MALIBU STACY
By
T.A. Blocker
Malibu Stacy
Copyright 2011 by T.A. Blocker
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
To the Reader:
The events depicted in the following novel occurred during the time between December 2004 and July 2005.
Chapter One
Stacy couldn’t sleep. It was already 3:20 a.m. and she had been awake since 12:40 a.m. All she could think about was the upcoming rent payment, the brakes on the car and how she could make some fast money. But her brain just whirred round and round with no new ideas as to how to attract wealth.
As a last resort, she decided to masturbate in the hope that it would force her to relax long enough to get some sleep. Her left hand slid down her taut lower belly and her forefinger jiggled her sleeping clitoris until it achieved the slightest erection. She methodically rubbed herself slowly at first and then slightly faster and harder, still with her left hand. Being right handed, using her left hand for arousal was the closest she could come to her fantasy of sex with a stranger.
As her clitoris grew larger and more sensitive, she stopped to lick her fingers lest they get too dry for her steaming vulva. “Now,” she thought, “who can I concentrate on for my orgasm?” Her favorite fantasy man had been an actual one night stand that she managed to enhance during every time she had masturbated since then. That was over ten years ago! Anyway, the night they met, each was with another date going to a party in Malibu.
After two six packs of Heineken and some Jose Cuervo, her date started to dance with her girlfriend, so Stacy positioned herself closer to her girlfriend’s date. He was an Australian surfer with long straight blond hair that went past his broad tanned shoulders. His body was hairless except for the treasure trail of pubic hair that led to his enormous cock. Stacy loved surfer bodies—so sleek, almost like dolphins, and always warm to the touch from soaking up the sun’s rays.
She never knew his name but she always called him “Cliff” because of what happened. The two continued to dance but started to move out of the house into the garden which was perched on a hill and dimly lit. As soon as the darkness enveloped them, they attacked each other like crazed ferrets in heat and hurried to the darkest confines of the yard. The garden was terraced down a steep cliff and offered a gorgeous view both at night and during the day. However, Stacy and Cliff were quite unable to appreciate the view as they were anxiously searching for a flat place to make love.
Stacy leapt over a small box hedge lifting up her peasant dress and stripping off her panties. “Hurry!” she ordered and Cliff obediently complied. He hurdled the low hedge and came up behind her. Stacy dropped to all fours and arched her back in anticipation of penetration. Her pussy dripped with love honey and Cliff couldn’t tear off his jeans and shirt fast enough. He buried his face in her ass cheeks and stretched out his tongue licking her from her clit to her anus and thrusting it inside her fiery vagina.
Suddenly, Stacy gasped as she felt his thumb and two forefingers enter her eager hole and slide in and out with large smacking sounds. Her ecstasy was further accelerated when he placed his now turgid cock just at the entry of her vagina. The knob burned her swollen membranes and she ached for him to plunge his glorious member deep inside her as she trembled on her hands and knees.
Finally, he entered her fern grotto and drove his dick as far as it would go, resulting in a series of high-pitched screams and giggles from Stacy. “Ohhhhhhh, baaaaaaaby,” she groaned excitedly as he slowly withdrew the enormous shaft and plunged back again with a stroke that propelled him even deeper into her womb. “Ohhhhhhh, Gaaaaaawd, baaaaaby,” Stacy sighed, positioning her wet pussy even higher to let him slide in deeper still.
Inside, the party started to break up a little bit and they could hear the sounds of car doors opening and closing and engines starting. But nothing could distract them from their mission of mutual pleasure and consummation. Cliff knew how to please a woman and he made his body react in sync with hers. The joy of spontaneity combined with unbridled lust flooded the two with intense passion. They could hear nothing but each other’s moans and sighs and could see nothing but each other’s inflamed genitals.
Stacy was about to enjoy her third or fourth orgasm when a harsh voice shattered the moment….It was her girlfriend, Kim, yelling for her to “hurry up ‘cause we’re leaving.”
What startled her the most was that she was staring at Kim’s feet with Cliff still mounted and thrusting when she realized what was happening! Thankfully it was so dark Kim was quite unable to make out anything in the abyss and nearly slipped off the cliff herself in her drunken state.
“Oh, no…we have to go! Quick, where’s my panties?” Stacy demanded as suddenly as she realized how close she was to Kim.
“Stacy?” Kim inquired of the dark when she heard the frantic whispers. “Where are you?”
Stacy panicked and tried in vain to find her panties, finally giving up when she found her thongs. Cliff was also in a frenzy trying to find his jeans and get them back on over his gigantic erection which was aching to ejaculate. Stacy didn’t answer her girlfriend, fearing that she might realize what was happening and get mad at her. Instead, she crawled as far as she could on the narrow tier until she was a good distance away from Cliff and Kim. When she found it safe, Stacy called out, “Kim—let’s go!”
Kim spun around and followed the direction of her voice allowing Cliff enough time to find his tee shirt and thongs. Since they had all arrived in the same car, they all had to leave together so Stacy waited by the car while Kim looked for her date, Cliff. Stacy’s date, on the other hand was already passed out in the back seat with his zipper down. Stacy wondered if he and Kim had done the same thing, but soon found out from Kim that his zipper was down because he pissed in the back yard before collapsing in the back seat and passing out.
Stacy felt relieved that Kim had no idea what she and Cliff had been up to since Kim was her best friend and had been since childhood. Nothing had ever come between them, even shared boyfriends in high school. They considered themselves cut from the same cloth—they both surfed, smoked, drank and loved to party.
As Stacy recalled her favorite sexual encounter, it still thrilled her enough to guarantee an orgasm and she shook with its pleasure. Finally, she could sleep and not think about anything for a few hours…her remedy for insomnia since she was nine years old.
#
At 7:15 a.m., Stacy awoke to the sun shining through her kitchen window. She lived in a studio so the kitchen window was the main source of lighting for the entire 550 square foot loft she rented in Venice. Originally, it had been an attic but the landlord remodeled it during the hippie years into an eclectic, cozy little abode now very much in demand. It overlooked Main Street which was fast becoming the Rodeo Drive of Ocean Park and the beach cities.
The rent was steep simply because it could be. Its location demanded top dollar for the size and condition so Stacy felt lucky to have found it at all. She spent all of her savings coming up with first, last and security, but managed to make the monthly payment for the past six months by doing haircuts, cleaning houses, gardening and serving at parties. Her clientele was small but loyal and the best source of advertising but not enough to pay the monthly rent and utilities.
Today, the rent was already five days overdue and Stacy had no scheduled jobs. She had a ten day grace period before she was charged an extra $50 delinquency fee, so she had to scramble her thoughts for breakfast to come up with a new idea. After pouring a cup of coffee, Stacy sat down and looked at her client list. First the haircut clientele: there were ten regulars and four who came less than twice a year. The regulars were just that—every four to six weeks depending on the season. Hair grows faster in the summer and spring, like a plant, because people usually spend more time in the water during those seasons. The more time one spends in water, the faster one’s hair will grow as well as nails and skin cells. That’s why burn victims need to be immersed several times a day to promote the growth of new cells.
Stacy knew a lot about cosmetology because she was a science major in college. After failing calculus, she changed her major to English Literature which was her second love. Since none of her haircut clients was really due for another haircut and it was not spring or summer but winter, Stacy decided to email all of them that she was running a holiday special and charging $15 instead of the usual $25. Some money would be better than no money…
She sat down at the computer and dashed it off:
STACY’S SPECIAL XMAS GIFT!!!
To all of my favorite clients:
All haircuts scheduled for the month of December
Cost only $15.00!!!
Although she worded it her “favorite clients” they were also her only clients but she wanted all of them to feel exclusively chosen. “Now,” she thought, “who needs their house cleaned for the holidays?” She turned the page of her spiral notebook and looked at the list of seven customers for whom she had begun cleaning last year. That advertising was entirely propagated by satisfied customers because they had begun as friends and really wanted Stacy to succeed as an entrepreneur.
Three of them were haircut clients and housecleaning clients, so she had to be careful about the wording of her next holiday money-maker. She decided to write a quick jingle and run it not only via email to her clients but also in the Malibu Surfside News, which one of her Malibu clients suggested. After much thought and mental exhaustion, she decided on the following:
As holidays approach the scene,
No time to shop, much less to clean?
Malibu Stacy can solve your dilemma
She’ll clean your house with no problema!
She drove up Pacific Coast Highway to personally run the ad in the Malibu Surfside News in time for the coming weekend which is when she was most in demand. Although it would cost her to run the ad, she felt it was a necessary investment for her future and managed to scrape up the $22 between what she found in her purse, the car and her savings account.
While driving back home down the highway, she decided to stop in at the nanny placement agency where her friend, Charlotte, worked. She spotted the red Cherokee Jeep parked outside so she knew Charlotte was working. Stacy found her interviewing a prospective au pair for a celebrity couple in the Malibu Colony. The candidate was a buxom Swede who appeared quite star struck when she discovered who her employer would be. Charlotte hastily concluded the interview with a scheduled appointment for the eager girl after receiving her unconcealed gratitude.
“Oh it’s Malibu Stacy!” Charlotte exclaimed. “Why didn’t you call first? We could go to lunch or something.” Charlotte had given her that nickname ever since she saw it on an episode of the Simpsons. It was obviously a parody of Malibu Barbie but the moniker suited Stacy.
“Hi, Charlotte,” Stacy smiled as she embraced and kissed her friend on the cheek. “I didn’t know I was coming until I saw your red Cherokee out front.”
“What brings you to Malibu, then?” asked Charlotte.
“MONEY! I just ran an ad for housekeeping in the Surfside News. I’m broke and the rent is due in five days.” Stacy knew Charlotte would sympathize with her and come up with any number of new ideas as to how to make money fast. After all, Charlotte spent her working time finding domestic workers for wealthy Malibuites. She would know all the ins and outs of what they were looking for as well as how many were in supply. She knew from past conversations that most of them wanted English-speaking domestics only because they could not speak Spanish, Swedish, Finnish, French, and most of the other languages of the world besides English! That gave her an edge at least.
“Wait a minute….A guy came in yesterday that needed a girl Friday to do his shopping, cleaning, bookkeeping and billing and we have nobody to fit that position. Wanna meet him? I’ll give you his number off the books and you tell him that we referred you so we still get the agency fee.” Charlotte needed the agency fee but what she was planning could have nasty repercussions.
“I thought you have to show what person filled the request on the books,” I countered.
“Oh we do, but we could call his money a good faith investment that he made to help us find somebody ASAP,” Charlotte rationalized.
“Okay, it’s your neck, not mine…What’s the number?” Stacy happily consented. Charlotte scribbled it down and surreptitiously placed it into Stacy’s palm.
“Good luck, honey, I know he’ll just love you!” Charlotte walked over to the wall of files and gathered several new ones. “Gotta get back to my interviews!” She smiled and waved and Stacy left with the number. As soon as she returned to her car, she dialed it on her cell phone. After five rings a man’s voice came on and announced,
“Hi, I’m not here so leave a message if you want me to call you.”
Stacy hated recordings but needed the job more than she felt the annoyance so she replied to the message. “Hi, my name is Stacy and Charlotte referred me to you from the placement agency. My number is 310-6-------. Thanks. Bye.” She put her phone back into her purse and pulled out of the parking lot. “Gotta get home and check my emails,” she thought as she drove down P.C.H. So far, the day had been promising, she only wished it would continue.
When she got to her home in Venice, Stacy checked the mailbox before climbing the stairs to her loft. No checks, but no bills either—not that she expected to find either one at this time of the month. She sat down at the computer and clicked on her email which informed her that there were no new messages. With a sigh, she got up and kicked off her worn tennis shoes as she caught sight of herself in the full length mirror behind the bathroom door. Her red hair was quite messy from leaving the car window down on the way home from Malibu. Other than that, she approved of her appearance.
Stacy was an excellent seamstress and made most of her clothes by choice rather than necessity. She was wearing her favorite drawstring pants made of clingy baby terry cloth in a taupe color that she wore everywhere. On top, she sported a somewhat revealing V neck sweater that was made more modest by the muffler she had around her neck. Her shoulder-length wavy red hair was probably her best feature, or so she thought. Men loved to find out if her carpet matched her drapes and she always enjoyed their elated reactions to discover that hers did!
Stacy was not too tall or too short—5 foot, 5 inches and a healthy 118 pounds. She preferred to stay at 115 but her extreme muscle tone usually made that impossible. She grew up at the beach surfing, swimming and running which was reflected by her tan and toned body. Her redhead complexion always made her burn but she had spent so much time at the beach that most of her freckles had morphed together except for the ones on her face and back.
Her mother had long advised her to protect herself from the effects of too much sun, but she often found it hard to keep on sunscreen while surfing and swimming which was where she usually received the worst of it. Most people she met would comment how she appeared to be the typical California girl with a natural glow of health.
She turned on the television but there were no old movies that she hadn’t already seen on to distract her from her plight. She reduced the volume to a sleepable tone and closed her eyes as she stretched out on her bed. “I shouldn’t be tired,” she thought “but I think it’s mental exhaustion more than anything else.” She began to relax and drift off into forty winks when her cell phone suddenly vibrated on her night table. She forgot to turn it back to audible ring, she realized, and did so before answering.
“Hello, this is Stacy,” she replied.
“Hello….Hello? Can you hear me?” a male voice questioned her.
“Yes, this is Stacy,” she repeated.
“Oh, hi Stacy. My name is Frank and you called me about a job, I think,” he answered.
“Oh! Yes! My friend Charlotte from the agency told me to call you—I believe you spoke to her about domestic help yesterday?” Stacy tried to prevent her eagerness from revealing itself in her voice.
“Yes, I did. Boy, that’s fast work!” He sounded pleasant and seemed to have a good sense of humor which delighted Stacy.
“Perhaps that is because it was meant to be!” Stacy never missed an opportunity to let people know that she firmly believed in predestination, reincarnation and extra-terrestrials.
“Well, Stacy, let’s hope it is…When can we meet and have an interview?” he inquired.
“I’m free right now, I don’t know about you…” Stacy replied.
“Perfect! I have exactly one hour before my next appointment. How soon can you be here?” he answered.
“Well, if I leave right now, I can be there in Malibu in half an hour—where are you located?” Stacy responded.
“You don’t have to come all the way to Malibu,” he replied “I live in Sunset Mesa, do you know where that is?”
“Of course I do! I grew up in Malibu so I’ll be there in less than half an hour!” she happily replied. “Just give me the street address and I’ll Google map it.”
Frank cheerfully complied and gave her his address. “Can’t wait to meet you, Girl Friday.”
“Me too,” said Stacy as she ran a brush through her messy hair and grabbed the car keys.
Chapter Two
Stacy knew the coast between Malibu and Santa Monica like the back of her hand. Sunset Mesa was located at the very beginning of Malibu just past the intersection of Sunset Boulevard and Pacific Coast Highway, going north. Its main distinction was that it was the former location of the J. Paul Getty Museum before they relocated it to Skirball Center. What remained was now called the J. Paul Getty Villa and still attracted visitors in hordes as before.
She flew up the coast in her ’75 Mustang convertible which she had been driving for over 15 years and fixing for just about as long. Now the brakes were slipping and she had to remember to pump them in anticipation of every red light. These are more important than the rent right now since I need the car to work…. She mentally debated whether to accept the late charge for rent so that she could get the brakes fixed which only cost $240.00.
Stacy turned onto Coastline Drive and entered Sunset Mesa following the simple directions she Googled leading her right to Frank’s driveway. She chose to park on the street since she expected the car to drip oil and did not want to mar his unstained concrete. With a last glance in the rearview mirror, Stacy fluffed her hair, checked her teeth and headed for the front door.
Frank appeared after two knocks wearing red cowboy boots and short red swimming trunks topped off with a too-tight tee shirt. He was older than she expected and had silver gray hair that was perfectly coiffed and a pencil line moustache that reminded her of John Waters, the director. “Oh great,” Stacy thought, “he’s gay!” She loved working with gay men and had quite a history with them. When she went to school for cosmetology and in college, most of her male friends were gay even if THEY were not always aware of it!
“Stacy!” Frank announced in a warm, melodious tone. He seemed genuinely pleased at her appearance and stepped back with a sweep of his arm to invite her in. “I’m so glad you could come on such short notice! Would you like a Coke or iced tea or anything?”
“No, thank you, I’m fine” Stacy answered while noticing the unusual interior of Frank’s house. It had no corners, everything was round on the inside even though the outside of the house looked exactly the same as the others in the environs. “Do all the rooms have these rounded corners?” she asked curiously.
“Oh, those—not my idea originally but I have become quite fond of them since I’ve lived here the past five years. My partner designed them when we first bought the house because he wanted to flow from one room to the other with no edges anywhere. Do you like it?” Frank seemed to honestly seek her opinion and Stacy didn’t disappoint him.
“I think they’re beautiful—so smooth and graceful, like an elegant gown,” Stacy answered.
“A gown! A gown! You’re right! After all this time I could never decide what they reminded me of and you nailed it on the dot! A gown—the perfect description of my house—I love living in my gown!”
Stacy had to laugh when she saw how happy it made Frank to be able to say that as a double entendre. “But why is the outside cornered? Didn’t your partner want to complete the theme?” she asked.
“Well, when you remodel your home without a permit, you have to be careful that no one finds out, especially your neighbors, who can be the worst rats, so we only remodeled the inside. Eventually we had plans to apply for a permit to finish it properly, but my dear partner died of AIDS six months ago and I haven’t a clue how to hang a picture, let alone apply for a permit, so that’s that.” Frank ended on a lower tone as he thought about his partner; he seemed a little forlorn.
“Oh, I see,” started Stacy anxious to change the subject to something that might make him smile again. “How long did he suffer from it?” she inquired despite wanting to talk about something else.
“Oh, twenty years, at least! The whole time we were together he had it. Fortunately, I was never as promiscuous as he in my early years out of the closet so we never made love without protection. Call me lucky, I guess, although I don’t feel so lucky now that he’s gone—I always wanted him to outlive me since there was fifteen years between us and I lead such a decadent lifestyle!” Frank had eyes that twinkled when he spoke about his lover and Stacy wished he had lived long enough for her to have met him.
Frank continued, “It was only in the last year that his health began to decline and he seemed to get one infection after another. Finally, he got pneumonia for the umpteenth time and his frail body succumbed. It really was almost a relief that he passed when you weigh the condition of his body to the quality of his life. He was on oxygen 24-7 and enough antibiotics to gag a horse. He had to leave for both of our sakes—I couldn’t stand seeing him suffer like that.” Again, Frank’s voice trailed off sadly as he seemed to remember his lover’s last days on earth.
“Do you believe in reincarnation?” Stacy interjected.
“Oh yes, we both did and I know I will find him again in this lifetime. A psychic told us that once. She said that we were soul mates and whoever went first would not rest until he found the other in his new embodiment. And I believe her; I have to or I couldn’t go on I miss him so damned much. I am awaiting our next encounter and I need someone to pull me back together so I can get my mail order business going again and my filthy house back in order.” So that was Frank in a nutshell! Stacy knew she was perfect for this job and felt she already had it bagged by Frank’s intimate conversation. If she failed to get it, she might have liked to become his friend, since she truly liked him and wanted him to feel better.
She had only one more question….”Frank, what was your partner’s name?” Stacy wanted to know just in case she did already know him.
“Paolo….Paolo Rice….Born October 12, 1973, Died April 3, 2010. That’s all it says on his headstone—not a word about me even though he spent more than half his life with me. I promised his mother I would not tarnish his gravestone (which I paid for) with any mention of me or how much I loved him in this life.” Frank’s expression was filled with pain and Stacy knew how hard it must be to confine one’s love to a dark secret no matter how wonderful and joyous the lovers felt. That pained Stacy and she looked at him with so much compassion in her light blue eyes that Frank looked at her and declared, “You got the job, Stacy!”
His announcement surprised Stacy because she was so intrigued with Frank and Paolo and their passion which could never be fully experienced even in death. How sad to have paid for his gravestone and not be mentioned on it she reflected before responding to his decision with, “I did? Really? Thank you, Frank! Thank you so much and I promise you that you will never regret making that decision—it was definitely meant to be for both of us!”
Frank looked at his watch and said, “I have to fly, Stacy, but I won’t be long…maybe 2 or 3 hours. Could you stay and start cleaning up the place? As far as I’m concerned, your job already started at 8:00 a.m. this morning since you gave me your day by coming at my request. You’ll be paid from that time on and overtime whenever warranted—I just know you are the right one for me and for this job.”
Stacy wanted to kiss him but she refrained and gave him a hearty handshake instead. He gripped her hand gratefully and blew her an air kiss before jumping into his 1973 Jensen Healey (a gift from Paolo) and navigating his way out of the garage. Although she hadn’t brought any cleaning gear, she knew she could start by clearing out the plethora of clutter she found in every room. Now that she knew Paolo’s name, she would be careful not to toss anything with his name on it. She felt that was a courtesy which she would have liked if she were Frank so she knew it was right.
The first mess that captivated her eyes was directly in front of the couch. The coffee table was so loaded up with leftover T.V. dinners, beer bottles, important papers and cigarette butts that Stacy knew this was where she would start. She checked the kitchen for a portable trash can but found none. The only thing Frank had plenty of were brown, recyclable trash bags so Stacy gathered as many as she could carry and dug in.
Housecleaning was therapy to Stacy, not drudgery. As she organized and sanitized, she felt the pride of accomplishment in fulfilling a task. Stacy needed to have instant gratification in order to be happy. All of her life, she chose, sometimes impulsively, the path that leads to immediate pleasure—she hated waiting for anything. Stacy tended to overindulge, therefore, in whatever she did including smoking, drinking, overeating and best of all, sex. She had always been multi-orgasmic and sometimes insatiable in desire, especially when she had insomnia.
Many years before, she and one of her girlfriends, Renata, had decided to move to Park City, Utah during the summer months and establish themselves for the winter when the town really rocks. They went off season, in August and drove Renata’s 1971 Triumph to get there. The town was totally abandoned. Half of the stores and restaurants were shut tight with signs they would reopen in October unless snow fell earlier than that. They were floored! Neither one had enough money to stay at a hotel where the rates stayed high even off season. They went to the local Laundromat, one of the few businesses still open, and scanned the bulletin wall for housing, jobs and help.
They found one landlord who was willing to rent by the week, but demanded two weeks in advance. They managed to find the necessary $250.00 to buy them a filthy, furnished part of a dilapidated boarding house which was empty except for them. They had a mere two weeks to find jobs, buy food and gas for the car. Neither girl was game to sleep IN the smelly beds they found. Instead, they took some blankets from the car they had used on the way up and their own pillows and retreated to their separate bedrooms to sleep on top of the rank beds.
After a couple of sleepless hours, Renata yelled to Stacy, “Are you sleeping?” to which Stacy replied,
“No, there is too much on my mind to worry about—I’m getting ready to masturbate in desperation!” Stacy answered.
“Do you think it will help?” Renata inquired.
“It’s my foolproof cure for insomnia but it only lets you relax enough to fall asleep. Sometimes I have to do it more than once a night.” Stacy replied.
“I never thought of doing that,” Renata answered, “but it’s worth a try. Let’s do it together and call out after every orgasm and see who does it the fastest.”
“Okay, and I’ve already started so go ahead.” Stacy said.
After several minutes, Stacy shouted “One! I had one! Not that intense, but I had one!”
Five minutes later, Stacy yelled “Two—that’s number two! Hahahahahaha! How many for you?” She could hear Renata sighing in the other room and assumed she must have had at least one or was certainly in the process of having one. “Renata? Renata?” she called out.
“Shut up, Stacy! You’re ruining the moment!” Renata groaned.
“Just pretend I’m a man screaming your name and making you come everywhere!” Stacy countered.
“Ohhhhh….Ohhhhh….One…..One…..I finally had one!” Renata sighed and sounded weary from the whole ordeal.
“Three! Number Three!” Stacy proclaimed in victory and kept on going for the rest of the night until her arm was too tired to lift. Renata never heard the final number of orgasms because she fell fast asleep. Stacy told her the next morning that she wanked seven times and came in each one of them, but Renata was always skeptical.
#
Stacy opened one of the brown grocery bags and began to fill it with the rotting food left on the T.V. dinner trays. She was careful to separate the recyclables from the general trash, intending to take them home. Every little bit helped! She waded through piles of old newspapers, old magazines and junk mail meticulously sorting the valuables from the dross. As she sorted Frank’s papers she stopped to read the obituary Frank ran in one of the papers of which he had obtained 12 copies. Stacy threw out all but three which she tossed into a bag marked “Paolo”. Frank never mentioned Paolo’s homosexuality in deference to his mother in the obituary but said at the end that he was survived by a half-brother, Frank, along with his mother and two nephews. At the time, that was enough to placate him but now Frank yearned to etch a final comment of his love for Paolo on his gravestone. Perhaps it would have to wait until Frank died and it was etched on Frank’s. When he purchased the gravestone for Paolo, he also purchased the one alongside him. They were soul mates, after all.
Once the coffee table was cleaned, Stacy turned to the rest of the furniture and floor in the living room picking up all the clutter and trash that she could find. She labeled two of the grocery bags with Paolo’s name and three others with “Frank” written on them. She ventured out of the living room into the guest bathroom which was in frightful condition. It appeared that no one had used it in a long time and the black mildew associated with neglect grew everywhere it could: the sink, the toilet and all of the dark corners. “Ugh” Stacy uttered while moving on to the nearby master bedroom which appeared even more hideous.
The house had been neglected for almost a year, long before Paolo actually died. Both men were too preoccupied with treatments and alternative medicine to even notice the absolute horror of the room’s condition. The bed was so overloaded with clothes, boxes, suitcases, Christmas decorations and various other things that no one could possibly sleep in it. Stacy assumed that Frank must be sleeping in the second bedroom or else on the living room couch, although that, too, was buried in crap until she cleaned it up. She set out to inspect the second bedroom which lay at the end of a short hall where Frank’s personal photos of him and Paolo covered the walls as well as other people, some who must have been celebrities since they looked so familiar to Stacy. “Needs dusting,” she thought as she entered the second bedroom which appeared to be a shrine.
The window light was obliterated by a dark tapestry that hung over it. On one wall stood a tiered stand that was draped in gold lame and featured an 8 x 10 glossy photo of Paolo amidst candles, flowers, shells and some silver dollars. A prayer rug lay in front of the shrine which was dusty with burnt incense and dead petals. The rest of the room was comprised of more piles of clothes, boxes, filled black garbage bags and recyclables. One wall was dedicated only to old newspapers and would have filled the back of a pickup. “Wow,” Stacy said aloud “what a mess.” She found another grocery bag and started to collect all the plastic bottles she could find, then the aluminum cans, then the beer bottles, etc. She wanted to accomplish as much cleaning as she could before Frank got back so he could see what a fast, efficient worker she was. All of her previous bosses knew that. It didn’t take long before she decided she could make more money and be a lot happier if she worked for herself.
As a seamstress, she had financed her college career by making bikinis and caftans which she sold to a Malibu boutique. She also made custom button-down shirts for her father’s work friends. Stacy loved to sew since to her, it was instant gratification. After a few seams, you had a whole new garment and in only a matter of hours. She also liked to alter the store patterns to compliment her figure. Most of her shirts were form-fitting and all of her jeans were taken in until they were skin tight. Her mother’s friends brought her all of their mending as well.
Stacy wondered what kind of mail order business Frank ran and hoped she would find an invoice or two while she cleaned up. Eventually, she uncovered several unpaid invoices from the year before which she assumed were never collected. They were for custom monogrammed silk dress shirts, “for the man who has everything” and cost $175 each! He called the company “Yours Truly” since they were personally customized. “Wow,” she thought, “what a profit!” Monogramming had become so easy since the sewing machines had built-in computers and even though silk shirts were more expensive than others, ….$175?
She continued to wander from room to room trying to decide where to start. As she entered the master bathroom, she first noticed the green marble tile which covered the floor and the halls as well as several drains on the floor; one next to the toilet and bidet and another in the shower and another next to the vanity which was also covered in the tile. “A bit overbearing,” she thought as she began to collect the clutter of laundry which looked liked islands in a sea of green. When she got to the bidet, she noticed it not only had a pressure control but a temperature control as well. She turned the dial to 99 degrees and played with the pressure until it was about halfway. Then she dropped her pants and panties and positioned herself over the warm jet.
“Ohhhhhh….” She sighed rocking herself gently back and forth while arching her back to make her clitoris more accessible. It became hard and sensitive and as she rocked she periodically allowed the jet of warm water to enter her vagina and rotated her hips while she increased the pressure. “Ahhhhhhhh, this is so great,” she mouthed as her first orgasm encompassed her with delight. She thought of one of her first boyfriends who was so afraid of getting her pregnant that he insisted they only engage in oral sex—for three years! She perfected her blow jobs while he perfected cunnilingus so they both prevailed in the end.
For her second orgasm, Stacy wanted to fantasize about anal sex so she repositioned her hips and pussy in such a way that the magical water jet first tickled her perineum and then slipped a hot jet straight up her rectum. She gasped at the temperature but immediately thrust her right hand on her clitoris which was aching to be touched. With her left hand she took the heel of her palm and pressed as hard as she could just above her pubic bone. Her legs trembled as she was again transported to ecstasy. “Oh, God I have to have this bidet!” she declared out loud. Just then, the front door slammed and she heard the jingle of keys.
“Stacy?” It was Frank! He was already home! She looked at the clock in the bedroom and realized he had been gone two and a half hours but she was so engrossed in the bathroom, she lost all sense of time!
“Yeah, I’ll be right out, Frank.” She called pulling on her panties and pants as fast as she could. She gathered the pile of laundry off the floor and swung open the door just as Frank entered the master bedroom.
“Oh I see you found the laundry!” Frank smiled, “I must apologize for neglecting it all these weeks but I am so glad to see you diving right into your work…..I have to leave for the evening so that will be all for today but if you like, I can pay you for your work today or if you’d rather, we’ll just wait till tomorrow or whenever you prefer.”
“Oh, thanks, Frank,” Stacy purred. “I need money but not for a couple of days and the larger the check, the better for me so I don’t squander it.”
“Alright, dear. I’ll get a key made for you tomorrow and then you can come as early or late as you like.” Frank was so congenial. Stacy felt grateful for Charlotte, Frank, the new job… and especially the bidet!
“Okay, Frank and thank you so much for hiring me—I know we can work together really well and I’m so glad to have met you,” Stacy fawned.
“You, too, Sweetheart….Toodles!” And Frank was off.
Chapter Three
Stacy couldn’t wait to get home and phone Charlotte. There was no traffic going south on Pacific Coast Highway so she flew home. Opening the door, she pressed the “Play” button on her message machine as she kicked off her shoes and grabbed the phone. It was only 4:45 p.m. so she was sure that Charlotte hadn’t left to go home yet. Her only message was a telemarketer offering her a new mortgage so she deleted it and called Charlotte’s work number.
“Malibu Domestics, may I help you?” Charlotte answered in a cheerful tone.
“Charlotte? Guess what? I got the Girl Friday job and the guy is gay!” bubbled Stacy.
“He is? I thought he was just a dapper gent from the old South or something…Well, that’s great, Stacy! He hired you on the spot?” Charlotte asked, relishing the details.
“Yes, I even worked today for a few hours and he offered me an advance whenever I need it! I can’t believe how lucky I am to have you for a friend and to have seen you on the day when I most needed you! The Universe must be smiling on me today!” Stacy was so effervescent, she was becoming contagious and Charlotte felt uplifted as well.
“Oh, Stacy, you deserve it and I’m so glad I could help both of you plus I get the commission for placement! I’ll just tell Elaine that I referred him to another agency, which she condones, and that he paid the mandatory fee for any referral--$500.00.” said Charlotte.
“Oh good, Charlotte—gotta run right now and get my own house in order before I go back to Frank’s. There’s a lot of work to do but I am so grateful to have a real job with a boss who’s gay on top of everything else—it’s icing on the cake! I could not be happier!” replied Stacy.
“Okay, Kid…Keep up the good work and stop in more often, eh? Loved seeing you and so glad I could help you out. Ciao!” and Charlotte hung up.
Stacy turned on the television and went to the fridge to get herself the last Dos Equis. At least now she could go to the market again! She decided to make a list of groceries as well as an agenda for the next four days so that her rent was on time and she was not charged the late fee. “I’ll ask Frank for a check tomorrow after I finish cleaning and I’ll give him ten hours at $15 instead of my usual $20.” She knew he had no trouble affording whatever she charged because she found some bank papers while cleaning that indicated Paolo had opened a living trust for him before he died and transferred most of his savings and investments into it. It made her feel even more secure.
That night, after she brushed her teeth and slipped into bed, she thought one last time of how great the day had been and thanked the powers that be for all of her good fortune and new opportunities. Although no one had called about housekeeping yet, she knew that the paper went out right before the weekend and the calls should start on Friday or Saturday. She had no trouble dropping off to a good night’s sleep and mental vacation from all of her previous worries.
#
Stacy got up early the next morning to pack up all her cleaning supplies. She remembered to include getting the brakes fixed on her new agenda and put it as top priority. She would have to ask Frank for an advance but she felt no compunction about it at all. She could quickly work it off and start saving money. Frank said that once the house was in order and only required general maintenance, he would only expect her to work 25 to 30 hours a week instead of the 40 that he desired now. At first she was disappointed because she needed a full schedule but she realized that if anyone else called for a cleaning, she would have trouble squeezing it all in. Most of her houses took anywhere from 5 to 8 hours for a first time cleaning. After that, she could spread it out and pay attention to such details as the walls and woodwork, windows, ovens and fridges, shutters, etc. Things that required more time were addressed on separate cleanings thereby insuring her job security. Her clients loved her attention to details.
It was almost 8:00 a.m. and she wanted to get there before 8:30 so she gathered up her rags, vacuum, bucket and cleaning gear. She put on her oldest pair of tennis shoes and tied them quickly. On P.C.H., she was traveling against the traffic so she got to Sunset Mesa in less than 20 minutes. She parked her car and unloaded the trunk. She could carry everything if she put the bucket and rags in one hand and the vacuum in the other with the extension wand under her arm. She had a small Eureka canister vacuum that she took everywhere and used on everything.
She knocked at the door and waited anxiously for Frank to open it. She could hear him stomping in from the bedroom or wherever he slept as he approached the front door. She called out, “Frank, it’s just me, Stacy…I wanted to get an early start.”
“Hang on, darling, I’m looking for my robe but I’ll be there in a sec.” He answered.
In less than a minute, he appeared at the door draped in a thick-piled, luxurious terry cloth robe with his initials, FH on the breast pocket. “Good morning, sunshine,” he greeted her and stepped back with a flourish of his right arm and small bow inviting her in. She smiled and stepped inside with her equipment.
“Is there anywhere you’d like me to start?” she asked. The house looked messier than the day before as though he added more clutter since he knew it was finally about to be picked up.
“Oh, Stacy, you’re going to think I’m sooooooo anal, but I do have a request for you to start on…..My closet. I bought all of these multi-colored hangars and never even opened them after Paolo died. We were going to color-coordinate the entire closet by putting the different colored shirts on the matching hangars. Is that too anal?” Stacy smiled warmly at his candidness.
“Of course not! It’s actually a good way to organize your closet because after you wash and iron the shirts, you know which hangar they came off from.” She rationalized.
“Speaking of ironing the shirts, DON’T! That’s is my only therapy and joy in this world. It helps me structure my existence and I haven’t had the chance to do it in months. It is the one chore I adore.” He walked over to several shirts still in plastic from the cleaners. “See? I’ve been letting strangers do my favorite pastime because I’m living in such chaos….See how much there is to do? You might even get overtime the first week!”
“Oh I hope so! I need the money!” Stacy replied enthusiastically. Stacy liked to clean room by room instead of task by task. She found it easier to finish one or two wings of a house and not have to reenter them except to put away laundry. It saved her time from walking from room to room vacuuming everything and dusting everything instead of completely cleaning each room in its entirety.
She carried the cleaning supplies into the master bedroom and looked for a clear place to put it all down. So many piles of laundry and trash occupied the majority of the carpet space that she used her foot to slide the piles over. As always, she first picked up all the laundry off the floor and began to sort it by whites and colors. It appeared that Frank was simply buying new sheets whenever the old ones began to smell bad which he would wad up together and fling into a corner of the room that had become almost waist-high. She opened the amply deep linen closet only to see it was completely empty. “This shall be the first thing I do,” she thought since the laundry cycles take forever to complete. In all she counted 16 sets of expensive 400 thread count sheets from Egyptian cotton. She was able to fit three sets at a time per washload.
Her next laundry collection was comprised of all of Frank’s silk monogrammed shirts—hundreds of them or so it seemed! She wondered what the “H” stood for and then remembered seeing it on the bank papers…Harper. Frank Harper. A nice name for a nice man with a million shirts to wash! She also found some of Paolo’s shirts with their “PR” monograms and realized how long it really had been since Frank’s life went downhill. She knew the housecleaning would help him both physically and mentally and he would stop feeling so overwhelmed and sad. She’d seen it happen so many times since she had started cleaning as a business. A clean house gives people a clean slate and they often go out and change their lives with their newfound happiness.
One of her past clients had lost his only son to a car accident at age ten. His whole life had revolved around his son because his wife had divorced him and given him custody. “Mark” was coach to any team his son joined and leader of the Boy Scouts troop when his son joined that. His son had been dead for almost three years when Stacy was asked to clean his house. It was by his ex-wife who still loved him very much and stayed close to him despite the fact that she had remarried and had other children. When Stacy first went to meet him, he was very cold and stand-offish. He lived in an apartment with a dark brown bedspread that covered the large picture window in the living room rendering it gloomy and dim with his sadness. As Stacy walked through it with him, he itemized what he would like her to do with each room and where to put the laundry. They went down a small hall with a single closed door. “What about this room?” inquired Stacy.
“Don’t go in there or do anything with that room!” Mark snapped. He immediately became defensive and stern. As if realizing his comment needed an explanation, he went on. “That was my son’s room…I don’t go in there anymore and I’ve just been using it for storage but underneath all the junk is how he left his room the day he died. Eventually, I know I’ll have to go in there and clean it but not now. I’m sorry for biting your head off.” He looked down and seemed on the verge of tears.
“Okay, don’t worry….I understand completely and if it gives you any peace, I promise not to even open the door. I’m so sorry about your son, “ said Stacy looking at his picture on the wall. “He looks like a wonderful boy with a killer smile.” Stacy stopped when she said “killer” and glanced at him wishing she had used another word.
“Yeah,” he answered, “it was a killer smile. He could light up a whole room with that smile and his laughter surprised her. I think that’s what I miss the most, hearing him giggle…” Frank trailed off and looked away as though he did not want to reveal anymore personal information to Stacy.
So Stacy began to clean his apartment and get to know him little by little, room by room. As she opened up the apartment by disposing of the layers of clutter she found, he began to open up more and more to her. At one point, he allowed her to dust and polish a wall of trophies and ribbons that his dead son had earned. Once it was clean, she suggested he remove the dark bedspread that obliterated any sunlight from entering. To her amazement, he agreed and she happily washed the huge picture window to let all the light shine on the shrine to his son.
When Mark finally allowed her to clean his son’s abandoned room, his life had begun to change. His ex-wife suggested he meet her at a ballet recital for one of her daughters just to get him out of the house. He did and not only met her daughters for the first time, but also met a single mother whom he enjoyed talking to all evening.
After Stacy pulled out all of the junk from the room and he saw it as his son left it the day he died, he had resolved most of his grief and was ready to move on. He made the single mother his girlfriend and became a father to her twelve year old daughter, moved out of the apartment altogether and except for a few personal items, donated all of his son’s clothes, furniture and other belongings to the Clare Foundation in Santa Monica. Stacy often compared cleaning to peeling off the layers of an onion especially when houses go years without being cleaned. She considered herself almost a therapist for the service she provided. It was therapy for her as well. It made her feel useful and Zen-like whenever she worked at manual labor.
#
Stacy happily unpackaged the plastic hangars Frank had bought and lined them up in the closet in anticipation of the matching shirts. “Frank, do you do your ironing in the closet?” Stacy asked. “Or do you want the hangars in another room until they have shirts on them? Are there any that are ready to hang now?”
“Just a couple, one blue and one gray.” He answered, carrying them in to the closet. “Oh you’ve already color-coordinated the hangars for me! Aren’t you a white tornado!” He was visibly pleased at her achievement and added, “Then I must get to my ironing!”
He left the closet and went to the room where Paolo’s shrine lay. Opening that closet, he disappeared and returned with an armload of shirts and jeans. “These are clean, but they might not fit me anymore, it’s been so long since I’ve worn them!”
Stacy preferred to work alone since it was much less distracting and she could meditate while she worked. She was glad Frank had found so much to do and since he called it his therapy they could both enjoy their mutual space without annoying each other. “There are some brand new sheets in the very top of the linen closet, dear. I was saving them for the next time I get lucky but it’s already been six months, so I’m not gonna hold my breath!” Frank yelled out.
Stacy used a stool to reach the sheets and unpackaged them. She deftly positioned them on the California King making sure to make crisp hospital corners and folding down the top border to 5 inches over the duvet. She had already removed the cover and placed it in the washer. She completed the task by covering the pillows with the slips and plumping them against the headboard. She straightened the comforter and peeked under the bed to see if any dust bunnies were hiding socks or undies or something else before she prepared to vacuum.
Her next attack lay in the bathroom where she unloaded her bucket and cleaners. Stacy only used rubbing alcohol to clean most things. It was cheap and efficient. The only other supplies she ever used were scouring powder, ammonia and soap scum remover. Living in California, she had to deal with the hard water and lime spots inherent in all the plumbing fixtures. Knowing what to use on each kind of dirt she came into contact with was what entitled her to charge as much as she did. She saved so much time by using the correct cleaners and not being afraid to dive right in that people gladly paid the $20/hour she demanded.