Idle Hands Ch. 01

He opened the front door and hung his leather jacket on the rack in the foyer. "Hello?" he called. "Anyone home?" Rachel, he knew from a conversation earlier in the morning, would be downtown at the firm most of the day. But he had thought at least one of the kids would be home.

"Hello?" came an unfamiliar voice from the living room. He heard someone walking towards him, the tap of shoes on the hardwood floor coming rapidly closer.

When the figure came into view, his eyebrows rose, startled. Before him was a Hispanic woman of startling beauty, holding a can of furniture polish in one hand. Perhaps twenty-five years old, she was dressed in a faded pair of hip-hugging blue jeans and a cut-off shirt which showed a generous amount of her flat brown stomach. Large, firm breasts pressed into the cloth of her shirt, and her eyes were dark and lustrous. Coarse black hair was woven into a thick braid which reached nearly to her waist.

"Who are you?" he asked, then paused, startled by how rude the words sounded. He continued, somewhat more politely. "And what are you doing here?"

"I am Maria," she said in a lovely, lilting accent. "I clean for Senora Wainwright." Her eyes narrowed at him suspiciously. "Who are you?"

"Oh," he said. "I'm sorry. Rachel told me she had a maid helping her out these days. I just didn't expect you to look like...well, like you do," he finished lamely, gesturing at her outfit. He cleared his throat and offered his hand. "I'm Joshua Sunderman. Rachel and I used to be married. I'm here for the weekend to visit and see the kids."

"Ah, Senor Sunderman! I should have remembered," she said, taking his hand firmly. "The mistress said you would be here today. But I forgot. She is so kind, your novia. On Wednesday she asked me to work for your family full time. And she offered me the apartment over the garage to live in. Sarah and I looked at it earlier today, and I hope to move in tomorrow." She smiled happily.

He blinked, nonplussed. "Well...good," he said slowly. "I have to say, you're dressed different than I thought a maid would be. Not," he continued with a smile, "that I have known many maids. Back before Rachel and I separated we did the housework ourselves."

"Yes, I know," Maria sniffed. "I started right after you and the Senora were divorced. Such a mess this house was! I have to work for a week to put it in order!

"But Rachel asked me to dress this way. She said she did not like my old uniform. Today is my last day with my old company. So I say to myself, what is the worst that can happen? They can fire me? Hah! I quit at five o'clock. So I dress to please myself and Rachel."

Josh grinned. The young woman's good humor was infectious, and he was always ready to admire a person who wasn't afraid to stick a finger in the eye of authority. "That's great. And the clothes look good on you," he said admiringly.

"Thank you," the young woman said. "I hope you and the Senora are able to get back together. She is a wonderful woman who deserves to be happy. She needs a man in her bed," she said, her words alarmingly direct. "I had seen pictures of you. But now I see you face-to-face, I know you will make her happy. So handsome, you are," she finished, her eyes running up and down his body admiringly.

"Thank you," he said awkwardly, his face heating. "Do you know where Sarah and Alex are?" he said, hoping to change the subject. The last thing he needed was for a lovely young woman to be flirting with him, or worse, when Rachel got home. Or the kids. He thought of Sarah seeing him with Maria, and he went cold.

"Alex is at school. I think he said he would be back around five o'clock," Maria replied. "Sarah went out with some friends to the mall. I have no idea when she will return."

"Thanks," he said. "I'm going to go out to my workshop and move some of my supplies back there from the truck. Can you tell the kids where I am when they get back?"

"Of course," she said with a smile. "And I will come out there soon, myself. Rachel asked me to take care of the cleaning of your shop. So I would have you tell me what is safe to touch, and what you want me to leave alone."

"Sound good." He nodded his head to her politely. "I'll see you later."

*****

Happily, no one had touched his workshop. The high-ceilinged, brightly-lit building was exactly as he had left it three years ago. Simply but solidly built, it had a polished hardwood floor and wooden walls covered with some of his earliest pieces. Floor-to-ceiling windows allowed sunlight to pour in from the west and south, where the property meandered back towards the forest preserve and the DuPage River.

He puttered around for a few hours, putting his supplies and tools in order, and moving some of his current projects from the trailer to the long bench which spanned the north wall. He also swept the floor with a bedraggled broom he found in the closet. Despite her obvious competence, he was not sure whether he wanted Maria in his private sanctum.

He was just thinking about whether or not to try to get some work done on his project, or if it was time to go find some lunch when the door opened and he heard an excited voice squeal, "Daddy!"

He turned around just in time to catch his daughter as she leaped into his arms. Sarah's face was shining as she hugged him tight.

"No hugs!" he exclaimed, cradling her body as her legs wrapped around him. "No hugs from girls. Girls are gross!"

Sarah laughed, and instead dotted his face with kisses.

"Ack! Ew! Urgh!" he said, "No kisses! No kisses!" He spun and relaxed his arms, allowing Sarah to slide to the floor. "God, look at you," he said. "You're almost as tall as me. Aren't you going to stop growing soon?"

"I think I have," his daughter replied with a smile. She twirled around. "See?"

"Well, good," he said, shaking his head in mock-dismay. "It's not fair for a man to have a daughter taller than he is. I don't know where you and your brother get it from. No one on my side of the family has ever topped six feet. You're only a few inches shy of that, and Alex is well over."

"Grandpa Wainwright was pretty big before he died."

"Yeah, but your mom's tiny." He smiled down at his youngest child. Sarah's dark brown hair was a match for her brother's. Tall and rangy, she seemed to vibrate with healthy young energy. And somehow, despite her mania for cooking, she never seemed to gain a pound of fat. He sighed for a moment, regretful that his differences with Rachel had caused him to miss much of the last three years of his daughter's life. She wasn't a child any longer. Or even an adolescent. Rather, she was an attractive young woman, who, if he had his way, would soon be able to pursue the culinary career she was so obviously suited to.

"Mm hmm," she said. "So how long are you going to be here? Are you going to stay? Please tell me you are," she begged, her eyes filled with low cunning.

"Trying to wrap your old man around your finger again, huh? I don't know, Sarah," he sighed, answering her question. "Sometimes things break so badly it's best not to try to fix them. I'm willing to give it another chance. And so is Rachel. But this is the last time. I'm not going to yo-yo between here and Peru every time your mom gets to feeling lonely."

"Why, Daddy," his daughter exclaimed, her eyes wide and innocent. "You don't want to be the one on the end of the line when Mom makes a booty call?"

He snorted, smiling. "Your mother is a terrific person, Pumpkin," he said, using his old nickname for her. "But I'm not going to settle for half a loaf. Either we are together, or we aren't. This half-assed relationship we're in isn't helping either of us."

Sarah nodded, then wandered over to the worktable. "These are new, aren't they?" she asked. "They weren't here the last time I was in here."

"You came in here?" Josh asked, somewhat surprised.

Sarah nodded, her eyes distant. "Sometimes. When I was feeling sad. Or lonely. The smell of this place always reminded me of you. The paint and wood and turpentine. I'd sneak in and sit in the easy chair over there and just think. It made me feel like you were here with me, even though you weren't."

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Don't be," she replied. "It isn't your fault. Not all of it, at least. I will say, though," she said with a steely glint in her eye, "it would have been better if you and Mom had actually talked about your issues, rather than her ranting and you just sitting there like a lump. Or walking away.

"Yes, I know, you don't like arguments. Grandma and Grandpa Sunderman gave me and Alex the whole lecture about how a soft answer turns away wrath. But a soft answer doesn't mean no answer at all. That's what drove Mom so crazy. She'd make a criticism and you'd act like you didn't even hear her. No one likes being ignored, Daddy."

Josh grimaced. It was startling to know his daughter had such a keen insight into his personality. "How about we take a look at the new project?" he said.

"Changing the subject, huh? Real mature, Dad." Despite her sarcastic tone, she joined him at the bench. "So what's the theme?" she asked.

"See if you can figure it out," he replied. He already regretted drawing Sarah's attention to this. If she talks to Rachel about it, there'll be hell to pay, he thought grimly. Oh, screw it. She's not a little girl anymore. She's nineteen and an adult. It's time to treat her like one.

"I'm...not sure," Sarah said. She glanced up at Josh. "I think I know, but..."

"But you're surprised your old man is letting you see it?" he finished. "You know that a lot of what I do is for mature audiences, Pumpkin."

He modded towards the first piece. Carved in the finest white marble was the lying figure of a sleeping baby boy. Curled on his side, one of his tiny hands was cupped over his groin. "Innocence," he said.

He moved down a couple of steps. Leaning against the wall was an oil painting. In it, a young boy around eight years old was looking in a mirror. The lower half of his body was obscured, but it was obvious from the angle he was looking at his genitals. "Curiosity."

The next piece was a carving. Golden wood revealed a teenage boy lying on a bed. Fully nude, he held his erect member in one hand, clearly masturbating. "Discovery."

The fourth piece was a tableau in bronze. Done to one-half scale, the teenager from the previous piece was older. No longer a boy, but a young man. He was making love to a woman, his phallus half-in, half-out of her cleft, caught in mid-thrust. His face was contorted in a rictus of ecstasy. The woman was on her back, her head hanging off the edge of the bed, her hands cupping her breasts. Her engorged nipples stood out like tiny golden spikes, polished to a high gleam. "Knowledge."

The last piece was again carved from marble, this time a delicate rose-pink. The man, much older now, lay between the thighs of the same woman, who had also aged. Her breasts were not quite as firm, her waist the tiniest bit thicker. His head was buried in her groin, and he was obviously performing oral sex on her. A cunningly crafted turn of his hips allowed them to see he was quite aroused. "Wisdom," Joshua said. "Our subject learns that true happiness comes not from his own gratification or pleasure, but by pleasing his beloved."

"They're you, aren't they?" Sarah asked, her voice low. "You and Mom."

He nodded. "Yes, they are. The first two are based on pictures your grandparents took of me when I was a kid. The last three are from memory, more or less."

Sarah's hand raised, as if to touch the softly glowing stone, then fell back. "Are these for a show?" she asked. "Or are you going to sell them?"

"They're for a show next month," he confirmed. "And I might sell them, if the price is right. I would like to do it as a set, though. I'm still not happy about that second piece," he groused. "I wanted it to be a full-length portrait, but my agent convinced me if I did it that way, I stood a good chance of being hauled up on a child pornography charge.

"I'd beat it, of course," he said. "Artists still have some legal protections in this country. But I don't need the bad publicity."

"But Dad, you can't sell them!" Sarah protested. "They're wonderful. Especially the last two. You should put them in the house, not sell them to some rich old fart who would never appreciate them.

"The foyer!" she said excitedly. "Where we come into the house. You should display them there." She slipped an arm around him, hugging him tight. "You could put up a plinth for the baby, hang the portrait, build a shelf for golden boy here," she said, gesturing to the teenager, "and have a pair of display stands for the two where you and Mom are screwing. All at eye level, like a museum, so when someone comes in these are the first things they see. To show how much you care for her."

Josh thought about it. Would Rachel be complimented? Or angry? He suspected the latter. "I'll think about it," he said noncommittally.

Suddenly Sarah giggled. He glanced at her, disturbed by the wicked gleam in her eyes. She had the same look when she told her grandmother she thought Nixon was a good president. I thought she was going to have a heart attack. Took us half an hour to convince Mom it was a joke. "But I gotta say, Dad, I think a little bit less of you. What happened to truth in art? Did you have to make yourself so...big?"

"I didn't," he replied evenly, enjoying her look as her mouth fell open. He nodded to the bronze tableau. "Everything there is as close to reality as I could make it. That includes myself and your mother."

"Damn," she breathed. She bent closer to the bronze, as if measuring, then back at Josh. "So you're really that...well-endowed? Mom is one hell of a lucky woman."

He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Not that it is really any of your business, Sarah, but I'm not much bigger than average. Or so I've heard. If you think I'm huge, then it's your boyfriend's fault, not mine."

"Don't have a boyfriend right now," she muttered. She put her back to the bench, facing him. Her hand was still on his arm, and their bodies were disturbingly close. "I think I want a man. A man who is more like you...Daddy."

In an instant, the atmosphere changed, became charged with danger. Sarah's eyes were bold and frank as they met his, her lips plump and kissable. She swayed closer to him, until he could almost sense her young, fertile heat, feel how her swelling, mature chest moved with her rapid breath...

"Ah, here you are, Senor Sunderman! And Sarah is with you! Good!" Maria's voice was loud and cheerful as she entered the workshop. Her eyes were bright and sparkling. She looked at the two of them, then spoke to Josh. "Now, you must tell me what is safe to touch, and what I should leave alone when I clean."

Josh moved quickly away from his daughter, grateful his loose t-shirt hid his swelling cock. Sarah, for her part, looked ready to commit violent and bloody acts on the unsuspecting maid.

"Sure," he said, his voice sounding strangled to his own ears. "Let me just show you around."

When Sarah stalked out, a few minutes later, he didn't know whether to be disappointed or relieved.

*****

"All right, Mr. Kincaid. Tell me why we're here today."

Mortimer Kincaid had a face made for punching, Rachel thought. A few year older than herself, he had sleek, dark good looks, expensive suits, and a six-figure income as a corporate defense attorney. But despite his attempt to look solemn, his expression always defaulted to a condescending smirk. "You won on Tuesday, Rachel," he said. He was flanked by other members of his defense team and several executives from Antioch Chemical. "But that doesn't mean a whole lot. You got a lucky draw in the jury pool and had a sympathetic judge. You know as well as I do that when we hit the appeals process, the damages could be cut in half. Or more. They were clearly far more punitive than the events-"

"Punitive?" growled one of Rachel's clients, a grizzled truck driver named Whit Lombardo. "I'll tell you what's punitive. Punitive is me telling my grandkids they can't fish in the river when they visit, because any fish they eat could poison them. And that they can't swim in the water, because it might make their skin fall off."

Kincaid blinked like a snake. His eyes were a disturbing grayish-green, flecked with gold. Rachel shivered, disturbed at the utter lack of humanity in his gaze. "Will you control your clients, Rachel? As I was saying, we think the best for all concerned would be for us to negotiate an equitable-"

"No. I'm doing the negotiating now, you little weasel."

The words were harsh and flat and utterly indisputable. Rachel looked with surprise at the owner of Antioch Chemical. He looked to have aged thirty years since she saw him last. His face was lined with strain, face skin sagging and loose over the bones of his face, but his pale blue eyes were cold and clear. He folded his shaking hands and turned a frank look on Rachel.

"Ms. Wainwright, I want you to understand a few things. My great-grandfather founded my company. My grandfather ran it during the second World War, turning out munitions for the army. We have always been honest and law-abiding, giving good pay for good work, and providing a quality product for our customers.

"Some people, however, thought that should change. That they could sweep an uncomfortable truth under a rug. Could lie to the owner of their company." The look that he sent down the table at his subordinates should have seared flesh from bones.

"We were wrong. We did wrong. And you held us accountable. Deservedly so. So I'm asking your opinion. What do you think the odds are of getting the decision reversed on appeal? Or even reduced?"

"You're asking me?"

A glint of grim humor lit his old eyes. "You just kicked our ass in court. Might be you're a better lawyer than the ones I have."

"Mr. Hardin! I have to protest!" Kincaid said loudly. "You can't ask opposing counsel for advice, especially some, some bitch who...who went to a public university!" Rachel was stunned at the venom in his voice. She and Kincaid had crossed swords more than once. Nothing in their previous acquaintance had prepared her for the sheer hatred she heard. Judging by the carefully blank expressions on the other side of the table, neither had his colleagues.

"Shut up and get out," Hardin said flatly. "I went to Michigan State. It didn't hurt me any." As Kincaid picked up his laptop and stormed out the door he kept his eyes on Rachel. "Well?"

"You'll lose on appeal," Rachel said bluntly. "You might have had a chance ten years ago, but President Obama has put a lot of his judges on the appellate courts. They have a lot of funny thoughts. Like that polluters should be punished."

"Obama," his mouth twisted. "Well, I thought as much. Maybe if I'd the sense to listen sooner I'd be in better shape now.

"But we can't pay the entire damages claim. Not at once. That's a mathematical fact. The only way we could do it is if we sold off a bunch of our assets. And then we'd be putting a lot of good, hard-working people out of a job.

"I know," he said, raising a hand to forestall her protest. "That's our problem, not yours. But I'm telling you how it is."

Rachel turned down the table to her forensic accountant. "Rosa?"

"He's right, Rachel," Rosa King said regretfully. "From what's publicly available, he's telling the truth. They don't have enough cash assets to come close to paying."

"Property rich, cash poor," Hardin grumbled. "Just like a bunch of damn dirt farmers out in Nebraska. And that is why we aren't going to hear any more nonsense about appeals. All I'd do is throw a bunch more money down a rathole for these vultures to get fat on." He leaned forward, his eyes lit with the gleam of battle. "So, Ms. Wainwright.