I make my coffee in my #1 Asshole mug, just to establish myself, and with Patty at my heels I go in search of the guys. They are all in the drive, unloading piles of gear. “Are you going to introduce me to everyone?” I sip my coffee and try to look nonchalant.
Tom is dragging ladders out of the back of a truck. “Yes, when we get this stuff out and the others turn up.” He’s got a schedule planned out in his head.
“Here, I’ll take something.”
He regards my outstretched hand with faint disbelief on his brow. “You’re the client.” Then he turns his back on me, and hoists two ladders on one forearm, and picks up a toolbox with the other. I can’t even begin to wonder how much all that weighs.
“Out of the way, please,” he says and walks down the side of the house. Patty has way more experience than me, standing at the side of the path. This time she’s absolutely judging me.
“Excuse us,” the bald guy says, because I’m in their way, too. The old one just eyeballs me, and my mug. Then he thinks to himself, That’s about right, and sniffs. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this useless. Have I committed myself to several months of being in everyone’s way?
“You could take this,” the young guy says, and I am absurdly grateful to be treated like a human being. He gives me a heavy plastic case. Dignity somewhat restored, I follow them down the side of the house. Patty brings up the rear.
I say to the young guy, “Where are you staying?”
“The motel over on Fairfax. I’m Alex, by the way,” he says as we round the corner. Tom looks at my coffee, the Chihuahua at my heels, and the case in my hand.
“I just said, she’s the client,” Tom reprimands Alex in a patient adult voice.
“I’m the worker,” I argue back. “Listen up. I’m part of this team now.” I level a stare at Tom, but he won’t look back. How is my mere presence altering his usual deep calm? Am I embarrassing him or something? I remember he said he can’t focus with me here. I guess he was telling the truth.
“Let’s start again everyone. I’m Darcy Barrett. What’s your name?”
The old guy clears his throat. “Colin.”
“Ben,” the bald guy says hastily, like this is school roll call. Bald Ben, I can remember that.
I point at the kid. “I’ve met Alex. And I know who this grumpy asshole is. His name’s on your shirts. Where do you want Patty?”
“I’ll put her in your bedroom,” Tom says shortly. Grumpy doesn’t suit him. “More guys will start arriving. Are those boots steel-caps?”
“Actually, yes.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Tom’s phone, revived and plugged into my powerpack, begins to ring. Judging from the despair in his eyes he’s off to a bad start this morning.
“Hey. Eyes to yourself,” Tom warns Alex before answering his phone. Alex looks like a smacked puppy. As he talks on the phone about a delivery time, Tom crosses to me and fussily tucks the strap of my bra under my tank. I feel it everywhere. It’s the first deliberate physical contact he’s made with me since that cringeworthy moment he touched my neck and I made a sound like a mountain lion. It’s amazing how the mortification just never seems to fade.
“Don’t.” I shrug him off.
There’s a familiar shape to Tom’s shoulders now as he paces off. His beast is showing.
I sip slowly from my coffee and hold eye contact with the old guy, Colin. He puts up a valiant effort, but after thirty seconds—I count them—he looks away.
Meet your new alpha, bitch.
“I want to talk to you three,” I say as they begin to shuffle after their master. Time for some abuse of power. “As the client, I’m the boss, right?”
“Tom’s the boss,” Alex blurts, scared and wanting his daddy, despite his scolding.
“I’m his boss.” They all look like they feel this is bad news. “Hey, I’m cool. But I’m not into being babied, or ignored, or stepped around. You’re all going to treat me like one of the team. Especially you,” I say to Colin, the sour old bastard. “I have no experience doing this, but I have two hands and a heartbeat. This is my grandmother’s house.”
This seems to be the missing piece of information. They all drop into more relaxed stances. Now the forceful on-site client makes sense.
“Are you going to explain all this to Tom?” Alex says, his eyes on Tom’s profile. “Because he’s in a bad mood. And he’s never in a bad mood.”
“He knows me well enough to know that this is how it’s going to be.” I toss my remaining coffee into the garden and put my mug on the railing. “Now let’s get our asses to work.”
We clomp past Tom as a team now, and I ignore his beady stare when I walk back down with a crate of electrical cords. My heart feels fine. I’ve set a reminder in my phone that says, MEDICATE YOURSELF, DIPSHIT, and my alcohol intake has been slashed.
Keep going, little heart, because I need you.
We continue to unpack. Tom hangs up from a call. He looks like he’s got a caution or a scold on the tip of his tongue, but his phone begins ringing again. With a frustrated huff he answers it. “Jamie, I can’t talk. We’re unpacking. Yes. She’s fine. I’ll call at lunch.”
“It would be killing him to not be here,” I say to Tom as I walk past with more gear. “If we’re not careful he’s going to get on the next flight.”
Tom winces so hard I bet he’s bruised himself internally. “That is my nightmare scenario. Can you please just—” He comes to take my load from me, but the phone rings again. “Tom Valeska,” he says on a sigh.
“… Is totally frazzled,” I finish his sentence to myself as I hoist gear onto the back porch. “Seriously, what is up with him?” Alex and I give each other yeesh looks.
More cars begin to slot along the curbs. I’m reading polo shirts: electrician, foundation, roofing, scaffolding, plumbing. There are cigarettes, takeout coffee cups, and male voices everywhere.
“He’s not enjoying this,” Ben comments in a hushed tone as we look at Tom, pacing around now, the phone at his ear. “Aldo was always the one on the phone. Tom’s used to being the muscle.”
“And what a set of muscles they are,” I say out loud in reflex.