I live on a quiet residential road in North West London, backing onto a park. I have a newly refurbished room with access to a back garden that is shared with the house next door. The landlord owns both houses and I have lived in several rooms in each. Fortunately for me the back rooms -- as well as having access to the garden -- are the ones which have their own shower as well as a kitchenette.
Through the wall I heard noises a few weeks ago, consistent with the familiar sounds of furniture being moved around and large heavy objects being plonked down. I left for work one Saturday morning in January to see a large estate car and two women shifting stuff into the house. I smiled in greeting and one of them, a blonde, smiled back and gave a cheery "Good morning!"
"Good morning!" I responded in kind. I guess we are neighbours?"
"No," she chuckled, "my friend is moving in. I'm the muggins with the car."
Her dark-haired friend came out and looked at me nonchalantly. "Are you gonna give us a hand or can I get this one back to work?"
I apologised and said I had to go to work myself, but assured them if they needed anything later, my room was at the back, just stroll round and knock.
That evening I was pleasantly surprised to get a tap on the back door within seconds of arriving home and hitting the light switch in my room.
I opened up to be greeted by the short brunette with her long hair tied back and thick glasses on.
"How's the move going?" I said in greeting.
"Oh, ok, I guess. I'm Lorraine by the way."
She extended a hand and I shook it, but not too firmly. Her body language seemed assertive but her tone was warm and friendly.
I told her my name was Chris and asked if anything was wrong.
"Well," she grinned, "this is such a cliché and I never imagined I would have to say this to anyone, but
could I borrow a cup of sugar?
"
"Oh GOD!" I said in a mock groan, "You will get the cliché Police onto us! Question is do I risk it being a joint venture or do I wind up in the witness box putting you away?"
Mercifully, she actually laughed despite that being one of the stupidest wisecracks I have ever come out with in history.
"Will Canderel be enough? I have not bought sugar in six months and only have sweetener to offer to guests."
"Sure! So why did you quit the sugar?"
"I was snorting five lines a day, I am in rehab."
She grinned and nodded in a way that said "Yup, that was funny but you are definitely crazy," but what she actually said was: "Ooooh-kayyyyyy."
I grabbed the Canderel from the cupboard and handed it to her. To recover the situation I said about how I had joined a gym last November and was desperate to lose weight.
She deserved an Oscar for her response to that. The whole eyelash-fluttering thing and the glancing me up and down appreciatively with kind words about how I looked
fiiiine
to her.
"Whatever." I deflected, "I still can't see my feet in the shower."
She laughed. A warm and genuine laugh. Then she suddenly remembered: "Oh! About the shower? Do you have problems with hot water?"
I explained about the times the water heater goes on and off and advised that for a scorching hot shower, use it 6.30am or just after midnight, and for a nice warm shower use it around 4 - 5am, and any other times it is pot luck.
"Oh." she said, like this could be a problem, then added: "I may have to be taking cold showers then. Like, I will be needing maybe three showers a day, which is why I took the room in the first place." She blurted out.
"Oh." I said, mirroring her "Oh." seconds before.
"Yuh," she said all flustered now. "Well, thanks for the sweetener. I would invite you round for a cup of tea but things are kind of chaotic for now."
"No problem, but I was about to make myself one if you would care to stick around?"
"Another time, yeah?" she pleaded.
"Ok."
We said our
G'nites
and she was off.
I flopped onto my computer chair to drink my tea and ponder all this. First thought was she had to be on the game. Only a prostitute would need three showers in a single day, surely? But some things you don't discuss in polite conversation, and I was not going to ask her outright.
The moral compass span in my brain. I had sworn blind I could never pay for sex or even sleep with a woman who was -- by my standards -- slutty. But I did not judge her as I liked the idea of being PAID to have sex and kind of admired her for doing something off her own back, so-to-speak.
So I had a new neighbour who was a whore? Kind of adds a new angle to the girl-next-door fantasy I suppose. With that thought I went to bed.
The following day was a Sunday. No work for me. I pottered around, cleaning my room, going to the laundrette, watching a DVD and then creating a random playlist of music videos on the computer as background entertainment whilst cooking a late lunch. I found myself obsessing about Lorraine. I thought about what attracted me to her. We are both short, both obviously wear contact lenses although I wear the ones you can sleep in for a month, she wears the ones you take out in the evenings. There is a definitely refreshing honesty about her body language and the way she responds to people. Or at least, she can fake sincerity so well that I cannot tell.
I devoured my tuna pasta and remembered I had left some washing at the laundrette in a tumble dryer. I raced off to retrieve it.
My grin was huge across my face (I could feel it) as I saw Lorraine sat at the laundrette looking utterly bored, staring at her smalls whizzing around in the washing machine. I pulled out two black sacks and emptied my stuff from the last dryer and quietly said "Hi!" to her.
"Hey!" she responded warmly. "I guess I am gonna miss having a washing machine in the house. You always use laundrettes?"
"For over ten years." I announced, putting the full weight into each syllable as I said it for full comic effect.
She grinned, and then pulled a sympathetic face. "Geeeeez!"
"Yuh."
We seemed to fall into an awkward silence and I did not want to ask after her blonde friend in case she got the wrong idea, but she sensed the tension and broke the ice.
"So Chris," she began, "What do you do for a job?"
My stomach knotted. We were going to have this conversation HERE in the Laundrette? Are you fucking kidding me?
"I'm a Civil Enforcement Officer." I told her plainly.
"A Traffic Warden?" She suggested.
I explained that Traffic Wardens work for the Police, we work for the local Council. Similar job but most parking issues are a civil matter, not a criminal matter. Britain is different to the rest of the world in that respect.
"Wow," she breathed, "but you seem like a nice guy!"
"I am! I just tell the drivers it's about consideration for other road users and has nothing to do with me screwing people over."
"How did you get into that?" she asked.
We talked about my work for a while and then came the time for me to ask her what she did for a job.
"I'm unemployed." She said. "I mean, I had a great job in a Call Centre, they subbed the work out to Mumbai, made us all redundant, I spent like crazy and then when I got my savings down enough I went on the dole.
I was later to learn this was only part of her story.
Lorraine had been a Team Manager for over seven years in a prestigious Bureau-type DRR/DRTV Call Centre, she got a huge settlement when they closed down and enjoyed a good lifestyle, but after a few months claiming benefits she took a job working on chat-lines, dealing with callers who wanted to talk dirty. She developed a talent for it and made a lot of money very fast. Before too long it went to her head and she became hooked on the buzz of making men AND women horny for money. She paid to study to get qualifications as a professional masseuse and at first worked in a respectable Health spa, then fell out with her pervy boss and set up self-employed, working from home. Home being with Alison, the cute blonde, at the time. They had been a couple of sorts, but things got awkward when she started to
see
clients. Alison tried to get in on the act but was unhappy with the deal, and did not enjoy sharing Lorraine with clients just to make a fast quid.
Lorraine blurted all this out that Sunday night over a glass of champagne. She had insisted on getting a bottle for the two of us to celebrate her moving in. Alison apparently would not be around any more -- it was over. The house move was their finalisation of the break up.
"Wow!" Was my first response.
"Do you hate me yet?" She quipped.
"No." I insisted. As long as you are not still claiming dole are you? If you are working as a self-employed Masseuse?"
"Umm, I just restarted a claim because technically until I am settled here I cannot bring clients round so I need a bit of cash to keep me going." she explained. "Rent is paid three months ahead, I made sure of that, and I was planning on setting up as a legit business again visiting clients or bringing them here, but I would obviously discreetly charge for extras and just pay tax on them as tips."
I nodded.
"Morally? I don't have an opinion about your work, just so long as you are not scrounging dole and not paying tax. If I find you are living on state handouts and pulling in the tricks as well I will happily grass you up to the authorities... but I would never lodge a complaint about you for simply giving hand-jobs to dirty old men and then paying tax on it."
"Deal, as soon as I am settled I will find an accountant and set myself up again."
I offered to recommend someone, a friend of a friend from way back. I gave her a brief run down of the kind of guy he is and she agreed. So I texted a mate who texted him and a few days later it was sorted.
Sunday evening ended with the last sip of Champagne and her suggestion that I buy the next bottle so we could carry on into the night. I told her I couldn't afford it and reminded her that the deal had been I would buy the Champagne glasses and she would buy the Champers, and as far as I was concerned I had to go to work in the morning. Besides, I was not going to risk getting us both to the level where anything was going to happen between us.
"Just friends then?" she agreed, obviously disappointed.
"Just friendly neighbours." I corrected.
"So are you going to gossip about me to all our neighbours and housemates now?"
"No! Half of them would probably want to pay for your services if they could afford you and I am not touting for your business. You can do your own bloody marketing!"
She laughed. "Good answer! So I can trust you? I mean, I already consider you the best friend I have right now. Sorry if that is scary for you."
"I'm flattered." I told her, "But you know I probably have the same issues as Alison. I could never be more than a friend to you as I would hate to share you with anyone."
She looked at my bulging groin and nodded. "I admire your resolve. And I am flattered that you do at least find me attractive by the look of your jeans."
I laughed. "It's staying IN my jeans though, G'nite" I said, opening the door.
"At least walk a girl home, can't you?"
"Sure!"
We strolled the four metres to her door and she leaned forward to kiss my cheek. I air-kissed her cheek and told her I was off Wednesday if she wanted to hang out again.
