The Carpenter

* * * * *

Max put her toolbox in its usual spot in the hallway and went back to clear the back of her truck. When she was finally done, she kicked off her boots and got a beer from the fridge. She flopped down at the kitchen table and took a sip, the cold liquid cooling her off instantly.

The small two-bedroom flat she shared with her brother had the disadvantage that it got unbearably hot. Even the rickety old air-con in the living room couldn't do much to change that. Most of the time it just blew hot air at them. So instead they usually opened the windows and tried desperately to get a breeze.

As if to prove the point that it was hot, Tyler walked into the kitchen in just his shorts. This was how he was most days on the job, to the greatest delight of his female and gay male clients. Since a large number of jobs were done outside, in the sizeable gardens of the well-to-do, his upper body was a deep bronze and his blond hair had gone almost white at the tips from the unrelenting sun.

Max had much the same look, being in the same position as her brother, except that her tan was limited to her arms, shoulders and face. She usually wore a muscle tank top with low cut-outs for her arms to get the most of the breeze, but she didn't wear shorts. She didn't like the look, and she spent so much time crawling on her knees that jeans were much more practical.

Another thing she and her brother shared was their chiselled appearance. Both had a natural tendency to leanness, but since they'd taken over the business when their father had passed away, they were physically active all day. As a result, any excess fat had fallen off both of them, leaving them looking - quite frankly - like twins straight from a Greek warrior story.

It was easy to understand why Tyler was appealing to his clients, most of whom had middle-aged husbands with beer bellies. This kind of attention had never made it Max's way before, though. Until today? Was that really what was happening?

"How was that sundeck?" Tyler asked, grabbing a beer from the fridge and joining his sister at the table.

"Rotten and rickety. I'm going to replace the whole thing."

Tyler whistled between his teeth. "Nice one, sis. Got enough space in your schedule to do it?"

"Yeah, I'll start on Monday. She wants the whole shebang, so it will be the whole of next week at least. I haven't even given her a quote yet; she doesn't care how much it will be."

Tyler laughed. "That rich, hah?" He knew the type well.

Max nodded. "Massive mansion. The woman is a total cougar too."

Tyler slammed his beer down. "Really? Man, I knew I should have taken that job!"

"I don't know, man," Max said, taking a sip casually before saying: "She was flirting with me pretty hard." She waited for the inevitable reaction.

Tyler looked at her in disbelief, almost as if he couldn't believe someone would flirt with his sister, even though she looked like a lesbian version of himself. Then he chuckled and said: "Oh Maxi, an older woman, hey? Just your thing!"

Her brother knew all about her weakness for older women. He'd had to listen to Max moon over many crushes in the past and had, of course, been there to pick up the pieces when Max's brief but fiery relationship with a yummy mummy had ended.

"You think she was gay?" He asked.

It was the logical question and one Max had been asking herself since she'd realised what Mrs Hanson was doing.

"I wouldn't have thought so from the look of her, but her actions spoke differently. She's got a husband though." Max shrugged. "Who knows?"

She managed to sound more casual than she felt. Why the thought of Mrs Hanson being gay made her a little giddy, she didn't know. It may be because a client flirting with her was a first. Yes, that was probably it.

"That doesn't mean anything," Tyler countered. "Most of them do. That doesn't stop them from having a little fun on the side."

Max suddenly wondered what exactly constituted 'having a little fun'. She'd always known women had flirted with her brother. Had they done more? She would have thought Tyler would have told her - being as close as they were - but all of a sudden she wasn't sure.

She couldn't possibly ask now, though. That would make it sound as if she was considering 'having a little fun' with Mrs Hanson; a thought she couldn't possibly entertain.

"Her husband was on a business trip," she tried to venture into safer water. She remembered something else, which had struck her as strange at the time. "And there was no staff at all. Not even a pool boy."

"That is weird," her brother agreed. "Usually they have at least a cleaner or a gardener, if the place is that big. Maybe she wanted you to herself." He snickered.

Max tossed her beer cap at him. "Shut up! She didn't even know I was coming! Well, she didn't know that I was..."

"A big old lesbian? But she does now," Tyler laughed. "We'll see what happens, won't we. Careful, Maxi..."

Max sighed. Her brother was right. If Mrs Hanson really planned to work from home while she was building the deck, Max would get a good idea of her interests and intentions pretty quickly. She had a feeling that flirting was the least she should expect.

"What do you do? When a client flirts with you, I mean?" She asked Tyler, hoping for some sage advice on how to hold off Mrs Hanson.

"It depends. Is she hot?"

Max couldn't help but smile. Her brother was such a dude. But so was she, if she had to be completely honest. "She's smoking, bro. She must be in her fifties and she's got this hot older woman down pat. Amazing figure too..."

Max recalled the tall, lean body with the perfect posture. Mrs Hanson must have a personal trainer or a very strict diet, or both.

"Alright, down tiger!" Her brother chuckled. "Just enjoy it then. But keep it in your pants. We're not that kind of business."

That answered Max's sudden concern about her brother's activities. She was more than a little relieved. Also, that boundary shouldn't be too hard to work with.

"I don't do spoiled, rich ladies, anyway. I'm just there for the job."

"Sure you are..." Tyler grinned amusedly and took another swig. It was clear that he didn't believe her.

* * * * *

Max typed the six digit code that Mrs Hanson had left on her voicemail into the keypad by the gate. Clearly, she'd changed her mind about being there, as she'd instructed Max to make her way into the garden and do whatever she needed to do to get started. It was clear that Mrs Hanson had no idea and didn't care what that may be.

Relieved to be able to crack on on her own, Max offloaded the wood for the deck outside what looked like the living room. She couldn't help but peek inside. It was what you would expect from a rich person's large living room: an L-shaped sofa that would easily fit ten people; a bookcase which Max assumed was carefully curated to only display titles that made its owner appear intelligent and cultured; a large coffee table with the obligatory coffee table books filled with exotic photos; and a massive flat screen TV. Quite a different world to Max's, it was.

Outside the kitchen door sat a cooler box. It looked out of place in its simplicity, and in the mere fact that its presence didn't make any sense. Was that for her?

Max always brought a few bottles of water and some sandwiches to get her through the day. Occasionally a client would provide a snack or two, or a cup of coffee, but Mrs Hanson didn't seem the type to think about such things. Max deliberated for a moment about having a peek, before curiosity got the better of her.

When she popped the lid, she felt naughty; as if she was going through Mrs Hanson's personal stuff. She suddenly wondered if there was a security camera. Was that why the woman was happy to stay away after all? Because she was keeping an eye out anyway? Max told herself not to be paranoid and opened the cooler box.

Inside were two bottles of water, some beers, a few pieces of fruit and some shop-bought sandwiches and wraps. That must be for her, right?

Max was flummoxed. Not only had Mrs Hanson thought to provide some sustenance, she'd put out quite a spread. Or had it put out? She couldn't picture the woman going to the supermarket to get lunch for her builder, even an upmarket supermarket like the one the stuff came from. But clearly, this lady was full of surprises. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. Max smiled contented and closed the lid to keep everything cool.

Max focussed her attentions on the patient. She started dismantling the rickety railing. She wasn't too concerned about damaging the wood as it was in bad shape and wouldn't be reusable. The deck was next and by lunchtime she'd taken down half of it.

She grabbed one of the sandwiches and looked for a shady place to sit. There was the big umbrella by the pool of course, but it felt a little overfamiliar to make herself comfortable there. So she grabbed one of the straight wooden terrace chairs that were probably meant to go into her brand new deck eventually, and put it in the shade.

Munching her sandwich she went over de rest of the afternoon in her head: if she could get the rest of the deck down, she could start expanding the area tomorrow. That would be a good place to be.

After a short break she got back to work and she was so engrossed into pulling planks up with her crowbar that she didn't hear the kitchen door opening in front of her.

"That's a big tool you've got there." Mrs Hanson's slender silhouette cast a shadow on Max, as she tiptoed onto the now rough area where the deck had been. Max heart jumped. If she had to describe how she felt at the sudden presence of the lady of the house, she would have used the words 'fight or flight.'

"Hello Max. That's some good progress," Mrs Hanson said, even though she probably had no frame of reference. But she was right. Max was happy with what she had achieved, so she greeted back and confirmed this. She had a quick look at her watch. 4pm. Just enough time to take down the last few beams and load the wood into the truck.

"I trust you found the lunch I left you."

Max nodded. "Thank you for that. You didn't need to do that." She looked over to see Mrs Hanson peering into the cooler box, as if to check if she had really eaten something.

"You didn't drink the beer. Not your brand? Or are you sober or something?" She pulled a slightly disapproving face. She clearly couldn't imagine ever going sober.

"No ma'am, the beer is great, but I don't drink on the job."

"Really?" She said in disbelief. "I thought all you builders knew how to put it away."

Max wasn't sure where she got her information from, but in her world, a builder who drank before the work day was done, especially in this heat, was asking for trouble.

"But you're done now, right? You'll have a beer now? It's past 4."

Max couldn't imagine Mrs Hanson had built her career to the power position she was in now by only working until 4, but clearly her expectations for builders weren't that high. Max replied politely that she still wanted to finish up and get the wood in the truck.

"Suit yourself." Mrs Hanson said, as she sauntered off into the kitchen, undoubtedly to prepare herself a drink.

Max quickly dismantled the rest of the deck and carried the first of the wood to the truck. When she came back, Mrs Hanson had made herself comfortable in a chair by the pool. She'd changed her clothes and was wearing a long summer dress that seemed to flow around her in the slight breeze. Every now and then, the wind picked it up to show a slender calf. Her legs looked like they would go on forever. She'd also donned a pair of large sunglasses. All in all, she looked like a movie star on holiday. As expected, she was sipping a martini.

Mrs Hanson was reading a book, but Max felt her eyes on her when she heaved the next load into her arms, taking on perhaps a bit more than she would have without a spectator. She told herself to get it together. Was she really trying to impress Mrs Hanson? Showing off the guns perhaps? She should be ashamed of herself. She walked off quickly and loaded the rest of the wood without even glancing at the beautiful woman by the pool.

"Well, that's me done." Max reported back to her eventually, awkwardly rubbing her dirty hands on her jeans in case Mrs Hanson wanted to shake her hand. She didn't appear so inclined. She looked over at the deck area.

"God, it's good to see that eyesore finally gone. I can't wait to see all the beautiful things you'll do for me." At this, she pushed down her sunglasses and looked at Max suggestively.

Max cleared her throat. "Yeah, well..."

What she wanted to do was give Mrs Hanson a blow by blow account of what she was planning to do tomorrow, but by now she knew the lady wouldn't be remotely interested. Instead she said: "I'll see you tomorrow, Mrs Hanson."

"And you, Max."

Just when Max thought she was safe, that she'd made it through the awkward departure without too much insinuation, Mrs Hanson added: "Looking forward to it."

Max felt a blush come on, despite her every intention not to read into the flirtations of a spoiled, rich lady. She turned round quickly and started to walk off.

Mrs Hanson wasn't quite done with her. "Oh and Max...," she said breezily. She paused, clearly waiting for Max to turn round.

Taking a deep breath, Max braced herself for what was to come now. She half-turned, her feet still keen to run off.

"Call me Diana."

* * * * *

When Max arrived at the house the next day, the kitchen doors were wide open and the lady of the house was working on a laptop at the kitchen table. She was dressed in business attire, featuring a pencil skirt suit this time. She looked like she'd been there for hours, even though it was only eight in the morning.

Max was surprised to see her and she realised she couldn't quite decide if it was a nice surprise or a bad one. She had certainly looked forward to getting a lot of work done without having to dodge the woman's flirtations, but there was also an inexplicable flutter in her stomach, as she laid eyes on the business exec poster girl.

"Good morning, Mrs Hanson," she called through the open doors.

Mrs Hanson looked up as if she'd only just noticed her. "Max...," she said reproachfully. Max gave her a questioning look. What had she done wrong?

"I told you to call me Diana. None of this Mrs Hanson and ma'am stuff anymore."

Max was about to protest that she always addressed her clients respectfully; that she was raised better than that; that being on a first name basis felt more familiar than she felt they should be. She thought better of it; it would only turn it into a thing, a much bigger deal than it needed to be.

"You're right, I forgot."

"Say it..." Mrs Hanson - no Diana - flashed her a grin and pushed a loose strand of hair out of her face.

"I'm sorry? Say what?" Max played dumb. She really wasn't interested in playing this game, and she already felt her usually polite manner starting to slip.

Diana didn't reply but she was still waiting for an answer. Max realised the only way she was going to get out of this and get to work was by playing along.

"Good morning, Diana?" She tried.

"Ah yes, I do like the sound of that." Diana smiled broadly before turning back to her laptop. Without looking up from the screen she added: "There's fresh coffee in the pot if you want any."

"Thank you."

That sounded very welcome. Max hadn't slept very well. When she woke up, she had recalled dreaming she was swimming with someone who looked a suspicious amount like Diana. They had been play-fighting and trying to pin each other against the sides of the pool.

It had been very vivid and as much as Max wanted to call it a nightmare, she'd felt a bit shaken in the morning. That pool suddenly seemed quite inviting. Coffee was safer, though. Coffee would wake her up and take her far away from her disturbing dream.

Max stepped into the kitchen and helped herself. Diana had put a cup out for her, clearly pre-empting she'd want coffee.

"Are you off to work soon then?" Max couldn't help but ask. She didn't really want to disturb, but she needed to know what she was up against for today. Diana certainly looked like she was ready to go to the office.

Diana looked up distractedly. Her facial expression suggested she'd already forgotten Max was there. Somehow it felt like she was putting that on, though. "Oh no, I'm working from home today. And the rest of the week. I promised you that, didn't I?" She winked now.

Some promise, that was. Max tried to push down the wave of panic that started to rise inside her. "Right, yes. Okay cool," she said neutrally. "Well, I better get to work."

From Diana's silence, Max concluded she was indeed dismissed and she got to work. Today she was taking up some of the grass to expand the area where the new deck was going to be. It was hard work and she was soon covered in a sheen of perspiration. As she worked, Diana stayed in the kitchen in full view. Max would have sworn she felt her gaze on her, like a light trickling on her skin. Yet every time she looked up, Diana was focussed on her computer.

She spent a fair amount of time on a phone call. Max tried not to listen in, but she needn't have worried. She understood very little of what was discussed: there was a lot of talk of accounts and invoices, contracts, triple named companies, and frightening big numbers of dollars. Max again wondered what it was that Diana did for a living.

Lunchtime approached rapidly and Max grew quite hungry. She didn't see the cooler box that was there yesterday. She had brought her own sandwiches, just in case, but she'd left them in the truck. Just as she was contemplating getting them, Diana got up and produced a tray of food from the massive double-doored fridge.

"Lunch time," she sang, as she walked barefooted around the sandy area Max was creating. She may be in full business wear - even though she was working from home - at least she wasn't wearing her heels.

Max expected her to offer something on her way, but she walked away towards to pool area resolutely. Max looked on confusedly. Maybe she should go get her own sandwiches after all?

"Join me, Max," came the request - no the command - a moment later. "In fact, while you're still there, grab the orange juice from the fridge, will you?"

Diana acted like they were old friends meeting for lunch, instead of the owner of a mansion and her employee. What could Max do, though? Eating her own sandwich separately was not an option; it would be too strange.

So she grabbed the orange juice, which was in a large glass jug. Was it freshly squeezed? Or had it been decanted from the carton? Neither would surprise Max. She made her way over and sat in the chair furthest away from Diana on the other side of the table.

"So, what's your story, Max?" Diana asked, after they'd both picked a sandwich from the overly large display of food. None of it was something Max hadn't manage to finish yesterday. Had all of that been discarded? Classed as too old to consume? Probably.

What was her story? What could she tell Diana? "My story?" She tried to buy some time.

"Yeah, what makes you tick? Why are you a carpenter?" Diana said impatiently, as if it was completely obvious that this was what she meant. At the same time, she managed to make it sound like she couldn't for the life of her imagine why someone would choose to be a carpenter.

"My brother and I took over my father's business when he got ill. Well, we kind of turned it into a business, actually. Before it was more of an ad hoc thing," Max said.

"Ah, so you were always in the workshop as a little girl, learned the trade from a young age? Very close to your dad? That sort of thing?" Diana sounded as if she knew all about that, but Max couldn't see her holding a hammer.