CHAPTER 1
On the eve of his thirty-second birthday Ginger Jones gave up his job as a steakhouse chef, sick of kitchen smells and working shifts and being bawled out by diners who believed coarse-ground peppercorns on their rare peppered steak were rodent droppings.
Redheaded Michael, who'd been called Ginger from the time he entered Junior High, had purchased a one-man business from a crooked-nosed man who'd promoted himself as The Hot Tub Maintenance Man. The annual statement of accounts and the bookings register for the business indicated the hours were humane and the business was super profitable because the guy charged like a wounded bull and had no labor costs to share out.
"People who can afford hot tubs can afford to pay through the nose to get them back up running," Colin Doig said, rubbing his nose as if attempting to straighten it.
Ginger loved that concept of exploiter wealthier people. The business appeared to fit his needs like a carving glove but the business was stupidly named. He paid across the twenty-seven grand (the guy's asking price had been thirty-five grand) and Colin undertook to teach Ginger all he knew in his final week of ownership before Ginger took control.
In his first and only year at college, Ginger had injected capital into the stretched funding his parents injected to underpin their higher educational aspirations for their only child. Working as a pool boy boosted his personal spending to allow him to spend on vehicle running costs, clothes, booze and the high costs of investing in hot females in the chase for the ultimate goal.
Those promiscuous women endowed Ginger with one of the benefits of a college education, even a brief one, and unexpectedly the time spent cleaning swimming pools and correcting deficiencies in water balance and pool hygiene gave him the grounding that would enrich him for his future career when he'd opt out of an unhappy career in the food chain.
On the second day of the 5-day apprenticeship in Jacuzzi/hot tub/swirl pool/spa pool maintenance business, collectively known as the small pool maintenance business, Ginger asked his older mentor, "Have any of the females at home alone ever come on strong to you?"
Colin rubbed his crooked nose and thought of those days of nursing a splattered nose and cracked ribs and lied laconically, "Not that I can recall."
That puzzled Ginger, wondering how any guy could forget scoring unexpectedly with females who were strangers until the point of entry. That tuition ended at 3:30 on Friday when Colin shook hands with Ginger and walked off to begin looking to buy a retirement cabin by a lake where he could fish and not be responsible for the quality of the water.
Ginger coupled the trailer containing the necessities of the business to his Ford F150 pickup and went to a sign-writer he'd arranged to visit and had the signs on the trailer canopy painted over and the name and details of his new business that he'd decided to call The Hot Tub Man painted on to both vehicles. Colin had already arranged with the maintenance contracts he had with clients to be reassigned to Ginger. Only a handful of clients decided not to reassign and that left Ginger with a clientele list of 81 small pool owners.
As Colin had said, "Regard 60 monthly-visit contracts as your core business and anything over that plus emergency call-outs as straight profit."
Intending to work as Colin had done of 6-hour days five days a week, Ginger decided to find more pool owners to lift that client list to 95. Colin said clients didn't want service calls before 9:00 but Ginger would be willing to work later into afternoons if it meant making more bucks. He wanted to buy his own house and already had saved more that enough for a big deposit. Once he established himself in business he'd seek a bank loan to get that house.
Ginger lived with his grandmother and drove into her property that had a big garage with a spare space to park the trailer. Hilda came out to admire his new road outfit and said it looked real cool. His Gran picked up words from her neighbor's kids.
"Right I've seen it and I like it and I know you'll succeed in business. Now clean our hot tub please."
Huh?
Ginger smiled and went to work, pretending she was a hot client and would be peeping between the curtains to admire his muscular body. Actually he knew grandma would be watching one of her favorite soaps on TV.
His girlfriend Sandra called at 6:15, dragging Ginger away from the table.
He returned smiling and said, "That was Sandra calling to dump me. She's found a new guy."
Gran said, "Well I didn't like her. Her breasts were too prominent. For goodness sakes boy, get yourself a female who looks the part of a housewife and will raise healthy children."
Huh?
"What size tits?"
"Go wash out your mouth Ginger."
"Sorry Gran, what size breasts should I go for?"
"Small ones like your mother and me. Females with larger breasts tend to be more promiscuous."
Huh?
Then it dawned on Ginger why he was attracted to women with large breasts and short skirts.
After dinner on Sunday, Ginger called the five small pool owners he was due to call on next day. All were home and either the husband or wife who answered confirmed it was okay to call. He then called the five he was due to visit on Tuesday and got four of them and they said it was okay to call.
Ginger then played Scrabble with Gran and her friend Mrs Stout who really was (stout) and smiled in satisfaction, knowing he was in business.
After three days of straightforward maintenance Ginger wondered if he'd brought into the world's most boring job. But then on his first call next day it happened.
The pool was as green as a sludge pool in a forest.
"It turned green and greener and greener," said Mrs Wilks. "My husband is overseas and I didn't know what to do."
"It's okay Mrs Wilks. The small pool doctor is here on the job."
"Thank god. William would smack me if he'd found I'd fouled his pool."
Ginger emptied the pool and then refilled it and sanitized it, emptied it and replaced the filter and then refilled it and chemically 'shocked' the water to remove any remaining traces of nasties.
Ginger called out and Mrs Wilks reappeared. She looked at the water and beamed.
"When will Mr Wilks return home?"
"Saturday."
"Right I'll make a complimentary call Friday and check that everything pool-wise is perfect for his homecoming."
"Oh you gorgeous man. Please wait for a moment."
Mrs Wilks appeared with the money plus a fifty-buck tip.
It was his first tip and he was enthralled, being an uncomplicated guy.
During the next two weeks Ginger picked up two new clients as a result of Mrs Wilks praising the service of The Hot Pool Guy to her friends.
The day after solving Mrs Wilks' dilemma, Ginger skirted the Armstrong's house and on the back deck beside the Jacuzzi found Mrs Armstrong sitting at the table. She was in a bikini.
"Grab yourself a beer or a wine from the fridge and join me," she said, and then sipped wine and added, "You are a few cuts above the guy you have replaced."
"Looks, intelligence and body shape have nothing to do with skill in pool maintenance ma'am."
"Call me Jilli. Why are you called Ginger," she grinned.
He grinned and didn't answer.
Ginger sat with his glass of wine, wondering what he was required to do to earn it.
Nothing it would appear.
When he finished his wine as they chatted she then said, "Well you best do our pool.
When he looked up a few minutes later he saw her tits were sagging. She'd removed her top.
Later after replacing the cleaned filter he saw she was kicking off the bottom of her bikini.
"Anything to report?" she asked.
"Yes. I suggest you increase the timer on your filter control by thirty minutes each day. You should notice the sparkle is really back when looking at the water."
"Thanks. Your money is on the bench," said the forty-something.
Ginger departed with his money saying, "Goodbye Mrs Armstrong."
"Bye, have a nice day."
He half-expected her to call him back but she didn't.
Weird.
