A Box Of Rocks, Pt. 01

Box Of Rocks

Dumber than...

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Chapter 1

Fuck!

Here I was trying to get people out of the house, and this asshole decides to bed down? Seriously? He needs to go, now! Sis just told me the owner sent her a message he was coming home, and the last thing he needed to walk into was a party in progress. Plus, I need to seriously clean this place up!

It was an easy gig, and solved a lot of my problems. I'd just broke up with my lover of seven months, and it wasn't a particularly amicable parting. It was, in fact, a clusterfuck. He caught me in bed with his best friend and lost his shit. This from the guy who had been banging a waitress at a strip joint for five months?

Mud got slung, and it stuck to everybody involved. His friend never once let on he was married. I found out she was back home, finishing out her school year, before coming down to join him. It got particularly ugly when she let me know she'd be naming me in the divorce. When the ex went on his higher moral ground rant, I cut his legs out from under him by throwing his stripper honey in his face.

It couldn't go downhill much farther, but when we hit bottom and the smoke cleared, I was picking up my clothes off the pavement and dumptser diving to find the rest. My sister came to my rescue, after she slapped me and told me to grow the fuck up. She had a friend who needed a housesitter for a few months, and she persuaded him to let me do it. I got a pretty good lecture about not damaging anything, keeping the place clean, and above all not letting other people in the house.

I was a good little girl for the first six weeks, then I had a few of my girlfriends over for a night in. They were really impressed as they wandered around, the place was a nine bedroom mansion on a five acre lot in the middle of the sticks. They found the eight person hot tub and were soon naked and giggling. I tried to get them out, but gave up after a few minutes, stripped off, and joined them.

I regretted inviting them when I had to get up at the crack of noon and clean up after them. I piled bras, panties, a corset, leather boots and a riding crop (?) into a pile. They could sort them out later. I woke the ones who were too trashed to go inside, hoping the summer sun hadn't burned them too badly. After gallons of gourmet coffee the guy had in his pantry, we started sorting out clothes. Arika couldn't find her bra and was freaking out. She was one of the three married ones, and Arika had a very impressive set of mammary glands, 46D. She also had a very jealous husband.

Bonnie stumbled in. "I found your bra, hon."

"Where's it at? Did you bring it?"

"I couldn't. It's up at the top of the flagpole, and somehow we managed to break the rope, so we can't get it down."

That was just before my sister came storming in, screaming at the top of her lungs. We scattered like quail, the girls suddenly finding themselves sober enought to drive, although a few missed the massive drive and cut grooves in the grass. I was left alone to face her wrath, and I bet my ass looked like hamburger after the chewing she gave it.

Then we spent four hours cleaning up. When she saw we'd gotten into the bottles behind the bar in the game room, she went ballistic, pulling empty bottles together and giving me a running total. Apparently the dude had very expensive taste, and we had drunk or spilled about six hundred dollars worth. Over all, it took two grand to replace and repair everything.

That was two grand out of my sister's pocket. The bitch was rich, so I didn't worry about it too much. Alison had always loved music, taking piano lessons from the age of six, learning guitar by eleven, and voice lessons for seven years. Alison could sing opera fairly well, but her heart was in rock.

She was in her first band at fifteen, formed an all girl band at eighteen, and played the bar circuit for a few years,until she got the right combination of talent and a record deal. Rolling Stone called them the twenty-first century Fanny, one of the pioneering all female band from the '60s, and they rode high through three albums. Al partied, but she was smart and half of everything she made went into investments, managed by a top of the line firm.

So when the fall came and they broke up, she was in good shape. It ended bitterly, because the other three women lived the rock and roll lifestyle, spending like mad and depending on the next album to keep them afloat. Al got tired of the constant touring, and wanted to cut back. She was married and wanted to start a family, but when she came off the road her husband filed for a divorce, because he'd been banging a woman on the side for two years, and they decided they were in love. They planned on taking Al to the cleaners, but she had incorporated herself and he'd signed a prenupt. He ended up getting two hundred fifty grand, which nearly killed her to part with, but she had the last laugh. Three months after the lovers married, she left him, and he hadn't signed a prenupt. To top it off she was pregnant and the DNA test proved it was his, so he had to hand her almost all the money he'd gotten off Al, and pay pretty steep child support.

As far as he old band went, they reformed with another singer/guitarist, and toured, singing their old hits. Alison wrote twenty-eight of the thirty-three songs they had recorded, and cowrote three more, so they had to pay her royalties every time they performed one of her songs. As a bonus, she owned the band name, and they had to pay her a fee to use it. She told me once it came to about half of what she made while she was still with the band, all for no effort at all.

Between the band breaking up and her marriage cratering, Alison was a pretty bitter person for a while. It had been eighteen months, and the only musical project she worked on was with an up and coming country star, writing two songs for her. She played on most of the album and was acknowledged as the musical director. So far, two hits had come from the recording, one by Al and the other by a well respected country writer. The first was basically a duet with Al, the second a classic country song that had you dreaming of cheating on your dog and truck. As far as I know she hadn't worked on anything since.

The house I was crashing in belonged to one of her friends in the music business, and she never said who he it was. It didn't matter to me, I had the run of a mansion with all the amenities, and was happy as a pig in slop. It would seem I had a problem with responsibility, content to drift wherever the currents took me. Oddly, I was disciplined enough to graduate college with a degree in multimedia, meaning anything to do with films, television, music, or theater. I landed a pretty good job as a production assistant for a film, but screwed it up when I fucked the costar. When it blew up I was suddenly out in the cold. Loverboy neglected to inform me he was married, or that his older wife was the executive producer.

It wasn't the first time she caught him, but it was the last. He had a little money from his film work, but she was worth tens of millions, had a pretty good prenupt, and he went from living in a mansion to a two bedroom condo, which his wife bought him in lieu of any alimony she would have to pay. He also got a million and a half and a brand new luxury car. Two years later he was in a studio apartment, driving a little Kia, broke, and the only roles he could get were in soap operas and indie films. Hollywood never took him seriously again. Of course, I was fired immediately and named in the divorce, but it didn't bother me that much. I told his wife I'd be glad to appear in court, and she lightened up on me. Her husband knew he was not going to come out of it well, so he never denied anything and went quietly.

I was in 'between jobs' right now because no one would hire me. I suppose I could have gotten a real job in corporate America, work nine to five in some little cubicle and save my pennies for girl's nights out, but the whole idea made me a little queasy. Besides that, I was smokin' hot, and if I wanted to go out, there was always a man ready to take me. Usually it was a successful man with money, so it was always top tier, and I never fucked them until the fourth date. A lot of them lost interest after they slept with me, but there was always someone else waiting in the wings. My lifestyle disgusted Alison no end.

"Word's getting around, baby, and it isn't good. The word is you're a guaranteed great fuck, but not relationship material. You need to stop and straighten out if you ever want a serious relationship."

"Why would I stop? These guys are just dildos with money. I use them, they use me, we all get something out of the exchange."

I realized I had really pissed her off when she almost snarled at me. "Ther's a word for women like you."

"Cocktease? Hot piece of ass?"

"No, slut."

That actually hurt me a little, and I sniffled. Al just grunted and left, and I didn't talk to her again until I got thrown out of the apartment I had been sharing, because I was three months late on my share of the rent. I called her crying, and she came over, threw my clothes in her trunk and backseat, and hauled me home. She made it clear I needed to have a job in two weeks and working, or I was out on my ass.

I really looked, but everything I was offered paid peanuts. Then she came in telling me about her friend who was looking for a housesitter for a couple of months. "It's a good opportunity for you Sasha, you can take the time to look for a better job. Remember, it's only for a few months, maybe less, and you better not fuck up, or fuck anyting else up. I'm going out on a limb for you here, so, seriously, don't fuck up."

I gave her a faithful promise, and kept it until I dragged my friends home from the bar. Now I had about a month left, Al told me I couldn't move back in with her, and no one would hire me. I did have one opportunity, but when I showed up to interview I found out it was a porn company. The job was legit, but I saw how the owner looked at me and it wouldn't be long until he was offering better opportunities. I turned his offer down, which pissed him off no end. The odds were getting longer that I would have to move and pay my own bills, my version of a living hell.

It took three more weeks before I fucked up, again. There were supposed to be only six of us, but one look at the mansion and phones came out, and six became thirty, then sixty. It got way out of hand really quickly. I realized how bad I fucked up when I caught two guys and three girls fucking in the hot tub, two more in the lounge, and one enjoying a little solo sex while she watched porn on his giant screen television in the media room. I wondered how hard it would be to get the stains out of a leather sofa, when Sis called.

"I hope you have the place in good shape. The owner just called me and he's coming home early, tomorrow or the next day. So polish and dust everything, and have it ready."

Fuckfuckfuck! I ran around like a maniac, prying people apart and tossing clothes at them, screaming for them to get the fuck out! The partiers grumbled, and I saw four walking out with bottles, so I checked the bar. Sonofabitch! They'd even tried to take the keg! I was so fucked.

Chapter 2

I worked until three in the morning, and finally gave up from exhaustion. I did a running total of what I had to replace, and it was about five hundred more than what he was gonna pay me. I hope Al is in a giving mood. My ears were already burning.

I was making one more sweep when I heard music coming through the door of the master bedroom, the one room in the whole house that was absolutely off limits, and now some asshole was in it. I threw the door open, and saw a mass of white hair. Shit! It's a woman. I grabbed a double handful of hair and yanked, hard. "Get up Bitch, and get your ass out of here!"

The 'bitch' came up with a roar, throwing me across the room. He was on me before I hit the wall, one hand locked in my hair, the other cocked back into a fist. I got a glimpse of a muscled chest and tremendous arms, before he suddenly let go. His hair was swirled around his face, and he had a drooping mustache, with a separate goatee that had to be at least six inches long, waxed into an upturned point. I imagined he was what the devil would look like, if he was an albino.

I screamed, and some of the madness went out of his eyes and he realized what he was holding, and jumped back. "Who the fuck are you!"

"Who the fuck are you, asshole?! Man, the owner off this place is going to be really pissed when he finds you in his bed. You need to get the fuck out of here, if you know what's good for you."

He looked at me, and suddenly...grinned. "Do I know you?"

I shook my head no. "We related some how?"

Again with a head shake. "Are we fucking?"

I finally got my voice back. "Hell no!"

"Well, if we ain't related, don't know each other, and aren't fuckbuddies, why the hell are you in my house?"

"Your house?"

"Am I goin' too fast for you? Do I need to use simpler words? Yes, it's my house, and you're a phone call away from getting a free ride to jail if you don't start talking."

I sat up, about to tell him who I was, when I noticed he was naked. The man was ripped, and when he turned around and I got a good look at his junk. Very nice, very large junk.

"You mind putting clothes on?"

"I do mind. This is my fucking house and I'll dress or not dress the way I want. I'm dialing now."

"I'M YOUR HOUSE SITTER!"

He looked like he didn't believe me. "You're Al's little sister?"

"Yes, yes! Call her, she'll verify."

"It's three in the morning, and I have no intention of waking her up. Get your ass out of my room and make yourself scarce until tomorrow. Don't bother me again!"

I jumped up, and he turned to open the door. I don't think I'd ever seen a tighter ass on a man. Holding the door open, he glared at me. "Out, now!"

I shot out the door like a scared teenager, not stopping until I hit the bedroom I had been using. He looked familiar, somehow, but I couldn't place him.

Chapter 3

I sat straight up in the bed, remembering who he was. The sun was streaming through the windows and I looked at my phone. Shit! It was almost ten. So much for getting up early and finishing the cleanup. I wondered how pissed he'd be when he saw his depleted bar.

The house belonged to Mason Eldridge. Yes, that Mason Eldridge. Founder, songwriter, and lead singer for Gutwrench, the most popular metal band of the last decade. They'd been a force on the scene for seven years, before the accident. Alison had told me a little about it, the story that never hit the papers.

Mason was married, and his wife was one of his backup singers, so when he toured, she was with him. Besides being the driving force behind the band he was also a songwriter of note, able to write a song to fit anyone's style. He was also a producer with his own label. There were four gold and two platinum albums on his office wall, just with his band. There were three more gold and another platinum for songs he had written for other people. If he gave you a song, it was almost guaranteed to go gold.

Then the accident happened. He'd started suspecting his wife and his guitar player of having an affair, and had the money to get the goods quickly. Maybe it wasn't the best idea to confront them in a luxury Mercedes van while doing ninety on an interstate, but Al thinks something must have triggered him and he went off on them. As part of the screaming match that followed he'd told them he was serving her with divorce papers, and firing his best friend for years from the band. Mason was smart enough to get a good lawyer when the band took off, and he insisted she sign a prenupt exempting any proceeds from the music in case of a divorce.

She would have still made out all right, he was still filthy rich, but something broke when he told her about being served. His former friend was also screaming, saying he'd drop the bitch if he let him stay in the band. His wife was high, the guitar player was high, his drummer, who was sitting in the back seat with Mason, was also stoned. The only ones straight were Mason and his road manager, who was driving the van.

There was speculation later that she realized her life of luxury was about to end, and there was a shoving match betwen her and the guitar player that resulted in her slamming into the driver, forcing the van off the road. He tried to control it, but the van flipped, rolled three times, and slammed into an overpass support. When the EMT's got them sorted out, Mason's wife was dead, his guitar player was dead, as well as his drummer. Only Mason and Robbie, the road manager survived, because they were still buckled in.

The van literally broke apart, and Mason got scalped by a piece of metal, taking most of the skin off his head. If it had been half an inch lower, it would have killed him. Robbie was the only one who walked away with just minor injuries. That had been eighteen months ago, and he disappeared from the public eye, showing up briefly in Europe and Australia, before falling off the face of the earth.

I could hear them talking as I neared the kitchen. "I can't believe your hair."

He laughed. "Well, there for a while it looked like I was going to be permanently bald, but when you got a shitload of money you'd be amazed at the results you can get. Part of it isn't even mine, I had no idea they could do scalp transplants. The doctors speculate it's white because of the trauma or the experimental drugs they used, but it'll never darken back up." The conversation died when I walked in. Alison frowned but Mason seemed slightly amused, and it sent shivers up my back.

"We were just talking about you."

I looked at him nervously. "Saying good things, I hope."

Al snorted "More like giving him the story of your fucked up life. We did a little inspection while you were asleep. Did you know there's a hole in the hot tub? And the bar, as near as Mase can figure you managed to drink or lose about twelve hundred dollars in fine whiskey. There's a rip in the pool table. Probably more, but that's all we found for now. If you deduct what he would have paid you, you still owe him about 2800 in replacement and repair. You got any way to pay him that kind of money?"

I was a littled pale and shaken by the inventory. Al knew there was no way in hell I could come up with that kind of money, and if he felt like pressing charges, I was done. Time for the tears.

"Al, do you think..."

"Nope. Nyet, non, I wish I knew more ways of saying no. It's time to cut the cord, baby. It's all you from now on."

That wasn't what I hoped for, at all. For the first time, I felt true panic. "You know I don't have that kind of money. I don't even have a place to stay anymore. Is there anything I can do to make this right?"

It occurred to me later Al had a grin that would have put a feral wolf to shame, and Mason just looked amused and enigmatic in equal measure.

"There is, but you won't like it."

I looked at him, trying to appear scared and apologetic, exactly right on the first, ambivialant on the second. He probably didn't even know how rich he was, what was a few grand to this asshole? He probably made as much as I owed him while we sat at the table.

"Ill do it."

"I haven't explained what I want yet."

"It doesn't matter to me at this point, but what exactly do you want?"

"I need a bitch."

"WHAT!"

Al was laughing her ass off while Mason just smiled. "Not like that, honey. I mean, come on, have you really looked at him? He's a hunk, got some pretty good equipment, and word is he knows how to use it. Plus, he's rich. Not just rich, but absolutely rotten stinking filthy truly offensive rolling in the money rich."