A Frickin' Fantastic Friday (The Zelda Dairies Book 3)

by Olivia Gaines

  “She’d thought for one moment, her idiot son had done right by her, but he hadn’t and probably never will in his life. I mean, really? What kind of man doesn’t pick up his own mother at the airport?” she asked with a scowl.

  With his eyes focused on the road, he found himself unwillingly smiling. His boss, friend, and a man whom he also served as a personal companion was correct. Zelda Fitzsimmons could possibly be the perfect woman for him. Scott, too, would have given the old bird a lift, but she had to see the rest of his boss’s world before anything else could or would be considered.

  Everything now depended upon her reaction to what she would see and experience next.

  *****

  It would be considered unprofessional for him to react to anything said or done in his presence, but Chandler’s reaction to Zelda seeing The Berger Estate could have been enough to make him lose his job. As ebony as the tint of his skin, he nearly turned red from trying to hold in if not stifle his laughter.

  It started as they exited I-275 onto Petersburg Road, coming down Buttsville Lane and turning up Berger Way. The first end of the house rose above the blue-green grass with an intimidating rounded corner tower trimmed in bright pink paint and standing tall like a sentry on watch.

  “What the hell?” Zelda said, looking up from her papers.

  The more he drove, the more the rest of the house came into view.

  It was big.

  It was long.

  It was mustard yellow in color and covered in fish scale siding. The Berger Estate extended for nearly a mile and a half, connecting what appeared to be four separate homes all of a similar Kentucky farm house style with some odd additions.

  Zelda’s bottom lip quivered as she asked, “Is that one house?”

  “Yes it is, Madam,” Chandler replied, pressing his lips together. He recalled the first time he’d seen the house as a child as he sat in the back seat, staring in wonderment. The response Zelda was experiencing was very similar, only a great deal more vocal.

  “That house looks like it is a mile long and connected together by Popsicle sticks!” She exclaimed.

  “Close. The estate is a mile and half long and sits on close to 100 acres of land, including stables, barns, and out buildings. You are also correct about those pieces of wood which are indeed Popsicle sticks, Madam,” Chandler said.

  “What in the entire mustard yellow hell?” she asked him, rolling down the window.

  Chandler held his composure.

  The car drove on as more of the crazy house came into view. Zelda scooted over in the seat, her head hanging out of the window out like a dog catching the wind in his jaws. Several times she wiped at her eyes, trying to force her brain into compliance at what she was seeing. Blinking didn’t help.

  “Wait...a...minute... It looks like three of four different houses that were all strung together and connected...with Popsicle sticks then the rest was snapped together with Victorian trim and embellishments. Oh my goodness! I swear, this house is the epitome of a Frank Lloyd Wright wannabe on an acid trip,” she said.

  Chandler found himself holding his breath, trying to cover his mouth. In between holding back the laughter, he responded to her statement.

  “You are partially correct, madam. The property initially was several standalone homes which the elder Berger purchased and connected. It is my understanding that he ran into financial difficulty in the early 1900’s and his business partner, unfortunately, had lavishly spent money on novelty sticks for a cost-efficient marionette sort of children’s toy for the less fortunate. Hence, the Popsicle sticks,” Chandler said.

  Zelda’s head turned slowly, looking at him as if he’s said something so offensive she was bordering on slapping him until his head spun backwards.

  “Who in the hell uses Popsicle sticks to build a house? Was he one of the three little pigs?” she asked.

  Chandler coughed a bit as if he were attempting to clear his throat. “No madam, there were two rail cars full of them, so they are in fact wood. Therefore, Carlton Berger saw no reason for them to go to waste. Mr. Berger’s grandfather, Ellison Berger, treated the sticks in some form of epoxy which has aided in the endurance of the wood,” he said stoically.

  The car stopped in front of the door shaped in the form of two lion heads facing each other with their bodies morphing into round columns covered in more fish scales. When she stepped out of the car, she looked down at the gravel walkway which was not gravel, but marbled. Millions of small marbled eyeballs all looking up at her.

  “Yeeessh! Can you say creepy?” she asked Chandler, holding on to his arm as if they were about to enter a haunted house.

  The laughter was almost suffocating him as he tried to provide support to her as she walked along the marbles, which rolled left and right as if trying to catch a glimpse of her as she passed by. He would not break his composure, no matter what the outcome after the front door was opened.

  He opened the front door, allowing Zelda to enter first.

  “Are those walls covered in blue velvet?” she asked, stepping through the door. The dark walls, covered in the thick soft material, made her blink furiously.

  “Yes, Madam,” he responded, trying to hold it together.

  “Is this blue shag carpet on the floor?”

  “Yes,” he tried to say, but his words were halted by Zelda shrieking, climbing up his back, and trying desperately to avoid the table which sat in the foyer.

  “What the fuck is that?” she asked, looking at the huge ventriloquist doll head sitting underneath the large table as a base. A smooth round piece of glass covered the head and arms, which poked out of doll’s ears that held up the top of the table. “What fucking weirdo thought that would be a good idea?”

  Chandler stomach cramped. I have to get her settled and get to the bathroom or I am going to lose my bladder control and my job.

  “Madam, would you please get off my back,” Chandler said through a strained voice.

  “No! I’m scared,” she said softly in his ear.

  “I can’t carry you and the luggage, too, Madam,” he said, trying to sound composed.

  “Leave the damned luggage,” she said.

  It took three tries, but Chandler managed to extricate Zelda from his back. With some coercion, he finally got her to go up the stairs after she saw the living room. The blue foyer was just the entryway. The red living room was what Ellison Berger believed to be the conversation piece of the house. Chandler wanted to see her reaction to the green kitchen and orange dining room, those would come later. This of course was after she stood frozen in place in the red living room, staring at all the carved dolls faces poking out through wooden columns, corners, and crevices.

  “It’s like they are all trying to escape some kind of ventriloquist doll birth in Hell,” she said. “I need a drink.”

  “Of course, Madam,” he said. She turned, coming face to face with a life-sized Danny sitting in the corner in a hot pink velvet chair, a book in his lap and a pipe in his hand.

  “I just peed myself,” she whispered, holding Chandler’s hand and squeezing it.

  Chandler almost dropped her suitcase.

  Zelda grabbed the handle, moving past Chandler quickly. “Get me out of this room. It’s freaking me out,” she said, climbing the stairs by two’s, lugging, half dragging the carryon bag.

  She reached the top of the landing, enjoying the bright light streaming in from the afternoon sun. A nice change of pace was a sight for her sore eyes after the red living room. The long hallway, lit by windows on both sides, had a pattern break with one door.

  “Oh cool, a widow’s walk patio kind of thing,” she said, turning the knob to step out, but was grabbed firmly by Chandler.

  “No, Madam. You have to check every door before you step through it,” he told her.

  “Why?” she asked, turning to look out the door and seeing nothing but air and the ground beneath her which too was covered in marbled glass eye balls. “What is wron
g with these motherfuc....”

  Her words were halted as she leaned out the door, noticing the sign beneath it which read “door to nowhere.”

  “I can’t,” she said. “I don’t even understand this on the basest level, let alone this nonsense.”

  Zelda looked left.

  She looked right.

  It was when she looked up that Chandler came close to losing all of his decorum.

  In the window, to the right of the door but the left of the Queen Anne tower, was an image of a ventriloquist doll with large breasts etched in the glass. Zelda’s lip was upturned when she stepped back, closed the door, and looked at Chandler. Zelda’s palms were up, her eyes wide as she shook her head in disbelief.

  “How high, really, how high must you be to come up with this tomfoolery and nonsense?” she asked him.

  Chandler knew he wasn’t going to make it and had to get her settled before he lost it. Try as he might to tell her to follow him, he could not find any words. Finally, he gestured with his finger, pointing in the direction they needed to go. She still was not moving so he began to walk towards Scott’s master suite with a huge smile on his face.

  “I’m glad you find this so amusing. I am going to need an anxiety tab just to sleep in this house,” she said, entering Scott’s quarters.

  To her utter amazement, Scott’s bedroom was soft. The colors were calming and the furniture was normal. Everything was normal in this one room.

  “Are there any doors to nowhere in here?” she asked Chandler.

  “No, Madam,” he said, setting the luggage down. “If you would like, I can draw you a bath.”

  “As long as the tub is not the open mouth of a doll’s head,” she said.

  “It is not, Madam. Mr. Berger will arrive home after six. However, I shall prepare you a light meal and a place in which to relax until his arrival. Your closet is here, your dressing vanity is here,” he said pointing as he made his way to the bathroom.

  “Something to eat would be great,” she said.

  “Very well, Madam, I shall return shortly,” he said, sniffling.

  “Oh Chandler,” she called after him.

  “Yes, madam?”

  “I don’t want to see the rest of the house. EVER,” she said.

  The smile he gave her said it all. The laughter he’d been holding stayed with him as he made his way down the stairs as Zelda went to check the tub. Her breath caught at the sheer size of it as well as the two water closets labeled His on one door and Zelda on the other. She peered inside and it had pink toilet tissue, girlie products, and water scenters for when she dropped the kids off at the pool.

  “He thought of everything but a warning to me about this crazy ass house,” she mumbled. Leaning over into the massive tub, her fingers trailing through the scented waters, she undressed quickly and climbed in. Exhaling, she let go of three weeks of missing him. She thought her name on the bathroom door was a bit presumptuous considering the house was too weird to walk around in let alone raise a family. If this is where their life was to be, she would definitely have to consider redecorating.

  Wait. He grew up here.

  His sisters grew up here as well.

  No wonder he is not completely normal!

  “Normal is relative,” her mother always told her.

  When he came home, her carefully formed intentions were for Scott to find her scantily clad in the middle of his bed, waiting in earnest for his arrival as if it were something which happened in his normal everyday life.

  “My Scott,” she said, leaning back against the tub allowing the warm waters of the oversized tub to surround her tired body.

  Chapter 4

  Scott twisted in the backseat, anxious and eager to see his Zelda. All day he sat at the office daydreaming, craving the feel of her body next to him as he sat reminiscing about the taste of her mouth against his. Several times his assistant Carolyn came into the office to check on him but he had to dismiss her for fear she would see a side of him pressing up against his desk that wanted to kept him company until 5:15 PM.

  Chandler had very little to say on the ride home and Scott had very few questions for his longtime companion about the comfort of his houseguest. In his head, he corrected the word houseguest because hopefully within the next year Zelda Fitzsimmons would become something more. The something more he had in mind was wife.

  I want Zelda to be my wife.

  Unable to contain himself any longer, he dialed her number, waiting impatiently for her to answer. Zelda, seated in the center of the large bed with her legs folded Indian style, was surrounded by bits and pieces of paper for the article which was due last Wednesday. Truthfully, she had lost track of time. The loudly buzzing phone pulled her back to reality.

  “Hello, this is Zelda,” she said into the line.

  “And this is your big hairy man,” Scott responded.

  “Hi there big guy, you on your way home to me?” she asked playfully.

  “If I could get out of the back seat or this vehicle and run faster, I would have been there ten minutes ago,” he said with a chuckle. “Are you comfortable?”

  “Very,” she responded. “So comfortable, in fact, I am sitting in the middle of your bed in a see through tee shirt, an equally transparent white lacy thong, and a load on my brain that I want to share with you.”

  “I will be there shortly and you can tell me all about it,” he said, straining to keep his voice in an even tone so that Chandler didn’t see him acting like a hormone driven teenager.

  “Scott, I love the tub. I love the vanity and even the closet space,” she said to him.

  The car turned down Berger Way, the large pink cupola coming into view, signaling he would soon be inside of the house, taking the stairs by two followed by loads of kissing, soft caresses and loving his Zelda.

  “Glad to hear it,” he told her.

  “I was wondering, while I wait, I could really use some music to keep me company until you get here,” she told him.

  “Look on the night stand to your left. There are two remotes. Pick up the largest one and push the green button in the middle.”

  Zelda spotted the two remotes on the night stand. One said Samsung, which she figured belonged to the television that she didn’t see anywhere in the room. The second she assumed was for some form of musical system which was piped into the sleeping space. She pressed the green button and a panel on the wall opened to reveal the television as well as an entire entertainment system.

  “Wow, that is cool,” she said in the phone.

  “If you like that, you are really going to like what happens next,” he told her. She could almost hear his smile through the phone. “Press the yellow button and hold it, now the white button three times rapidly.”

  The car pulled into the driveway and Scott nearly jumped out before the vehicle had come to a complete stop. The briefcase which rarely left his side sat abandoned on the back seat when he left the vehicle, the back door still open.

  Zelda pressed the white button three times as she had been told, opening a surround sound system which rivaled the acoustics at the Metropolitan Opera House. Instead of opera, the smooth deep voice of Barry White filled the room followed by El Debarge as The Secret Garden began to play.

  “Oh, okay,” Zelda said in the phone.

  Scott fumbled at the back door with his keys, becoming frustrated at his inability to coordinate the keys, hold the phone, and visualize his woman ready for him in the middle of his bed. He looked back at Chandler, almost growling. Amused, Chandler reached for the handle of the door, turning it, showing his boss that it was already open.

  “Sir, you are forgetting something,” he spoke softly to Scott, handing him the package.

  “Yes,” he spoke in the phone and to Chandler at the same time, accepting the bundle and moving quickly through the quirky kitchen, taking the stairs with swift speed.

  “I like the surround sound of this music, Scott. This is all very romantic. My body fee
ls all tingly, and I dunno... my secret garden. This is funny because I have a black thumb when it comes to plants, flowers, or anything that grows,” she spoke softly into the phone. Instinct made her begin to pull together her papers and put them in a stack on the night stand.

  “What if each time I thought of your garden, I brought you flowers,” he said to her.

  “Hmmm, that would be nice,” she said, thinking of the first batch he’d sent to her office. “You would need your own garden at that rate or you’d go broke.”

  “It would so be worth it just to see the surprise each time at the size of the bouquets,” he said from the doorway.

  Zelda looked up to see him standing in the doorway, his face half hidden by the massive bouquet of flowers whose heady scent filled up the room. Scott hung up the phone, dropping it in the nearest chair as he made his way to the bed. Slow deliberate steps were taken as he walked to the bedside, his gray suit clinging to the muscles as if it were tailormade for her eyes only for this moment.

  “Wow, that’s an entrance,” she said to him.

  “And you are sight for weary eyes after a long day of work.”

  “Did you have a good day at the office, Honey?” she asked, coming to her knees, moving in the bed to get closer to him.

  The flowers she removed from his hand first. Next, she reached for the tie, pulling him closer, her lips inches away from his, exhaling her breath into his open mouth. “Did you pick up anything else on your way home, my Love?” she asked him.

  Scott reached into his pants pocket to retrieve a pair of nipple clamps and something else she recognized although she didn’t want to admit to knowing what it was.

  “It is for an ass-gasm,” he said laughing. “I don’t know how the hell to use it, but I figured the ring goes around my...you know...and it vibrates....”

  His cheeks were red as he blushed at the thought. She noticed because his skin was clear and nearly smooth. The pock marks and acne were virtually gone. Her big strong man also sported a fresh hair cut that was high and tight. The brown eyes stared down at her. “Zee, coming home to find you here...in my bed, waiting for me,” he tried to say but the desire to kiss her took over.