3. Heather
3
Heather
I wasn’t one of those people to have my head turned by material things.
At least I hadn’t thought I was. Possessions had always been just that to me. Things.
But as I stood on the deck of the ocean view condo and stared out at the Pacific, with a cup of the best freaking coffee I’d ever drank thanks to the combo grinder/brewer in the kitchen, I had to reevaluate my shallowness.
And to think, that day last week when the voicemail had come from my boss on my line at work, I’d actually been annoyed.
Heather.
One of the execs needs a house sitter. I volunteered you. Check your email for the details.
You’re welcome! (Smiley face emoji)
June
That last line really pissed me off.
You’re welcome!
It made me want to punch her smiley face emoji in its happy little yellow face.
Just because I was unmarried and had no kids and no pets did not mean I was the automatic house sitter for anybody who needed one, but apparently my boss thought I was.
I’d ranted for a full hour to my co-worker Lucy over lunch. When I finally got back to my desk, after taking an extra long break as an act of protest, I’d checked my email.
That’s when I noticed the address of this housesitting job.
Hermosa Beach.
And not just the town but actually at the beach, as in almost on the sand.
The Pacific Ocean was only one block away and definitely in sight of where I’d be living for the next month.
The location had impressed me enough after I’d searched the map view on my cell. But then I walked into the condo . . . and into paradise.
Holy cow! I’d actually squealed when I saw it. One, it was the most beautiful place I’d ever stepped foot in, and two, the home owner had left me eight hundred dollars—cash—on the kitchen counter for my troubles.
You’re welcome, indeed. I actually was grateful to my boss for hooking me up with this sweet gig.
Not grateful enough to share the gift basket they’d left for me next to the cash though.
It was full of rich people stuff. Heck yeah, I could learn to like caviar. I already liked champagne and chocolate. I’d be moving on to that champagne next, after another cup or two of the mind-blowing coffee.
I swear I might have had a small coffeegasm right there next to the teak patio set on the deck.
Having wealth sure was nice.
Heck, I’d be happy just having a job that paid decent money because my job in the marketing and public relations department at New Millennia Media certainly did not. Although by the looks of this place, the execs at Millennia were making bank.
I was about to go back inside and take further advantage of my fleeting brush up against executive level luxury while I could, when a flash of color in my peripheral vision caught my attention.
Putting my empty cup down on the table, I leaned on the railing, squinting into the bright morning.
Was that—a chicken?
I might not have dogs, cats, birds or even fish, but I knew a chicken when I saw one.
Or actually, more like a rooster if that showy plume of a tail was anything to go on as he skirted around some fencing and hightailed it toward the beach.
I didn’t know much about chickens but I was pretty sure the shore wasn’t their usual habitat.
What was that crazy bird doing? What was it going to do for food and for hydration down there? There was nothing but sand and salt water where it was headed. Maybe some snacks to forage on too, dropped by sloppy beachgoers, but that was it.
I turned and strode in through the open sliding glass doors since the morning was a perfect seventy-two degrees and I didn’t need or want to turn on the air conditioning.
I also hadn’t wanted to put on real clothes today. Since it was my day off and my first day in the condo I figured I’d hang out on the gorgeous deck and read the book I’d been wanting to start.
But to go rooster chasing I’d make the sacrifice and change out of the leggings and tank top and actually put on a bra, shirt and shorts to go out in public.
Worse case scenario, all I’d get out of this was a nice walk on the beach. Best case, I’d catch a shot of the rooster for my Instapost account. Super best case, I’d be a hero and save the bird from whatever fate might befall it out there alone.
Not that I knew how to catch a chicken, or what I was going to do with a rooster should I actually manage to catch it, but I’d worry about that later.
Throwing on loose cotton shorts with a pocket for my cell, and a racer back bra, tank top and sunglasses, I felt very much like a Hermosa Beach native.
After twisting my hair into a strawberry blonde knob on top of my head so it didn’t get in the way of any possible rooster wrestling, I was off.
I didn’t even need a key. The modern condo had a keyless entry.
Oh, yeah, I’d be totally living the life this month. It was going to suck going back to my tiny apartment after this.
“Good morning,” I said to the woman walking a dog who had nodded hello to me as I rounded the building and followed the path of the rooster.
Look, I was a native already.
I returned the smile and the wave from the gardener working on the flowerbed at one of the buildings on my route.
“You didn’t happen to see a rooster run by here, did you?” I paused and asked.
He lifted his bushy eyebrows and shook his head. “Nope.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
Yeah, okay. Maybe I should keep that question to myself. It sounded pretty nuts now that I’d said it aloud.
I might be the only one who’d seen the rooster strut through. And though I’ve doubted my own sanity on occasion—like when I bought that pair of thousand dollar shoes because one of the other women at work had them—this time I was certain I wasn’t crazy.
There was a chicken on the loose and I was going after him. I’d count it as my exercise for the day.
I might even work up an appetite for breakfast by the time I was done. Too bad old Rowdy Rooster didn’t lay eggs. I could have made an omelet on that six burner professional cooktop in the condo.
No, I wasn’t a great cook. But maybe that was because I never had a great kitchen. I felt like in my current habitat, anything was possible.
Maybe I should have said yes when Mike had suggested we have a drink after work sometime. He was about ten rungs higher up the ladder in the company than my current position.
I’d said no mainly because I wasn’t attracted to him. But there was also the fact that dating someone in a position of power at my job seemed like asking for trouble. If I got a promotion, everyone would think I slept my way to the top.
After spending even a few hours in the lap of luxury, I had to think maybe I wasn’t so smart. A smart woman might have said yes to that invitation. Or at least a person who could admit she really did like nice things would have.
But no. I’d earn my own way. Buy my own nice things now that I realized the truth—that being surrounded by objects of superior quality was kind of like being given superpowers.
I felt that power now as I convinced myself I was going to catch that bird.
Look at me. Who’d have thought that me, a mid-west girl transplanted in a low level job in LA County, would be about to track and capture a rogue rooster and bring it back to my million-dollar condo? Well, not exactly my condo, but mine for the month at least.
If the people back in Iowa could see me now.
Actually, they could. I paused in my pursuit and turned so the ocean view was to my back, raised my phone high and smiled for the selfie for my Instapost account.
Maybe I’d make that my new profile picture when I got back inside and could see the darn cell screen without the sun glare.
A squawk caught my attention, followed by the flutter of feathered wings beating the air.
I spun toward the sound and there he was, in all his glory.
The colors were amazing. Red with hints of deep vibrant green and blue. Who knew chickens came in such beautiful colors?
In my lifetime I’d only encountered the basic white version. Seeing this handsome guy, I had a whole new appreciation for the species.
Of course, catching him was going to be another story.
“Come here, chicky-chicky-chicky. Come here, boy. What do I have for you?” I shoved my cell into my pocket and held out my cupped hand toward him.
Hopefully he wouldn’t realize my hand held nothing more than empty promises—just like the last man I’d seriously dated.
The bird cocked his head and evaluated me with one beady eye, not stepping forward but not running away either, which I figured was a good sign.
Even if he did come to me, what was I going to do with him? I didn’t even have a leash or a box or anything.
I was going to have to grab him like a football and run home. What I was going to do when I got there was yet another issue.
As I considered my growing list of problems, the bird took one step forward, then a second.
In shock, I stood perfectly still as he got closer to me.
Finally I realized he wasn’t coming to me. He was walking toward a bug on the ground by my foot, judging by the cock of his head and his one-eyed stare.
I leaned low, ready to pounce—if I could get up the nerve to grab a wild animal whose feet I had just noticed were tipped with what looked more like talons than nails.
He pivoted his head and glared at me with his other eye and I froze.
Nothing to see here. Just me, acting like a statue.
He went back to his pursuit of the bug and I took a chance. I reached down with both hands, grabbed him around his robust middle and pulled him close to my body the way my brother had taught me to catch a football.
The bird emitted a squawk that sounded as if I was wringing his neck.
“Shh. Stop! If someone hears you they’ll call animal control and then you’ll really be sorry.” Who knew what they’d do with a rooster on the run in this neighborhood.
I figured the bird had a much better chance of survival with me, until I could research what to do with him. I held him closer, sticking him deeper under one arm and trying to hide him.
Pfft! As if I could hide this giant bird whose feathers might as well have been neon he was so colorful.
He must have figured out that fighting me was futile, although I had no doubt if he really put his all into it, he might win against me. I wasn’t an expert chicken wrangler by any means. And he came equipped with some deadly looking protrusions. Between his beak and toenails it would be like wrestling Wolverine. I wasn’t up for that.
Thank goodness he buried his head beneath my arm and went perfectly still.
I didn’t let myself get too cocky that he was cooperating. He could be playing possum, feigning submission until I let down my guard. Then he’d make a break for it.
Not on my watch.
I speed-walked as quickly as a woman could with a rooster under her arm. Not too fast. Acting casual all the way. I didn’t want to attract any negative attention.
A nosy neighbor calling the cops could ruin my whole plan to save this bird from a fate that could end in his death.
As if he knew that, he stayed quiet. Head down. Colorful tail feathers blowing in the breeze as I sped toward the condo.
Turning the corner I came face-to-face with the same gardener.
His suntanned face broke into a wide smile of white teeth. “See you found your chicken.”
Just act casual . . .
I smiled back. “I did. Thank you.”
He nodded. “Have a good day.”
“You too. Thanks.” I kept going, hoping he was the last encounter I’d have while smuggling my new friend into a condo that no doubt had a few rules about pets—particularly those of the barnyard variety.
My luck held right up until I got to the door and realized my hands were full of foul.
“Hey, buddy. Will you be good if I take one hand away to key in the code?”
He didn’t answer, so I slowly moved one hand off him, still holding him tight with the other arm. He didn’t stir. Not knowing how long he’d remain submissive I punched in the four digits, flung the door open and dashed inside.
I got the door shut, flipped the light on and glanced down at my new charge.
He remained motionless.
My eyes widened. Oh my gosh. Did I suffocate him?
I pulled him away from me and his closed eyes popped open. He blinked at me a few times as if to see why I’d disturbed him.
“You were sleeping?” I let out a sigh. “I thought you were dead. Please don’t do that again.”
Yes, I was talking to a rooster. No, it wouldn’t be the last time either. He and I were going to have to discuss some ground rules.
I carried the bird to the bathroom.
The bathtub seemed like a good temporary lodging. Easy to clean until I could come up with something better. Like maybe a cage for the deck.
I set him in the deep two-person tub. He stared at his reflection in the stainless steel ring around one of the jets before he pecked at it once.
Good thing the homeowner couldn’t see me—or him. Or could they?
Crud. I made a mental note to check for nanny cams as soon as I got him some water and maybe some cereal. That seemed like a good rooster breakfast.
In the kitchen, I pulled the champagne out of the fridge. It seemed a bit silly to enjoy a glass as I sat with my new buddy while he ate his breakfast of corn flakes and water but I needed a drink after my adventure.
I was about to pop the cork and pour myself a glass when the most deafening noise, amplified as it bounced off the marble, blasted out of the bathroom. It almost had me dropping the bottle.
Rowdy was doing what roosters did.
Crowing.
Inside the bathroom of a million-dollar Hermosa Beach condo that I didn’t own.
Uh, oh.