I’m thirsty as hell #2
“Maria, the man came to pick up the wing armchair.”
I look at Ms. Ala. She seems a little embarrassed. I shift my gaze to the muscleman, and he keeps staring at my breasts. Well, let him look. I have bigger things to worry about.
“Ms. Ala, why do you let strangers in?” I look again at my neighbor. “I asked you so many times, no flyers, no strangers…”
“But this gentleman is not a stranger.”
“What do you mean?” I glance at the hunk. He had thick black eyebrows, a wide jaw, and a tattoo on his neck. He’s built like a brick shithouse and is about my age, and he is not the type to play bridge with Ms. Ala.
“We have met before. This nice gentleman brought your chair,” she stammers a little. “I just don’t understand why you want to give it back now, if you liked it so much.”
“Give it back?” I shift my gaze to the muscleman, and he is still standing in the same position like a wax figure, with his eyes fixed on my boobs. Who is this guy? “Are you the TS?”
No response.
“Hello, sir?” I wave the broom in front of his face. “Are you the one who ordered the wing armchair?”
Finally, a reaction. The muscleman looks at me.
“Yes, I?m supposed to pick up the wing armchair,? he replies in a booming voice. He now reminds me of Big John from The Green Mile .
“Ms. Ala claims that you’re the one who delivered it last time. What courier company do you work for?”
“None,” he replies and reaches into the back pocket of his pants.
He pulls out a folded piece of paper, a pen and a wad of bills.
“Please sign this and leave a copy for yourself.” He hands me a folded piece of paper with a receipt on it.
No name or address, just some words about confirming the handover of the chair and accepting the cash.
“Can I count the money first?”
The guy hands me the banknotes.
“I have to go now, Maria. I’ve got potatoes cooking on the stove,” Ms. Ala says.
“Sure, see you later.”
My neighbor returns home, and I put down my broom and recalculate the total. It all adds up. I put the cash in my pocket and sign the documents.
“The chair is inside. Please come in.” I let the bald man in, although I’m actually not sure if I’m doing the right thing.
He really looks like he has a rap sheet somewhere.
Better to keep a broomstick handy. If anything happens, I’ll kick the dude in the balls, slap him upside the head, dash out of there and call the police.
We go inside, I grab a sweatshirt from the hanger in the hallway, and put it on. It’s better not to provoke anything.
“Is this the one?” The man points to the wing armchair with evident surprise.
“Yes. Is something wrong?”
“It looks different than the last time.”
“I know—much better, right?” I answer, perhaps not very modestly, but I’m really proud of the results of my work.
“Fucking right. Did you… yourself…” He moves his hand as if painting on the wall with a brush. He searches for the right word.
“Renovate?”
The man confirms with a nod, gazing appreciatively at the chair.
“All by myself.” I smile from ear to ear.
“Girl, you have an awesome talent. If I put some money aside, I’ll come back to you with my grandfather’s dresser. It is sitting in the storeroom and deteriorating.”
Oh, I think I’m starting to like him.
“Do you have a lot of orders?” he asks.
“It varies. I’m not complaining.”
Liar!
“Then I’ll let you know when I get paid. Will you pencil me in?” he asks quite seriously.
Gosh, but I’m having a fun day today.
“Sure. Just a second, I’ll give you my number.” I tear off a piece of paper from the chair receipt. “You know now where I live, but during the week it’s hard to reach me. I have a fucked- up boss, who makes me stay after hours. Although, I’ll probably have more free time starting tomorrow.”
“Are you getting ready for a vacation?” He leans over me as I write down the number.
“No, the asshole is going to fire me.”
“I see.”
“Well, the jerk only sees the tip of his own nose, he is a complacent stiff and totally selfish.” I hand him a piece of paper with a number on it.
The muscleman stares at me for a long moment.
He looks as if he wants to say something, but he purses his lips and hides the piece of paper in his pants pocket.
“Then maybe I’ll write down your number too,” I add. “What’s your name?” I take out my cell phone.
“Tadeo.”
“Very original.”
“It’s actually a nickname. My friends call me that.”
“Tadeo from Tadeusz?”
The guy momentarily turns red. Holy shit, the guy is powerful as a bull; he’s got tattoos all over. Probably at the sight of him, some guys just shit their pants, and this guy is ashamed that his name is Tadeusz.
“I like it. Your name is masculine and dignified. Like Tadeusz Kosciuszko, general, commander of the uprising…”
“Yep.” Tadeo quickly gives me the phone number, walks over to the chair and lifts it effortlessly, like it weighs next to nothing.
“My name is Maria.” I save his number on my cell phone.
“I know.”
Well. I put the phone in the back pocket of my jeans.
“But you can call me Mary, if Polish names annoy you.”
The guy smiles.
“I’m irritated only by mine. Mary sounds feisty, and Maria is feminine. It suits you.”
He walks out into the hallway with the chair.
Oh wow, gee, he’s actually a nice guy. Looks are deceiving. But I already know something about that, don’t I?
“Wait, I will open the door for you.” I follow him, I have to squeeze between his butt and the wall because the opening is narrow.
Gosh, his buttocks are hard.
“I guess you exercise a lot, huh?” I grab the handle and let him out in the stairway.
“A lot.”
“Obviously, it comes in handy on the job.”
“As long as I do physical work, yes. After college, probably a little less.”
“Are you a student?” My eyes open wide. That surprised me.
“Don’t I look like one?” he replies, but there is no resentment in his voice, rather an acceptance of how people perceive him.
“No, I mean yes.”
Tadeo shakes his head and starts walking down the stairs.
“Sorry. That sounded bad.” I follow him.
“Quite hasty to judge people, eh?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
“You know, sometimes some people can really surprise you once you get to know them better.”
He hit the nail on the head. I feel stupid.
“You are right. I apologize again.” I rub my forehead and gasp because I completely forgot about the painful bump.
“You’re welcome. I know what kind of first impression I make. Prison can give you a hard time and takes its toll on a person for years to come.”
Oh, shit. I stop.
“Have you been to prison?”
“I finished serving two years ago.”
My pulse is galloping. I’m caught off guard. But what if my first hunch about Tadeo was right? What if he was in jail for rape or assault?
“He had it coming.” He stops and puts the chair on the mezzanine.
I take a really deep breath.
“He?”
“He was a piece of shit. He raped my sister. I went to him, fucked him up with whatever I had. He ended up in the ICU. He was in a coma for three weeks and lost his eye. I had an asshole defense attorney, I got three years of jail time. When I got out of the slammer, no one wanted to hire me. My older brother recommended I work for a guy he went to elementary school with. I remembered that as a kid he was a ditz, closed-minded, everyone laughed at him, he had no friends, but he was brilliant when it came to math. My brother tried to buddy up with him, so he would have someone to copy from in class. It was not easy, the kid was an introvert, but year by year he got himself together. After elementary school, they lost touch with each other, but fate brought them together again two years ago. One thing led to another, my brother told him I was looking for a job, and the guy hired me as his helper—a gofer for everything. In the beginning, it was kind of a nightmare—demands, stubbornness, fussing over the smallest details and absolutely no flexibility. I hated the guy’s guts and felt like shoving the job up his ass.
But since I couldn’t find anything better, I chose to grin and bear it.
And I did well. After a while, I got used to the boss’s expectations, and he turned out to be a really decent guy.
I owe a lot to him.” He falls silent and smiles to himself.
“Sometimes it’s worth giving someone a bit of time to prove themselves.
People are different and not everyone is an open book.
What’s more, some scrupulously hide their true nature, either because they have reasons to do so, or because they simply can’t handle people. ”
Tadeo takes the chair, and I stand there, frozen. I’m impressed by what he said. A lot of it is right.
“You are a smart guy.”
“Thanks.” He blushes. “Okay, I’m off, because you don’t get money for talking. See you later, Maria.” He takes the chair and starts down the stairs.
“Bye, Tadeo.”