Generation 02, Chapter 07: Epic Failure

I finally buck up the courage to call Blake.  I want to let him know what has happened.  I'm sure he can help.  Unfortunately, Myrtle's footsteps cause me to shove my phone back into the depths of my apron.

"How's the cooking going?"  She asks, assessing the scene.  It isn't much.  I haven't even touched the turkey or anything else in the grocery bags that are now sitting on the floor

"I'm getting to it," I manage a weak smile.

"Good.  I'll be going out so if you need anything, call Champagne."

I flip out my phone the moment she leaves.  Blake answers at the first ring.

"Calla, have you...," he tries to say.  It's obvious from the tone of his voice that he's not quite sure how to approach the subject and I feel like I can hear him breath a sigh of relief when I interrupt him.

"It's okay, Kar called earlier today."

"I'm so sorry.  Really, I am."

"It's okay.  Look, I was calling to see if I could stay at your house for a few days while I look for a new job.  I don't want to go to my apartment because you know who lives there."

"Look, I'd love to have you stay, but I need to check with Charna first."

"Sure, no problem."

Blake comes back after a minute.  "I'm sorry, Calla, but Charna's busy right now and we're working on renovations and I don't think...," he cuts off.

I finally realize that he doesn't want to be associated with some loser like me.

"You know, Blake.  I'm still the same person.  I thought you were my friend.  Now you're acting like you don't even care about me.  Sorry to have bothered you."

I slam the phone down after hearing him yell, "Wait!"  

Screw him, I think angrily.

Right after I end my call with Blake, my mom's caller ID comes up.

"Mom?"

"Sweetie, it's not true is it?"

"It is.  Your superstar daughter is now jobless," I sigh.

"Do you want to come here?  I've found an opening at a firm nearby here?  Your position would be very similar to the one at Gainsboro.  What do you say?"

I think of the long hours, the heavy workload, and the stress.

"You know what mom?  I don't think I'm ready for that.  Just, uh, let me figure something out."

"Okay," she says, uncertain.  "But just know that if you need something, your father and I will always be there for you."

"Thanks, mom.  Oh, before I go, how are Zoe and James?"

"They're good.  Zoe wants to video chat with you later tonight."

"Haha, okay, sounds good.  Maybe I'll try to find time for a visit later in the year when things are a bit more sorted out.  Love you, mom!  Say hi to dad for me."

After I hang up with her, I feel a bit better inside.  Mom always knows how to make me feel better, even when she doesn't know that she is.

I attempt to create the turkey by throwing dumping a bunch of random crap all over it and throwing it into the oven.  I don't really know what it says when it tells me to rub oil onto the turkey so I skip that as well as a few other steps.  It's okay to get creative, right?

I decide to add some vegetables too, so I set potatoes and leeks (what are those?) onto a tray and prepare them to go into the oven.  Then I throw all of the ingredients for the truffle torte into a bowl and attempt to follow the instructions on the recipe I found on my phone.

By 7, I'm still working in the kitchen.  The veggies went into the over 20 minute ago and I couldn't find a timer so I told myself I'd watch the clock.  I look over the recipe for the turkey and realize I've got the timing all mixed up and I don't have any gravy.  It'll be way past eight before dinner is actually ready.  The recipe says to cook the turkey at 325 and it'll be ready in 30 minutes so if I cook it on high heat, it'll go faster, right?  Anyway, I turn the over up as high as it can go and look up a gravy recipe while I'm at it.

Then I turn my attention to the truffle torte, which actually looks somewhat decent after I unmold it.  I poke it to make sure it's good but somehow it collapses into large chunks and doesn't look soft and light like it does in the picture.  This is a disaster.  I try to squish the cake pieces together but it just crumbles into a big pile of poorly mixed ingredients.

"Stupid cake.  Stupid stupid stupid!"  I yell as I throw a piece of the cake across the kitchen.  I'm not normally this aggressive but something about not being able to do a simple task (cooking) is pressing my buttons.

"What the hell is going on here?"  A deep voice asks.

It's Champ and he looks very surprised.  Gesturing to he mess in front of me, he asks, "I thought you were cooking some fancy dinner?  What the fuck is this?"

"I am.  It's just... damn, the gravy!"  I run over to the stove and the gravy is boiling over the edge and spilling onto the floor.  The pan is hot and I yank my hand away from it.  Okay, that was pretty stupid.  Too overwhelmed to do anything, I just stand there.

"Turn the stove down!"  Champ yells.  When I continue to not do anything, he rushes over and pulls the pan off of the burner.  "What the hell is that?  Brown water?"

"It's gravy.  For the turkey."  I say meekly.  Champ is quite scary when he's mad.  Especially since he has those huge muscles.

"You really need to watch that next time.  Wait, you put baking soda in the gravy?"

"I couldn't find the flour," I explain quietly.

"What are your running here-?"  His attention is diverted when he sniffs the air.  "Wait, what is that burning?"  He quickly opens the over and grabs the tray of vegetables, which have burnt to crispy, black mounds.

"What are these?"  He asks, staring incredulously at the blackened tray.

"They're roasted vegetables.  For the turkey," I manage to let out.

"You don't know shit about cooking!  If you're not a real housekeeper, I don't know what the fuck you're doing.  You know, the Dhavals may be strange, but they're nice people.  And I won't have them being exploited."

"No, please, give me a chance.  I'll admit, I don't know how to cook.  At all," I add, glancing at the mess around us.  "But I'm not trying to hurt them or take advantage of them.  I just came here from a... a mistake that I made.  A misunderstanding."

"A misunderstanding?"

"Yes, I was running away from a situation, I ended up here, the Dhavals thought I was applying to be their housekeeper, and I just needed a place to stay for the night so I figured I'd pretend for the morning and then leave as soon as I could.  I'm not trying to take their money, if that's what you're thinking."

Champ stares ahead, processing all I've told him.

"A bad relationship?  Were you running from that?"  He asks calmly.

"Yes, it was a bad relationship."  Which in a way, it sort of was.

"The Dhavals are good people.  You could have landed worse."

"Yes, but I can't cook."

"My mom can cook pretty well, she could teach you if you'd like."

"Thanks for the offer, but I should be leaving."

"Aw, that's too bad.  You make such delicious mac n cheese."

"Caterers," I explain.

"Ah, I wondered.  So, how are you going to get out of this?  The Dhavals are expecting a gourmet dinner in about two minutes."

"I think I have a plan.  But first I need to clean up their kitchen."

"I'm going to stay and help.  This I need to see."

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At eight thirty, Champ and I have cleaned up most of the mess in the kitchen.  He and I walk into the dining room and I clear my throat.

"Mr. and Mrs. Dhaval, I'm sorry but your kitchen does not meet my standards.  I wasn't able to work with your equipment.  I'm sorry but I'm going to have to resign."

"Resign?  No, don't leave!"  Mrs. Dhaval says nervously.  "Fir, tell her we can raise her pay.  Do something!"

"We'll order new equipment and you name your pay.  Whatever you want and we'll double it," Mr. Dhaval says.

"Well...," I say, shooting a glance at Champ, who just shrugs.

"Please, Calla.  We'd really like you to stay with us.  Anything you want.  We'll do.  Whatever your old salary was, we'll do better.  Please, we don't want you to go."

"Well...," I say again.

I think quickly.  I can't do anything a housekeeper can do.  But I can learn.

"I guess I can stay," I finally say.  The Dhavals look as though I've brought Christmas to them all.

Later that night, I text my mom and leave a message.  "It's okay, mom.  I've got a job now."

Chapter 06: Bad News

NOTE

So, I know I've been really indecisive, but I've decided to continue this legacy.  I'm going to try to finish Generation 2 before I have to leave for college in August because when that time comes, I won't be able to play Sims (I can't bring my desktop to college).   :(

Also, ignore the fact that the Dhavals are wearing the same clothing as they did the night before.  I forgot to change their clothing and was too lazy to retake all of the pictures.

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I wake up with a sore neck and am confused as to wear I am.  The entire room is a soft green color and the sheets are white and poofy.  Definitely not my bland sheets from home.  I look down and see I'm wearing a top that is unfamiliar to me.

The realization of my job hits me.  Oh God, it wasn't a dream.  I look over to my right and see a dark green shirt and pants hanging on the closet door.  I'm a housekeeper?  Is this legit?

Mrs. Dhaval knocks on my door and asks how I'm doing.  After I tell her I'm good, she asks me if I could please get breakfast ready and that she'd like some coffee and toast.

Crap.  I hardly know how to cook toast, let alone a fancy meal.  I slip on the outfit and head toward my phone.  I'll call Rusty.

"Hello?"

"Rusty, it's Calla."

"By golly you're alive.  You put yourself in quite the position."

"Yes…," I grimace.  "I don't understand how I could have made that mistake.  I really don't.  Am I fired?  Have you heard anything?"

"I… I don't know.  But trust me, I'll do everything I can to help.  Let me know where  you are and we can start by getting you home."

"Sorry, but I don't really know where I am."

"That's okay.  I suppose it wouldn't do any good for you to come here anyway.  I'll sort everything out, you just stay put."

"Oh thank you, Rusty.  You're the best.  Just, uh, keep my updated."

"Sure, no problem."

I slip out of my room and into the kitchen.  Where’s the fricken' toaster?

I finally find it hidden in a small cupboard and pull it out.  It takes me even longer to find the bread. 

Mrs. Dhaval hollers from the other room, "Actually, we’re just like a light coffee please, Calla." It takes me almost 20 minutes to get the coffee machine working.  Then I bring it out two mugs to the Dhavals.

"Thank you, that’ll be all for now."

I nod and automatically bob a curtsy.  Mrs. Dhaval stares at me strangely.  Damn, what did I do that for?

"I'm sorry, it won’t happen aga-"

"No, I like it.  You are allowed to curtsy."

Damn.  Damn.  Damn.  Why did I do that?  Oh well, I just have to survive, at most, today.  I shuffle my way back to my room.  After thirty minutes, I hear Myrtle’s voice calling my name.  I walk hurriedly toward her.

"Yes, Mrs. Dhaval."

"Please don't disappear like that."

"Yes ma'am."

"Would you follow me?  I'd like to show you how I'd like the dining room dusted."

We spend about ten minutes in the dining room as Myrtle explains all of the things she wants dusted.  I feel helpless but after today, I can return to Bridgeport, and leave this place forever.

By lunchtime I've done almost nothing.  I've wiped down the instruments with a tissue and finally figured out how to start the dishwasher.  I'm now attempting to cut some cheese for macaroni and cheese but it's not a success.  

I want to scream in frustration but I manage to hold my feelings in.  To solve the issue, I call the caterers and order macaroni and cheese for two.  Then I lean against the counter and pour myself a glass for the Dhaval's fancy wine. 

I hear the front door open and I feel as though I’m being watched….

I turn around a standing at the door frame is a tall man with bright pink hair and the largest muscles I've ever seen.

"Hi, are you the new housekeeper?  I’m Champagne Beryle, but you can call me Champ," he introduces himself, holding out his hand.  

I take it and shake it slowly.  His hands are very rough and his hand practically engulfs mine.  

"I don't know if the Dhavals told you but I work outside, in the garden.  I just came to ask you what plants you’d like me to plant for you cooking.  Anything work as long as it's in season."

My jaw wants to drop open.  I don’t know any plants.

"So, how about some herbs.  I have the usual, thyme, rosemary, dill…." He starts naming off many plants that I'm very unfamiliar with. 

"Um, sure.  Could I just have one of each?"

He gives me a weird look but, to my relief, he shrugs his shoulders and says sure.

"Oh good," Myrtle exclaims, "You've met Champagne."  Champ blushes.  "Now, we'd like our macaroni and cheese in twenty minutes, please." 

"Yes, Mrs. Dhaval," I say and then bob a curtsy.

"You curtsy?"  Champ asks astounded.

"Your name's Champagne."

"Touché."

"Well, I’d better get to work."

"I should go to the garden.  Uh, good luck with the… lunch."

"And good luck with your garden," I reciprocate as he leaves for the door.  

I hear a rap at the front door.  "Hi, did you order mac and cheese for twenty?"

Thank God.  Wait, what?  Twenty?  Bowls and bowls pile onto the Dhaval's counters.

"I'm sorry about the order, it's just that we don't usually get orders for only two people," the delivery girl tells me.

"It's okay, just add it to my bill," I assure her and then push her out the door before the Dhavals and Champ can see.

"Wow, Calla.  I'm very impressed," Myrtle says as she looks at the bowls covering her countertops. 

"Champagne, you must try some of this macaroni and cheese," Myrtle urges after she takes a bite.

Champ comes in and takes a bowl.  "You made this?"  He asks sarcastically.  "That didn't take you very long."

I can tell by the tone of his voice that he knows something's up.

Later that afternoon, Blake calls. 

"Calla!  You need to come back.  For Christ’s sake do you know what it’s like over here?  There are rumors that you've left the country.  Do you have any idea how this looks for Gainsboro?"

"I’m sorry.  Look, just tell them I’ll be coming."

"Actually, it might be too late.”

I'm startled.  "What?" I ask.

"Well," Blake starts to say stretching the word out uncomfortable, "People are starting to say you’re unreliable now that you've made errors."

"Errors?  I've never made any errors.  I’m a good lawyer.  A really good lawyer!  I’m reliable, you know that, Blake.  You even said I never made mistakes."

"Calla, please calm down."

"Calm down?!  How can I calm down.  Gainsboro is my life.  Being a lawyer is my life.  In fact, I'm going to leave right now."  I hang up on him and start to write a note to the Dhavals.  

Dear Mr. And Mrs. Dhaval, I'm sorry but I must resign as housekeeper.  I've enjoyed my time here but I feel like I would like a new challenge.  Thank you for your kindness, Calla Cohen.

I walk downstairs to deposit the message when my phone rings again.  And this time, it’s not Blake.  It's Kar.

"Calla!  It's Krystal Kar," She barks.  "I’m just calling to tell you that, although you've been a fabulous lawyer at Gainsboro…."

NO NO NO.  This cannot be happening.

"… I'm afraid your contract with us has been terminated."

"No, it can’t be.  Please, I'll do anything I can to fix-."

"I'm sorry.  Lawyers don't make or run from their mistakes.  I'm sorry, good-bye Ms. Cohen."

The line is dead and I’m standing and on the verge of tears.  I can't go home now. 

Myrtle comes rushing in through the front door.  When she sees me in the kitchen a look of worry comes over here.  "Calla, dear, what's wrong?  You look sick.  Here, let me get you some aspirin and a glass of water.  And please, seat yourself."

"Thank you, you’re very kind."

Myrtle leaves and comes back a moment later.  "Alright, now I've purchased the ingredients for dinner tonight.  Stuffed turkey and that delicious Potato and Truffle Torte you mentioned.  We'll eat at eight."

Gobsmacked, I nod silently and she smiles and leaves me in the kitchen with the ingredients that I somehow need to make into an edible meal.

Scratch that, multiple edible meals.

How am I going to work my way out of this one?

Generation 02, Chapter 05: Wait... What?

NOTE

Okay, so I know I said I was on hiatus, and I sort of am.  But I already had the next two chapters ready so I thought I might as well post those.

Also, for those who aren't on Facebook, I've decided to do a mini legacy as a continuation of this legacy. Of course, I won't really write much for the mini legacy and there won't be a strict plot line.  It'll be more casual than this one.  So when I start posting pictures for that, I might post them to this blog, or you guys can check it out on my Facebook.  ^_^

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"Hi, my name is Myrtle Dhaval, but you can call me Mrs. Dhaval," she says, ushering me to the left of her grandeur home.  I notice that she quickly disposes of her cigarette.  A large man comes down the stairs and greets me also.

"I'm Fir Dhaval," he chuckles.

"Make yourself comfortable," Mrs. Dhaval commands pleasantly as she gestures to the living room.

I sit down and feel fatigue wash over me.  "Are you okay, dear  You don't look so good."

"I have a small headache, do you have any aspirin?"

"Yes, of course!  Fir, could you go get the poor girl an aspirin?"

"So, this room will need to be dusted, vacuumed, and wiped down on a daily basis."  Mrs. Dhaval rattles on about her cleaning.  I'm rather confused as to why she's so obsessed about her house but I don't question it.  The aspirin that Mr. Dhaval hands me is calming me down and I'm finally able to think a bit clearly.

"I think I'm feeling a bit better now.  Thank you so much for the aspirin.  I'm not usually like this."

"Oh, no problem!  We're always happy to help our future help."

Future help?

"Now, are you ready to move onto the kitchen?  I'd like to point out some spots in there that I'd like you to know about."

"Sure...," I say warily.

As we go to the kitchen, she points out more cleaning spots.  She even shows me how she stacks her dishwasher and after that's over, she drags me into the dining room, the bathrooms, and the upstairs rooms.  I don't know what is going on in this woman's head but if she's not drunk, then I'm out of ideas as to why is causing her strange behavior.  Perhaps she has a mental disability or a fetish.  Although she seems fine to me....

Once we get to the entry way again, I feel relief knowing that the "tour" is over.

"So, Calla, you came from..." Mrs. Dhaval prompts.

"From Bridgeport.  Though I was raised in Sunset Valley."

"Ah!  Very nice.  And did you have a job in Brideport?"

I hesitate to answer.  "I... did."

"And what kinds of hours did you work?"

"Oh all kinds of hours.  Everyday and sometimes all through the night and other time very early into the morning."

"You worked into the night?"  The Dhavals say in astonishment.

"Yes, me and the other employees.  It was a very large company."

"Well, just to assure you, we're much more relaxed."

"Oh, uh... good," I reply, not quite knowing what she's referring to.

"Well, Calla, after the interview, I think you'll get the job.  Although, there was another girl who was just as fine as you.  It will be a difficult choice for us."

"I'm sorry?"

"Your job, as a housekeeper," Mrs. Dhaval says.  "It'll comprise of cleaning, laundry, and cooking.  Not to mention, full room and board, free weekends, and four weeks of vacation.  We have yet to decide on a decent salary."  Mrs. Dhaval directs her eyes towards her husband.  "But we'll let you know."

"What salary did we decide on?" Mr. Dhaval asks.

Mrs. Dhaval turns a rosy pink and, embarrassed, she drags her husband out of the room.  "Excuse us a moment, Calla."

They must think that I can't hear them, but unfortunately I can.  They come back a few minutes later after quite a lot of yelling and arguing.

"Sorry about that, now, when would you like to start?"  Mrs. Dhaval asks, her eyes pleasant.

I know I should say no but I really have no place to go.

"Would tonight work?"  Where the hell did that come from?

"Of course.  Now, we’ve heard from quite a lot of other young women…," she blabbers.

Does she seriously have the nerve to say I might not get the job?

I've never failed an interview in my life and I’m not about to start now.

"Now, you know how to iron and work a washing machine, correct?"  Mrs. Dhaval begins.

"Of course," I nod.

"And where did you train?"

"I trained at the very best school in Sunset Valley.  The very famous cooking school…," I continue to lie.  

We’re sitting in the dining room and Mrs. Dhaval is firing off questions one by one.  I answer them as confidently as I can. 

"What kinds of meals would you prepare, let’s say… for dinner?"

I rack my brain for gourmet meals.  Luckily, I eat out all the time so I know a lot of the dishes.  Plus, mom always cooked amazing food.

"Well, I can make a stuffed turkey  and omelettes.  Uh, for dessert, I can bake a baked angel food cake and the best truffle torte you've ever tasted."

The Dhavals look impressed.

"And for breakfast?"  Mrs. Dhaval asks eagerly.

"I make a great Eggs Machiavellian."  At least, dad does.

"That's great.  Now, can you demonstrate how you would answer the phone while we're out?"

I walk over to the nearest phone.

"Hello, this is the Dhaval residence, how may I help you?"

"Calla, you've got the job," Mr. Dhaval says proudly.