Exiting the diner, I saw Her leaning against Her car, watching me as I crossed the parking lot. I kept my head bowed as She stepped aside to let me open Her door. "Good boy. Get in," She said, closing the door.
As She edged out of the lot and onto the street, She activated the car's GPS system and spoke aloud my home address. Noting my surprise, She turned to me and smiled. "As I told you, lee, I know a lot about you."
Except for the voice of the GPS giving occasional directions, W/we drove in near total silence to my small bungalow. As we rolled along the late evening streets, my anxiety grew and I pondered exactly what I was getting myself into. When W/we had parked in the short, tree-shaded driveway, and I'd opened Her door, She led me around, to the back entrance. When I'd unlocked and opened the back door, I stepped back for Her to enter. Before doing so, She turned to me and said softly, but firmly, "Give me the keys, lee, then get on all fours; that is how you'll enter a house with me, if possible."
Taken aback by the command, I nevertheless obeyed quickly, reasonably confident that the hour, the darkness, and the relative seclusion of the small back yard shielded me from any neighbor's eyes. After I'd crawled into the small entry way, She closed and locked the door behind me, then strode into the kitchen. As I heeled behind Her, my mind reeled, suddenly cognizant of how ill-prepared my home was for a visitor. Funny what the mind focuses on in some situations; mine literally swirled around the house, seeing the magazines that had been left lying beside the sofa, the unwashed mug on the counter, the mail scattered on the table, the vacuum cleaner left sitting out in the study, the unopened box from amazon.com by the front door. Not messy or dirty, but "bachelor casual," as I liked to call it.
"You may stand, lee," She said to me, an order I obeyed promptly. "Go into the front room, close the drapes, and kneel there."
"Yes, Ma'am," I replied, doing as told, as She began to walk slowly through the house. Following the sounds of Her heels echoing on the hardwood floors, I could follow Her in my mind's eye as She inspected every room.
After some minutes, I heard Her approaching, entering and circling the front room, stopping to examine several pieces of antique furniture and arts objects bought abroad. Moving to stand directly before me, She tucked a finger under my chin and lifted it. This brought a smile to my face, which was immediately wiped away with a hard, unexpected slap to my cheek. Stinging, having to blink back tears, I heard Her say. "This place is a mess, lee ... and I won't have it. When I visit next, I expect the house to be spic and span, floor to ceiling ... no papers thrown about, no clothes on the floor, no unwashed dishes, no dust. Do I make myself clear, boy?"
Taken aback, I nonetheless nodded. Swallowing hard, I heard myself answering, feeling almost disembodied: "yes, Ma'am."
