by Ashlee Price
When it was all done, she paid us for the job and assured me that while she had been afraid she was making a mistake at the beginning, she was very glad that she had followed through by hiring me and would be sure to recommend me to others. That alone made it a successful project from my point of view.
Indeed, the word of mouth was bringing in clients faster than any of the advertising I’d expected to place. I think Riker had a little to do with this, and I was floating on cloud nine.
Sadly, this seemed to infuriate Melanie. I realized she was one of those people who love it when others are miserable. As they say, misery loves company. That described her to a T. I tried to stay optimistic; after all, the holidays were just around the corner and it wouldn’t be long before my business was strong enough that I could afford to hire someone who was better qualified. At the same time, I thought Melanie had probably earned enough money by that point that she could return to design school. Either way, she’d be out of my hair and I wouldn’t have to listen to her nasty, condescending comments.
Melanie had left early for the day, tasked with stopping by the office furniture warehouse to pick out a wood desk for one of my clients. She was an artist and wanted something very unconventional. I’d offered to convert a wood desk into a shabby chic creation with hand-painted embellishments and ball feet added beneath the legs. The client was thrilled with the idea, and I was looking forward to working on the project. That was what I wasn’t going to give Melanie. I’d learned that keeping her occupied with errand running and furniture conversion was far safer than letting her loose among my customers.
That afternoon, Riker unexpectedly came to the door, a bottle of wine in one hand and a box of pizza in the other.
“Hi there, I’m glad you’re here. Looks like you’re ready for some sort of celebration?”
“You read me well, my sweet.” He came into the kitchen, removing his boots so as not to track mud from the wet sand that was my front yard.
“So, what are we celebrating?”
“Why don’t you grab us a couple of goblets and I’ll tell you?” Riker said as he strode into the room and sat down on the sofa.
I did as he asked and brought a couple of plates and napkins as well. He opened the wine and poured two glasses as I separated the pizza slices and put one on each of our plates. “You’re acting kind of excited.”
“Sure am. Today,” he lifted his glass to clink against mine, “the inspector passed my work on the house and I’m ready for my decorator. If she’s available, as I hope you are, I might be able to start taking in more boys right after the first of the year. Isn’t that great?”
I hadn’t realized until that moment how very important his mission was to him. I wondered why. “You know, Riker, you never fully explained what prompted you to take on troubled boys. I’d really like to hear about it.”
He leaned back on the sofa, putting his arm around me so that I was leaning against his chest. It made it a little harder to eat, but food was not nearly as important as having his touch.
“There’s a lot about me you don’t know, Lacy. Don’t panic on me, there’s nothing really bad, it’s just that I probably grew up a little rougher than you did. The neighborhood was very working class, and there were lots of opportunities to be in trouble. Over the years, the jobs began to disappear and the gangs took their place. Several of my friends were killed in drive-bys, and I saw the senselessness of it. I was lucky enough to get to go to college and get my psychology degree, and I felt like I owed something back, you know? If I can help a few of these boys make it to adulthood and go on to become solid citizens, is that really so bad?”
“No, not at all. I guess I thought there was more personal campaign involved.”
“Not really. It’s just that simple. That, and they wouldn’t take me into the priesthood,” he joked, and I laughed. We sat quietly side-by-side, munching our pizza and contemplating our own inner thoughts. It felt good to have someone with whom I could do that. Companionship didn’t always require talking or touching; sometimes it just meant being there.
We finished our pizza and I flipped on the television. I purposefully chose a show that I knew he would find boring. Sure enough, it wasn’t long before his fingers were unbuttoning my blouse—and not long after that that his mouth was sucking my nipples. We both became pretty heated at that point, and I undid his belt and lowered his zipper, taking his penis into my mouth for dessert. He laid his head back on the sofa, closed his eyes and reveled in the sensations. I’d already begun to discover the sensitive points, and I knew where to kiss slightly, suck hard, or rub lightly. There was a certain power that came with that kind of knowledge, and I wasn’t going to let it go to waste. My mouth was around him when he finally came, but before I could swallow he quickly lifted my chin and tongue-kissed me, tasting his own semen. If I’d read that in a book somewhere, it would’ve really turned me off, but somehow, between the two of us, it was like exchanging blood vows. It seemed that everything we did together brought us closer.
I knew this heightened state of bliss couldn’t last forever; I just didn’t realize how soon it was going to end.
Chapter 12 - Riker
It was a week before Christmas, and the small town looked like the Las Vegas strip with all the lights. I could tell that even Jonas was excited. He’d never had a lot of Christmas kinds of things around while he was growing up, and I was happy that he could experience it at least once. He was becoming more mature, and it wouldn’t be long before it was time for him to move on and begin his life alone. My job was almost done. He’d been a little rough to deal with at first, but as the rhythm of life in Chesterton set in, our relationship had grown less confrontational. I think in some ways he dreaded the day when he would be set free. It was part of my job to make sure he was prepared for that, so he wouldn’t fall back into old ways.
I made a half-assed attempt at decorating the house. It seemed to be what you did when you owned a Victorian. Jonas complained a little, but he soon got into the spirit and it wasn’t long before I heard him on the roof, stapling in strings of lights. They had a Christmas parade downtown, and there was a competition for house decorations. We didn’t take first place, but we did take third and I made sure that Jonas got the little light bulb trophy. He seemed to get a real kick out of it.
Lacy and I were spending quite a bit of time together. I took her to dinner a few times at a little Italian restaurant that we had begun to consider “our place,” and she cooked for me from time to time in her little cottage kitchen. Life had settled down into a predictable pace, and although we were both quite busy, we looked forward to the dates we shared. Now that my house was properly furnished, thanks to Lacy’s hard work, she spent the night with me on two separate occasions. We seemed to feed off one another’s energy, and a casual, calm, hugging experience was not something we could do. No matter how tired we were, sex always seemed to be a competition to fuck one another’s brains out. I wasn’t complaining, but neither was I sure she was ready for what lay behind the padlocked door.
We had also discovered the world of sexting. We were like a couple of teenagers, taking provocative pictures of our private parts and sending them to one another at two in the morning while lying naked in our beds. We agreed to co-masturbate, and while you might think that would take the edge off our normal sexual play, the opposite was true. As the winter sun set early, I always found myself growing hard in anticipation of being with her.
One evening we went to “our” restaurant and came home to my place instead of the cottage. We spent the night making love in our usual energetic style and ended up getting less than an hour’s sleep. We probably wouldn’t have gotten that if I hadn’t needed to get up and make Jonas breakfast.
We drove him to school and then headed for the cottage to drop her off. Her hair was disheveled and she was still wearing the clothes from the night before, which looked oddly out of place at that time of the morning. We opened the door to the cottage to
find Melanie and Mrs. Pettibone waiting inside.
Mrs. Pettibone looked like a buxom Christmas tree, dressed in green and wearing large, ruby red earrings beneath her pillbox hat. Her coat was red, with a fur collar, and she was clutching a box wrapped in gold foil with a golden white bow draped over its top.
Melanie was wearing her normal miniskirt and red sweater, but the smirk on her face outshone anything she could’ve worn on her body.
“Lacy,” Mrs. Pettibone greeted her in a high-toned voice, “I thought I would surprise you and stop by with this little token of holiday cheer.” Despite her words, she held the package against herself as though now unwilling to give it up.
“Mrs. Pettibone…” Lacy stumbled through the verbal space, obviously thrown by the unexpected appearance of Her Majesty. “I wish I’d known you were coming, I would have prepared something. Won’t you step into the living room?” Lacy swept her arm in the direction, hoping Mrs. Pettibone would be gracious in the midst of the discomfort and stay for coffee.
Mrs. Pettibone was not in that kind of mood. She looked me over coldly, from the top of my tousled hair to my three-day beard, leather jacket and leather boots. I actually saw her nose turn up in disgust. “I apologize for barging in unexpectedly. Obviously, you have other things to do. I’ll be leaving now.”
“No, Mrs. Pettibone, please, don’t go. As a matter of fact, I was planning to visit you this very afternoon, after I called for permission, of course.” Lacy was doing her best to be properly submissive, but in doing so she had called attention to Mrs. Pettibone’s own faux pas. Things were going from bad to worse. I decided it was time for me to leave.
“Mrs. Pettibone, it was a pleasure to meet you,” I said, despite the fact that we had never actually been introduced. “Lacy, I’ll talk with you this evening, and Melanie, I hope you have a pleasant day.” With that, I took my leave before the fireworks began. I’d heard quite a bit about Mrs. Pettibone, and I was sure that Melanie was looking forward to the show. I knew with certainty that Lacy was in trouble as soon as the old witch saw the tattoos on my neck—and I also knew that staying to back her up would only make things worse. I would be there to pick up the pieces later in the day.
Chapter 13 - Lacy
I felt like I was looking into the mouth of Hell and it was painted bright red and wearing a silly hat. The mouth was turned down at its edges. “Lacy, may I speak to you?”
“Of course. Come into the living room and let’s sit down. Melanie, would you make us some coffee, please?”
Melanie had a put-out look on her face, but she complied, working quietly so she could overhear us from her post in the kitchen.
“I thought I made it very clear that my reputation is resting on how you comport yourself in this business.”
“Yes, ma’am, we’ve discussed that. Is there a problem?” I thought I’d try to bluff it out, even though I knew exactly what she was talking about.
“I believe you know to whom I refer. Keeping company with—much less being out all night with—a man who is covered with illustrations, wears a leather jacket and doubtless has an extensive record of if not actual criminality then at least depravity, simply isn’t done. Please tell me this isn’t the carpenter you hired for Mrs. Roberts’s home?”
“Yes, ma’am, I’m afraid he is. Did Mrs. Roberts have any complaints?”
“Not that I’m aware of, but that’s not the point. I expect you to employ clean-cut, successful looking contractors who reflect your overall good taste.”
I nodded and sat back, barely holding my temper. “To be fair, Mrs. Pettibone, Riker isn’t just a carpenter; he’s a craftsman. His skill is unrivaled, and I felt very fortunate to have him work on my projects. He also holds a degree from the University of Chicago and is a community activist who works to rehabilitate troubled youths.”
Mrs. Pettibone shook her head. “He’s not one of us, Lacy, and I don’t want him affiliated with you or your company. End that association, or I will end ours,” she pronounced and rose to leave. Melanie gave her a beaming smile as she approached the door.
“For what it’s worth, Mrs. Pettibone, I’ve been trying to tell her the same thing.” Melanie just had to get her shot in before the opportunity passed.
I huffed and fumed all afternoon. I sent Melanie on a long set of unnecessary errands because I was afraid I’d throttle her. I sat down at the computer and went through my list of customers, check-marking those who had come via Mrs. Pettibone’s patronage. I was truly pissed when I saw it was the vast majority. How had I let myself get cornered like that?
Once I was done for the day, I showered and then left for Riker’s, picking up some fried chicken on my way. Jonas opened the door when I knocked. Riker would have eyed me; Jonas eyed the chicken. “Plenty there for you, too,” I told him, and he promptly pulled out three pieces, nodded and headed outside.
“You know what they say about the way to a man’s heart…” Riker was standing in the kitchen doorway, his work belt around his waist, and he wasn’t wearing a shirt. I’d never had the daylight opportunity to really study his torso, but there he was in all his glory, and he was magnificent.
“Is it alright I came by?” I was feeling angry and tentative at the same time. I knew this conversation wasn’t going to be a pleasant one.
“Sure, why wouldn’t it be? I can probably guess what’s wrong.”
“I bet you can. Let’s sit somewhere and eat and let me talk to you.”
He nodded and gestured me to the living room, where there was at least a sofa and a couple of over-turned crates serving as a temporary coffee table. Riker had told me that he wanted the cheapest, sparsest furnishings, saying that teenage boys were notorious for fighting and tearing things up. The house was definitely not a candidate for Better Homes and Gardens, but it was serviceable.
“Okay, sweetheart. Sit down here and tell me what the old battleax had to say.”
“You knew?”
“Of course I knew. Do you think this is the first time someone’s judged me by my appearance? Did it occur to you that I don’t exactly look like her ideal grandson? If I had to bet, I’d say that she told you to drop me.”
I nodded, tears streaming down my face. “It’s just that everything I have… Well, Riker, I’ve been such a fool. I was so anxious to get my business started that I let her tell me what to do. She controls better than 90% of my clients, and I’m afraid that I’m done for if she withdraws her support. I’d have to sell the cottage and start all over again somewhere else, because my reputation here would be ruined. And the worst thing might be that Melanie would win. You do know she’s going to interior design school with the intention of coming back here to be my competition, don’t you?”
“My God, don’t get so riled up. Mrs. Pettibone is not nearly as influential as you might think. To begin with, her friends are all her own age. Even if she’s given you a few leads, most of those people have lived in their houses for seventy years and have no intention of investing money in interior design. Your true customers are people your own age who are living in a starter home and want it to look special without breaking their budget. Sure, you might have to work a little harder, but your eggs won’t be all in one basket. In fact, you might even find out there’s a lot less stress involved when the stakes are lower.”
“You know, you’re absolutely right. I don’t know why I didn’t look at it that way before. I was so convinced that Mrs. Pettibone held the magic key to success.”
“She’s convinced of the same thing, but that doesn’t make it so. Okay, I realize she serves a purpose while you’re getting started, so here’s what I suggest. Stop recommending me to your clients. That’ll keep Pettibone happy. I’ll work on your house and you work on my house, just like we’ve been doing. I can get clients on my own, and I suggest you do the same thing. Don’t focus on her referrals; go after your own. You know how to do it. You got more confidence now, and you certainly have a stellar list of references to back you up. Tar
get those housewives. I’m telling you, that’s where your niche is. And as for you and I, nothing changes. That will keep Pettibone happy and out of your hair, and who knows? We might actually get a little more work done.”
I dropped my chicken and threw my arms around him. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For being you and for understanding and not making this difficult for me. I was afraid you would get pissed off and I’d never hear from you again.”
“You have such little faith in me? Come on, Lacy, there’s more to us than that, and you know it. Do I look like someone who’d let his life be run by Old Lady Pettibone?”
I shook my head. “No, you certainly don’t. And as I’m sitting here, I’m wondering why I am.”
“That’s been your choice, but it doesn’t have to be your choice from now on. Remember that. You can always change your mind. In fact, I recommend it. Give her a little bit of her own medicine. If you start building a clientele that doesn’t involve her, she loses power. If she’s not calling the shots it’ll make her crazy, and maybe she’ll learn a little something about humility.”
“You’re a genius, you know that?”
“Sure, I know that. It just occurred to you?”
I playfully slapped him across the face. “You also have an altogether too high opinion of yourself, has anyone told you that?”
“Not twice.”
“So, what does this do to your calendar?”
“Just offhand, I’d say I can get this house done sooner, and when that’s finished, I know a certain young lady who needs her second floor redone. So I would tell her to get busy and pick out wallpaper samples and curtain fabric and whatever it is she has planned.”
“What she has planned is far more than a little fabric and wallpaper. She’s looking at built-in shelving, task lighting, refinished floors, and maybe even a dormer.”
