Saturday passed uneventfully -- just a blur of random coffee shops, dawdling in shops, phoning parents, phoning out-of-town friends to catch up, pottering around at home, housework and preparing for the next week of work. Boring! Yet, this was my life. I was used to it, if not very satisfied.
Then, suddenly, Sunday was different. I woke up to the sound of a truck pulling up outside. Metal doors banged noisily; the sound of rough men's voices barking orders rent the still Sunday morning. What on Earth? Still slightly bleary-eyed at 8:00am, I swung my long legs over the side of my queen-sized double bed, moved the quilt out of the way, and stood up. Peering through the curtains of the windows, I looked down to see a removal truck parked outside the house next door.
Oh, yeah, I thought. That's right. Mr. and Mrs. Johnson had moved out to a new place, way out in the Georgia countryside -- now in their fifties, they had decided to move to a smaller, quieter place, although I couldn't see what was wrong with this quiet street right now. Mind you, there were the school buses roaring up and down twice a day. They could be noisy, so perhaps that was it. I had been friendly to them but not particularly close, since they were so much older than me.
I wondered what the new neighbors would be like. A young family with kids? Not tearaways yelling and screaming in the backyard, I hoped. A retired couple? I would have to wait to find out.
Feeling suitably awakened, I headed downstairs to the kitchen for breakfast. Over yogurt and a banana and an Americano, I contemplated the day. What could I do to fill the intervening hours before bedtime?
I tutted. For goodness' sake, Cathy, I remonstrated with myself. Get a life! Other people would kill to have so much free time! I looked around. The dishes needed washing. I had laundry to do. The garbage needed taking out. Then there was lunch to cook later, if I felt like cooking. Maybe I could visit a nice restaurant instead; or order takeout.
I held my head in my hands. ANYTHING to kill the boredom. I gazed at the empty, plastic yogurt carton and the banana skin - more garbage. Suddenly annoyed, I slapped my hand down on the kitchen table and glared at my half-drunk coffee mug. STUFF IT! I'm done with this!
Getting up, I grabbed the mug and went over to stare out of the kitchen window at the backyard. What was the matter with me? Didn't I have a fantastic modeling agency -- with a great bunch of women? A convivial atmosphere? Values everyone at work agreed to? A glamorous career? Yet it seemed the models had more fun than I did.
I bet Bonnie and Krystal and Amelia were having a fantastic weekend. I thought over the probable sexcapades they had got up to on Friday night. Huh. Sometimes I wondered whether it was strictly necessary to maintain the "no fraternizing" rule I had. Ethically, it was correct. Nobody should be having sex with their boss, no matter how open-minded I may be, no matter if all of us were female with zero chance of some sleazy older guy harassing us, trying to get fresh, forcing sexual assault or the horrific stories of rape that happened in fashion companies with the women they hired.
That was the whole point of my different approach - to allow the women to escape all that. If I started getting in on their action, that would destroy the whole thing.
Yet the rule also doomed me to a life of dull, tedious, managerial efficiency, an unsexy "mom" role to the models and I was left carrying the can. I didn't mind that so much, since it was my own choice and my own company, yet it meant I had to skip most of the fun stuff about being a model. If I wanted a life, I would need to get out and about, and develop a completely different circle of friends. I sighed. Perhaps I needed a hobby.
Reluctantly, I busied myself for the first half of the morning with the aforementioned chores, without much enthusiasm. I was just starting to think about possibly cooking lunch while examining the contents of my refrigerator, when the doorbell rang.
What! Now who could that be? I never get visitors. I couldn't afford to invite the models to my place -- that might be fraternizing, too -- and who knows what would happen if Bonnie showed up...
"Wait, I'll be there!" I cried out, rushing for the door. Perhaps it was the new couple who just moved in next door. I pursed my lips, unsure whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.
Finally, I made it to the door. I peered through the small hole in the door. I was surprised to see a young man. Good-looking he was, too. Hmmm.
I opened the door and came face-to-face with an absolute vision of male beauty. He looked tall, about six feet two, with dark brown, almost black hair, a high forehead, and dark eyes. A fair complexion, with an earnest expression and a slightly boyish air on his face. Further down, I saw broad shoulders and a wide, developed chest, encased in a polo shirt with two buttons undone, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of possibly muscled pecs. Strong, quite thick arms, with good muscle tone, were bared, while some casual, cream chinos and white plimsoll shoes with red and white lines completed the look.
"Hi." The vision spoke.
Looking back up at his face, I opened my eyes wide and smiled, shyly. "Hello," I replied.
"Sorry to bother you," he continued, "but I've just moved in next door, and I thought I might meet the neighbors."
"Oh, sure," I managed.
He proffered his hand. "Nice to meet you. I'm Daniel Colston."
I took his hand and shook it. "Cathy Dixon," I said.
He looked at me for a few seconds, his eyes sizing me up, perhaps. "I see. Well, I've finished moving in, mainly -- I've just got some boxes to unpack, and stuff -- but all the furniture's in place."
"Sounds great," I remarked. "Are you with anyone else?"
"No, actually," he continued, a slight smile playing at the corner of his lips. "I live alone. I've just had a permanent job offer from my internship, and I've decided to take it up."
"Oh, really?"
"Yeah. So I've decided to settle in the neighborhood for now -- maybe for a couple of years."
"Oh." Something didn't add up. "Forgive me for asking, but you look kind of young to be buying a house."
"No, I'm renting."
"Oh! Well, the couple before, Mr. and Mrs. Johnson, sold up."
"Sure, but it's been bought by a property management company -- the same company I work for, in fact."
"Wow."
"Now they want me to rent it from them while I do my university study."
"STUDY? You mean you're not a graduate?"
"No, not yet. I took an AP class at high school in Business Studies and decided to take the opportunity to work for a property management firm over last summer. I figured if I had real-world experience, I would be more committed to my studies. As it turned out, they were pleased with me over the summer, so they offered a grant to fund my university studies the following year. They offered part time work, so I'll study my four-year degree over eight years."
"Hmm, I'm not sure I would want to commit to a company for eight years and rely on them to fund my studies."
"That's what I thought at first. However, with the offer to rent this house, plus no student loan to pay back when I'm done, I figure it's worth the risk."
