The toilet runs, the faucet drips, the lights are out in the hall. It was always something.
Dad said I needed to learn responsibility, so he got his friend to hire me as Handy Man for his 24 unit building in the Village.
College wasn't working out, I liked working with my hands, the pay wasn't bad, and I got an apartment for the summer, with use of the pool and facilities when I wasn't working. Which wasn't too often.
I had hoped for some challenges, but all the jobs were mundane, things these people didn't want to do, not couldn't do.
So, half-way through June, I had met every occupant, except three. I figured either they didn't complain, or were away for the summer.
Some just wanted company, some liked having someone to boss around. And with most of them older, they had nothing but time.
The office phone rang. "Maintenance Man," I answered.
"Yes, are you married?" a female voice asked.
"I'm sorry, do you have a wrong number?"
"No, it's simple question that requires a simple answer."
Feeling about to be mistreated, I put on my best impression of someone who didn't care for games. "No, Ma'am, I am not, now is there a problem?"
"No, my husband will be down shortly."
She hung up, and I looked at the receiver. "Woop-De-Doo!" What was that all about?
Ten minutes later, my door bell rang. Good, I thought, let's see if the husband is anything like her! At least him, I can tell where to go!
In the sunlight, behind big sunglasses, stood a man. He wasn't very big, in height or stature. Maybe 5'5, and 140. He wore a jacket which appeared to be too large, and long pants, unusual for 85 degrees. His voice was hushed, soft, as he said, "May I come in?"
I stepped back, and he came through. The front room of my apartment was actually an office of sorts, for whoever was the maintenance man, with a desk, chairs, inventories, and work orders scattered about. Not many people actually came here, they just called and I'd do the job if it wasn't Union-regulated, like Electricity or HVAC.
He had been here before, he took his seat, and I took mine, at the desk. He folded his hands. They were small and thin, and I guessed he was fairly old, from the age spots and sagging skin.
"What can I do for you?" I asked, professionally. He cleared his throat, still wearing those wrap-around shades that old folks wear, hiding half his face. My name is Reynolds, Unit 16, in the back?" I nodded and he continued. "My wife and I... we keep to ourselves pretty much, we try not to... attract too much attention. We have noticed you, around the grounds, and want to say you do a first rate job, and are quite pleased with everything."
I stared at him, thinking, your wife just spoke to me like I'm dirt, and it was all so you could compliment me on my work? "Well, thank you, Mr. Reynolds, was it? Is there anything else?"
He hesitated. "My wife wants you to come for dinner, or just drinks, whatever is convenient."
Huh? "Excuse me, sir, but did you hear your wife's call to me? She didn't sound like someone who wanted to socialize."
"I'm terribly sorry about that, she's been... brusque lately, I'm sure she didn't mean anything."
"Okay, what's this about? If you need something done, just tell me. No song and dance needed."
"It's something we'd like to discuss with you together, outside the office, a special project which we would pay you quite handsomely for, I might add." He could see that he struck a chord.
But I was suspicious, too, although he hardly struck me as a druggie or killer. "Why me?"
"Elaine and I... This is best left for dinner, I think. If you decide not to do the project, I'll still pay you 20, no $50 for your time. Deal?"
"Let's just keep it at drinks, and we'll talk."
He was clearly happy. "Tonight then? Sevenish?"
For the rest of the day, I thought about it. A chance to show off my talents, real work, creativity, maybe some designing, like a stereo center, or shelves! Whenever I passed Unit 16, I swore I was being watched, but never saw movement.
Freshly showered, in clean jeans and Hendrix tee, I rang their bell at exactly seven. It's good to make first impressions.
Mr. Reynolds opened the door to their 2 bedroom Condo. I had been in other models, so I knew the layout. "Tom! Thanks for being so punctual," he announced, and I'm sure it was for her benefit.
He was hatless and mostly bald. Age: Up there! Maybe 70! He seemed much more relaxed in his own surroundings and he led me into the living room. "What can I get for you, Tom?" He recited the choices, which covered just about everything, but I'm a beer guy, and said so.
He got a cold mug from the freezer and a bottle of Heinie, along with his cocktail, something sweet, I bet. He sat on the couch, across from me. "Elaine will be with us in a minute, sorry, but you know how women are," he shrugged. I sat back and took in the place, everything top-shelf, only the best shelving and stereos, a big screen Hi-Def TV, very modern, and expensive.
"Nice place," I said.
"Oh, thank you, yes, we're happy here."
I kept looking to where I knew the bedrooms were, waiting for Mrs. Reynolds. Finally, we heard, "Richard?" from a distance.
"Yes, Darling, I'm coming." And he was gone.
