. I get the barest nod of approval from him before he looks past me and frowns.
“Is that your van?” he asks with a hint of disgust.
I roll my eyes and match his disgust with contempt and a bit of outrage as I lie through my teeth.
“Ugg, NO! It’s a loaner. My G-class needs repairs and apparently, they have to order in the part to fix it. All of their decent loaners were out with other clients so they stuck me with that, that…thing this morning! I was going to get a rental instead but I didn’t want to be late and inconvenience you. I don’t have any plans to go anywhere this week while watching your home so hopefully no-one will have to see me drive it until the garage brings me back my car.”
He looks down his nose at the van and then at me before huffing an annoyed breath out.
“You should make them give you a discount and then find a new mechanic.” His lips purse like he’s just sucked on a lemon. “I don’t want that thing in my driveway for people to see. I’ll open the garage and you can park it in there out of sight.”
I duck my head as my cheeks pinken. “Of course. Thank you for your understanding.”
He just grunts at me and steps back into the house, shutting the door in my face.
Once I’ve parked in the three-car garage around the back and given Betty a discrete pat on the dash to apologize for throwing shade her way, I join the man at the connecting door and step into the house. The rich gleam of the hardwood floors takes me down a hall and into an impressively appointed kitchen that would make any chef’s mouth water. Standing next to the marble counter of a ten-foot island is Mrs. Polo Shirt. I plaster a smile on my face as I take in the living version of a Barbie doll, including a lot of plastic parts judging by the swollen plumped pink lips and eye-popping oversized breasts that strain against the candy pink bodycon dress she’s wearing. I have to swallow down a snicker when she gushes at me in a baby-girl voice dripping with sugar.
“Oh! I’m so so so happy you’re here! I’ve been so anxious about leaving my bestie for this trip but you made me feel so comfortable about it on our Zoom call that I know she’ll be in good hands with you.”
The lady bends over to pick up the yapping tan and white dog at her feet and my eyes go wide when the move has those oversized breasts almost escaping for a free show. The dog growls at the woman clutching him and then turns its beady eyes my way and cocks its head sending the pink bow clipped to a tuft of hair bouncing.
“This is Skipper! Don’t be fooled by her grumpiness. She’s just mad we’re not taking her with us. Aren’t you snooky?” She asks the dog in that baby voice of hers. “She’s the most important thing in this house for you to take care of.”
Mr. Polo scoffs. “No, she really isn’t.” He hits me with hard eyes. “Everything in this house is more important. All you have to do is sit here and make sure nothing gets damaged so don’t touch anything. We’ll be back in five days. Try not to fuck it up, and stay out of my office.”
I nod encouraging while mentally giving this dick two middle fingers and then try not to snort a laugh when he turns to his wife.
“Put the damn dog down, Candy. I don’t want to be late for the flight.”
Candy pouts as she passes the squirming dog to me and I almost lose it because her oversized lips just look like she’s doing a duck face. It makes it more comedic in my mind when it occurs to me that the squirming dog looks like it is trying to get away from the alien pouty-faced duck monster.
“All her instructions, like what and when she likes to eat are on the fridge. No treats! We need to keep our girlish figure, don’t we bestie?”
I have to tighten my hold on the vibrating ball of terror as it growls and snaps towards Candy. She titters a baby laugh and then turns on her six-inch platform heels and follows her husband down the hall. I share a look with the dog and bare my teeth at it when it starts to growl at me, shutting the growl down. There’s only going to be one Alpha in this house and it’s not going to be this mutt.
