The warm sunny late-Spring morning turned icy as I pulled up to the large suburban home of Candice Hargneux. She stood at her opened front door dressed in her characteristic pen-striped business suit tapping her foot like an impatient supervisor. She relishes in her reputation as a merciless executive with a chip on her shoulder. Somebody burned her, and her mission in life was to take everything she can and no prisoners. Neighbors whisper about how she amassed her wealth through ruthless business practices supplemented by viciously taking her former husband for everything he had in their divorce. She now lives alone in her showpiece home.
Ms. Hargneux, as she prefers to be called, is as beautiful as she is malevolent. She is a stunning, tall, fit 34 year old woman with long wavy brunette hair. She has deep translucent blue eyes, high cheek bones and bright white teeth that would offer a knock out smile if she allowed it. Her long wavy brunette hair was put up to preserve her professional image. I have often wondered how someone so ferocious could be wrapped in such beauty. She regularly used her Amazonian beauty to manipulate men while securing business deals. She took pride in her ability to negotiate a rise out of her competitor's pants and her own profit. The most gratifying part was being the only one to leave the room satisfied.
Ms. Hargneux's eyes glared as they tracked my arrival like radar locking on a target. She stood with her hands on her hips in a way that pulled her suit coat back. Her white starched buttoned blouse strained to contain her large round breasts. Her characteristic two and a half inch "power" stilettos showed off her long tan legs and tight ass.
"Who do you think you are?" she shouted as I stepped out of my landscaping company truck.
"Is something the matter?" I asked calmly while silently wondering why I kept her account. I charged her the premium rate for my services. She hired my company for her landscaping architecture and maintenance because there is one thing she values more than humiliating men: having the best. If possible, she likes to do both simultaneously. This was the only account in my large landscaping business I handled personally.
"You were supposed to be here at 9:00" she said looking at her watch. "It's 9:15. In my work I have to deliver on time or I don't get the deal."
"Yes Maam," I answered. "I'm sure that's true. My commitment was to be here sometime this morning. I said I thought it would be around 9:00 to finish the new design work."
"Are you arguing with me?" she shot back.
"Clarifying," I answered unscathed.
"You work for me," she answered. "This is my home, earned with my money made possible with my degree. Don't just drive up here with your green truck and pruning experience and give me attitude. You are dispensable. I can have someone else here within the hour to replace you." Her words dripped with arrogant disrespect.
"Where did you get your degree?" I asked, calmly deflecting her intended attack.
"What?" she asked shocked.
"Where did you go to school?" I repeated. "It sounds like it was important to you."
"State," she blurted in her heated voice. "I did damn well putting myself through. I've worked hard for what I have and don't expect to have some two-bit gardener keeping me waiting."
"I got my Masters degree at State." I continued unaffected. "I do some guest teaching there now in their horticultural sciences department. Good school." The words landed between us and caught her assumptions off-guard.
"Oh," she stammered. "Well, I pay you to be here on time and deliver."
"With all due respect Ms. Hargneux, I have and I will. You don't need to be here for me to finish this project. No reason to hold you up from your important work. You hired me because I've been rated the best in the region. If you want to go with someone else..."
"Just get it done Clarke," she said regaining her supervisory tone. "You're wasting your time and, more importantly, mine."
"Cliff," I answered.
"What?" she asked.
"My name is Cliff."
"Whatever," she said flippantly as she walked back inside. "I'll be leaving within the hour. I need this done when I get home at the end of the day. I have a big dinner party tonight." Her voice trailed as the screen door closed behind her.
"Amazing," I thought. I couldn't help thinking that whatever she bilked her former husband for, it may have been worth every dime to him. I collected my materials from the truck and made my way to the back of the house through the side yard. Most of the new backyard landscaping was finished, complete with elaborate water features, ponds, a gazebo, water tub and sitting areas. The work today was primarily to finish the electrical wiring for the lights, features and timers. The beauty of the backyard led up to an expansive porch that was designed as an extension of her state-of-the-art spacious kitchen inside. I saw no signs of her presence or any activity in the kitchen as I glanced through the large double-paned windows.
I got right to work, eager to finish the project as early as possible. The Spring sun was unusually warm. I became focused in the perfectionism of my craft. Time passed quickly. 45 minutes elapsed in what felt like five. Suddenly, screams from inside the house interrupted my quiet focus.
"Oh God, oh God, oh God." Intensity increased with every word. I listened carefully. "Oh God, oh God!"
Questions raced through my mind. Was she alone? Was someone with her? Are these screams of ecstasy? Desperation? Should I mind my own business? Do I risk stepping into the lioness' den?
"Oh God, oh God!" Her screams continued to intensify and penetrate the thick double-paned glass. The kitchen door to the patio flew open. "Clarke, help!"
"Cliff," I thought to myself. My name is Cliff. Panic laced her voice. I ran to the open door and stepped into the kitchen. Water was pouring from the ceiling and flooding the kitchen. It began to pour into the patio. Two inches of water created a wading pool around her stilettos. The pool deepened by the second.
"I was upstairs getting ready to leave," she explained. I came downstairs to leave and found my kitchen being flooded. I don't know what to do." Her voice was filled with frantic desperation. "Do something."
"I'm just a two bit gardener," I said wryly with a smile.
"I'm so sorry," she said. "That was unkind of me. Can you help me? Can you do something? Please."
"Yes," I answered calmly, wading through the water toward the basement door. "Let me get this water shut off first." I knew where the main shut-off valve was from my work with the landscape design. When I reemerged from the basement, the water from the ceiling was reduced to drips.