The Summer Of 1993

It Was Odd

The alarm went off at five, which was eight my time. I got up and got ready. I pulled my hair back into a pony tail, put on my new bra and pantries and the tee shirt that was given to me and a pair of jean shorts. We could wear jean shorts. I was too nervous to eat, and then the van was in front of the house. Jamie and I piled in. It was all older women. We dropped one off, then I was dropped off. I got out my key and walked in and it was beautiful. It was sort of messy, but I could see myself here. Mr. Stench left a note saying, "Susan, there are waters in the fridge and help yourself to any snack you want. Thank you!" I smiled. The writing was my high school crush and he had nothing to do with me.   Mr. Stench knew my name. On the couch was a script. "Do not touch personal items unless you are putting them away. No reading bills and no pocketing anything." I move them to the coffee table and I swept a gorgeous red carpet. All of a sudden the cramps hit again and I didn't want a red stain on the floor, so I went to the bathroom. It was sort of a mess and a pack of Marlboros greeted me on the counter. "The weirdo smokes." I went back to work. He was sort of an easy clean. He just left a lot of stuff laying around, but the pube on the toilet weirded me out. A thin, curly one. He must have had my heritage, Western European.   I scrubbed the bathroom, but in the soap dish was a joint.   "Do not touch anything," I said to myself.   A note was on the door, "I am home today and I need some rest.   You can clean my room Thursday.   Thanks, M.S.". 

   I had no clue who he was and wouldn't for a week or so.  

   His bedroom smelled like a nice cologne.   It wasn't a slob's room because I knew some boys whose bedroom reeked.   It did smell of cigarette smoke and leather.   There was a hint of vanilla.   She made his bed on Thursday, but then she saw her flat ass, some hands on it as he thrust deeper and deeper into her as she moaned.   She wanted a man to curl her toes.  All she had was her fingers and she did that at home a lot.   She could as she had a private room, but it wasn't her house.  

   The afternoon was a producer's wife, a starlet.   She was pretty.   She had orangey red nails and orangey red lipstick.   She reminded me of a Gabor sister.   She was picky.  "I have to have everything dusted daily and no eating," she told me.  Mr. Stench was so much nicer.   "You are a pretty girl with a darling figure, you ever think of modeling?"   She asked me.    "I think someone is going to pick up on you and fall in love with you."   Why did people say that?  At the end of the day she came up to me and said, "You don't do a bad job, little girl.   Here, I am cleaning out my closet and don't need this.  It's Chanel no 23."   I thanked her.  "I like you.  I will keep you."   I didn't know what that meant.  

   At four she was done.   She was sore and starving.   The white van picked her up on an exclusive corner and she rode back home.   She dozed off.   A few of the old ladies thought it was "cute".   We got my house and Elvia, "Sweetheart, wake up."   I got up, went into the house and into my room and fell asleep.    I guess Jamie wanted to ask about my day, but I was out like a light. 

   "Have you met Mr. Stench yet?"
"No, but he has a joint in a soap dish."
"Sounds like him."
"Who is he?  An old hippie?"
"Perhaps."

   She hated the mind games, but one day she would really, truly find out.