Sometimes there are "fringe benefits" to a job that you never even think of. Like the time Alicia's mom asked me to paint their kitchen one weekend for $3 an hour or $25, whichever was less. I thought it would be a nice diversion to watch Alicia while I worked--a lot less boring than doing yard work for old Mrs. Bache--but really the money was the thing that made me accept.
I knew Alicia from school, of course--you couldn't help noticing her. She was in her junior year at our college, so I didn't see her much...only a glimpse in the hall now and then. But that glimpse was enough to keep you going for the whole day. She was kind of small, and round--I don't mean she was fat; I mean there were rounded corners to her, nice soft curves everywhere you looked. She had great breasts and a lovely rear that you could watch forever. Sad green eyes looked out of a round face, and a cute red mouth. Her hair was brown and straight, but curled under at the shoulder. No sharp edges anywhere.
When she first came to the school, I thought she'd cause a riot. New glands weren't strong enough for the strain of watching her sway back and forth down the hall. I remember the time she was wearing a wrap-around skirt one windy day as she walked past the athletic field. Three guys at football drowned in their own hormones. Even her name was great--Alicia. The last name wasn't so great: Morgenstern. Alicia...Morgenstern. Oh well. On a spring day, hanging out with the guys, all you had to do was sigh, "Alicia," and they all knew what you meant.
Anyway, when Mrs. Morgenstern asked me to paint her kitchen, the money was all I really thought about. It would be nice to see Alicia, but I had conditioned myself not to hope for too much. Too many nights of aching need had left me a little older and more cynical. I never expected anything to happen between her and me.
I came to their house in my shorts and T-shirt. (One of the great things about doing odd jobs is you have an excuse to walk around in people's nice houses dressed like a slob.) Mrs. Morgenstern was just getting ready to leave for an Open House across town--she was a real estate agent which was keeping the money coming in--Mr. Morgenstern had gone some years earlier; I never asked how. "By the way," she said over her shoulder, "Alicia will be helping you." I shouldn't have been surprised. By the pay I mentioned earlier, you could tell Mrs. Morgenstern was on the cheap side. She was getting Alicia to help to make sure I came in under 25 dollars. Almost on cue, Alicia came into the hall in cut-offs and a T-shirt and a white painter's cap I bet she bought just for that day. She even had her hair down, neatly brushed & shiny. She really didn't think she was going to get any paint on herself. I heaved a sigh, silently hoped she'd screw things up enough so it would cost $25 anyway, and set to work.
I worked on the ceiling and she worked on the lower cabinets. I pretended it was to save her from straining herself, but the real reason was to watch her bending over. I wasn't concentrating at all, and I had to clean up mistakes more than once. Alicia was feeling pretty saucy, and teased me about my sloppiness and her own impeccable work. She wasn't getting any paint on herself either, after all. I was getting badly tempted to put some on her. For a moment I sensed something going on behind me. I turned around and she was pretending to paint my rear end with a roller. "I'm fixing your face," she said. I reached over with my brush and swatted her on her little nose. She yelped as if she had been bitten. "Get it off!" she cried. "Relax, it's just a little paint." "Get it off! It's going to hurt my nose!" I wet a towel in the sink and carefully wiped off her nose. She was pouting like a hurt little child. "Is that better?" For an answer, she grinned like a wolf and hit me full in the face with a loaded paintbrush.
After about three hours (only $9!) I had to admit that we were done. We got everything together and took it into the backyard to wash out. They had a big backyard with high walls--at least 8 feet--and a patio, and a lawn with soft green grass, warmed by the summer sun. We took the garden hose and rinsed out the painting tools, and then our hands (and face). I gave Alicia the hose and watched her wash the one bit of paint she got on herself, on the inside of her thigh. "Can I help you with that?" I grinned. She stopped, and slowly started to raise her head. By the time I saw that grin again on her face, I realized I had made a tactical error by giving her the hose. "Don't...you...dare." She stalked toward me with the water pistol, looking just like a murderess stalking her prey. "Don't...even...think it." She giggled in an evil way and kept walking toward me. I got the idea I could wrestle the "gun" out of her hand. Bad idea. I got it in the face for the second time that day.
