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.
