In The House Of Spite Ch 02

The clicking turns of the house key and the lock satisfied Pearl's obsessive brain.

She tried to keep quiet as she entered Mr. Booker's house on this breezy morning. She took her feet out of her shoes and padded on over to the living room. In a corner, two pet beds close to each other were faithfully enduring the weight of two big, sleeping fur babies. It was about time for them to eat, wasn't it?

Pearl was able to take three steps towards the kitchen before Baby Blue sneezed and woke up. Hoping the dogs wouldn't assume she was an intruder, Pearl stared at the Pit Bull with apprehensive eyes. Then she cooed to the dog in a syrupy way. "Good morning, Baby."

Baby Blue stepped out of his bed and shook around as if he was wet, his ears loudly flapping. Then his bottom was pushed up. His mouth opened and his tongue stuck out. His ears jerked up; so did his tail. A frolicsome, but still loud bark blared out.

Not wanting to wake up the boss too early, Pearl went into hush mode. "Ssh ssh ssh!!" She approached, then knelt down, reaching for the dog's head. "Be quiet, now. Quiet. Daddy's sleeping."

Gunner woke up right after Baby Blue had barked. He yawned and sniffed the air. Then he perked up and barked.

"Sssh!!" Pearl turned her head to pout at Gunner. "Don't get Daddy mad. I'm going to get your food."

At the word food, Gunner's tail swung around.

"Yeah," Pearl said, "food. Food time." When she got up and went on, the two dogs followed her. In the kitchen, they watched Pearl from the floor, staring up at her as if every movement was divine. Their diets were the same. Dry food mixed with wet. The water was bottled. They'd only have tap water if nothing else was available. And none of that Dasani shit. That stuff actually dehydrated you. Deer Park was the preferred brand.

As the dogs loudly ate their breakfast, Pearl started on their Daddy's. He had a waffle iron, which was perfect for eggs. She beat up some eggs, mixed in some creole spices she'd found in one of the cabinets, and some ripped up bits of lunch meat. Then she cooked it up in the waffle maker. She did this process twice.

Along with the two waffle omelets, she made two slices of toast with strawberry jelly and country fried potatoes. A tall glass of cold milk was the beverage. She carefully put the large plate and milk on the kitchen table. There was a dining room, but it seemed to be more for show than anything. Who he was showing off to, Pearl couldn't figure out.

Mr. Booker's footsteps pounded down from the second floor some moments later. Pearl had expected it. She was fixing up his packed lunch when he sat down, but she made a point to turn around and smile at him. "Good morning, Mr. B!" She liked saying B instead of Booker. He didn't seem to care much.

He looked nice in his workout clothes. He was definitely going to his gym. He probably had very good managers, and so he could get away with working out on the job.

His face darkened in thought as he stared at the stack of waffle omelets. "I ... excuse me ...?"

Putting together a chicken and bacon sandwich, Pearl said with a distracted voice, "Is everything alright?"

"Are these waffles?"

"They're omelets," she explained as she wrapped the sandwich in waxed paper. "I cooked them in the waffle iron because I can't figure out how to flip a normal omelet."

"Oh." He sounded like he was disappointed in himself. "I didn't know you could do that."

Preparing the ingredients for a salad with avocados chunks and cubes of cheese, Pearl said, "You can cook lots of things in a waffle iron. Waffle irons are my favorite kitchen thing."

Along with the scratchy, clinging sounds of kitchen utensils against the plate, Pearl heard Mr. B say, "Why didn't I think of that?"

When he was finished eating, Pearl was finished packing up his lunch. Then, as Mr. B went off to take the dogs on their morning walk, Pearl put her phone in a pocket and earbuds in her ears. He'd once said that he didn't really care if she was listening to stuff as long as she actually worked. Her favorite things to listen to were independent political commentaries.

Time blissfully ground on.

The dogs were returned. Mr. Booker said he had to go. He took his lunch and said goodbye. Pearl kept working.

More time. More people talking in her ear. Criticisms of politicians. Information rebellions around the world. The economy, along with unemployment levels.

Eventually, Pearl decided to listen to some music instead.

She got out the vacuum. It was a good time to listen to most types of metal. Baby Blue watched her for a time. Then he went over to a window, where the sun had made a bright spot on the floor, and he laid down on his back. Goodness, he was a beautiful dog. Gunner was beautiful too, just in a more classical way.

The late Peter Steele's deep voice echoed in her head as she looked for the dusting spray.

Every once in a while, she'd send the boss a text with updates on her progress. He seemed to appreciate that. It gave him a better idea of what to expect when he got home. Just because there was a schedule didn't mean everything would go according to plan.

She was ironing some long sleeved shirts in the living room when Mr. Booker got home. The laundry room was fairly small and Pearl didn't trust herself not to get clumsy in such a tight space. So, she'd carried the ironing board into a bigger space.

Baby Blue was excited to see his Daddy this afternoon. He ran over to the foyer to greet Mr. B while Gunner just chewed on a squeaky toy shaped like a rolled up newspaper.

Pearl heard the man's happy voice. "Hey there, Blue! Pretty Baby Blue! Did you miss Daddy?" How is it that such a pleased, gentle voice could also sound so heavy and strong? Pearl's fingertips felt warmer than before. She briefly made a silent joke in her head about ironing the clothes with her fingers alone.

Mr. B wasn't wearing gym clothes when he came into the living room. He had jeans and a faded red T-Shirt. His posture was particularly erect and confident. He waved at her. "Hey there. How are you?"

"I'm fine," Pearl replied. "I'll clock out after ironing all this."

"Okay," Mr. B said as he tried to sit down, but Baby Blue wasn't having it. He wanted to play. He jumped onto Mr. B, but the man gently pushed him down and sternly said, "No way. I'm tired. Go play with Gunner." He pointed at the German Shepherd, who'd finally gotten bored of his squeaky toy. Baby Blue followed Mr. B's gesture and then dashed over to Gunner. Wrestling ensued. It was fun to watch.

Mr. Booker got himself a glass of iced sweet tea. Then he sat down in an armchair to read a wildlife magazine.

A few minutes passed on. Pearl was being particularly cautious with the ironing. The last thing she wanted was to get burned.

Gunner was getting tired. He nudged and kicked Baby Blue away. Then he went off to the kitchen, probably to get a few laps of water. Baby Blue made a goofy, gulping noise and then he ran up to Pearl.

She'd been too busy to react appropriately.

The Pit Bull leapt up to her, almost as if he was trying to knock her down.

As she fell over, Pearl screamed. Her fingers slipped out of the iron's handle.

"No!!"

That was Mr. Booker.

Pearl wasn't sure how it happened, but she was soon on the floor. Something was burning; the nasty smell had just arrived. The ironing board, clothes, and iron were on the floor too. She hurried to pick the iron up. It had landed on the carpet, and a scorch mark had been left behind. She turned the dial off and cautiously held the iron up as she set the ironing board back into position.

A bit away from her, she saw Mr. Booker's insistent, tensing hands pinning Baby Blue to the floor. He was kneeling, his long legs bent and reminding Pearl of grasshoppers. She didn't think the dog was being harmed, but he was certainly being kept from misbehaving. Seeming to understand that he'd fucked up, the Pit Bull was limp and quiet. She was fairly certain that Mr. Booker hadn't slapped the dog, hadn't even pinched him, but clearly some form of discipline had been required.

The man's tight, curly hair fluttered as he turned his head to look at her. Those lovely, pale blue eyes were terribly uneasy. The veins in his throat throbbed a little. "Are you hurt?"

Carefully placing the cooling iron in an upright position on the ironing board, Pearl said, "I think I'm okay. I don't think I'm burned or anything." She looked over to where Mr. B had sat before this mess had happened. His magazine was upside down on the floor. Gravity had helped to fold the pages at random angles. The tea was now soaking into the carpet. The glass was near the wet spot. Ice had been spilled out.

Her right arm curled over her left elbow. "I'm sorry. I didn't hang onto the iron. The carpet's burned."

His throat seeming to smooth out a little, his features loosening up, Mr. B said, "Don't worry. I'll take care of it. Go clock out."

Pearl slid her right hand down to her left and folded her fingers together. "You know, I don't think Blue was trying to hurt me. He just got too excited and wanted to play."

The man's breath surged in his chest and then out of his mouth. His next statement was a bit tired. There was also some kind of wanting, something persuasive.

"I know. I know. It's okay. I'm not mad anymore."

Like he was trying to soothe a crying child.

It made her feel warm in her belly and she didn't know why.

Mr. Booker took his hands away from Baby Blue and let him get up. The Pit Bull shook his head. Then he turned his head away from Mr. B, ears moving backwards. His tail tucked under as he went off to a corner of the room and laid down. Then he rolled over onto his back and stayed in that spot.

First, Pearl looked at the white dog and lightly said, "I forgive you, you doofy dumb baby." Then she went off to the kitchen to clock out. She went back to the living room to see Mr. Booker picking up his now empty glass. She rocked up on the balls of her feet and then put her heels back down. "Well ... I'll get the ice up for you."

"No you won't," he said with a tone that reminded her of a stern teacher, but he was smiling. "Sit down. I'll get your money in a few minutes."

She sat on the couch and watched him clean up the spilled tea and ice. Then, he went to the kitchen for a little while. He soon came back with a wad of cash, and she counted it. Good chunk of money. "Thank you, Sir." She put the money away in her wallet.

"No problem," the man said as he followed her over to the foyer, then the front door. He opened that door for her. "Drive safely."

Pearl smiled up at him and waved her hand in a pleasant good-bye gesture. "No worries!"

***

Pearl wasn't a very social person. She didn't go out very much. When she had something interesting to talk about, her Mama and Daddy were the targets. She sat at their kitchen table as they ate dinner, talking about her new job.

Mr. B was very nice, and his dogs were sweet. The Pit Bull got too obsessive with playing around, had nearly gotten her burned, but Mr. B took care of it. He paid her well and he was so easy to work for. He never bitched at her, never called her names. The worst thing he did was raise his voice to tell her to sit down and let her feet rest. That wasn't troublesome.

Her parents had comforted smiles as they listened. Their child had a bit of independence and confidence again. Maybe she'd gain some weight back. She'd certainly been eating less often since Jeffery died, and Jeffery had always been the kind of boyfriend to keep his girl fed. When he died, Mama and Daddy had both been nearly as ruined as Pearl. They'd loved that young man and they'd loved how kindly he'd coddled their child.

But here was hope. Here was a pleasant furor. Here was a new life.

Later on, when Daddy went off to play poker online, Mama leaned into Pearl and whispered, "You know, it would be nice if you got together with that man. You'd make the prettiest blue-eyed babies."

Her stomach twisting, sparks rolling in her chest and throat, Pearl immediately told her mother, "No way. He's not interested in me, and even if he was, he's my boss. You don't mess with your boss like that. It's messed up."

Mama rolled her eyes and giggled. "Alright, but nobody would be mad if you two got together."

"But it's not going to happen." Pearl almost got snippy with her own mother over the matter. That's how firmly she believed in her own standards. "You just don't mess with your money like that. I take care of the house. He gives me money. That's it."

***

"Well hey there, Girl! How are you?"

Pearl turned around to see who was calling out to her, if someone was indeed calling out to her specifically.

She was in a favorite Walmart, or one of the boss' favorite Walmarts, with a list of things for him. Things like toothpaste, moisturizing shampoo, instant hair conditioner, a favorite brand of baked potato chips, and even a few cleaning supplies. One hand lingering on her shopping cart's handle, Pearl searched, and she saw Mrs. Booker, the little old Black lady, and her husband, the tall old White guy.

"Hi," Pearl said to the couple, faintly smiling. "How are you?"

Mrs. Booker's mother had her hair up in a large topknot. She was looking fairly casual in her blue jeans, comfy sneakers, and loose cotton shirt. Her bright smile and welcoming tone made Pearl think of potato salad, sweet tea, and chicken and pastry. "You've been doing alright at my boy's place?"

"Yes, Ma'am." Pearl carefully folded her list and put it in a pocket. "He has a beautiful house."

"He sure does," Mrs. Booker said as she leaned a tiny bit in. "He's very proud of it, and he should be."

Her head cocking to one side, Pearl said, "He's so successful. It's really impressive."

With an almost arrogant nod, Mrs. Booker said, "He's rebellious and hard-headed, but that's just fine. Whenever someone told him he wouldn't amount to nothing he made it his life's mission to prove them wrong."

That was when Mr. Booker Senior spoke up for the first time, his hand on his hip. "There were some really bad teachers in school when he was a kid."

Shrugging, Mrs. Booker said, "There are always bad teachers." She gave a little chuckle. "Oh well. I'll let you go."

"Okay, see you later." Pearl waved goodbye as the old couple left her alone.

When she returned to the boss' house, she saw that the garage door was open and the silvery truck was inside. There was an older, more beat up green truck too, but Pearl was more interested in the silvery truck. Mr. B was home early.

In the house, she heard guitar music, a sad little song. She went to greet the man.

He was sitting on the couch, using his acoustic guitar with the same ease he showed when eating or pushing a remote control's buttons. His face was wonderfully placid.

"Hi!" Pearl bounced a little on her feet and waved at him.

His strumming fingers hovered over the strings, halting the music. His eyes rose to her face, and his lips formed a chill little grin. "Hey, you got the stuff?"

"Yeah," Pearl quickly and coolly said with a shrug, "I had to kill a lot of people, and it took hours to wash all the blood away, but it was worth it." Gunner walked by her, stopping only for a sniff the air near her thigh. "Hi Gunner!" She wiggled her fingers at the dog. Then she said, "I'm going to bring all the stuff in."

Music floated back around as she made all the trips back and forth. It changed from sad to happy and then off to bouncy. When all the stuff was put away, the shopping bags packed up to be used later, Pearl grabbed a bottle of Windex and some paper towels. She wanted to wipe up some mirrors before she clocked out. Yes, on days she went out shopping for Mr. B she wasn't expected to do as much cleaning, but she still did a little bit.

She started with an ornamental mirror in the foyer. She had to stand on a stool to reach it. As she got back down, she happened to look at a neat row of Mr. B's most used shoes. They looked beaten up, nearly falling apart. He really needed a new pair of shoes, but that wasn't any of her business.

Maybe, since he had such big feet, it was hard to find a good pair that fit well?

***

Halloween was getting closer and closer. Pearl was looking forward to it. Every year, Daddy always bought a crap-ton of candy and put it in a bowl in the kitchen for anyone to take advantage of. Plus, lots of Halloween themed content on video sharing websites. Other people might be going to parties in costumes, but that wasn't something Pearl did. She hadn't even done it when she was growing up. She was taken trick-or-treating until she was 13 but that was it.

Some days were still hot like summer, but others were cool enough for Pearl to need some sleeves. One shirt she had was more fitted on her torso, and it didn't cover her backside. She noticed that her jeans felt tighter than normal. Had she gained any weight? When she asked Mama, she got a confirmation. "You're butt's gotten bigger," Mama had said with a laugh, which made Pearl shrug. She couldn't say Mama was wrong. She was no good at judging her own body weight.

On a chilly morning, Pearl went to Mr. B's house to start off her workday. Feed the big babies then the boss. Boss' breakfast was a stack of blueberry pancakes with banana slices, sausage, and fried eggs. Pearl thought it all smelled excellent. She was almost jealous, although she had a sneaky feeling that if she'd asked very sweetly, then Mr. Booker would let her eat some of his food again. She wouldn't ask, though. She had too much pride.

Mr. Booker was rubbing his eye when he came into the kitchen. His hair was sticking out at odd angles, but he was otherwise well put together. In fact, when Pearl gave her common and perky "Good Morning" to him, he made a face similar to a happy dog with a relaxed mouth, a doggy smile.

"Hey, good morning," he said with a sleepy but pleased voice. "Food looks great." It was on the table for him.

"Thank you, Sir." She was putting the dirty dishes aside to make room for the food or a packed lunch. Some leftover baked ziti, some large and buttery mushrooms, and an apple. She listened to him dig in as she put everything in order.

There was a feeling.

A fuzzy, creeping feeling.

She glanced behind herself. Within a second, Pearl realized that Mr. B had been looking at her, and he quickly pointed his eyes back down to his food.

Puzzlement was a huge part of her world as she went back to the lunch.

When she was washing the dishes, and Mr. B was off walking the dogs, she was still puzzled.

The conclusion she made had her giggling.

Was he checking her out?

Well ... okay. That was fine. She liked to check him out sometimes too. As long as nobody was being harassed or worse, there as nothing wrong with looking at people.

Maybe Mama had been right. Maybe her butt had gotten a little bigger. A little weight gain to keep her from looking like a cancer patient was always good.

Later, Pearl heard Mr. B come back in with the dogs, and she called out a questioning statement. "Good walk?!"

"Yeah," he answered. He didn't sound as satisfied as he normally did. In fact, Pearl thought she heard a low growl in his voice.

"Are you alright?" She was getting a broom for sweeping.

"Yeah. I'm fine."

Pearl decided it wasn't any of her concern.

He left to one of his businesses a few minutes later.

Pearl just kept on working. When she was sweeping the foyer, she noticed there were some brand new shoes on the floor. She was glad to know that he'd found some shoes that weren't falling apart.

Earbuds with videos. More work. Vacuuming, dusting, laundry, checking in on the empty rooms to make sure pests hadn't found new homes there, changing the sheets on the massive bed in Mr. B's room, fluffing pillows, and more and more chores. It was perfectly fine and normal. You want money? You need to work for it. That was how it was supposed to be.