I grabbed my toolbox and headed out. It was about eleven. I – do house stuff. Carpentry-like. All your regular stuff, whatever, I fix. Freelance Carpenter/mechanic would be my job title, I guess. My name's Cita – Tacita – James.
I pulled my truck (it looks like a rat trap but it purrs like a kitty – more like a great big lion actually. Okay - it's small, but not compared to a lion, so. I'm really proud of it, it's the big metal pet I never had) into the driveway. The big, fat, rich driveway. I could smell money.
The driveway was actually quite beautiful, not your typical mowed lawn of green grass that looks like carpet and pavement from here to there. The road was wide and smoothly paved but all around were gardens, plants etc. that reminded me of pictures of rain forests. Everything was green or brightly colorful, and there was a light sheen of rain from before.
I walked up to the door and looked for a bell. None, but a big doorknocker. Really nice piece, real antique-y. It made a big bass sound that made me jump.
"You're the handy man?" A warm, melt-y voice asked. Turning around, I was met by the greenest eyes I've ever… You know the deal. But seriously, they were so green, in my favorite shade, like a Christmas tree, no a bit lighter. They were slightly larger then average and had that kind of knowing, cynical look. I managed to tear my eyes away from them, to eye up his face. What a face. How to say… Face like an angel. I've always thought was really vague – what does an angel look like? My angel or yours, there's a difference. But trust me, he looked like the angel of angels. His mouth was full and wicked, his cheekbones to make you cry, his lashes absolutely not fair with everything else, and long, silky blonde hair in a low ponytail.
"Yeah. Dmitri Beaumont?" I managed to croak. He nodded, and kind of gestured in a way I couldn't help compare to a come hither one. He led me around the back of the house to the back porch, where the porch was – well, it looked as if someone had taken a bat to it and done as much possible damage they could.
"Don't mean to be nosy, but how did this…"
"An… acquaintance was a bit upset over something"
"Okay, then, I'll just get started." I got to work.
I was just finishing up when this woman came around the side of the house. She was tall, busty, and blonde. She was all make up and salon hair. I should tell you now, this is the kind of women I usually end up hating. Not only the ones I've met have all been major bitches, but I'm 5'4 (fine, 5'3.5), brunette, and a bit less then average in the boobs department. But hey, I wasn't gonna to make any snap judgments. She saw me.
"Oh so you're his new whore, huh? Fast work, what were you seeing him before?! I bet you think you're so smart, you little piece of trash. A rich man like him must have you drooling. Well, guess what? He won't marry you. But you'll pay for ruining it for me you little slut!" And she raked her hand out and scratched me. Really hard.
I was still surprised and dazed from her entrance and monologue, or she wouldn't have caught me, I swear. But she did, and her long nails tore down my cheek. I sprang back into action and shoved her away. I would have left it at that –even though the bitch had really long, claw like nails. She came at me with nails and fury. And pulled my hair. The bitch! I nailed her one on the jaw and then we were falling and you bet I gave that bitch a run for her money. She was bigger and used those nails really well, and pulled my hair and banged my head against the ground a lot, but I punch. I was a patron of the detention room for fighting back in elementary, and guy fighting was required. I use my fists and legs. But then a pair of hands were pulling her off me.
"God damn it, Barbara, what the hell do you think you're doing?" The blonde hunk was back.
