by Billie Dale
My mind drifts to worries for my daughter. Since the arrest Aurora’s sullen and ticked off at the world. Can’t say I blame her, I’m not too enthused with the universe either. She blames me for the status of our lives. Most days I believe she hates me, I miss her love, hugs, and smiles. I want to pull her from the funk she’s in, but I need to find my own way out of the hell first.
When the pot sputters it’s last drops, I fill my mug. After a few sips and swallowing the pills Axel gave me, the caffeine puts some life into me and normal function becomes less painful. When the kids opened the door, a few butterflies made their way in and are fluttering around my head, talking quickly amongst themselves. I swat them away, uninterested in what they have to say. Several birds peck at the little windows at the top of the concrete walls, jabbering at me to let them in. Again, I’m not concerned. I’m holding a grudge against them all because I’m certain they all knew Nic’s secrets and none of them told me.
I’ve been able to talk to animals my entire life. Everyone in Farawayville has some sort of ability. Some profit from their gifts and then there are people like me, who have no use for it what so ever. Friends don’t let friends live in the dark and these animals were my only companions, they let me down and I haven’t been able to forgive them for it.
I drag my sluggish body the few steps to the shower, grateful to wash off the nasty blanketing me but depressed, as usual, by the sad state of our bathroom.
I hate living here.
Our other house had a bathroom fit for a Queen. A huge drop-in soaker tub with pulsing jets, chromatherapy lights, and shelves for candles. The standup shower better than yoga with its waterfall head and massaging shower panel. A she-shed made of porcelain and tile.
Now my bathroom is the size of a small closet with a stall shower, sink, and toilet. Avocado green with dingy white walls, poor water pressure and terrible lighting with a curtain for a door.
Our living space is 600 square feet, wide open giving no privacy for any of us. A huge step down from the 8,000 square footage of our former home. Step-monster allows us to use only a small piece of the massive area, keeping the rest for herself. Her part is posh with plush carpet and bright walls, while ours is unfinished. Cold concrete floors, rafters of the floor above are the ceiling and you can see the cinder blocks creating the walls. She had some old furniture left down here, I grabbed a used television and three twin beds from the local pawn shop when I sold my wedding ring. I know I shouldn’t complain, she could’ve slammed the door in my face. I only wish I could do better for my children.
As soon as we settled into our dungeon I began the daunting task of searching for a job. Walking into the employment agency my hope was high until I began filling out the forms and it turned to despair. My life for the last eighteen years has been taking care of my kids and husband. I kept to myself, never made any friends beyond my animals, I was content to stay inside my bubble and let my world revolve around them. Living through their stories and accomplishments, taking joy in their smiles. When the lady began searching for someone who would hire me, her wrinkled brow plummeted my hope. I could wait tables at a local strip club or clean for a group of seven brothers living on the outskirts of town.
I opted for the cleaning position thinking it would be the better choice. I know how to clean whereas the thought of surrounding myself with topless women and horny men, gave me hives. Knowing what I do now, I wish I would have tried to be a waitress instead.
When I arrived the first day, the outside of the house was beautiful. A long lane, hidden within a cluster of trees led to a large three-story cabin with enormous windows from roof to ground glimmering in the sun peeking through the lush forest. A brick walkway lined with fragrant blooming flowers led me to the front door. I gripped the large brass knocker hearing it echo through the other side of the solid oak door. Patting myself on the back for picking this job, thinking it’s going to be easy based on the immaculate landscaping, I wait for someone to answer.
A short, dark-haired, handsome man with tiny round glasses sitting on his nose greets me. His face lit with a warm smile and his hand extended he introduces himself as Dex. After inviting me in, each brother stands shoulder to shoulder awaiting an introduction. Dex explains he’s in his last year of medical school and very rarely home.
Shiloh is first with half-mast eyes, shaggy hair, and a yawn; Dex describes him as the resident bum due to his constant sleeping or being on his way to bed. Oscar is squinty-eyed and pursed lips with arms crossed over his chest; Dex recommends I avoid him. Shawn’s sweet face is marred by a red nose and bleary eyes. I step back when he blows his nose in a hanky; Dex assures me he’s not contagious but allergic to everything.
Next, he introduces bashful Bastien, the cutest of the brothers, with flushed round cheeks and his face angled at the floor. Rocking on his heels, his hands in his pocket, quiet and introverted. Harlow offers a wide toothy smile highlighting dimples in his cheeks. Dex warns he’s the house prankster and always aims to make people laugh. He introduces Dobey last, his face lit with a goofy grin and an earthy, woodsy aroma wafts off of him, his “What’s up,” makes me smile. His movements are sluggish, and he has lidded, hazy eyes. He’s a little slow but seems lovable. Each man has sandy brown hair and sweet brown sugar eyes. None of them are much over five feet and all have similar features. There’s no question they’re related.
With everyone met, he leads me on a tour of the immense home. Never judge a book by its cover. The outside beauty is a mirage lost in three levels of disaster. The floors have a layer of dirt and filth, littered with trash and boxes to the point where a walking path is all that’s available. The kitchen is the worse room, teeming with dirty dishes piled to the ceiling, trash overflowing all over the floor and the air reeks of garbage and rotted food. Each man’s room is full of dirty laundry and junk. He apologizes for the state of the house but explains it’s the reason for needing me.
A craptastic dread bubbles in my stomach thinking of the time and cleaning products it will take to put everything in order, assured with the fact that these men are slobs to give job security. Rushing home, I head straight to the shower to wash away the heavy dirt film resting on my skin from being inside their house. How could they let such a magnificent home be so heinously nasty? A bulldozer or a call to Hoarders seems like the best approach to tackling the mess but then I would be stuck with the job at the strip club.
Now, months later the brother’s house is clean, for the most part. Some days worse than others and Mondays are hell since I don’t work over the weekend. Their disgusting way of life keeps me employed and I’ve come to like all of them, even grouchy Oscar.
On occasion, I get a call from the agency asking if I’d like to make some quick money with one day jobs, thus how I ended up dressed as a princess under assault from a group of angry eight-year old’s.
The fog of my hangover has lifted, and I remember meeting Elsabeth. Recalling her offering some sort of business opportunity. I could kick myself for not being able to recollect specifics.
When I appear from the bathroom, grime-free and a tad more human, I startle at the step-ogre looming in my doorway, squinty-eyed, and puckered mouth, as always. “You have a guest,” she snarls before whipping her head around and stomping back up the stairs, standing where she was, Elsabeth.
“She’s a delightful bitch,” she muses, making her way to me.
Tugging her hand, I pull her away from the door, “Shh, she’ll hear you,” I whisper-yell through gritted teeth glancing up to the top of the stairs, releasing a sigh when she’s not hovering. I don’t need to give her another reason to hate me, even though she is a rabid hateful skank.
Elsa glances around my sparse space, her eyes cataloging the drab walls and crap furniture. She plops down on the threadbare sofa jumping when a spring stabs her ass. “Damn, I thought living with Annabelle and Christopher was bad. This,” waving her hand about, “Is a hell hole. At least I have a bedroom. My one complaint is
instead of a dog, Chris has a reindeer as a pet. A stinky, foul, smartass animal named Ivan who eats all the fucking carrots and leaves huge piles of shit in the yard. I feel bad for being bitchy about it now because I could live here. Son of a bitch, Snow, this is fucking depressing.”
“Yes, thank you for pointing it out. What do you want?”
“Shit, I’m always putting my foot in my mouth around you. I’m sorry, again.”
She’s genuine with her apology though she’s not wrong. Living here is miserable but beggars can’t be choosers.
“So,” she says clapping her hands and rubbing them together. “Did you think about my offer?”
“Uh, yeah, No. I have no idea what you offered.”
“Damn woman, can’t handle her liquor,” she mumbles rolling her eyes, shaking her head. “I want to open a bar but not any ole bar, an ice bar.”
“A what?”
Her eyes fill with light like a kid on Christmas morning, “Our place will look like it’s made from ice and some of it will be but still warm enough the people won’t get frostbite. We’ll have internet dating nights, karaoke contests, ladies’ night with strippers, snowball fights, ice sculpting competitions, live music and a place people want to go party and have fun.”
“Sounds great. Where do I fit in? Surely, you don’t think I have any money?”
“No, no I know your all broke bitch. I want you to be my partner and the live entertainment. Your voice will draw them in and my fun will keep them there.”
“You want me to sing? Better yet, you think people want to hear me sing? Are you high? This whole town knows what my husband did, there’s no way they want anything to do with me.”
The thought of standing in front of a room full of judging eyes with voices whispering my failures has white noise rushing in my ears, the vein in my neck throbbing with the accelerated beat of my heart and sweat droplets forming on my forehead.
“Fuck this town,” she snarls.
I blush from her strong words, “Such vulgar language. Plus, your customers will be from this town.”
“Look, Snow, people suck. You know it, I know it, hell even they know it. Let them hear you roar, show them you’re a survivor, not a victim. I don’t care if they want to talk shit about us. If they keep dishing out their money for drinks, they can flap their gums until their teeth fall out.” An evil smile turns her lips wide. “Think of all the stupid shit people do when they’re drunk. Affairs, hookups, loose lips,” she says as she rubs her hands together, “This is better than I thought.”
My God, she’s an evil genius in the making.
Snapping herself from her thoughts, she continues. “Don’t get all sanctimonious on me. Yes, I love the word fuck. I like to do it, and I enjoy speaking it. Fuck, fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuckery. You should try it sometime. Might loosen up the stick in your ass and make you stop giving a fuck what people think.”
I don’t like how close she is to the truth, so I try to evade her analysis. “Where are we going to get the money for this adventure?”
Cocking one albino brow at me, with a smirk tugging her lips, I fear for my sanity at the craziness in her eyes.
Four
“No, no, no. Did I say no?” I shake my head back and forth, feeling my blood pressure rise.
“Stop being a prude. Every man over the age of forty has wet dreams about Snow White.”
“Again, are you high?” I stare hard into her mischievous eyes, looking for signs of narcotic use. “No man has dreams about Snow White.”
This woman’s out of her ever-loving mind. She’s not an evil genius; she’s batshit crazy. Her plan to make money involves me, another stupid princess costume, only this one will have a lot less material, and a webcam. She thinks men will pay good money to have virtual sex with the queen of virtuosity, Snow freaking White.
Wait, it gets better.
I’d sit on a bed facing the camera, waiting for some sick butthole to enter his credit card information and once their payment clears, the red light clicks on and I make their fantasies come true while they watch and fondle themselves. My identity hidden by a large masquerade mask but masturbating in front of a camera is a huge no-no. Come to think of it, masturbating, alone, in my own room is out of the question. Plus, I’m certain no one in their right mind will want to see it.
“What about you? You could, uh, ya know make a, um, thingy out of ice.” I mumble, too embarrassed to say the words I want to say.
Her lips purse and wrinkles form on her forehead while she glares at me. “Are you trying to say I could make a dildo out of ice?”
My face warms from the rush of blood turning my skin crimson. Unable to meet her eyes, I nod.
Nibbling on the corner of her bottom lip she ponders my suggestion. “You could be on to something. But I’m still thinking you’d be the better sell with your virginal looks though I’d be willing to give it a go.”
“What do you mean, virginal looks?”
Waving a hand at me, “You scream innocence. Hell, you can’t even say the word dildo. You’re sitting here in yoga pants and a ratty sweatshirt, but your hair is soft with bounce. Your skin is pale white and flawless, showing no signs of aging or stress, combined with your big brown doe eyes; men will flock to see you get down and dirty.”
“Pfft.” I huff, “Not. My boobs hang low, I’ve got stretch marks from creating life and bags under my eyes. I’m pretty sure no man fantasizes about this body.”
“Meh, with some strategically placed lighting and a good coating of makeup, your gonna have men spanking their monkeys to your hotness.” Glancing around the room, her mouth tips down. “We’re going to need a different filming place though or the cops will be busting in thinking you’re being held prisoner and forced to perform.”
Jumping up from the couch, she grips the doorknob. “I have all the computer equipment we need, and I think Anna has some lights and fabric backdrops we can use. I’ll kick Ivan out of his pen in the shed and turn it into a Din of Sin. You figure out a name for the site and I’ll set it up. We need to move on this, Snow. We both need the money.” With a wave of her hand and a puff of snow, before I can protest further, she leaves.
I stare at the door, wondering what the hell she’s smoking and how I got myself into this mess. The money would be great and give us a way out of our housing hell plus I could save more money for the kids. The bar is a tantalizing idea and sure to make a huge profit since this town has nothing to offer in the form of entertainment. I just can’t wrap my mind around the way she wants to start our business venture.
Deciding I’m not going to think any more about it today, I slip my tennis shoes on my feet and go to once again clean up after the Seven Slobs.
Five
My foot taps on the floor between pushing deep breaths through my nose, keeping me in place and employed. I’ve been stuck at this kitchen sink for hours scrubbing gunk off the dishes. Gazing out the small window above the basin watching the tree’s sway in the slight breeze, daydreaming about smashing these plates over those men’s heads. Come on, how hard is it to rinse off a dish? Scraping away food, I load what will fit into the dishwasher and hand wash what remains. I’ll never understand how seven men can use every single dish within the few hours I’m gone.
What the hell did they eat?
Rinsing the last bowl and placing it in the drying rack, I think where to head to next. I’ve already started on Mount Laundrious after collecting all the clothes from their rooms, the kitchen’s close to done, and the bathrooms are last because I need a shower after cleaning them. Wiping down the counters, a new voice filters through the everyday sounds of seven men living under one roof. An alluring rumble drawing me from my tasks like the Pied Piper led the mice.
Most days loud music varying from angry rock to sappy country comes from the third floor where Oscar, Dobey, and Shiloh sleep. The second floors filled with comedy movies, medical documentaries and sniffling from Dex, Harlow, and Shawn. I’m clueless as to how Ba
stien can read while all this noise is corrupting the air, but he does. Two or three often lay about in the living room playing video games or watching reality television. But this sound, this new voice is deep and sinful. Humming in my ears like a perfect symphony making the short hairs on my arms stand on end. Curiosity gets the best of me, I need to see the source.
On tiptoes, I slink across the tile cringing from the sole of my shoes sticking to the grungy floor. Guess I’ll be mopping before I go home. Peeking around the edge of the door, Dex leans against the wall talking to a man. No, not a mere man; a hard-bodied Adonis. Dark shoes and loose-fitting jeans encase a taught backside. He speaks jovially, waving his hands about which raises his t-shirt enough to see the low set of his jeans and a sliver of tanned skin. Standing with his feet shoulder-width apart; his jeans held up by the round globes of his behind and wide press of his thighs. Broad shoulder blades flex and move with his motioning hands, showing me the muscle definition along his back.
Dex laughs, gesturing toward the kitchen. They both turn my direction, lost in my drooling, I’m busted before I have a chance to duck away.
“Oh, hey Snowy. Did you need something?”
The man in question turns toward me and I swear Elsa is here and has frozen time. I’m locked in his gaze. Angling his head, his shining green eyes traipse up my body. The heat of his perusal sends sparks along every inch of my skin as his gaze moves from my feet to my face. My breath stolen by his rugged perfection. His voice drew me in and I was entranced by his backside, but the face stops my heart. Ebony hair clipped close on the sides with enough length on top a few pieces hang just above his dark eyebrows. Long, curling eyelashes, black as night, frame his jade eyes making them appear to light within their deep sockets. A short cropped inky beard highlights his high cheekbones and surrounds plump rosy lips hiding the set of his jaw and stopping right above his Adam’s apple.
