by Andreas Mann

It was a cold, wintry, snowy night. The street glistened and sparkled in the dim light. Snow was piled at the side of driveways. Footpaths had been scraped clean here and there. Roofs were capped with snow like gingerbread houses. Icicles hung from porches and trees. I was happy to be home. My house is warm and has a nice atmosphere. The spacious downstairs is lit by lamps that can be adjusted to give a soothing low light. The kitchen leads into the dining room and then into the front room, which is lined with bookshelves. There are two couches and an armchair, and in the corner is a large desk bearing this computer. I was glad to be home. I had eaten a toasted sandwich and was ready to sit down at the computer, switch on the modem and dial up my favorite bulletin board, the Long Island Connection.
I was going to check personal mail, leave a message or two, and use the new quick mail offline reader to download the DeSade and Tielines echoes. Then the phone rang…

Her voice was deliciously soft and sensual: “I’m calling about the house cleaning job you advertised on the campus billboard. My name is Gina and I’m very good at house cleaning. I’d really like the chance to show you. I need the work,” the voice said breathlessly and nervously. She asked if she could come over and talk about the job. It was already evening but she had a way of insisting that appealed, so I said it would be alright. She understood it was to be a regular three-times-a-week position. “That’s just what I need,” she said. I hung up the phone with an amused air. The wolf in me had heard something in her sweet, pliant yet insistent voice that appealed. I scratched my chin and went to make coffee. The computer would have to wait…
The doorbell rang once. It usually takes a few moments to get to the door, but she didn’t ring again. I liked her patience. There was something pleasing about her and I hadn’t even met her yet. The porch light displayed a young girl with short hair and slim body, wrapped in down jacket and scarf, her hands sunk in soft woolen gloves. She lifted her face and smiled, pulled her right hand out of the glove and offered it: “Hi, I’m Gina. I hope you don’t mind me coming over so late, but I really want the job.” I told her that was perfectly alright and invited her in, directing her through the hallways to the kitchen. I had just brewed a pot of coffee.

“Would you care for a fresh coffee?” I asked as she undid her jacket. “Yes, that would be wonderful,” she said. “It’s so cold tonight.” “Yes, it’s nasty out there. Very beautiful but nasty. Well, I’m having mine with a small shot of whiskey. Would you like that too?” “Thank you, yes. I don’t drink much, but it sounds perfect for tonight.” “You can put your coat on that chair,” I said, gesturing with my hand.

She waited for me to put the coffee cups on the table and took her cue from my body language before sitting down. She raised her cup and sipped. She smiled and looked at me.

“I’m looking for someone to clean the house,” I said. “It’s probably three days work a week. The ideal person would be somewhat like a housekeeper.” “Well, I’d really like to do it,” she said with a disingenuous smile. “Of course, I dream that I might find someone who could also cook, but that seems very hard these days,” I mused over the edge of my steaming cup. “Well, I could do that too if you want,” she said. “As a matter of fact I’m a pretty good cook. What did you have in mind?” “You ARE full of surprises!” I said. “I didn’t imagine you could cook as well…” “Oh,” she smiled, “I have many talents.”

I returned her gaze and looked steadily into her brown eyes. She began to blush and I looked away so as not to embarass her too unduly.

Our discussion moved through the usual details. She answered all my questions about hourly rate, work history (she had worked in some small hotels and privately for families in the area), personal situation (single, not involved), and we seemed to be coming to agreement. We arranged for her to begin the next day. Our conversation relaxed into personal exchanges of background and interests.

I began to look at her in detail. She had an unusual black criss-cross top which went over her long-sleeve t-shirt and she wore jeans. I looked at her hands as she sipped the coffee. They were very fine hands and she had nice nails with no polish. She wore no make up. Then I noticed that she wore two very smooth leather bands around her wrists. They were about one and a half inches wide and fitted close to the skin. I just knew what they meant. I offered her another coffee. My instincts were working overtime.