The Maintenance Man

I'd like to thank fdk262 for all of his help and insights in developing this story; it was invaluable to me.

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Love (understood as the desire of good for another) is in fact so unnatural a phenomenon that it can scarcely repeat itself, the soul being unable to become virgin again and not having energy enough to cast itself out again into the ocean of another's soul. (James Joyce)

******

My name is Charlie Flowers, and yes I was teased about it a lot in high school. Until I met my wife to be, more about her a little later, I had never considered it, but I think my name may have had something to do with the way I turned out psychologically and emotionally, even socially. If you remember that old Johnny Cash song, A Boy Named Sioux you'll have some idea of what I'm talking about.

I never went to college, never learned how to drive a car let alone owned one, never played football in high school, never gave my slightly less than five inch dick a second thought, and never worried much about what other people thought or said about me. I was and remain my own person; Jack Kerouac could have written a book about me. I was a physical clone of my dad: five-seven, 148 pounds, unruly brown hair, a fast smile, and a steel hard body.

We never had much money, but dad made sure there was always food on the table, clothes on our backs, new shoes every Christmas, and a loving home.

Dad worked for Ardmore Building Materials: rock, sand, hollow block et cetera. He always worked hard, too hard as it turned out; he died of a heart attack brought on by overwork at the age of forty-three. His death made life hard for mom and me. There was some insurance from the company he worked for, but mom did have to get a job. One upshot of his death was my mom's determination to see to it that I didn't die young like my dad did. There would be no second generation working for ABM.

In high school I dated some, I was fairly good looking. Got serious with Betty Biggler—and she sure was. But upon graduation I had to get a job, and they were scarce at the time. My mom helped out there though. The building she worked in as a receptionist had openings on its maintenance crew. I was hired three weeks after graduating; my nineteenth birthday was only a week away.

Being on the crew was rewarding for me. Jack Spires, the crew boss, knew everything there was to know about keeping a high rise office building operating at maximum efficiency. Our job, as one of the four full time maintenance crews, was to keep our floors of the building clean and running smoothly, and, as unobtrusively as possible. I was a quick study and learned as much as I could from Jack and that was a lot: carpentry, electrics, welding, plumbing, and yes how to swing a mop and make the building's bathrooms shine. Oh, there were other floor crews, mostly women, who took care of the office cleaning and the like; but none of them handled electrics, plumbing, carpentry and stuff like that; that was our job.

I may not have gone to college, but I sure as hell "twernt" no ignoramus. My lineage may have been one hundred percent blue collar, but I saw that as a plus.

My interests outside of work included girls, reading, music, and Okinawan martial arts. I learned the latter from a neighbor who took pleasure in teaching a few of us neighborhood boys what he knew, and it was a helluva lot. My love of good books and classical music came from my mom. My success with girls was a direct hand-me-down from my dad; he got hit on more than my mom did, and she was a mighty nice lookin' lady for damn sure.

After my thirteenth year on the job at the Hobbes building Jack retired, and I took over as crew chief. I was thirty-one and making forty grand annual; times were good.

******

I was sitting in the fifth row at the Cultural Center behind a bunch of men dressed like undertakers most of whom were escorting women too young for them. I didn't own a tux, but I was wearing my best dockers, long sleeved white shirt and tie, and my corduroy sports coat. I looked pretty good, I thought, but I did stand out.

It wasn't so much that I noticed her; it was more that she noticed me. Like I said, I kinda stood out dressed as I was. It was intermission as I recall now, and I had just gotten a cup of joe from the refreshment table in the foyer. I had stepped out onto the adjacent patio and was sipping it when she came up to me. She had laughing eyes that were absolutely captivating. Her dark, two-inches above the knee evening dress had to have been created to go with her hair and complexion. She was gorgeous.

"Hi, my name's Marylou, Marylou Keynes," she said extending her hand. I took it.

"Mine's Charlie," I said. Suddenly I was FFT, flustered, flattered, and turgid. This was a very high tone gal, I thought to myself, way out of my league economically and sure as hell socially. Hell even I could see her dress was worth more than all of the furniture in my living room—including my new sound system.

"You enjoy opera?" she said.

"It's not opera," I said. "It's a concert featuring operatic arias sung by some pretty good performers. I love the music, but not so much the operas per se."

"You know a lot about this kind of music?" she said.

"A little. I was raised on it. My mom liked it," I said. "I guess I got my taste for it from her."

"Your mom? What's she do?" said Marylou.

"She died last year," I said.

"Oh, I'm sorry, really." I nodded and shrugged. "Can I ask? What do you do for a living?" she said.

"I'm a crew chief at the Hobbes building downtown," I said.

"Sounds impressive. What kind of crew?"

"Janitorial," I said.

"Yeah right," she laughed.

I just smiled. I was used to it.

"What do you do?" I said.

"I'm a lawyer. As it happens, our firm's offices are in the Hobbes Building too: Hartfield and Lomb, H&L. How weird is that," she said.

That stopped me. This gorgeous gal worked where I worked.

We talked for the fifteen minutes of intermission, and she challenged me to call her. She handed me her business card after pulling a pen from her purse and writing her home number on the back. I'd never call her of course; it was clear that we traveled in totally different circles and "...never the twain shall meet," as Kipling had said. Or, a least that is what I thought at the time. I was wrong and wrong on a lot of levels.

******

Brody and I had just finished scrubbing down the woman's head on the fourteenth floor one day. I was just collecting the yellow caution standard when she walked by on her way to an underwriter's office on that floor. My back was to her. I was yelling at Brody to get his freakin' butt moving when I heard a female voice call my name. "Charlie?" said a very soft female voice.

I turned and Brody was standing there staring at the woman as though mesmerized. She was wearing a tan power suit and a beautiful necklace of what had to be real pearls. Her three inch heels were oh so damn feminine.

"Marylou," I said. "Surprise, surprise." I smiled at her obvious discomfort.

"You—you really are a janitor," she said quietly, as though still not quite believing it.

"You betcha," I said, still smiling, "and proud of it."

"Of course—I mean—well, of course." She offered me her hand and I took it. We shook. "You haven't called me."

I started to laugh. "Now, what would your big shot friends on the 20th say if you went out with a lowly janitor," I said.

"Wha—I—"

"Exactly," I said. "Marylou, you are one hot female, but it wouldn't work. Just let it be."

She looked pensive.

"Charlie, call me. I want to go out with you."

"You wanna go out with me. A charity date maybe? Be kind to riffraff week maybe? Brody, did you get the memo? Is it be kind to the riffraff week do you know?" I said.

She looked as if she was about to cry. "Charlie, I admit, I did think that way about you when I saw you in here cleaning—but, I'm really not like that. Call me, I mean it," she said. "Or—or—or I'll sue you."

"Okay, don't cry for chrissakes. You wanna go out. I will meet you out in front of this building at 5:30 tomorrow evening. You get off at five right?" I said. "If you don't show don't sweat it; I'll understand."

"Okay. But, why don't you pick me up at my place?"

"I don't drive. And I don't wanna know where you live, not yet. Or you where I live. Here in front of the building at 5:30. That'll give you a chance to freshen up in those fancy quarters you've got up there. Oh, by the way, jeans, heels, and a shirt or blouse or something—bra optional," I said grinning broadly.

Her eyes bulged at my boldness. "Where are we going?" she asked.

"You'll see; it'll be fun. That much I can promise you," I said.

******

She was on time. In fact she was there before I was. She looked around thinking I might have stood her up. I had seen her when I came down the stairs of the mezzanine. She heard my hello from behind her. She turned. "Hi," she said.

"You look good," I said.

"You're still in your working clothes."

"I'm gonna change shirts and clean up when we get there," I said. "I go there a lot, I got clothes there. It ain't fancy dancy, but it's convenient for me. You know, a lot of cowboys and blue collar types just getting off shift. Like I say, it ain't the Ritz, but it's loud and fun."

"Whatever," she said, not knowing what else she could say. A taxi pulled up to the curb.

"I called it," I said. "It's too far to walk."

She shrugged. On the ride over I could see she was thinking. This had to be a first for her. I had the feeling she'd never even met anybody from the working class before let alone dated any such.

"Feel okay?" I asked.

"Truthfully, a little strange. I hope you will cut me some slack tonight," she said.

"More like I will work with you to cut a rug," I said laughing. She laughed too, banishing her nerves, I hoped.

We arrived at the Dirty Dozen at around 6:15. The DD was a sawdust joint catering to country western wannabes. The dancing had already started and I pulled her out into the line dance even before we found a table or ordered drinks. I was still in my work clothes, but the song was mine, I'd change and clean up when it was over. She was a little messed up at first with the footwork, but she was soon into it.

The dance ended and everybody yahoo'd and returned to their tables while a slow dance was played for the romantically inclined. I led her over to a table near the back. I wanted to be able to talk to her, and that would have been impossible near the bandstand.

I sat her down, and before I settled in, I signaled to Lorilei, my favorite supplier of yellow pepsi, to bring a pitcher while I ran into the back room to make myself presentable. I returned in minutes: I think it was a record in terms of time elapsed.

'You did good out there," I said, returning to the table. "You looked like a good 'ole country girl."

"Not really, 'fraid I'm a city girl," she said. "But this is nice. Glad you brought me."

"Well, I'm glad you're glad."

The rest of the evening we danced and hoorah'd with the crowd and then it was time to go home.

I walked her to her door; I now knew where she lived, and she didn't wait for me to initiate things. She wrapped her arms around my neck and gave me a serious kiss. I returned it.

"Wow!" I said, "and on our first date too."

"Just wanted to make sure you'd ask me out again, mister. I really did enjoy myself," she said.

"Next Friday night?" I said. "Pick up at the Hobbes same as tonight."

"You got it. Can I choose the place?" she said.

"Seems fair to me," I said.

"Good, seven o'clock," she said. I nodded. She disengaged herself. "Oh, and I'll drive next time. Okay?"

"Okay, if it will make you happy," I said. She smiled and blew me a kiss goodbye.

The next several days was work, work, work same as always. Marylou had gotten under my skin. But, I hadn't seen or heard from her at all since our previous date. But, on Thursday, the day before our next date, that changed.

Brody and I were again cleaning the heads on the fourteenth when I heard a familiar female giggle. I saw Marylou with a man in a small alcove a little ways down the corridor. A potted plant outside of the men's room we'd just cleaned hid me from view pretty completely. Brody was still inside the washroom reloading our cart and dumping the mop bucket before joining me to do the women's restroom.

"So you stood me up to go out with a janitor? Is that what you're telling me, Marylou?" The man was tall, maybe six-five. Hell he was almost a foot taller than me. The suit he was wearing was expensive, probably some big shot lawyer, I thought. The suit made it hard to gauge his weight, but he was definitely a super heavyweight.

"Yeah, and so what! You don't own me Brad. He made me laugh. He might not be much, but he was interesting: a change of pace, if you know what I mean."

"Did you fuck him? That would piss me off," said Brad.

"No. I felt his cock through his pants a few times though. He's just a little guy when it comes to his equipment. Still, I might try him out just to see what it's like," she said. "But, don't sweat it, big boy, you still have first dibs."

They laughed and moved off toward the elevators at the other end.

As they waited for the elevator to arrive, I heard Brad make one more comment. "A fucking janitor for chrissakes! Stood up for a fucking nothing janitor!" They both laughed. She took his arm and let him lead her into the elevator that would rocket them to the 20th.

Brody finally showed up with the cart. "Okay, lets' do the other one," he said.

"Yeah, let's get it done," I said, as he pushed the cart toward the little girl's room.

I had a lot to think about. I wondered, having heard what I'd heard, if she'd even show up for our date the next day. But then, I decided that I wasn't going to go out with her anyway. I could give a rat's ass what people thought of me. But, a guy likes to date girls that at least respect him, and she clearly didn't respect me. She was just slumming. I wasn't in to being a slum. Still, I was curious to see if she'd show up. I figured out what I would do and how I would handle the situation.

*******

She was a few minutes late. She pulled up in her Mercedes and motioned me to come on and get in. I just stood there. She wrinkled her brow and looked me askance. I just remained still and waited to see what she would do. She turned off the engine, got out and walked around to me as I leaned against the building. She was clearly confused.

"Do you want me to help you to the car and hold the door for you? " she said, sounding a little miffed.

At first I didn't say anything. Then she started to flush, I could see she was getting angry.

"I decided not to go," I said.

"What! Why?" she said.

"Well, I might not be much, and my little guy ain't exactly a cruise missile; but I ain't into being somebody's change of pace."

"Huh? What are you talking about," she said, raising her voice.

"Oh, I suppose I should be flattered that you stood up Brad to date a janitor; but frankly I require at least a little respect from the girls I date. No matter what Brad thinks, or you either, I ain't no joke lady. Anyway, I ain't goin'. Call him, the night's still young. You can both have a real good laugh tellin' your high brow friends all about it," I said.

Her face paled. Clearly her memory was kicking in. "Oh my gawd!"

I turned and walked off. I felt pretty good. It was only later that I began to feel—well, not good. I had no reason to feel bad; I knew that. I hadn't done anything wrong, and it made no sense for me to be down. But—the woman—she wasn't just a woman—she could have been "the" woman. Ah hell, it made no sense any of it!

******

The next few days were hard on me, and Brody and the boys on the crew noticed it.

"Okay, sport," said Brody, "what's goin' on? You're clearly out of it, and it's affecting our work," he said.

"Nothing, I can't handle," I said. "I'm just not feelin' too good."

"Yeah, I get it. You're not feelin' too good. Women'll do that to a man," he said.

"Shut the hell up, Brody. I'll handle it my way, okay?" I said.

"Yeah, yeah," he said. "Charlie, I asked around. Yeah, I know it's none of my business, but I asked around anyway. That broad sleeps around. And I mean with almost anybody. If it's got a cock attached to it, she's probably tried it."

Brody backed off and held up his hands in mock defense when he saw my look. Oh, I knew he probably was right, but hell, I weren't exactly no virgin either. So what if she got her rocks off with a variety of men. I really didn't give a damn, at least not at that moment.

It was later that day that I got a call to come to the boss's office in the basement. I knew we were scheduled to get some new equipment, and we sure needed it. I figured the boss wanted to see me about that. I was wrong.

I looked at my watch: 3:00. I was on time. I went in. The boss's chair was turned backwards facing the wall. When I coughed, he swung around to face me. But Cass Walters had changed. He was now a beautiful woman!

"Ms. Keynes," I said, somewhat flustered.

"Ms. Keynes? We've kissed, Charlie. You can call me Marylou."

"I was called down here to talk to Mr. Walters," I said. "But, it looks like I was set up. I was wasn't I?"

"'Fraid so, Charlie. I had to speak with you, but I know you wouldn't have come up to the office or to my apartment; so I asked Cass, Mr. Walters, to help me out."

"You know Cass?" I said.

"Oh yes, Charlie. He and my father were in the army together, Vietnam actually. Our two families have been friends forever," she said.

"Charlie," she began, "obviously you overheard me and Brad Carlson in the corridor last week. I can't tell you how bad I feel about the things we—I—said. They were inexcusable. Horrid, actually. I can't believe that I was such an asshole. Brad on the other hand is a professional asshole."

I couldn't help laughing at her way of expressing herself.

She looked down, a serious expression painting her face. "I am here to beg you to forgive me for what I said. I have no excuse. I have felt so bad since that afternoon that I haven't been able to work effectively. I really like you Charlie. If you are good enough to do that, to forgive me, I promise to make it up to you."

I looked at her. Hell, I thought, she's a human being; she makes mistakes too. I could list more than a few of my own for damn sure. My problem was that I knew that I really wasn't in her league. If I did go out with her again, sooner or later, as sure as the sun rose in the east, we'd come up against that stone wall of class-ism that I saw exhibited in the corridor that day. Even if it wasn't expressed outwardly the whispers would be there, about that there was no goddamn doubt.

What I couldn't figure out was why she had picked me, why she wanted to fool around with me in the first place. For sure I was not into assuaging her guilt only to be dumped, gently of course, somewhere down the line when she realized that it wasn't going to work.

"Marylou, I do forgive you. I've done and said stuff I wish I hadn't too. But, it's more than that. One, I don't have all that big an ego, but I absolutely demand respect from my dates, really from anybody. Your friends—well—they are never going to be my friends; they don't respect guys like me. And, I hear you sayin' that you're sorry and didn't mean the things you said about me, and maybe that's so; but really, I don't think you ever could really respect a guy who swabs out toilets; it just ain't you, and it's obvious.

"Girl, we don't move in the same circles, and for the record, I like my circles better than yours. I'm not going to ever fit in with the crepes and caviar set. I think you know it too. Sometime in the future you'd have to choose, and you'd choose what you're used to, and that wouldn't me and mine," I said.