Daisy. Daisy. I hate that name. The name my parents gave me. So girly. So pretty. So not me. The only daughter. Four sons. One daughter. Me. So to make me stand out even more they called me Daisy. Ugh!
I'm now eighteen years old. Still at school. My brothers are Brad, who is thirty one. John is twenty five. Paul is twenty three. Then Chris who is fifteen. We live with our father, except Brad who is married to Jennie, who is a beautiful blonde stunner, and a schoolteacher. Our mother unfortunately died of cancer when I was just five years old, leaving me to grow up as the only female in a very male dominated house. And boy didn't I know it. I was teased ruthlessly as a child. When I hit puberty the teasing stepped up a gear or two, if that was possible.
So I rebelled. First with cigarettes, then alcohol, then clothes and make up and hairstyles. Finally sex. At fourteen I lost my virginity and have had several experiences since, including sex with a forty two year old man. I'm not proud either.
Growing up as the only girl in a male house did teach me a lot of valuable lessons though, especially about men. I learned about their habits, moods, hopes, fears, dislikes and likes. I also learned that as a female it is possible to control a man with just a smile, or a word, or a tear, or a flick of a finger, or a great big sad puppy dog face. So I have made it to the grand old age of eighteen, very much a rebel, but not an out of control one.
My dad worries about me. My school reports are...well, shit. Also I currently have short black hair. Black fingernails, lipstick and eye shadow. Black clothes and Doctor Marten boots. I would be scared if I looked in the mirror. Also lots of piercings. Ears, eyebrows, lips, nose. Not a girl who looks like she should be called Daisy. In fact my brothers have now got round to calling me 'Coffin'! As a tease, but actually I quite like it!!
Which leads me to the next part of my story. Dad. He is so worried about me. So I was not surprised when I got a phone call from my eldest brother, Brad, suggesting I called round to his shop after school, for a 'chat'.
Brad is the family star. Good looking. Tall. Successful. Married to a real beauty. Also, for whatever reason I can't fathom, he has always been the brother I've been closest to. His teasing was never quite as bad as the others. Never as savage or brutal. He seemed to have a respect for my privacy, and dignity, that the others seemed to lack. And a degree of understanding. I could always talk to him, in a way I couldn't with the others. I love them, but...
Brad is a grafter. Driven, determined, a go getter. He knows his mind and believes in himself. He went to university after he left school, but quit after eighteen months. Bored with always learning, he wanted to get on and do something with his life. Using a bit of money he had saved he started selling audio equipment, one of his passions. Now ten years later he has three stores in our town, selling very high quality audio tech to enthusiasts, and rich people. His stores offer excellent advice and even better service. Not what you get from the big corporate retailers.
Somewhere along the way I have also developed an interest in the stuff he sells. Always a big music fan, I was thrilled to get a decent pair of headphones for my eleventh birthday from Brad. And over subsequent years he has bought me great audio gear. I now know all about bass, treble, woofers, sub woofers etc. I know what makes the difference between good headphones, great headphones and average headphones. The same for speakers, cd players, decks etc. I often call into one of his stores on my way home from school to check out a new piece of kit, or to read a new hi fi magazine, or just chat to the staff. They all know me.
Brad is based in the biggest store, where he has an office and meets sales reps, or whatever other business he has to do. He never seems to mind me calling in. In fact he takes a joy in my enthusiasm and encourages it.
So it was not unusual for me to call in one Tuesday afternoon. Brad was busy but eventually found time to talk.
"Dad's worried about you," he began.
"As usual."
"Well whatever. He suggested that maybe you need to get a job."
"Oh fuck Brad, he's said that to me so many times. I just don't..."
"Daisy, you have to learn. Dad will keep repeating the message until you do something about it. That's life. You have to learn to get on. And one way to do that is to give a little back occasionally."
"Whatever bro."
"Look. Dad moans at you to get a job. You do nothing. He moans a lot more. And so on. Try to play the game. Look for a job, show that you're trying. He might back off a bit. Life works that way. Parent, teacher, boss. If they moan at you for not doing something, show them that you're listening. Do it. They'll back off. That's life. The more you resist the harder they'll push. Give them a bit of what they're asking for and they'll ease off. That's how it works."
"So get a job basically. But you're telling me now not dad."
"Sort of. But I'm trying to help you."
"Yeah yeah."
"Listen Daisy. Try me. I have an idea. It helps us both really. You like audio stuff yeah? You like coming to my store and trying stuff out."
"Yeah?"
"Well I know you do. And you know what you're talking about too. You understand it. In fact you probably have better knowledge than nearly all my staff."
"Not really..."
"No you do. Trust me. And you're a girl. I only have men in my stores. I could do with a girl. I think female customers get a bit scared off as this seems such a male environment."
"That's so sexist. So 1970s!"
"Whatever, as you say. It's true. I could do with a girl in my stores. Tits and ass. The male customers like it too."
"Brad!"
"I know. Sexism. But I need a girl to work in my stores. You need to appease dad by getting a job. Interested?"
"How?"
"Saturdays. And maybe after school a couple of days a week. You get paid the going rate. Gives you a bit of cash. And it might put a smile back on your pretty little face!" he said, grabbing my mouth like I was a little child.
"Don't do that! You know I hate it."
"Well?"
"I suppose. I'll give it a try," I said, reluctantly. In truth I was thrilled.
And so it began. Every Saturday. And every Thursday and Friday after school. Within weeks I was loving it. I sold loads. Outperformed most of the staff. I got on well with all of them. Brad was mostly in his office or out at meetings. He rarely came onto the shop floor. But he told me I was doing really well. The store manager was Craig, an old family friend who had known dad for over forty years. He treated me like his child, encouraging me, training me and generally being my mentor. Not that I needed one. Brad was right. I did know more than most of them.
Dad noticed within weeks that I seemed happier in myself.
The next stage of this story happens one Friday after I had been working there about three months.
I arrived from school to the store. Brad was looking annoyed and above everything else there was an irritating beeping noise.
"What's that noise?" I asked Craig.
"Oh the alarm. It's broken. Not for the first time."
"Oh."
I went to get changed. My work uniform consisted of a white shirt, black skirt and black stockings, and luckily I could still war my black boots. Not too awful.
The alarm engineer informed Brad that he needed to order a new part, which wouldn't be ready till the next day.
"Which means..." Brad said, looking pissed off.
"Which means..." repeated the engineer, apologetically.
"Which means, someone has to stay here over night. The insurance insists that if the alarm isn't working, someone must be on the premises at all times, otherwise the insurance isn't valid. Usually that means me or Brad. I've got an anniversary meal tonight with my wife so that means your poor brother has to spend the whole night here!" explained Craig.
"Oh the poor thing! What will he do?" I asked.
"What I did last time. Read, clean, read, paperwork, read and then read some more!"
For some reason I felt sorry for my brother having to be there all alone during the night. I decided to offer to stay overnight with him and keep him company. At first he told me not to worry but I insisted.
"What do you do tomorrow? You don't work do you?" I asked.
"Tomorrow I sleep. Jennie is out all day tomorrow, so when this lot turn up for work tomorrow morning, I go home to bed. I suggest you do the same," Brad told me.
"No work?"
"You can't work if you've been up all night. Go home to sleep."
"Not that I'll get much sleep at home with dad and the others there," I joked.
"Sleep at my house then. Come back with me. You can sleep in the spare room. It will be very quiet, just you and me there."
"Cool. Just one thing? Can we get a pizza delivered this evening?" I asked.
"Typical!"
After all the other staff had left, Brad and I sat in the staff room, located next door to his office. It was a large room with a couch and an armchair. Brad ordered pizza and after we had eaten he pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels from his desk drawer. I wasn't a big drinker but I tried a bit.
By about ten PM we were getting bored. I had a book in my bag and lay on the couch reading it, while Brad sat in his office, placing stock orders via his computer. He came through to see me.
"So what do you normally do at times like this?" I asked.
"What I'm doing now. Clean a bit, do paperwork, place orders."
"Just work. Don't you do anything else?"
"Like what?"
"Other stuff. Read books. You know."
"Sometimes. I do go on the laptop sometimes."
"And do what?" I kept pressing.
"Read. Look at stuff."
"What stuff?"
"Audio things. Sport things. Golf mainly."
"Porn?" I joked.
"Sometimes."
