Generation 02, Chapter 09: A Day Off

I wake up at 6:30 and I am surprised to realize that I'm not sleep deprived nor am I sore or stressed.  It's Saturday and the start of my first weekend off.  

And it's amazing.

I decide to dedicate thirty minutes to showering, thirty for getting dressed, an hour to eat breakfast and read the newspaper, and an hour for taking a nice morning walk. 

I stand under the shower and let the water pour over me.  It's an amazing feeling that I cannot get enough of it.  I hop out of the shower and pick out a nice cheery outfit to wear.  For once, it is not black.  Or grey.  Or brown.  In fact, of the clothes that I own at the Dhaval's, I don't have a single item in black.

I walk to the kitchen and take my time reading the newspaper and nibbling on a warm piece of toast.  Then I glance at the clock.  

7:02.  

Holy shit.  I only spent 30 minutes getting ready?  What am I supposed to do with all of my time?

After breakfast, I walk outside around to Champ's immaculately kept garden.  It's small but it's still gorgeous with trees and the flowers and the smells of herbs and vegetables and fruits.  

Suddenly my phone beeps.

Hi Calla, it's Champ.  My mom can start cooking lessons today.

I text back: That would be awesome.  Thanks!

What time?  Is 10 too early?

Shall we make it 9?

Champ says his mom's house isn't too difficult to find, but he's going to drive me over anyway.  At quarter to nine, he arrives at the Dhaval's house.  We exchange greetings and then get rolling.

As we drive across town, I can't help but notice the beautiful scenery.  It's so much different from the city.  I ooh and awe at the trees and the blue sky and the small, colorful houses.  It's all so beautiful.

"So, did you grow up here?"

"Yeah, my parents and my brother Azure."

"I'd love to live here."

"You do live here," Champ points out.  I pause and realize that he's right.  In a way, I do live here.

"Is that your house?" I ask, pointing to the beautiful pale blue house in front of us.

"Yup, we're here."

"Mom, this is Calla.  Calla, this is my mom, Aquamarina."

"You can just call me Rina," Champ's mom says, smiling.  She's thin but has the most beautiful pale blue eyes and hair.  Definitely not the cozy woman I was picturing, but her eyes are kind and her voice is soft.

Champ leaves us to "get more acquainted with each other."

"So, you want to learn how to cook?"

I nod, taking out my phone.

"What's that?" Rina asks.

"Well, I thought I might jot a few things done.  You know, while you teach me."

"Oh.  Dear, cooking is about the experiences, not the notes.  You have to get hands on," she tells me as she slips the device out of my hand.

"Now what can you make?"

"Uh, let's see.  I can make toast.  And coffee.  And tea.  And anything in the microwave really.  Yeah, not much," I sigh.

"You must have had to tell the Dhavals what you could cook.  What did you tell them?"

"Well, I told them I could make stuffed turkey, omelettes, bakes angel food cake, and truffle torte," I admit.

"Hmmm, yes, I think I can teach you things like that.  It might be difficult since you're new to cooking but if you're willing to learn we can do it."

"Oh, of course.  I'm a very quick learner."

"Well, let's get started then."

She hands me a spoon from a pan that was sitting on the stove.

"Now Calla, taste it. What do you think is in the gravy?"

"Uh, gravy?"

"No, you need to think deeper.  Close your eyes.  Inhale the scent.  Taste it with all of your senses.  Really think about what you're tasting."

I obey and take another spoonful.  "Hmmm, meat and some sort of herb....," I guess.

"Very good!  Now try this."

We cook all day.  I learn how to cut an onion and how to peel and wash potatoes properly.  I learn how to create the gravy Rina had me try and I learn how to boil noodles correctly so that they're soft and moist.

On Sunday she teaches me how to make roasted vegetables and roast chicken.  As I pull it out of the over, the smell overwhelms my senses.  A week ago I wouldn't have known how to turn the over on.  Let alone cook something in it.  

That Sunday night, Rina, Champ, and I sit in the dining room and eat the chicken meal I cooked.  I feel a large sense of accomplishment that I rarely felt as a lawyer.  I sit and eat and hear stories about Myrtle and Fir and how they tried to adopt a dog but ended up giving it to a neighbor boy a few days later.  They also tell me about Rina's husband, Champ's dad, Jay Beryle.  He died of a heart attack a few years ago, but the memories of him are as well told as if he were here.

"So, next week I can teach you how to make lasagna and chili," Rina informs me excitedly.

"I can't take up all of your weekends!" I exclaim.

"Oh Calla, I enjoy this.  And you're not ready to graduate just yet.  What else do the Dhavals need you to do?  Laundry?  Ironing?"

"I guess both."

"I'm assuming you had to do it this past week.  How did you manage your way out of that one?"

"I hired a girl from the town to do it for me."

"Oh, you can let a sixteen year old do your laundry.  I'll teach you ironing right now," Rina states.  she gets up and plugs in the iron and sets it onto the ironing board that was leaning against the wall.

"No, what you would you have to iron?"

"Probably Mr. Dhaval's shirts."

"Male shirts... Champ, take off your shirt," she commands to her son, who is doing something to the fireplace.

"Mom!"  Champ laughs uncomfortable.

"Oh, don't 'mom' me.  We're all adults here.  Surely you're okay with taking your shirt off.  No one is embarrassed, are we?"

"Of course not," I say looking down at my shoes.

Rina is pointing out all of the parts of the iron to me.  I nod and glance briefly towards Champ.

"I'm waiting, Champ dear," Rina says impatiently.

Slowly, Champ slowly reaches for the bottom of his shirt and I see a flash of tanned skin (well, as tan as pink skin can get).  He throws his shirt to his mother as I quickly look down.

I can be mature about this.  He's just taking off his shirt, for Pete's sake.  It's not like he's stripping.

Just one peek...

Holy sweet mother of God.

"Calla!  You're scorching the shirt!"  Rina exclaims.

I quickly release the iron and the color rises to my cheeks.  I compose myself and finish the shirt.  Holding it up, I'm impressed.  Rina congratulates me and we hand it back to her son.

"Thanks, it looks wonderful," Champ compliments.

"You'll be able to iron a shirt behind your back in no time," Rina comments. "Well, I think our lesson is done for the night.  Would you like to bring Calla home, Champ?"

"Of course."

"Thank you so much, Rina.  I really appreciate this," I say to Rina before we leave.

"It's my pleasure.  I'll see you next weekend."

"Of course!"

I smile and turn towards the door.  I try not to make eye contact with Champ as we walk out of his car.  One look at his body and I, Calla Cohen, am in full crush mode.

I honestly though I was deeper than that.

Generation 02, Chapter 08: Try Again

It's morning and I'm standing in the kitchen.  No one is up and I can hear the sounds of birds chirping outside.  It's surreal.  Never did I imagine myself in such calmness.

I get tea ready for the Dhavals and walk upstairs with a tray.  I knock on their door and hear a rustling.  I knock again.  Why can't they hear me?

Finally, Mrtle's voice filters through the door.  "Come in."

I open the door and see Myrtle on the bed.  The sheets are messy and Myrtle looks disheveled like she hasn't combed her hair in a long time.  She's in a thin and revealing nightgown.  Were they just doing what I think they were doing?

My face is red and I turn to leave.  Mr. Dhaval comes out of hte master bathroom wearing nothing except very tight underwear.  I am extremely embarrassed.  "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were...," I stutter, not wanting to say it.

"It's alright, Calla.  Please, come in."

I awkwardly walk over to her and nearly trip over some of their clothes that are scattered carelessly on the floor.  As a way to make conversation, Myrtle asks me if I'll be doing the laundry and could I please change the sheets while I'm at it.

"Er, yes, of course.  I'll get right on that," I respond, as I set the tray on on nightstand.

"See you at breakfast," Mrs. Dhaval says as I turn to leave.

It took many attempts to cut the grapefruits that Dhavals wanted for breakfast and now I'm attempting to clean the clothes.  The washing machine is very high-tech looking and I click random buttons until it starts up.  I breathe a sigh of relief until the machine starts creaking and spluttering soap all over the place.

"Oh shit!  Dammit, stop you stupid thing!"  I panic and kick the machine.  It magically stops but now I have a broken washing machine and a wet and soapy floor.

I quickly wipe up the water as best I can and call a mechanic to come over.  He only works from 9-4 and it's only 8.  I desperately want him to come now before the Dhavals come downstairs and realize it's broken.  He agrees, but I have to pay him double his normal amount.  Fortunately, he comes and leaves without the Dhavals noticing.  With laundry off of my list, I skip ironing and go onto scrubbing the kitchen up.

While wiping off the counters, Myrtle comes into the room.  "Calla, Mr. Dhaval and I will be going out.  As always, if you need something, Champagne can help you."  Champagne walks in and she turns the conversation towards him.  "Calla's such a nice young woman, isn't she, Champagne?"

"Of course," he answers.  Turning towards me he says, "Hello again."

"Hi," I say.  It feels weird seeing him especially after the events of last night.

"Well, I'll be off," Myrtle announces and she whisks around and walks out of the door to her husband.

"I told my mom about you last night.  She's agreed to help you cook and she's willing to teach you cleaning also."

"I don't need cleaning advice," I instantly retort.

"Okay, well then, you get onto it."

He doesn't leave.  To prove to him that I can clean, I take a spray bottle and start spraying the side of the trash compactor with it.  I casually peek at the bottle and see the words DO NOT USE ON STAINLESS STEEL OR WOOD in large bold letters.  Well damn.

"Okay, see ya," Champ says, grinning.

I quit my work in the kitchen and call a local girl who will come and iron Mr. Dhaval's shirts for §2 per shirt. I give her an extra §10 to sew one the buttons that are missing off of two of the shirts.  Then I get to making the beds.  Unfortunately, the stupid sheets won't cooperate with me and I spend nearly an hour making the Dhaval's bed. 

I check the clothes in the dryer and in horror, I see that all of the clothes have been ruined.  So I spend nearly §1000 on replacements that will be shipped tomorrow.  I cross my fingers that the Dhavals will not notice the sudden change in their clothes.

After giving up on dusting and vacuuming, I work on the last thing on my list of things to do it: scrub the shower.  The tile is very stained and I have no idea what to use to get it off.  I fill a bucket with water and dump some dish soap into it.  Then I start scrubbing.  After an hour I'm sore and tired from not eating lunch and from scrubbing this stupid piece of filthy crap. 

I cry in frustration and accidentally whack the shower handle.  Water pours all over .

"SHIT!"  I yell.

Champ appears at the doorway.  "Have you tried using vinegar, baking soda, and ammonia?"

"Right, I knew that."

"No, you didn't."

"You're right," I sigh.  "I didn't.

There's silence until Champ speaks again.  "My mom could still give you cooking and cleaning help if you're willing to do that.  I think you would really benefit from that.  No offense," he adds as he starts to mop up the water.

I've never needed help in my life, but I really need help with this.  I genuinely need help.

"That'd be really nice," I finally say.

"Okay, great.  I'll let her know.  Again, she really enjoys a challenge.  And she can help you with any other household chores you might need to do."

I grow red.  It's embarrassing for me to need assistance.  But I do need it.  For this job.  And so that I don't go broke in the next two weeks.

"Have you had lunch yet?"  Champ asks, interrupting my thoughts.

"No, I've spent too much time doing this," I frown, wincing as my stomach growls.

"You should stop.  You've been working all day. There are some leftovers in the fridge so come eat.  You look famished."

Today was hard and busy.  I've never done that much physical work in my life.

...And I thought being a lawyer was difficult.

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."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

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."