Chapter 3

The day after she applied the last bit of paint to the exterior, Priscilla discovered that her neighbors were not faring too well. Sitting in her recliner, sipping her protein drink while watching the local news, Priscilla heard the sound of water running. A check of the two bathrooms, the kitchen, and the washing machine did not reveal the source of the sound of running water.

Stepping outside, Priscilla checked the outside faucet in the back yard. It was not running.

Checking the outside faucet next to her garage showed a hose running from faucet to underneath the fence into her neighbor’s back yard. Priscilla angrily twisted the faucet off, unhooked the hose, and jerked the faucet handle off of the faucet. She then stomped down on the end of the hose, cracking the plastic connection.

“Bitch,” Darlene mouthed as Priscilla backed out of her garage later that day.

“Yes, Mother, I really should go to college,” Priscilla smirked, waving to Darlene.

As she drove east on Conway Road, the woman that lived at 201 Conway waved Priscilla to a stop. Priscilla lowered her window, smiling at the attractive older woman.

“Listen, love what you did with your house,” the woman said.

“Well, thank you,” Priscilla smiled.

“How much to do my house?” the woman asked, pointing toward her two bedroom bungalow.

“Let me work up a plan and I’ll get back to you,” Priscilla promised.

While on a break at the Captain’s Table, Priscilla called Chad and asked him what he thought she should charge. Chad helped her construct a working budget; materials, time, travel. His strongest bit of advice, don’t sell it too cheap. Serious customers won’t balk at a reasonable price; not so serious customers will take advantage of a price that’s too low.

“It’s got to be worth your while,” Chad advised. “Oops, got a customer; got to go.”

Priscilla was exhausted when she got home. But she gathered all of her receipts together, using the calculator function on her laptop to work it up. She then went on-line and ‘borrowed’ a contract template as well as an itemized proposal budget.

Dr. Patricia Beard looked at the proposal that Priscilla printed out, pursing her lips. She looked at Priscilla, looked into Priscilla’s unreadable eyes.

“Well, this is a little more than I’d planned to spend,” the university professor finally said.

“That is fine, ma’am,” Priscilla said.

“Wait a minute. That’s it? No negotiating?” Dr. Beard called out when Priscilla started to walk away.

“Dr. Beard, I’m already giving you a ten percent discount; the ‘Good Neighbor’ discount,” Priscilla said. “You say it’s more than you’re willing to spend and it is a little less than I’m willing to take. So, no ma’am, there’s no room for negotiation.”

Two days later, Dr. Beard flagged Priscilla and agreed to Priscilla’s price. Priscilla called Jason and quit her job at The Captain’s Table.

“Fine, bitch, don’t come crying needing a job,” Jason snapped.

Priscilla and Dr. Beard agreed on colors and Priscilla and she signed the contract. With twenty five percent deposit in hand, Priscilla bought the paint she would need.

The next morning, Priscilla woke at five thirty. The air was hot, heavy. The ceiling fan in her bedroom was pushing the hot air around.

Head pounding from the heat, Priscilla sluggishly made her way to the hall thermostat. It read ’87 degrees’ and the vent was not blowing any air, although the AC was set to seventy four degrees.

Priscilla shut the unit off; there was no use running it if it wasn’t blowing cold air. Then she heard a frantic knocking on her front door.

“Yes?” Priscilla called out. “Who is it?”

“Ma’am? It’s Carrie. From next door?” Priscilla heard a thin voice call out.

“Carrie! What the fuck?” Priscilla heard another voice call out from a distance.

“Ma’am, please, Zeke, he seen me,” Carrie called out frantically.

“God damned bitch, told you,” Priscilla heard Zeke’s voice as she fumbled with the dead bolt.

She opened the door and the thin red head from next door rushed in. Priscilla squealed and slammed the door shut just as Zeke rushed up the concrete steps in front of her door.

“God damned bitch; fucking kill you,” Zeke screamed, savagely kicking the door.

“Yes, my neighbor; he’s trying to break into my house,” Priscilla screamed when the 911 operator answered.

“Henry, get your fat ass over here,” Priscilla, and the 911 operator heard.

The door actually shuddered as Henry brought his immense weight against the door.

A police cruiser was only three blocks away and was dispatched to 210 Conway Road. Splintering was heard as Henry again rushed the door. Thankfully, the sound of the cruiser’s sirens caused Zeke and Henry to run to 208 Conway Road.

Carrie Hebert told the two police officers that they’d been without utilities for the past week. That morning, Zeke and Henry had come up with the bright idea to steal the copper from their own air conditioning unit, the unit of 212, 216, and 209 Conway Road. Seeing the small amount of copper that the thefts had actually netted them, they decided to steal the copper from 210 Conway Road as well.

“That why it’s so hot in here?” one officer asked.

“And my water,” Priscilla remembered. “Y’all hooked up a hose to my faucet other day.”

“Ma’am, I swear, I had nothing do with that,” Carrie protested.

The officers radioed in for another cruiser. Zeke and Henry were led from the house in handcuffs. Henry was put into one cruiser, Zeke into the second cruiser. Darlene and Frankie stood, watching everything in stunned fascination.

Robertson’s AC couldn’t send anyone out until Monday. Sighing, Priscilla dressed in bikini, painter’s coveralls and painter’s cap. She then carried everything to 201 Conway Road.

“My, you do believe in getting an early start,” Dr. Beard grumbled when Priscilla began the task of scraping off nearly fifty five years of paint.

“Yes ma’am,” Priscilla said cheerfully, although she didn’t feel very cheerful.

She worked until eleven. Then, dressed in bikini and grubby tennis shoes, Priscilla walked to her home.

Opening the front door of her home, Priscilla gasped when a wave of overheated air rushed her. She quickly grabbed a protein drink and an apple and sat outside.

“Mother, the air conditioning’s out at my house,” Priscilla begged her mother when Carmen answered her phone.

“Oh? Maybe you go to college, you don’t have that problem?” Carmen suggested.

“Mother, what’s college got to do with my AC being out?” Priscilla asked.

“You go to college, they tell you how not to break it,” Carmen suggested.

“Mother, some idiots broke it, stealing the copper out of it,” Priscilla snapped, exasperated with the headstrong woman. “Oh. And they were college students.”

“That’s too bad,” Carmen said, unyielding.

“Good bye Mother,” Priscilla sighed.

By four o’clock, Priscilla had done all she could physically do, but she’d accomplished a good deal thus far. She told Dr. Beard she’d be back in the morning and Dr. Beard did request that it be after eight o’clock.

“I cannot, I am not staying in this house,” Priscilla gasped when she was again buffeted with the overheated air of her home.

She jumped into a cold shower, quickly rinsing the day’s sweat and flakes of paint from her skin. Then she wiggled into bra, panties and half tee shirt and Daisy Duke Shorts. She stuffed a change of clothes, a long tee shirt to sleep in, and red monokini and clean coveralls, Priscilla dashed to the garage.

Backing out of the sweltering garage, Priscilla looked over at 208 Conway Road. If it was that hot in her own home after almost twelve hours without air conditioning, what must it be like next door?

Carrie hadn’t needed to come tell Priscilla what had happened to the air conditioning. She could have let Priscilla be completely unaware of what had happened. But the girl had knocked, tattled on her friends. Priscilla decided she couldn’t leave the girl in the hot rental house.

Priscilla put her car in park and walked across her strip of ground cover then the scrub of dead and dying grass. She reached out to ring the doorbell, then laughed at herself.

“Duh, doorbells don’t work if there’s no electricity,” she said as she knocked on the door.

Frankie opened the door and stared at Priscilla, a slightly vacant smile on his face. He didn’t move when Priscilla asked if Carrie was there.

“Frankie, shit, you letting in all kind mosquitos, oh. It’s you,” Darlene complained.

“Carrie. Is she here?” Priscilla said again. “Does he speak English?”

“Carrie! It’s that Chinese woman!” Darlene screamed into the hot, dark home.

“Chinese, oh! Hey,” Carrie said, stepping to the door. “Frankie, damn it, move, huh?”

“Is he on drugs?” Priscilla asked, nodding toward Frankie.

“Needs to be, huh?” Carrie snapped, glaring at the tall, silent man. “What’s up?”

“I’m going get a motel room; there is no way I can stay in my house,” Priscilla said. “Listen, you, go grab some clothes, come with me.”

Carrie disappeared into the dark interior. Priscilla was used to men leering at her, ogling her flesh, but Frankie’s vacant stare made her nervous.

“Where you going?” Darlene demanded to know as Carrie barged out of the house, carrying a small nylon bag. “Huh? Hey, I’m talking to you, Carrie, I’m talking to you.”

In the small car, Priscilla smelled Carrie’s unwashed body. She could even smell Carrie’s unwashed hair and the smell was close to intolerable.

As Priscilla drove to the Home Comfort Inn, Carrie kept up a non-stop chatter. Priscilla was finding it hard to breathe; Carrie stunk. She just muttered ‘uh huh’ and drove.

In the lobby, the clerk regarded the two young girls with suspicion. Priscilla explained that her air conditioner had been damaged and it would be Monday before it could be fixed. The older woman’s face softened considerably.

“And hot like it is? Bet you was ’bout burn up,” the woman said. “Y’all wanting a king sized bed or two doubles?”

“Doesn’t matter as long as it’s got air conditioning,” Priscilla said.

The clerk showed Priscilla where she’d written ‘106’ inside of the envelope flap for the key cards. Priscilla thanked the woman and led Carrie down the hall.

“She didn’t say what room we in,” Carrie said.

“Because there’s others in the lobby, Carrie,” Priscilla said.

She began to wonder if this was a mistake. Carrie did not shut up. Her mouth ran and ran, and got nowhere. Priscilla was used to peace and quiet. She was used to being able to hear herself think.

“How you know this is the right room?” Carrie asked when Priscilla paused at room 106.

“Don’t,” Priscilla shrugged. “But we got start somewhere, right? This one doesn’t work, we’ll try the next one and the next one until we find the right one.”

Priscilla slid the key card in. When the small light blinked green, she opened the door.

“Wow, on the first try!” Carrie marveled.

“Yes, Mother, I really should go to college,” Priscilla shook her head.

Much to Priscilla’s relief, Carrie asked if she could take a shower; it had been four days since they’d had water at the house. Priscilla agreed and Carrie dashed into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

The local news was on and Priscilla lay back on the king sized bed and idly watched the two newscasters, a bland looking man and a bland looking woman, both with too much makeup on, chattering back and forth about their plans for the weekend.

“And Honey Bee, the radio personality from K. I. T. N, the kitten that roars will be at Brick’s Pizzeria on Fontenot Road, showing how to make the perfect cheesecake,” the woman prattled.

“Love cheesecake,” her male co-anchor smiled.

“She’ll be at the Brick’s Pizzeria at two thirty tomorrow afternoon. Its five dollars for a piece of cheesecake and the proceeds will go to the Make a Wish Foundation,” the woman said.

The sportscaster was chattering about the stunning defeat of the Myndee Blue Jays by the Connelly Cougars baseball team when the door of the bathroom opened.

“Sorry,” Carrie said, blushing hotly as she came out in a small camisole top and thong panties. “It’s all I got that’s clean.”

“Sorry about what? It’s cute on you,” Priscilla said.

The top revealed spindly pale arms and shoulders with some light freckling. The hem of the top did not reach the waistband of Carrie’s panties; Priscilla saw that Carrie’s belly was very thin, very pale. Her navel was a slit in Carrie’s concave flesh.

Her breasts were mere bumps in her skimpy top; Priscilla guessed that Carrie probably wore a 28A bra, if she wore a bra at all. In the chilled air of their room, Carrie’s nipples were two bullet points in the top.

Carrie’s legs were long, thin, very pale. They looked almost coltish.

“Now, what you like on your pizza?” Priscilla asked, pulling her cell phone out.

The pizza came while Carrie was drying her hair. Priscilla set the pizza onto the table and grabbed the ice bucket.

“Zeke hates Brick’s; don’t know why; I love their sauce,” Carrie enthused when Priscilla returned. “And thank God they got real Coke; hate Pepsi but that’s all Darlene ever gets.”

Priscilla made a show of looking around the small room. She even lifted a corner of the bed spread and peered underneath the bed.

“Well, don’t see neither one them here so I say we get what we want. What you think?” Priscilla said, grabbing a slice of the pizza.

Carrie laughed, a pretty little tittering laugh. Priscilla poured them each a cupful of the cola and Carrie guzzled the drink down.

Eating and drinking did not stop Carrie’s mouth. And she chattered about nothing of any importance.

Priscilla stopped after the fourth piece. Carrie hesitated, looking at Priscilla.

“Go ahead, Carrie, finish it up,” Priscilla said gently. “Why I got us an extra-large. Figured you’d be pretty hungry.”

“Thank you,” Carrie whispered, a single tear forming.

Carrie finished the pizza and also drank more than half of the bottle of cola. Priscilla idly flipped through the channels; there wasn’t much showing on Friday evenings. She dropped the remote onto the bed and went into the bathroom.

“Oh, hey, says they got movies,” Carrie called out.

“Good God; do you ever shut up?” Priscilla smiled.

Seeing the wadded up dirty clothes in the corner, Priscilla shook her head. Priscilla would not call herself a ‘neat freak’ but she did believe in putting her things away. Of the many arguments she and her mother may have had, Priscilla’s untidiness was not one of those.

Priscilla exited the bathroom and saw two blonde women kissing one another, large boobs pressed against large boobs. Carrie gave a guilty squeak.

“They uh, there’s free movies with the room,” Carrie said, trying to locate the remote control. “And this is what was on.”