A Nice Quiet Life. Chapter 8

Chapter 8 “That’s like, amazing! Like, congratulations, Lady. Can I read it sometime?”
I’d invited old Paint Sample down to see what had arrived in the post that morning. Namely my book, Daydreamer by R. Grey.
“That copy’s for you. It’s a gift.”
“Wow. Like, that’s cool. Will you sign it for me?”
“I already have.” He picked it up and looked inside - and found the dedication page. There, neatly printed for everyone who read the book to see: To Ocean Blue, who encouraged me to find my dreams again. And underneath I’d signed it also. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him at a total loss for words before. It even wiped the grin off his face with sheer surprise.
“Man. Like, man, that’s heavy. I really did that for you?” “You did. How about I take you out for a meal one evening to celebrate? Plus, we can talk properly away from here.”
“I’m cool with that.” I woke up to a flood! Ocean came down while I was fixing the tap and started mopping up for me without being asked. Actually (as Teresa-from-the-Town-Hall would say) he’s pretty okay really.
“One of those cats has got fleas now,” he said as he mopped. “Like, soon we’ll all be hopping with them. The other cats will be, for sure.”
I shuddered at the thought.
“What can we do?” It wasn’t that I didn’t like Miss Gatti – she was quite sweet actually, even if she was just a bit dotty. But the cats were another thing altogether! “We need a flea bath for that fleabag,” Ocean said laconically.
We both only have showers. How was this going to be possible? He must have read my face.
“I do have, like, a plan.”
“Really? Can I be part of it too?” Anything that dealt with those cats was good by me.
“Sure. That’s cool by me. But you might want to put on something that, like, really doesn’t matter.”
“Will this do?” I’d bought the tee shirt on a Paris work trip – from the airport of course: I hadn’t got out of the office to do any shopping. And then I’d decided it was a bit sad if my only souvenir of Paris was an airport tee shirt – and relegated it to the clothes-that-don’t-matter outfit.
The only other time I’d managed to buy any clothes was when we’d been stuck in Greece, unable to get a flight out because of some volcano erupting in Iceland. And when I’d got back home and looked at its vivid colours, I’d wondered what I’d been thinking about. Sensible old me didn’t wear things like that. “You’ve brought me to the junkyard? You sure know how to show a girl a good time.” Once upon a time I would have been mad at him. Now I was just teasing and we both knew it.
“Yep,” he said unrepentantly. “Man, you’d be amazed at what you can find here!” And he flipped up the lid of the nearest bin to prove it. I was so not going to do that! But he might have a point nevertheless… And, hidden behind an enormous pile of junk, I found what we might have been looking for. Without getting dirty or smelly in the least! “Oh,” he said when he saw it. I kept a gap between us! And I stayed upwind. Then his familiar good humour reasserted itself.
“Hey, like I found some cool stuff anyway. I’ll go bargain for this. Meet you for lunch later on? My treat, this one.” “These cats are a menace.” Old Paint Sample was unusually grave.
“I know. I really like Miss Gatti – but her cats! They’re terrible. And she won’t do anything about them. Apart from let them do what they want. And breed…”
“Well, that bath will, like, deal with the fleas, with some help from us.”
“I’m not surprised her house was declared infested.” I shuddered at the thought. I like clean and tidy!
“Man, I just don’t know…” His voice trailed away. I wasn’t used to him not knowing what to do. He was usually Mr Endless-Optimism. Mr Lady-Why-Do-You-Worry-So-Much? “Right,” I said, as the waitress approached with our food. “We analyse the problem and we make a plan. A multi-pronged one – there’s a lot of sub-problems here.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Like, one’s called Muffin, and one’s called Pickles, and one’s called…” “So, practical step one, cleaning up the cats,” I said.
“The bath’s going to, like, arrive tonight. Paolo said he’d drop it off for free on his way home if I’d play for free at his daughter’s birthday party. Antonia’s four this weekend. It’ll be, like, a fancy dress nursery rhyme party.”
“So what are you going to wear?” I asked mischievously, acting like I couldn’t wait to see his costume.
He gave me A Look! You could see the fleas hopping off as the cat got bathed. I hoped they wouldn’t hop on to us. It seemed a bit mean not to give old Paint Sample a bit of moral support, but it took a lot of courage. He was right about the fleas spreading – two of the little monsters were now crawling with them. I’d lost my view again. I’d had to put the blinds back up – not to keep old Paint Sample at bay this time, but Miss Gatti. I was serious about my writing – and I did find here, at home, the best place to do it. The décor was both soothing and inspiring at once. But if Miss Gatti saw me “only playing on my computer”, she’d knock to come in for a chat. So the blinds were up again. Don’t get me wrong. It isn’t like I don’t talk to her at all. But Ocean had told me about how, when she arrived, she’d thought all three containers were her house. And how she’d thought my container was her kitchen and I was the maid cleaning up for her coming! And she still seemed confused about that sometimes. She was having real problems grasping the idea of paying rent!
I’ve had her round for tea and cakes – I do bake quite well, though I say so myself. And it’s quite nice to listen to her stories of when she was young, but not when I’m trying to write. I’ve not been in to her house though, and with all those cats, I don’t think I want to! The cats were all flea-free. And Ocean and I had been secretly trying to train them a bit. I mean, every morning, the newspaper’s shredded before I can even read it.
Tonight, I was taking Ocean out for that promised thank you meal. I’d reached into the wardrobe for my normal going out dress, only to look at it again. Grey. Grey with embroidery, and it was a very nice fabric, but still grey.
Old Paint Sample had opened my eyes in more ways than one. I pulled out the Athens dress. And the earrings. And fished out my seldom-used-now make-up. And did my hair differently. Who knew what he’d be wearing – I wasn’t going to stand out too much in his company! “Wow! Like, man, you look amazing!” I blushed. You couldn’t miss his sincerity.
“You look pretty good too.”
“I thought I’d like, smarten up. I wanted to do you credit. But, lady, you outshine me.” Then he pulled out his hand from behind his back… …and gave me flowers! Beautiful, glowing, velvety roses. “Well, lady,” he said, when I’d put those lovely flowers in some water. “Where are we going tonight?”