This story is about an older gentlemen whose life took an unexpected turn when his next door neighbors went on a cruise and decided to hire someone to house sit for them.
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Chapter One: Never heard of such a thing.
Some people have more money than brains, I figured, after listening to the explanation my pain-in-the-ass neighbor Bob Brennan gave me regarding his upcoming cruise. We were talking over the fence, as was our custom, and since he had handed me a frosty Sam Adams, it made the conversation more tolerable. I still thought the idea was goofy though.
Not necessarily the cruise itself, mind you. I suppose if you enjoyed sitting on a boat for three weeks getting sunburned and shitfaced everyday, that might be just the thing.
"You ought to go on one of these yourself, Red," he suggested, calling me by a nickname long since made obsolete, since my hair had thinned and gone gray a long time ago. "You never can tell what could happen. They've got some hot babes on the cruises."
"Maybe I'll try it some time," I lied, wanting to end the conversation, since my bottle of beer was empty and there seemed to be little hope of getting another one from Bob.
Frankly, I always figured that with my luck, I'd go on one of those cruises, find out I hated it right after it set sail, and feel miserable and trapped for the rest of the voyage. I can be miserable at home for a lot less money.
"Anyway, if you see somebody around the house, I just wanted you to know that it's okay. We hired a student to house sit until we get back. You know, feed the kitty and look after things. Her name's Amber."
"House sit? Never heard of such a thing!" I said to Bob, waving my now empty bottle like a flag in hopes he would get the hint.
I started to tell him that he was a fool to pay somebody to feed the damn cat, and that I would have done it for him for nothing, but caught myself just in time. That would be a thankless task, and with my luck, the precious little shit would escape on me, or die.
I also bit my tongue before I told him he was an asshole for spending money on their in-ground pool a couple of years ago and then take off on a cruise. Better for me that they disappear for a few weeks than to have them hang around here and lounge around the pool half dressed, because Bob's wife was nearly as unpleasant to look at, as she was to listen to. A nice enough woman, I suppose, but possessed with one of those flinty voices that act like fingernails on a blackboard for me.
As you can tell, I've got some issues of my own, and crankiness ranks right up near the top of the list. I'm 64 years old, and my hearing is going faster than my eyesight. Lucky for me they started out good so I can see and hear pretty much everything I want to, and manage to disregard the rest. The body's in pretty good shape for a man my age - no major problems but a whole lot of minor ones.
Life would be pretty sweet, if things had worked out like we had planned. Unfortunately, three years ago, life as I knew it ended, when I came home and found Grace on the kitchen floor. Dead.
Thirty nine years married - wonderful years too, for the most part. Two grown children married and living good lives of their own. Everything a man could ask for, and the grand plans to retire and live out the golden years, ended for me on that day. They say that the worst thing that can happen to a man is to outlive their children, and while that's probably true, this can't be much better. How did that song go? One is the loneliest number? Hard to argue with that.
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Chapter Two: Amber waves.
A few days later found me going out to the backyard to fill my various bird feeding stations. I had to replenish the hummingbird feeders with their liquid, replace the water in the bird bath, and fill the many various contraptions with seed.
Grace used to do this religiously, and for some reason I felt obligated to continue it. I figure that was the way she would have wanted it, so what the hell? They're pretty to look at and their songs are cheerful.
Wheeling quietly along the path, I was startled to see someone in the Brennan yard, reclining in a lounge chair. Why I was startled, I don't know, since Bob had warned me someone would be around. Senility on the march, I suppose.
I stopped and looked over at the girl, who was oblivious to my presence. Hidden behind sunglasses, all I could see from my angle was her light brown hair falling over the back of the chair and what appeared to be long slender legs.
What was her name? Amber! There - I haven't lost it all yet. I was hoping she would turn and look over toward me, and when she didn't, a wheeled the cart around a little more, trying to get the squeaky thing to make as much noise as it usually did.
Must be dozing off, I figured, so I went about my business with the birds, pausing to glance over toward the girl from time to time. To be more precise, I spent a great deal of time looking over toward the girl. That pool's been there two years and the only female I'd seen in a bathing suit was Bob's wife, so I have to take a mulligan for my staring.
"Oh, hi there!"
She had finally become aware of me, after I had managed to make enough noise to scare away half the birds in the county, and climbed out of the lounge chair and walked over toward the fence.
She was wearing a skimpy pink bikini that was covering very little of her slender body, and I made a point of looking as much as I could without making it obvious. I felt guilty because she looked very young; as cute as the dickens but skinny and not particularly well developed, but she was so outgoing and unassuming that I felt more comfortable the more we talked, despite her being nearly naked.
"You must be Amber," I said, reaching over and offering my hand to the girl. "Bob warned me that someone would be around."
"And you must be Red - I mean Mr. Jeffers," Amber answered. "Mr. Brennan told me that if I needed help I should ask you."
"Glad to help. I'm a man of many talents and master of none. Just do me one favor, and call me Herb."
"Okay Herb," Amber said, exposing a set of teeth that were as dazzling as the sunlight. "I'm supposed to do things to the pool, but I can't get the darn filter to start up."
I volunteered to help and went over to the low part of the fence, and gingerly vaulted over the three foot high section. It had been a few years since I had done that, and it was done about as awkwardly as you could possibly imagine, but I managed to stick the landing, so to speak.
This prompted applause from Amber, although it was probably more out of relief that this old bastard didn't break his neck showing off, than anything else.
I managed to figure out the problem right away, but dragged it out for a time, because Amber was standing close by me and she smelled so nice. An enticing cocktail of suntan lotion, shampoo and perspiration filled my nostrils and brought back memories of long ago.
Still feeling like an pathetic old pervert for practically drooling on the poor kid, I explained to her that it was Bob's directions that were the problem, not her. He had the process in the wrong order, so I corrected the sheet he had given the girl and gave it back to her and told her to try it now.
Amber bent down and turned the switches on, while I peeked down into the slightly bowed cups of her top and saw the pale white skin of the inner portions of her tiny breasts, duly noting that I was certainly going to hell for my lecherous ways.
Her bronzed skin contrasted greatly with the whiteness of what was under the fabric of her top, I observed with scholarly interest, while Amber turned on the other switch, which got the motor humming.
