Mister Farid -

Mister Farid - Part 1

"Relax, Carly, it's just a job," Carly told herself.

It was not the job she really wanted. But having an arts degree really wasn't paying off at the moment; saturated market.

The memes simply wrote themselves, and she'd never live it down if it weren't for her lack of friends. The one she did have wasn't that terminally online anyways.

But a cleaner? That seemed just as embarrassing as living up to the joke about arts degrees.

Twenty two years old, and she was already craving death, rhetorically speaking.

At least it seemed to pay a bit above minimum wage and the hours weren't terrible.

But she had no idea about this Farid guy. He didn't have much of an online presence as far as she could tell. Practically nonexistent, but he'd put a job posting out online.

Someone to come in three times a week, tidy the place up, do some tougher cleaning, do some clothes, that sort of thing. She wasn't looking forward to it, wondering what kind of slob was too lazy to clean up after himself. Or some spoiled asshole that thought it beneath him.

She really should've had a phone interview at first, but the money, even if it wasn't too good to be true, was still too good to pass up. It wouldn't help her survive, but at least it was a less insane side-job.

She knew people working two full-time positions to make ends meet. City living wasn't cheap.

And as she moved up towards the steps of the brick town house in one of the older districts of the city, she was wondering just who this guy was that could afford to live in a place like this.

The grey facade showed its age, a greyer stain over the brickwork, but the windows were clean, and the planters below the windows flanking the steps to the front door grew roses with vibrant reds, whites, and pale yellows, healthy but sporting vicious looking thorns.

Dark velvet curtains were drawn over every window of the three-storey building, obscuring the interior, whilst an iron fence and gate separated the 'yard' from the footpath, little more than a few feet of bare concrete with some statues, each only a foot and a half high.

They kinda creeped her out, each spaced apart evenly either side of the steps, sculptures of pillars upon which clung winged gargoyle-like things.

High above, the window in the middle of the top floor was crowned with a triangular arch built into the facade, little more than a decorative accoutrements. The roof was angled towards the front, with gutters and drain pipes carefully hidden away around the corners of the building, going down into the narrow alleys either side, just wide enough for a person to walk down.

The roof tiles were dark, mossy in parts, splattered with bird shit in others, and stained from rain, pollution, and other things... typical for places like this in the city. The facades often got washed, but the roofs got neglected if they weren't leaking.

There was a small awning, so shallow it barely qualified, the greco-roman style columns that supported the sharply angled arch, not unlike the decorative facade above the top floor's middle window, having only enough gap between them and the wall for her to fit in sideways, not that she would, nothing beyond but a drop blocked off by a simple wire mesh that was definitely installed long after the place was built. Much like the steel railings either side of the several concrete steps, probably to comply with municipal standards.

The front door was a charcoal grey colour, looking as if it were made of metal, but it was in fact some sort of wood with a coating that gave it the look. A clean but tarnished brass knocker dominated the middle of the door, the bottom half divided into two rectangular depressions, whilst the top had a semi-circular window divided into sections.

Below this, directly at eye height, was a small peep hole.

On the right, was a black buzzer and intercom.

She pressed the white button.

"Who is it?"

came a man's voice on the other end, the speaker crackling and tinny. Yet he sounded rather smooth and rich.

"Uh, it's Carly Myers. I'm here for that cleaning job?" she answered.

"Ah, right. I'll be right down."

The intercom went dead, and Carly took the opportunity to go over herself to look at least

somewhat

presentable; adjusting the grey and blue sports bag on her back filled with assorted cleaning supplies, nothing more substantial on her since the application said things like mops, buckets, and other heavy duty supplies were available to use at the residence.

Her clothing could hardly be considered professional, sporting jeans partially ripped around the knees for fashion, white joggers and pink ankle socks standing out.

A light blue tank top was the best shirt she had, even if it had the word 'juicy' written across it in fancy, bubbly writing.

Beneath it, she opted for a very thin, black undershirt that was a little bit on the rattier side, old and stretched, but at least it hid the stains she could never get out. Moreover, it made her look a little less... uncouth, some would say.

'Skanky' less generous, or perhaps more honest, souls would proclaim.

She checked that her plain brown hair was tied back into a ponytail still and hadn't come undone at some point, the green scrunchy prone to rolling off. All was well, her hair hanging down between her shoulder blades.

She made sure that loose thread on the bottom of her tank top was taped up still, and checked her nails were neatly trimmed and polished; she had a habit of letting them grow long and then they cracked, and it got annoying.

Looking down, she frowned a little at the faint strip of her midriff, just visible beneath the lower edge of her thin black undershirt; even stretched, it didn't completely hide her gut, but at least her navel was hidden. It wouldn't if she wasn't wearing that undershirt.

She tapped her smart watch, the white chassis a little scratched from use, and then checked her earrings, little more than polished metal studs with shiny blue caps. That was more habit than anything.

Looking as presentable as she could be, she steeled herself and waited for the door to open, hearing muffled footsteps approach.

'Let's meet this guy, I guess,'

she bemoaned to herself.

The lock clacked loudly, and the knob was turned, the door swinging open.

"Ah, hello Miss Myers. I'm glad you could make it so early," Mr. Farid greeted.

Carly almost didn't reply, her mouth just shy of falling agape as she laid eyes on the man.

He was perhaps the hottest guy she'd ever seen.

His skin had a soft tan, almost like pale chocolate, so smooth and rich. He clearly had Arabic or Middle Eastern Heritage, and even his voice had a hint of an accent. But it was so smooth, so rich, so dreamy, even though his tone was calm, level, and polite.

His hair was black and not very long, but it was so damn shiny, it practically reflected the sunlight, not going further than his ears, and incredibly straight and silky, like he'd never had a split end or a dry scalp in his life.

His chin wasn't pronounced and sharp like stereotypical 'hot guys,' but it had a pleasant angular quality all the same, the faintest hint of stubble around it and his lower jaw, which had a noticeable edge, not too square.

Masculine, but soft. His whole face was like that, beautiful, alluring, even the faint smile on his thin, supple lips charming without trying.

His nose had the faintest downward curve at the tip, but it fitted perfectly with his face.

And his eyes... they were a blue so striking she thought he could've looked into her very mind. She was certain she could see her own slightly awestruck face staring back at her in those icy blue orbs.

She could smell a cologne on him, an earthy smell, but soft, gentle, with a quality akin to springtime. She didn't know, she couldn't explain it, it was hot whatever it was.

He held himself with a posture that oozed suave and charm, though his clothes were rather simple; a white button up shirt with thin grey lines running up its height, and long beige pants held up by a maroon brown belt, hiding the tops of his black socks and brown loafers.

Even then, it looked so good on him, and she could see a subtle musculature, or she thought she could.

Was this guy a model or something? With his looks, maybe that was why he needed a cleaner, too busy doing photo shoots to keep his own house tidy.

She checked for any jewellery, subconsciously scanning for a wedding ring, but the only thing he wore was a mechanical watch on his wrist, made of metal, slightly brassy in colour.

She finally found the words to speak after being taken aback by his handsome looks.

"Oh, uh, yeah. I wanted to be on time, yeah, for my first day," she answered, stumbling over her words.

'Real smooth, idiot,'

she chastised herself.

Hot or not, he was her employer. And unless he turned out to be some weirdo creep that started hitting on her, chances were he wasn't ever gonna be interested in her like that.

Hell, she thought

he

was out of

her

league.

"Come in, I'll show you around," he beckoned, opening the door wider and gesturing inside.

Nodding quietly to avoid embarrassing herself further, she walked inside, finding herself in the small entry way, admiring the décor.

Compared to him, it wasn't ludicrously extravagant, which made her feel slightly less out of place in her overly casual attire.

The walls were made to look like old wood panels, dark in colour, but glossy with the finish. The stucco ceilings were painted with a dull grey coat, and the floors were faux wood grain linoleum. The light fixtures were all glass half-domes over the fluorescent bulbs, etched with leaf and flower patterns.

There wasn't much in the way of furniture visible from the entrance, a hat and coat rack immediately to her left and an iron-frame shelf to her right, sporting a few bowls for people to put things in.

There were two open archways either side of the entry, leading into the other parts of the town house, while directly ahead she saw the staircase leading up to the second floor, the banister carved with fancy woodwork. Ahead to the left of the stairs the hall continued, an open door exposing what looked like a laundry. There were two more shut doors on the left wall.

She took a few steps in, and was immediately struck by the spacious living room to her right, a fake fireplace - the kind with fans and heating elements pushing out warm air through vents below a projection or TV screen of crackling fire - a carpet laid out in the middle with intricate design, geometric shapes interwoven around vines growing flowers, maroons, oranges, dull yellows, and blacks arranged in striking contrast despite the darker shades.

In the middle was a coffee table with a large, roughly cut length of wood, the bark still present on the edges, looking like it was sawed from a trunk at an angle, varnished and lacquered, whilst the massive hole in the middle was filled with a clear, aquamarine resin, the twisting legs just as 'organic' as the table, the only thing that didn't seem so was the interwoven wooden bands like wicker, creating a shallow basket for the handful of magazines and books stowed away beneath the table.

There was but a single glass coaster atop of it with an empty, used mug, the many-buttoned black remote for a sizeable flatscreen TV abutting the wall of the building's right side, facing from the street at least. Curtained windows blocked most of the light coming in street-side, leaving the interior to be lit with the home lighting.

Against the far wall, left of the entrance, was a large bookshelf filled with old novels and textbooks. Probably more decorative than anything Mister Farid read, especially given the exquisite wooden sculptures sitting in the gaps between books, carvings of animals that look like they were African in design.

An L-shaped couch sat on the edge of the carpet, the seats facing the street-side wall and the alley-side wall, a modular design of high-quality faux leather, charcoal grey and fitted with concealable cup-holders.

The lounge room was as large as her apartment's kitchen and living room combined. Larger even.

Looking back out the way she came, she glanced into the other room opposite, and saw a large rectangular table about ten feet long, a rich wooden dining table that was so dark it was almost black, small decorative flourish to its woodwork along the edges and the legs, the chairs of similar construction and topped with smooth, square cushions, a deep maroon in colour and tied down to the chairs they sat upon with fabric ties.

There was a single item atop the table, what looked like a metal tray with curved edges and a circular ring for holding a large candle.

It must have been the kitchen and dining room, but she couldn't see all of it from where she was.

Mister Farid turned around and gently clapped his hands together.

"So, this is my home. I know it's pretty large, and looks expensive, but please don't be intimidated. I do my best to keep the place tidy, but I'm just so busy these days I can't do as much. Alas, I have money and not the time to make use of it," he lamented.

Admittedly, Carly cringed a little on the inside at the remark about his wealth. Like, sure, it was obvious, but flaunting it even a little seemed a bit egotistical.

All the same, he seemed so polite about it, and she rather enjoyed hearing him talk. That voice was so dreamy.

"I think I'll manage," she stated, though even with Mister Farid's assurances, knowing there were three whole floors seemed a little daunting.

"All I need you to do is to wipe some of the surfaces down, do a little vacuuming, some of the dishes, tidy up here and there, and put the laundry on. Leave me to finish it, and don't worry about the top floor. There's nothing up there

except

mess, and I don't really need it cleaned."

Two floors. A little more manageable, though everything else did seem comprehensive for 'all I need,' but the way he spoke sounded so genuine, she had to believe him.

"I got it," she assured him. "I mean, I'm not that experienced, but I have done cleaning in a burger joint. And I'm currently working a grocery store, so I know about cleaning stuff up."

"Fine, all fine, I don't think I'm in need of a full professional cleaner. I want to at least shoulder

some

of the responsibility, I live here after all," he stated. "I can give you a tour of the place, show you the places you'll be working. You can start today or come back tomorrow if it suits you."

She glanced back at her bag full of cleaning supplies, and thought it'd be pretty pointless to go home now. She'd get something done, and keep to the schedule. But getting a tour seemed like a great idea, and she didn't mind listening to Mister Farid.

"Sounds good to me. Lead the way," Carly agreed.

He slapped his hands together again.

"Gladly!" he exclaimed, slipping past Carly and beckoning for her to follow.

He was enthusiastic, that much was obvious.

---

The tour of the town house wasn't as long as Carly expected, but it wasn't short either, showing her the storage and supply closets in the main hall, and the rest of the kitchen, half-separated from the dining room and looking the most modern installation in the entire building, complete with black faux-marble countertops, charcoal-grey cabinets and panelling, and stainless-steel appliances, the stove a glossy-black induction design, everything so crisp and clean.

The laundry was out the back, and accessed a small 'backyard' that was little more than a concrete path between small garden plots, a fence dividing the townhouse from the back alley, ugly graffiti immediately visible out the back door on the building behind the house.

It had modern appliances, but they were generic white and not as fancy as some models. She could live with that, and was thankful for the quick tutorial from Mister Farid, since she'd have to use the dryer a lot; there was nowhere to hang clothes out.

Truth be told, the house was quite modern, but either Mister Farid or the previous owner went out of their way to blend it with the older design of the building. New smart lighting in decorative fixtures, a simple security system installed in a way to not stand out and ruin the aesthetics, a modern air conditioning setup using vents coloured like the walls and kept where they wouldn't stand out so easily.

Going up to the second floor, she was shown the bedrooms and the bathrooms, the latter numbering two; an en-suite for Mister Farid's spacious bedroom, and looking more modern than the bathroom that was its own room, accessible from the left from stairs. There was a small room directly ahead, what almost looked like a sitting space with charcoal-grey cushions lining the benches built into the alcove. She could've imagined a window built into it, if it weren't for there being nothing to see outside from the back except dirty brick walls.

The en-suite bathroom was entirely tiled, and the pale grey and white features all sported a minimalist look. It looked the most like a recent addition, the glass shower stall even sporting shiny handrails and a fancy showerhead.

The vanity had a squared sink, and an equally blocky faucet and taps.

Velvet-soft towels hung from metal racks and sat on the floor before the vanity and the shower.

The other bathroom looked older, the walls tiled, but much more grey, and the vanity in there was made of a brown wood. The room was large enough it had an actual bathtub, with its own showerhead that looked about a decade or two older than the one in the en-suite.

The floor was covered in blue tiles, and didn't quite look that aesthetic. But the towels were the same.

Both bathrooms had windows overlooking the alleyways, though they were meant for steam more than anything else.

Behind the standard bathroom was a small passage with a folding-door cupboard, leading to a door in the side of the house that lead to a fire escape.

On the other side was the door to Mister Farid's bedroom, and Carly was beyond envious of the large space, the king bed a little messy, its white sheets and maroon covers a bit twisted about, the dark red pillows atop of the white ones a bit disorderly. Clearly Mister Farid didn't set it right every morning.

A dressing table with a mirror was pushed against the wall near the door, across from the foot of the bed. A simple wooden desk was tucked into the far corner directly ahead of the door, the chair of a similar design, a green, red-striped cushion sitting upon it.

An old-school green-framed lamp overlooked the desk, numerous manila folders scattered across it, though she couldn't tell their contents. The floor up here was real wood, polished and smooth, save for cowskin rugs either side of the bed.

A single window offered a lovely view of brick, the curtain here drawn back.

There were a few more drawers and cabinets tucked against the walls, but it didn't do much to make the place feel smaller.

Behind his bedroom, was a study, complete with a very fancy writing desk equipped with a flexible lamp. More than that though, a few tub chairs were arrayed around a simple, low-lying coffee table with a circular glass top... and surrounding everything were bookshelves that almost reached the ceiling, utterly filled with books of all sorts, including in non-English languages.

It was a small library unto itself, and the smell of old paper was strong, and rather pleasant.

Opposite that were a pair of smaller guest bedrooms, on the other side of the narrow passage to the fire escape. And before a window overlooking the street, were the steps leading up to the third floor.

But that was where the tour ended.