Chapter 1 #2
I’m sure he has a cluster of women to lean on during his time of need, was at the tip of my tongue, but I refrained.
“Olivia, Mayor Hanover wants us in our homes by three each day and only out if necessary. Caring for Fohr McClarren and risking my health isn’t exactly deemed as necessary in my opinion.”
“He’s been tested, and the idea is to have you tested as well.”
Even in her persistence, she wasn’t convincing enough.
“I’m not sick, Olivia,” I assured her with a slight roll of my neck as the thought surfaced that had it been anyone but Fohr McClarren – pro ball player and womanizer – requesting my services during this madness then I may have actually considered it.
“I don’t doubt it, but we have to be sure, here,” Olivia combated, reminding me that she was on the phone and requesting something from me that I just couldn’t give her. My presence.
“Neither have I agreed to leave my home each day and make my way to his when I’ve assured my other clients that I will not be servicing anyone until the Mayor’s order lifts,” I stated, as a matter of fact.
“We’re not asking you to do that, Ms. Delucca. We know how risky that would be.”
“Then, what are you asking?”
I could feel the strain of my facial muscles as my brows fought for the center of my forehead and my lips spread straight across my face.
There wasn’t a twinge of amusement or joy steaming from the conversation that being had.
Frankly, I was over it the minute I realized exactly what it was all about. Who it was about, rather.
“For you to consider Mr. McClarren’s home yours until this all blows over. This way, you’re both safe, he’s not losing his mind, or burning down his home trying to cook a protein-packed breakfast that abides by his meal plan.”
“Don’t they have chefs for that?” I suggested, though questioned.
“Yes. They do, but these are different circumstances.” Olivia prompted, fast on her toes. “Please. I’m really out of options here.”
“I’ll have to decline, Olivia.” I shrugged, running my hand through my crimps.
“Please, Ms. Delucca. Can you reconsider?”
“Fohr McClarren is an adult male capable of knocking balls out of every park he bats in. I’m sure he can manage a few weeks home alone. Besides, there’s a million Americans willing to risk their lives to service him.”
“But, he wants you.”
I hated the clenching of my chest and rising of my breasts as the words rolled off her tongue. Though they didn’t mean any of what I had taken them to, still… they’d been said. I’d seen Fohr McClarren.
Not in person, but on the screen, and if he looked anything like he did swinging a bat then he was a sight for unbelievably sore eyes. Even with me as his home’s keeper, we’d managed to keep our distance. I cleaned his home once a week for the last two years.
He was never there, but traces of him always lingered. His scent. His clothes. His debris. His late nights and his early mornings. They’d given me a glimpse of his lifestyle, and I wanted no parts of it… especially not for the length of the shelter in place protocol that had been enforced.
“Unfortunately, he can’t have me,” I responded with just as much resilience.
And, I’d meant it just the way I’d meant it. He couldn’t. A man of resources, his entitlement had obviously given him the bigger head. I wouldn’t fall victim to it. I’d declined and wouldn’t be changing my mind.
“Ms. Delucca, I–” Olivia protested, but failed short.
“Please have a nice night,” I interrupted, not utilizing the manners my mother had instilled in me as a child.
The call ended with the thud as I placed the phone on the hook. Slowly, I unraveled the cord from my finger and allowed it to slap the wall, making a bit of a fuss. The breath I was unaware of reserving was released along with the incline of my chest. Finally, I relaxed.
I could definitely use that wine, I thought with a dramatic shake of the head. It would possibly be some time before it arrived, so I toyed with the enticing sound of a bath at the back of my brain.
Well, wine and a bath sounds better. Nine isn’t too far out. I reconsidered.
The idea of bathing was promptly replaced with those of preparation for what was to come. A list of groceries and essentials quickly began swarming. I headed toward the fridge and removed the marker from its holding slot and began painting letters that soon became words onto the dry eraser area.
For close to an hour, I searched my cabinets, the pantry, freezer, and fridge for things that I was missing, could use more of, or wanted to utilize and added them to the list so that I wouldn’t forget in the event that I was required to order my groceries online.
My preference was visiting the market myself, but it wasn’t the safest option with the pandemic sweeping the state.
Everyone was vulnerable to sickness… even death for many.
Just as I blew the strand of hair from my face in exhaustion due to the laborious searching – and unplanned cleaning – of my cabinets and fridge, my doorbell sounded. I wasn’t expecting anyone, but I was expecting something.
Wine. Quickly, I glanced at the clock on the wall of my kitchen and noted that it was twelve minutes to nine. Perfect timing. The bath I had dreamed about earlier was necessary, now.
With my tired ringlets flopping as I galloped, lightly, through the corridor of my home.
I unhinged the locks attached to my door’s frame and forced it open with a slight tug.
The night breeze slapped my painted skin and sent a refreshing chill down my spine.
In addition to the notorious smell of outside, I was presented with another familiar, impressive stench.
Rain.
The air is wet, I recalled my father proclaiming at the smell of rain glazing the air before it touched the surface.
It was his favorite nature-thrown scent.
He could smell rain days before it came around, sometimes.
When he made the announcement at our kitchen table – most often – he’d warn against an empty fridge, sandals, and heat in our hair.
In the event of a storm, our shelves needed to be stocked.
Sandals were prohibited to relieve us of the chances of catching too much hail from the rain that could leave us with nasty colds or sinus infections.
Delaying the pressing of our hair that our mother sometimes managed on Sunday’s for church until after the rain, was always helpful.
The rain would just destroy her hard work.
Kneeling slightly, I lifted the brown paper bag that had been left on my porch. Feeling as if it weighed a ton, I wondered just what she’d gotten me. Knowing Mrs. Rayland, she spared no expenses when placing her order, possibly making sure I was covered for the months to come.
My curiosity egged the snooping I took part in before making it back into my place. Six. In the huge kraft paper bag, there were six bottles of wine. I’d never even purchased as many at once for myself. Mrs. Rayland had definitely outdone herself. I was thankful, nonetheless.
“Alright. Now, I can enjoy my bath.”