Chapter 7

“Monday I’ll start on the blue,” Priscilla told Dr. Beard.

“What? You, we’re supposed to have rain tomorrow,” Dr. Beard said. “You going leave it like this?”

“Ma’am, it’ll be fine,” Priscilla assured the woman.

Arriving home, Priscilla cleaned her paintbrushes and then stripped out of her coveralls. Dressed in black bikini, Priscilla casually walked into her home and announced that she was taking a bath. A nice, long, leisurely bath.

“Be right there,” Carrie whooped from the office.

Priscilla dropped bikini to the floor and turned when a nude Carrie entered the bathroom. She smiled and hugged Carrie.

“You know, I don’t think I could ever get tired of seeing you nude,” Priscilla confessed.

“You know how to use an air compressor?” Carrie asked, stepping over the rim of the tub as Priscilla started the taps.

“I uh, what? What does you being naked have to do with…?” Priscilla laughed.

“Guy’s selling a used air compressor on Craig’s, ’bout half the cost of a new one,” Carrie said. “That’s too hot.”

After their bath, Carrie showed Priscilla the listing. Priscilla pondered for all of five seconds; the ad said it had several attachments suitable for painting. She called the man and agreed to his price.

“It’ll fit in my car?” Priscilla asked.

“Ma’am, you give me cash, I’ll bring it to you,” Bruce Thompson agreed.

“And you know how to work this?” Priscilla again asked Carrie as she hurried into clothing. “That guy shows up, hold him here until I get back.”

Instead of making love Sudnay, Carrie stood on the small concrete pad in Priscilla’s back yard and showed Priscilla how to use her new air compressor. Pricilla watched with rapt attention as Carrie easily, efficiently coated an old, weathered piece of plywood, creating a shadow image of herself getting into Priscilla’s claw foot bath tub.

“I want that for over the couch,” Priscilla demanded.

“It’s got bugs in it,” Carrie stated, flipping the old board over and showing Priscilla a few bugs scurrying on the wood.

Carrie then made Priscilla practice painting with the various nozzles.

“That guy even gave you the stuff clean them with,” Carrie said and did begin to clean the nozzles.

“I’m serious; I want a painting like that,” Priscilla said, again flipping the painted board over and displaying the nude portrait of Carrie.

“Maybe. We’ll see,” Carrie teased. “Priscilla! Don’t you dare; put that hose down!”

The rain finally did come. Carrie assisted Priscilla in pulling the compressor into the garage. Then, heavy pounding rain overhead, Priscilla and Carrie returned to the bed. Priscilla dug around and found her eight inch dildo.

“MM, oh, oh yes,” Carrie groaned as Priscilla ‘fucked’ her with the rubber phallus.

“Eat my pussy,” Priscilla demanded, squatting over Carrie’s face as she worked the thick dildo in and out of Carrie.

“A rainy Sunday afternoon,” Carrie sighed as the two lovers cuddled after making love.

“Mm hmm,” Priscilla agreed, softly kissing Carrie’s lips.

Monday morning, Priscilla woke, did her exercises then found Carrie in the office, charcoal stick flashing over a canvas mat.

“I’m dying for some eggs and bacon; sound good?” Priscilla asked.

“Uh huh,” Carrie said absently.

Priscilla had to call Carrie twice before Carrie finally joined her. Priscilla smiled and kissed Carrie, then pointed out the charcoal smudge on Carrie’s nose.

“You going use the air compressor?” Carrie asked as she used her toast to sop up the egg yolk.

“Yeah; the wide angle thingie, right?” Priscilla agreed.

“Got tape? And plastic?” Carrie asked.

“Huh? What I neeed that for?” Priscilla asked.

“Cover up the windows and doors and stuff,” Carrie said. “As mean as that woman is? You think she’d let it slide you get paint on her windows?”

“God, what? What are you doing?” Dr. Beard complained as Carrie and Priscilla began taping black plastic garbage bags over her windows and wooden trim.

Ignoring Dr. Beard’s grumpy attitude, Carrie politely told the woman she would have to use her side door for the foreseeable future. Dr. Beard declared that this was unacceptable.

“Ma’am, it is just for the next twenty four to forty eight hours,” Priscilla stated. “Weren’t you the one complaining about how long I’m taking? I’m trying to get this finished up as quickly as I can.”

“Bitch,” Carrie muttered as Dr. Beard slammed the door.

“That. Right there,” Priscilla snapped at Carrie. “Yes, she is difficult. Yes, she is disagreeable. But she is the customer. And the customer is always right. Even when they are wrong.”

Carrie’s eyes filled with tears. Priscilla felt pained, but knew she was right. She stoically continued her work, preparing the front of the house for spraying.

“Okay, and…” Priscilla said, after double checking all of their prep work.

Dr. Beard drove away and Carrie resisted the urge to give the old woman the finger. Priscilla seemed to sense Carrie’s concerted effort and gave Carrie a tight smile.

“Yes, she is a bitch,” Priscilla quietly said. “And, had I known just how demanding she was? I would have added another five, six hundred to the total. But when there is any chance she might hear you? It’s yes ma’am, and no ma’am. Okay?”

“Okay,” Carrie nodded.

Priscilla was amazed at how quickly the first coat went on. While the front dried, she and Carrie prepped the left side of the home. They then coated the side of the home.

“Carrie, I love you, this is fantastic!” Priscilla enthused as they scrambled around to the rear of the home.

By Friday, Priscilla was doing the minor touch up to the trim and to the iron trellis supports on the outside perimeter of Dr. Beard’s carport. Dr. Beard tried to nit-pick when Priscilla handed her the final invoice, tried to find blemishes and errors.

“Well, I’m not sure I like the color of the door; I didn’t think it would be that dark,” Dr. Beard said.

“Ma’am, you’re the one that picked out that color,” Priscilla said, fighting hard against losing patience with the difficult woman.

Mumbling and grumbling, Dr. Beard wrote out a check for the invoice’s total. She flushed when Priscilla reminded her that there was a thirty five dollar charge for any NSF checks.

“Pearl Painters? Who’s, I didn’t hire anyone from there,” Dr. Beard said, now looking at the invoice.

“Yes ma’am, you did. I’m Pearl,” Priscilla smiled.

“You, I thought your name was; what’d that little red headed scarecrow call you?” Dr. Beard asked as Priscilla walked away.

“Calls me ‘Sweetheart,’ and I don’t appreciate you calling her a scarecrow,” Priscilla muttered, walking to her house.

“Mr. Wilson wants hire you to do two sixteen, inside and out,” Carrie informed Priscilla when Priscilla entered the house.

“Carrie, put on some clothes,” Priscilla laughed happily.

“Why? You just going make me take them off again,” Carrie smiled a playful smile. “I’m inside; no one can see me.”

“What’d you tell him?” Priscilla asked, grabbing her purse.

“Told him you’d call him to make an appointment,” Carrie said, handing Priscilla the note.

“Mr. Wilson? Hi, this is Priscilla from Pearl Painters? Hi, my assistant said you’re looking for exterior and interior work on two sixteen Conway Road?”

“See you then, Mr. Wilson,” Priscilla agreed and nodded approval as Carrie appeared, dressed in khakis and a long sleeved blouse.

“What time?” Carrie asked, slipping on her shoes.

Two o’clock,” Priscilla said. “There any of the meatloaf left?”

“Can make us a couple of meatloaf sandwiches; there’s none of the mashed potatoes left,” Carrie said, bustling into the kitchen.

When Priscilla returned from meeting with Francis Wilson, Carrie informed Priscilla that Kyle had called; the general contractor that was building the new Carlisle’s Restaurant needed her like yesterday.

“What happened to your clothes?” Priscilla asked and Carrie gave her an impish grin.

“Okay, Miss Nudie-Rudie, I, we need to hire some painters. Jesus, I didn’t, who in the hell would have known, I need people, now,” Priscilla said.

“I found you another air compressor,” Carrie said, walking into the office. “I’ll get on the employees right now.”

“You found, why do I need another air compressor?” Priscilla asked, following Carrie into the office. “Good God, what are you doing?”

There were five canvases along the office walls. One was a surreal depiction of a female breast, quite distended and distorted, but somehow quite erotic. Another piece of art was what Priscilla had requested; a shaded relief of Carrie climbing into a claw foot tub. The other three, Priscilla wasn’t sure; she thought one was a bright red vagina, but when she drew near, she saw several twisted, bent, broken items scattered into a haphazard triangular fashion. And as she stepped back, she saw that the bent, damaged tuba was a clitoris, the mashed grilled cheese sandwich was the inner labia.

“This, this is what you been sketching?” Priscilla asked as Carrie rapidly typed on the laptop’s keyboard.

“I, no, well, yeah, I mean, I, Dr. Jeannette? She always said she knew I had a voice, a voice inside, one that had passion and tension and rawness but I just never knew what she wanted,” Carrie said, stopping her frantic typing. “And then you and I and I just can’t stop. I start on one, then I need to do something else and…”

“It’s kind of like that mouth of yours,” Priscilla laughed, looking at the random works of art.

“Like how I just can’t shut up!” Carrie gasped, amazed. “Oh my God, oh! That, that’s it! And all it took was someone loving me, oh Priscilla! Oh Sweetheart! Oh I love you so much!”

Priscilla called Jimmy Wright and agreed to meet him at seven the following morning. As she talked on the phone, Carrie finished typing, then grabbed a charcoal stick and began slashing at a sixth canvas.

“Okay, let me read you what I got,” Carrie said when Priscilla got off the phone.

“Post it,” Priscilla agreed. “And get dressed; we’re going to take a look at that compressor you got.”

“Ten minutes,” Carrie begged and resumed her frantic slashing with the charcoal.

“Now, Carrie,” Priscilla ordered after fifteen minutes had elapsed.

“You know, if you got a van, I could put your logo on the side,” Carrie said as they drove to see the air compressor.

“And I’m going to need…” Priscilla mused. “Get on it.”

“You know, you sure are bossy,” Carrie teased. “Carrie do this, Carrie do that. Carrie get dressed, Carrie get in the car, Carrie get me some employees, Carrie, Carrie, Carrie.”

“Carrie get out,” Priscilla replied, lightly tapping the brakes.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Carrie laughed happily.

“How you know?” Priscilla asked.

“You didn’t kick me out when I wouldn’t shut up. You’re not going kick me out now that we’re lovers,” Carrie affirmed.

“Hate when you’re right,” Priscilla smiled and pulled up to the address Carrie had punched into the GPS.

“And there’s a two thousand four Chevy cargo van, one hundred ninety four thousand miles, oh! You’re not going to believe this,” Carrie said, looking up from her phone.

“What?” Priscilla asked, turning off the car. “It’s free?”

“I bet that’s it, right there,” Carrie said, pointing to a white Chevy cargo van.

Priscilla drove the van home while Carrie followed in Priscilla’s compact car. Priscilla parked on the street while Carrie pulled into the garage. Priscilla walked up then watched as Carrie lowered the garage door.

“Carrie, I, you got my keys,” Priscilla yelled through the garage door.

She went to the front door and knocked.

“Who is it?” Carrie called out.

“Open this door, right now,” Priscilla ordered.

“Open this, I don’t know anyone named ‘open this door right now,’ what are you selling? We don’t need any,” Carrie said.

“Damn it, Carrie, open the door,” Priscilla laughed. “Come on, I got to pee.”

“I swear to God, you, I don’t, you,” Priscilla said, striding quickly to the door of the bathroom.

“By the way, we got four applications; when you want to interview them?” Carrie yelled through the bathroom door.

“Good God; we just, you just posted that, didn’t you?” Priscilla spluttered.

“Hey, there’s a lot of college students out for the summer semester,” Carrie said as Priscilla opened the door. “Now, you get naked? I got an idea I need to sketch out.”

“You, you want to paint me?” Priscilla asked.

“Why not? You’re the most beautiful woman I know, oh, put on them pearls, okay?” Carrie enthused, dashing to the office.

“No, Carrie, you, you’re the most beautiful woman I know,” Priscilla said, unbuttoning her blouse.

“Handy Sandy, what’s the word?” Chad smiled when Priscilla walked into the store the next afternoon.

“Okay, I need twenty gallons of Marble blue,” Priscilla read from her small notebook. “Give me eight, shit, make it ten of the angled scrapers, five of the skinny ones, I’m going need some more coveralls, um, a dozen ought be enough, the painter’s caps, interior paint, what would you recommend? Oh, and I got some cards in case any of your clients ask you who you’d recommend do some painting.”

“Pearl Painters, in business,” Priscilla smiled. “Chad, coming in here was the smartest thing I ever done. And I promise you, I won’t buy my paint from anyone else, hear?”

“We shake on that?” Chad smiled and hugged the woman instead.

Priscilla got three of her crew busy on scraping the weathered old paint from 216 Conway Road. Then she drove the other two young ladies to the new construction site. Under her supervision, the two attractive girls prepped the area for painting.

“Carrie,” Priscilla said into her cell phone. “Get dressed and run over to Chad’s and get that Honda generator he’s got. Yeah, there’s no juice here for the compressor.”

“Get dressed?” one girl whispered to the other.

“That tape flush? That tape don’t look flush,” the other girl commented.

“Hey, guys, they’re pretty girls. I bet you seen pretty girls before,” Donnie Wright, the second in command yelled at his laborers. “Come on, heads out of asses, let’s go!”

“But when Carrie came in, wheeling a heavy generator and Priscilla and Carrie kissed, Donnie was the one that walked into a half-opened door. Carrie laughed and gave Priscilla another kiss before dashing out of the building.

“And…” Priscilla said, cranking up the generator and starting the air compressor.

“Mrs. Trussaud, twenty four twelve Powell Street wants to know if we stain outdoor decks,” Carrie said when a bone tired Priscilla entered the home that afternoon.

“Chad, how hard is it to stain an outdoor deck?” Priscilla asked into her phone. “Yes, the generator was perfect. What kind of wood, Carrie, what kind of wood is it?”

“Dinner’s ready; I’ll call Mrs. Trussaud and ask her,” Carrie said, putting the dishes onto the table.

“Oh, I love pork chops,” Priscilla enthused.

Four days later, Priscilla entered her home and smiled. A nude Carrie was pushing the vacuum cleaner around the living room. Her cute little buttocks wiggled and waggled as she pushed the noisy appliance.