The Work Crew

Copyright 2003.

Suggested by the short story: Persuasive Workmen by Svensyn.

* * * * *

It was her first important assignment, her first time overseas and her first encounter with a foreign language. It was also her birthday.

Happy twenty-third birthday, Lacey thought.

Landing in Manila on September twenty-third, Lacey considered Manila not such a bad city. The people were nice, the streets were fairly clean, and she enjoyed the food. She didn't get sick from the water. But after a week, she was shipped off to Davao, to the factory's location, and Davao was no Manila. Davao was not even Tijuana. To Lacey, Davao was the armpit of the Philippines.

Her first days in Davao were a girl's worst nightmare. (Short of being raped and murdered.) The cottage had no electricity and no running water; it took two days to get the power turned on. Three days more for water. Until then, Lacey holed up in a rat infested motel, desperate for escape. On hindsight, she thought she might have preferred the rats.

The air conditioning consisted of three window units spread throughout the house. The only one in service was the one in the bedroom (thank God for that), which was where she spent most of her time. The roof leaked over the utility room out back, and there was a continually expanding circle on the ceiling of the second bedroom. She had no cable TV nor satellite service, and it was only on the ninth day that her telephone worked. Then, at least, she could log on.

Thank God, for AOL.

On the tenth day, Saturday the twelfth of October, Lacey celebrated her birthday. Alone. She lighted a single candle atop a Sarah Lee pound cake, and making a wish, blew it out. She had no friends in Davao and other than one girl at work (who brightened Lacey's world immensely by inviting her out for a birthday dinner), the rest considered Lacey an interloper. No one locally spoke English and Lacey knew no Filipino at all. The only bright spot in her life was knowing that Kenneth was just as miserable.

Perhaps.

Saturday morning, Lacey slept in, enjoying the relative comfort of her bedroom. She leisurely masturbated, nude except for her panties, which gradually migrated down her thighs to her ankles. That's where they stayed, where Kenneth would like.

Just over five feet five inches tall, Lacey had coal black hair and eyes, a razor thin nose and a wide, but thinly-lipped mouth. Her breasts were comically small, bearing pea-sized nipples and aureole barely large as a dime. Her genitals were free of hair, including that area surrounding her anus, into which she had placed a finger.

"You need to get up," she murmured.

Right, Annie replied.

"We do."

Anne was Lacey's middle name, and her inner companion. With her since childhood, Annie was her best, and sometimes only friend.

"Don't make me hurt you," Lacey said.

Rolling onto her stomach, Lacey let the finger inside her coax her hips off the bed. They continued to rise until Lacey was in a halfway raised position--her favorite. Then she inserted the middle finger of her left hand into her vagina, and played finger-tag through her flesh.

You are such a dog, Annie said. Give me a camera!

"Shut up," Lacey mumbled. Her eyes were shut and her breathing forcibly slow; she was long practiced at remaining aroused. Kenneth often filmed her that way. "I wish I had my dildo," she moaned.

I wish you did too. The guy looking in the window would just love that up your ass.

Lacey shook her head. "The window is closed."

Guess again, hon.

Lacey opened an eye. The blind was half-raised and the curtains open. As usual, Annie was her insufferably, correct self.

"No one can see in," she equivocated.

Yes they can, Annie said. You better listen.

The fingers came out of Lacey's behind and vagina. She turned over and sat up. When Annie said to listen, Lacey usually did. About some things, Annie was invariably right.

"Did you see something?" she asked.

Annie said: Not saw--heard.

"What did you hear?"

A ladder?

"A ladder?" Lacey repeated. "Where?"

Out back.

Lacey got up and threw on her robe. She went into the kitchen. Suddenly, her breathing was very labored. "Oh, please," she said. "Please don't tell me."

The day before, her landlord had promised to send out a crew. Taking half a day off, Lacey set all afternoon and fumed. Only at four-fourty five did she call. Of course, the bastard was apologetic.

"I am sorry Ms.Kincaide," he had said.

Lacey cut the man him off. "One o'clock, you said! No later than two, you said! I waited here all afternoon! I missed important work! My supervisor will kill me! He already yelled at me this morning!"

In truth, Mr.Herrera had called her a ninny. A stupid ninny. He berated her in a manner which no American boss ever had. Since first meeting him ten days before, Lacey had fought his constant advances, growing more alarmed--and repulsed--by the day. Herrera was an octopus with hands. With everything she did, he found fault. He had threatened to can her. With this latest fiasco, she understood that nothing stood between her and his office couch if she hoped to keep her job. Come Monday morning, baring a miracle, her mouth would envelop his penis.

"Ms.Kincaide," the landlord said. "I am sorry for your anguish. I will try to get a crew out first thing in the morning. I promise."

Lacey had laughed in his face. "I don't believe you!" she cried, a total deviation from Lacey behavior. "You better have them here Monday morning, you ass, seven o'clock at the latest, or I'll sue your ass!"

Then she had slammed down the phone.

"I don't see anything," she said now, looking out the window. Nothing was visible save the slatted wooden fence bordering the neighbor's yard.

Out back, Lace. Not the fucking side yard.

"Okay, okay. No need to get testy."

Opening the door to the utility room, Lacey went inside. Windows either side of the small room showed no one in sight. "Satisfied?" she asked.

I know I heard something, Annie said. I didn't make it up.

"I didn't say you did. You were just mistaken." She shut the door and locked it. "Can I go shower now?"

You may take a bath.

Lacey felt a thrill. "A bubble bath?" she asked.

I should punish you with cold water.

Lacey stuck out her lip. "You wouldn't do that."

Annie said nothing.

At home, one of Kenneth's favorite diversions was listening to Lacey talk. She routinely carried on a conversation, sometimes for minutes, sometimes for hours on end. She talked about her day at work, her favorite TV shows, even Kenneth's latest demands. The most amusing thing was not that she seemed unaware that she did it, but how she kowtowed to herself--or to Annie, whichever was worse. Of the pair, Kenneth often wished he were fucking Annie.

Postponing her bath, Lacey cleaned. She scrubbed the in-need-of replacement kitchen floor, straightened the living room, changed her bedclothes, rearranged the shelves out back, and scrubbed the back porch. All save for the back porch she performed in the nude. For the porch, she donned a bikini top and shorts. Then she took her bath.

"What do you think of Andre?" she asked, playing with her ruby-colored nipples. She teased them into full attention.

Annie sighed. Okay, I guess.

Andre was the plant foreman, and the cutest man there. He had eyes for Lacey Kincaide.

"Okay?" she said. "Just okay? I think he's delicious."

He's also married.

"So?"

So, he's married. Not that it's ever mattered before.

"Hey!" Lacey objected. "That's nice!"

You want nice? Buy a puppy.

Teasing up soap bubbles around her nipples, Lacey played hide and seek. They slowly appeared through the foam.

"You know how horny I am?" she asked.

I think this morning made it pretty clear.

Lacey thought of herself on the bed, playing finger tag through her flesh. Then she thought of Andre Mercurio, observing her through the half-open window. She slid way down in the water. She blew bubbles with her mouth.

"Nineteen days," she said.

I know how long.

"I haven't been nineteen days without sex, since I was twelve."

You are disgusting, Annie said.

Lacey stuck out her lip.

Right. Your answer to everything.

Lacey slapped the water. "I can't help it!" she cried. "I'm horny! I need a dick!"

You need a good spanking!

"That too!" she cried. "But I need a dick first!"

Truculently, Lacey crossed her arms over her chest and pouted. "I want my Daddy."

* * *

Towel drying her hair, Lacey went into the kitchen. She wanted a coke. She was very much aroused. Her nipples ached. She throbbed deep within her organs. Counting backwards on her fingers, Lacey understood why. She was ovulating.

Well gee, girlie-girl. Big surprise there.

Lacey was about to shoot back a reply when she spotted two men through the kitchen window. She nearly freaked.

Ducking down beside the counter, Lacey hurriedly covered herself up. "Holy God!" she said. "What are they doing out there?"

The men were in the side yard, inspecting what Lacey guessed was the living room air conditioner. They had either had not seen her, or they didn't let on. Peeking out the glass, Lacey wrapped herself in the towel and headed back to the bedroom.

The front doorbell rang.

"Shit!" Lacey said, afraid to move. Either side of the door was a row of small-paned windows. Through them she saw someone stoop and peer in, then put his hand to the glass to shade his eyes. The doorbell continued to ring.

"Shit!" She repeated.

With nothing on but her towel, Lacey was not opening the door. But, there was that damned face at the window, and now he was waving at her, making Lacey's embarrassment even worse. Then someone pounded on the door. Lacey made a fateful decision. Chagrined, she clasped the towel tightly around her, and went to the door.

"Si?" she demanded.

There were eight of them in all, mostly wearing t-shirts and jeans. One man, a darkly tanned Filipino in his late thirties, had on a badly knotted tie. He stepped forward from the group. He touched his forehead.

"Por favor," he said. Then he switched to accented, but perfectly understandable English. "We are the work crew, sent to fix your air conditioners and roof."

"At four o'clock in the afternoon?" Lacey asked. It was closer to four-thirty.

The man shrugged. "Si. We only finished our last job an hour ago--" he conferred rapidly with a man to his left "--but the work took longer than we expected. The owner, Senor Martinez, insisted that we come. I always honor Mr.Martinez's wishes."

Lacey nodded. Her own run-ins with the landlord were anything but sweet. Still, she hesitated.

"We can come back tomorrow," the man said. "But we might not be able to get parts. If anything should need repair."

Lacey was stuck. Getting the job completed today--even at this late hour--meant not missing work Monday morning. "Okay," she said. "Come in."

Introducing himself as Enrique, the man then identified Miguel, his crew chief and Manuel, the roofer. The six other names Lacey immediately forgot.

Miguel, who looked about Lacey's age and was wirely built (all the men were wirely built) and had a tool belt slung over his shoulder. He would see to the air conditioners, along with one other, while Manuel tended to the roof. Lacey said fine and headed for the bedroom.

At this point, things could have--should have--gone well. But Lacey's clothes, laid out on the bed before her shower, were badly wrinkled. As she set up the ironing board and unwrapped the iron's cord, the power went off.

Disgusted, she went out to the front porch. Leaning over the railing, she called: "What's going on?"

Miguel, removing the air conditioner's cover, shook his head.

"You speak English?" she called.

Miguel shook his head.

"Where's Enrique?"

Miguel indicated Enrique had left.

"Great," Lacey sighed. "Who speaks English then?"

They all shook their heads. Lacey's stomach began to burn.

As best she could, Lacey determined that the power would be out for an hour. Why they had pulled the plug entirely, she couldn't discern. It was not something conveyable with sign language. She closed the door and retreated into her bedroom.

First trying to smooth out the wrinkles by hand, Lacey tried stretch-ironing her clothes. That didn't work. Then she considered grabbing her discarded clothes from earlier that day, but they were sweaty and covered with dirt. Disgusted, she pulled a t-shirt and a pair of shorts out of her drawers. She prepared to put them on. Just as she removed the towel, however, there was a commotion from the living room, and Lacey wrapped the towel back on.

From her bedroom door, she saw that Miguel had pushed the air conditioner into the room. Much larger than Lacey had imagined, it canted forward from the casement, ready to fall. There were shouts from outside and suddenly one of the crewmen burst through the front door. He rushed over to the dangling unit and, struggling mightily, hauled it to a horizontal position. Veins stood out on his face; his muscles bulged. Looking around, he found Lacey standing in the hallway, and motioned her forward.

"Me?" Lacey asked, a finger touching her chest. You must be kidding!

The man nodded.

"No way!" she said, shaking her head and hands.

But the unit dipped lower as the seconds went by and the man began to look desperate. Lacey, torn between her modesty and fear of loosing the unit, came forward. "Mother fuck," she whispered.

Taking up position on the other side of the unit, Lacey grabbed the frame. The machine was incredibly heavy. No wonder he looked ready to burst, she thought. Together they brought the unit back level and slid it into the casement. Halfway in, the unit stuck.

While Lacey held most of the load, the workman--Morito was his name--kept one hand on the chassis and the other trying to fix the slide. Lacey grunted when he released the unit entirely.

"Can't someone else do this?" she complained. The weight made her bend at the knees.

Morito, carrying on a shouted conversation with Miguel, outside, ignored her words. Then, to Lacey's horror, the towel began to loosen. She jammed her breasts against the compressor and her hip against the chassis.

"Hurry up!" she demanded.

Morito, reacting to her heated words, looked up. He blinked in confusion, then grabbed the machine. Then he released it again to grab a wrench and a pry bar passed in by Miguel. The unit sagged lower, forcing Lacey down too. Her towel loosened almost to the point of letting go.

This is not happening! she frantically thought. She looked down and saw her left nipple. Oh, Jesus! Oh, Jesus, no!

"Morito!" she yelled.

Morito looked up and blinked in confusion, then laughed. Lacey lost her temper.

"I'm dropping this thing!" she yelled. "Right on your foot!" She started to count, got only to two, and then her towel worked free loose. With a swiftness that made her heart flip, the towel fell away and puddled at her feet. She looked at Morito, who looked at her, and then she let out a shriek.

This is not happening! This is not happening at all!

But it was!

With a surge of panic, Lacey dropped the machine and grabbed for her towel. Left unsupported, the unit began a backwards slide and reaching the halfway point, overbalanced and fell. Lacey shrieked as the machine swung hard against her shoulder, knocking her flat on her can. Then she shrieked again as she yanked her feet clear The machine crashed to the floor in a shower of dust and debris, burying Lacey's towel. She sat there, naked and spread wide, while Morito stared dumbfounded at her crotch.

Lacey thought: This is it. This is the nightmare I had in junior high. This is getting caught outside the girl's locker room with no clothes on and having everyone laugh. Then she thought: No, this is having Jimmy Maclane and Bobby Rideour and Andy McCall taking pictures of me through my bedroom window and sending those pictures to all their friends and to my friends as well, and then finding them in my own e-mail.

Miguel and two others stared wide-eyed at her through the open casement, and then Manuel rushed in through the back door, a helper right on his heels. She had just begun to cover herself when the seventh and final worker burst in through the front. Everyone stopped dead. Everyone except Lacey, who screamed at the top of her lungs as she covered herself up and ran frantically to the bedroom.

* * *

What happened up to that point was unfortunate, but forgivable. What happened later was not.

The workers, amused by Lacey's plight, joked the rest of the afternoon. Manuel took his men back on the roof, and before sunset arrived, had found and patched all the leaks. Miguel discovered the air conditioner to be undamaged and, after repairing the slides, remounted it in the wall. Aside from needing a charge of freon, it worked just fine. At seven o'clock, when the work crew finally left, the living room was practically frigid.

As you might expect, Lacey was devastated by the event. For a time, she hid behind her bedroom door, tucked into a shivering ball. She fought hysteria and hyperventilation. Finally, she did what all women do to maintain their equilibrium in a sex-crazed world: She adjusted. She coped. She contended.

Getting to her feet, Lacey put all thoughts of what happened out of her mind. She hummed to herself, softly. She lowered the blinds. She plugged in the iron and spent half an hour ironing her clothes. Then, still totally naked, she stood by her bed and examined her white cotton slacks and peach colored top. Then she began to laugh.

Oh, my God, she thought. Did that actually happen?

In commiseration, Annie said: I'm sorry. I'm afraid it did.

"I am so embarrassed."

You have a right to be, Annie said. Even I wish I weren't there.

Putting her hand over her mouth, Lacey said: "Did you see their faces? My, God, Annie! I showed them it all."

Annie couldn't stop laughing.

Lacey repeated, "I am so embarrassed."

Facing her chagrin, Lacey dressed and left the bedroom. She stood at the end of the hallway, red faced and insecure, watching Miguel and Morito.

As soon as they saw her, everyone laughed.

"I am so sorry," she said. Her face, were she to touch it, would surely burn her fingers. She apologized again, and so did the workers.

At six o'clock, she fixed them all cokes and something to eat. Morito, famished, gulped the sandwich down in four bites and Lacey just had to laugh. They laughed along with her.

Over the next hour, Lacey and Miguel grew to know each other fairly well--as well as pantomime and hand signs would allow. Miguel showed her the inner workings of the machine that had nearly killed her, and Lacey explained--or tried to explain--what was wrong with the washer and dryer. The kitchen faucet she forgot.

By seven o'clock as the men prepared to leave, Lacey felt a growing chagrin. She could not deny her growing attraction to Miguel, and she felt it from him. She also felt, had either one spoken the other one's language, Miguel would have asked her out.

* * *

Three blocks from Lacey's cottage was an eatery called Reynoldo's. There, she and Maribel ate. Lacey had smoked Mullet and seasoned vegetables, while Maribel ate a local dish Lacey could not pronounce and would never eat. At nine o'clock, after walking Lacey home, Maribel disappeared into the night.

At nine-thirty the doorbell rang. It was Miguel, Manuel, and three of the others.

They all carried cameras.

It took a while, but Lacey eventually grasped it was she they wanted to photograph. Flabbergasted, she poked her own chest.