A House of Men Ch. 03

My alarm is a grating disturbance the next morning. I hadn’t come home until well after midnight the night before, so now I am running solely on four hours of sleep. I guess it’s the price of running off angrily due to a build-up of stress. I run to the bathroom, and who should I find in my shower but Mark, the horny little poker player.

“Mark, what the hell?”

“All the rest of the showers are full.”

“Great, no hot water. Didn’t you have to go through my room while I was asleep to get in here?”

“Sure did, Sweetheart, and may I say, you are beautiful when you sleep.”

“You are such a flirt. Get out!”

“Okay, Honey. Whatever you say.”

I avert my eyes as he steps out of the shower fully lathered and fully nude. His hair is sticking up all over the place and a big grin is plastered across his face.

“I take it back. Get back in there, rinse, and then get out. And use a towel for goodness sake.”

“Yes, madam.”

I stick out my tongue at him then go back to my room to wait my turn. I know I’m not going to get a shower, there is no hot water, but I need to at least make myself look presentable for work. I look up a few minutes later to see Mark stroll out of the bathroom followed by a billowing cloud of steam. He is using a towel, all right, but only on his hair, so he is still buck-naked. What a way to start the day.

“Holly, where have you been?”

“At work, Carlos. Where have you been?”

“Here, where I always am.”

“Same here."

“Well, after your tantrum yesterday, I just didn’t expect to see you anywhere you’re supposed to be anymore.”

“Carlos, look, I’m sorry. I was all worked up yesterday. I admit that I was a bitch and had no reason to take my foul mood out on you. Although you better watch what you refer to, buddy. I’m not one of your girls that you can expect to be cleaning house and cooking for her men every hour of the day.”

“Yeah, I know, I’m just not used to broads yelling at me. Or having to do anything for myself. My ma did everything for me.”

“Understood, as long as you understand that I’m not going to.”

“Truce?”

“Truce.”

That’s the thing about Carlos. He can be a real sweetheart, but, unfortunately, he is spoiled rotten. The house from Granny, the hand-and-foot treatment from mom and any girl he can find to tolerate that attitude, the constant handouts from dad, all have rendered him incapable for taking care of himself. Don’t get me wrong, he’s really not a nuisance and the laundry service down the street certainly appreciates his patronage, he’s just not very flexible with this habits or mind-sets. That’s what led to yesterday’s scene in the kitchen. Sometimes I forget to work around him. If I hold strong and refuse, then life becomes a living hell of battles. In this one instance, and as long as he doesn’t start demanding I do his laundry, I am more than willing to give in. It maintains my peace of mind.

“You bastard!”

“You calling me a bastard?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“You mother . . .”

“Jay, what the hell is your problem? And you, Rob?”

“He’s a bastard!”

“And he’s a mother . . .”

“Okay, okay, I get the point. Watch the language, by the way. What’s the problem now?”

“Did you know that that bastard has been fu . . .”

“Language!”

“. . .cking Louisa!”

“No, I did not. And who is Louisa?”

“My girlfriend!”

“No she’s not, she mine!”

“Mine!”

“Mine!”

“Boys, boys, are we two again? Who was she with first?”

“ME!”

“ME!”

“Who does she say is first?”

“What do you mean, who does she say is first? Like she knows she’s screwing both of us.”

“Seriously, Rob?”

“Seriously.”

“Then you both are bastards. Or at least con artists. What were you thinking, scamming a poor girl like that?”

“Well, Jay and I decided that if she is dumb enough not to be able to tell us apart, then she deserves whatever we give her.”

“Then why the hell are you arguing about who she belongs to?”

“Because, um . . .”

“And what if she knows about the game you’re playing and is playing you against each other?”

“Naw, she’s an airhead. As long as she’s got a man planted between her thighs, she wouldn’t notice if Joe and I were changing places on her.”

“I give up. Figure it out yourselves. Just be quiet and watch the swear words, please.”

“But, Holly . . .”

“Nope. You’re on your own.”

My brothers got the best genes when it comes to looks. Women follow them all over the place. Mark claims to be the ladies man of the bunch, but he’s a user and he has charm most men only wish they had. My brothers, on the other hand, are like bees to honey, and if they stumble across a girl that isn’t just boobs, they treat her very well. Of course, they were also born with the burning desire to swap places every now and then. Many times, they pull it off flawlessly. Sometimes even I have to take a second look to see the difference, so it’s no surprise that they pull this with gullible women. The funniest part about that is while they have the normal sibling spats, the only time they truly fight is over a girl they have both been conning.

After a long day at work, I am finally able to get my shower. I love the relaxing powers of the pounding hot water on my tense muscles. Half an hour later, when I step out of the tub, all the tension has melted away and slid down the drain with the grime and soapsuds. Now it is time to start tackling the house. Joe’s hearing is in two days, and if things go as they did last time, we only have five days to scrub and childproof this two-story-and-a-basement monstrosity.

“Hey, how many of you guys are home?”

“We are!”

“Me!”

“Me!”

“Okay, names would be good!”

“Joe!”

“Carlos!”

“Rob!”

“Mark!”

“Everyone in the front room then, please.”

As all the boys emerge from various locations

throughout the house, I realize my throat is slightly sore from all the yelling. It takes a lot of lungpower to make myself heard throughout the house. Then I see who is gathering and realize it was well worth it. Not only do I have Joe, Rob, Carlos and Mark, I have Ty, Lucas, Carter, Richie, and Adella. Ah, I love Mark’s poker games. That drew the extra guys. Adella, on the other hand, was drawn to Mark. Now, if we only had Jay . . .

“Does anybody know what happened to Jay?”

“Yeah, he went to say goodbye to Louisa for us, if you know what I mean.”

“I think I have a vague idea, Rob.”

“He’ll be gone for awhile.”

“Fine. Are you all up to giving Joe an hand and whipping this place into shape?”

“Now?”

“Yes, now, Joe. This is for you you know.”

“Yeah, but . . .”

“With ten of us, today’s work will go quickly and you all can go back to what you were doing before. Deal?”

“Sure.”

“Okay.”

“Where should we begin?”

Wow. Soliciting help was too easy. I wonder what’s up? Hopefully, they want to help Joe out and took me seriously when I said the work would go quickly. Now where to start? Assigning tasks is a chore in itself . . .

“Well, since I know you all adore it so much, I’ll do the kitchen and two of the bathrooms. Who wants to help me?”

“The kitchen, Holly?”

“The bathrooms?”

“That’s a lot of nasty work, Holly.”

“If it wasn’t for you guys it wouldn’t be so bad.”

“I’ll help you, Holly.”

“Thanks, Ty. Now, everyone needs to do his own room, and since you and Jay are sharing the upstairs rec. room in place of a bedroom, Rob, you two get the upstairs bathroom. You know the one I’m talking about. Adella, please help Joe with the main living room in the basement. Carlos, you and Richie can have this front room. Mark, Carter and Lucas, can deal with the den and the porch.”

“But, Holly, Jay isn’t here.”

“Why is Adella with Joe, and why do we get the

den and the porch?”

“Holly, this is going to take forever.”

“Holly . . .”

“You all agreed to help. Now, please, the sooner we start, the quicker we finish. Do the team rooms today, well, as much of them as you can, and if you need anything, come find me. No stupid questions, though, because I know all of you, except for maybe Carlos, knows how to clean. Thank you again for the help, I know Joe appreciates it, and if you will all reconvene here in three hours, I will even cook dinner for

you.”

I head off to the kitchen with Ty feeling good about this project. All seem willing to pitch in with only token protests. Now, if all will go smoothly and we can convince our extra helpers to come back tomorrow with the lure of food, it should be pretty simple. I hope. Don’t want to jinx it though. It is, after all, too good to be true.

As I walk into the kitchen I reevaluate my use of the word simple. There is nothing simple about whipping this kitchen into shape. Despite the dishes fiasco yesterday, it looks like all the dishes are already dirty. The dishwasher is overflowing with dirty cups and a few beer bottles that I am sure Jay thinks he needs to keep. The tile floor is dark gray, but since it were white last time I mopped, I am assuming that the floor is layered with dirt along with grease from the deep fryer in the corner. It and the microwave are the most popular forms of cooking in this house, and are both coated in slime and old food particles. The grease in the fryer badly needs changed. Everything is buried under grime. The stove is probably the best off because it is basically only used for frozen pizzas and TV dinners, but even it needs some help. Thank goodness for self-cleaning ovens.

“Ty, are you ready for this?”

“Sure.”

“Cool. What part do you want, the dishes or the appliances?”

“Um, not the dishes.”

“Okay, I’ll do that if you will get the fryer, microwave, toaster, stove and all but this countertop. Oh, and the cabinet fronts if you get the chance. The cleaning supplies are under the sink.”

“You want me to take the trash out too?”

“That would be great. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

We both roll our sleeves up and get to work. My first order of business is to rearrange the dishes in the dishwasher and toss out the bottles. I know that Jay will throw a fit when he gets home and sees them gone, but if I keep them, he will just leave them in here until I do it anyway, so out they go. Then I fill the sink with soap and water and dig in.

Two and a half hours later, I put the last of the dishes away. Ty is just finishing the cabinet fronts. The windows, table, fridge, oven and floor still haven’t been touched, but it looks so much better that I already feel like I’m in a different room. Now, I only have half an hour to pull together the supper I promised nine people and myself what seems like forever ago.

“Ty, what should we do for dinner?”

“I can make Spaghetti.”

“Spaghetti is good. Even picky Mark eats Spaghetti. Although I don’t think I’ve ever made it for eleven people before.”

“Eleven? Isn’t there only ten of us?”

“Yeah, but Jay would be very angry with me if I didn’t make him some despite what he’s off doing at the moment.”

“I could see that. Do you have enough stuff for that much spaghetti?”

“Yup, it’s one of the things I buy the stuff for in bulk. Trust me, when you feed five people other than yourself, if you find something all of you agree on, you stock up.”

“Let’s get started.”

“You’re going to help me?”

“Of course.”

“A man after my own heart. Let’s get it done.”

At exactly three hours from go time, Ty is dumping the pasta into the strainer as eight pairs of feet carry their owners into the kitchen looking for their promised meal. I am just pulling the sauce off the stove. It’s homemade, and thanks to Ty’s grandma, the best I have ever tasted. As it turns out, Ty can make quite a few things. We discussed food while making dinner and it sounds like he is as fluent in cuisine as he is in English. If I can corner him later, it sounds like he could be a dream come true.