Part Three of 12 Lays of Xmas, the full novella version. Chapter Nine is up and running. Be warned, the whole thing is almost 30,000? words long this far.
Any similarity to any persons living, loving or otherwise - well - you know who you are.
Three French Hens
I overslept. It was almost 9am before I was really awake, and the apartment was dark and quiet. Yawning, I showered, had breakfast, made a few calls, answered a few emails... well, truth is, I pretty much wasted the morning away before I even found Jessica's note.
'Shit...' I read it again, and I knew I hadn't got it wrong the first time. We had multiple visitors to organise for the weekend, starting with a close friend arriving from Ireland. In an hour. Oh, and some people to interview about jobs. Jessica's note spelled it all out to me.
Part of the Jessica plan to take over the universe was that she had invested in this specialised personal services company, which handled everything from cleaning to personal shopping. Everyone in the building had access to this stuff at a really low rate, and I quickly grabbed the phone and called one of the numbers now, which put me through to a limousine/car hire service.
Brad, the guy who looked after the business, talked to me in that slightly superior way of someone who knew I had forgotten to call much earlier. Brad and I didn't get on, but he let Jessica bully him, so he was the perfect guy to handle her account.
Jessica had wanted him to take on a female driver she could have first call on, who would effectively be available to Jessica at all times. Brad smugly told me that three prospects had been available at 11am, but two had left. I didn't bother pointing out to him that he could have called me to remind me. A minute spent in Brad's company is a minute wasted.
'So who's the one left?'
'A blonde girl with big tits,' he remarked. Well, thank you for the resumé, Brad.
'Send her over. I need to collect someone at the airport. I'll interview her on the way, assuming she doesn't get lost.'
He started to whine at me about which cars were available, and insurance, and I told him this was all supposed to be agreed, and hung up, knowing Jessica would rip him a new one once she got home. Where was she anyway'
I threw on some clothes, scared the hell of the cat by slamming the window closed just as she was thinking of coming in (Minx is the only pussy in the building who outranks Jess; there would be complaints from her later), grabbed my keys and went out the door. Down in the vestibule, I kept an eye through the main doors for the silver Saab I had dragged out of Brad. That was when I saw a cute redhead at the door, reading an address from an envelope, with what looked like a dry-cleaning bag over her arm. I didn't recognise her at first, but when I opened the door and asked her if she was OK, it turned out to be Jessica's friend Cat.
Cat and Jessica work together on various projects, most of which I don't ask about. She's a smart one, is Cat, and great at managing people. She is also adorably cute, and today she looked better than ever. Slinky ankle length boots, jeans that fit so snugly I could be 90% sure she had no panties on, and a tight red sweater under a leather jacket.
'Hey, Paul. Where are you going' Aren't I supposed to be helping you?'
'You are' With what?'
'The job interview. For the maid.' Oh, shit... just how many interviews had I forgotten to do. And a maid' Since when had we talked about hiring a maid' Then I laughed to myself; Jessica was having way too much fun with this Twelve Days plan... she knew I had a thing for the whole French Maid look. My girl is just too perfect.
The Saab arrived at that moment. A rather tall blonde woman was at the wheel (I couldn't see her tits, but she parked the car just fine, which was a good sign), and I waved.
'Cat, you'll have to handle it,' I told her.'I have to pick Orla up from the airport and interview this driver.'
'A little late if she has her hands on your car, don't you think?'
'Don't ask. Look, here's the key. Let yourself in, and I'll go with whatever you decide for the maid.'
'OK,' said Cat, taking charge of the situation as I knew she would. She took a look at the blonde woman behind the wheel of the car. I checked my watch, and I knew I had to go. Kissing Cat gratefully and modestly on the cheek, I crossed the pavement. The driver stepped from the Saab and moved to open the rear door. I was delighted to see that Brad had not lied at all about the nice tits, but he had completely forgotten to mention that the woman was tall and had great legs, toned and tanned, which showed very pleasantly under the hem of a mid thigh skirt, part of a uniform which only Jessica could have selected - almost traditional, but sexy as hell. The skirt had slid up her strong, shapely stockinged legs as she slid gracefully from the driver's seat. I hadn't realised we had a dress code for staff, but this was good.
She opened the Saab's rear door as we exchanged hellos. She introduced herself as Tizianna, showing had an accent which I immediately placed as being Italian. Having confirmed with Tizianna that she was free to handle this impromptu job, and that she knew where the airport was (the kind of thing that had foxed one of Brad's drivers before), I jumped into the back seat.
The interview went fine. That is, I think I passed. Tizianna turned out to be a recent arrival from Italy, who was an excellent driver with superb references. She had been recommended to us by Cat, who had met Tizianna at a party. She understood that she would be working for Brad, but that her prime client would be Jessica, who would require her to be available at short notice and for all kinds of tasks. She was happy with the pay and the arrangements, and when I told her it included a room in the ground floor of the building, she was even happier - apparently her current living arrangements were both expensive and unhappy. I didn't ask. She blushed just a little when I asked if she liked the uniform too.
I liked her, and I knew Jessica would be happy having her around. She was a safe driver and a pleasant personality; she had the job before we passed the third set of lights. She was easy on the eye too; though her eyes were hidden behind aviator glasses as she drove, when she removed them as we shook hands, I was struck by her startling blue-green eyes. I was even more impressed by the way that short black skirt rode up each time she swung in and out of the car. Strong, tanned legs in silk stockings. I may have mentioned them already. Trust me, they were great legs.
We chatted comfortably as Tiz ('call me Tiz, it's much easier') brought us into the airport and found the short-stay car park. The two of us went off in search of Orla, a close friend of Jessica and I, who was flying in for a shopping trip from her native Ireland. Well, that is what I had believed before, but now I knew about the Twelve Days, it was hard to believe Orla hadn't volunteered for at least six of them. We found her at Arrivals, and Tiz collected her bags while Orla and I hugged enthusiastically, and I gave her ass a grope that woke up airport security and the sleepy businessmen from her flight.
We walked back to the car, Orla and I arm in arm behind the new driver. Tiz had a graceful glide in her walk that was pure sex; great legs and a firm ass. She had to work out between driving gigs. Orla was virtually licking her lips as we walked to the car.
'Who is she?' hissed Orla, giggling wildly.
'A new driver at that agency Jess uses,' I replied.'I am assuming that she is supposed to be a French Hen or something, you know...' I hummed a few bars of the Christmas song.
