Working as a landlord, you're never happy when the phone rings. People don't call just to say everything is working great, or that they're going to be early with the rent money. When the phone rings, it is almost certainly bad news. And when Zulema calls, you better clear the rest of your day.
Zulema is a tallish attractive Colombian-born woman in her mid to late 30s. She and her husband Greg and young toddler son live in one of my more high-end units. It is a really nice place in a great neighborhood, but for whatever reason it always seems to require a disproportionate amount of attention. Not a week goes by without me stopping by to fix something.
At first I didn't mind all that much. Zulema is quite beautiful and charming, and dresses in a way that really gets me going--conservative but just a hint of sexy. And her accent, though subtle, is irresistible. However, she is extremely demanding and bossy as a tenant, and will accept nothing short of perfection in her house. It is no wonder why Greg spends so much time away from home. If I think her demands are bad, he must get it so much worse.
It was a gorgeous Friday afternoon in late summer. I had wrapped up what I thought was the last thing on my list for the day, and was thinking of knocking off a bit early to get a drink with my brother, when suddenly my phone rang. Of course it was Zulema.
"Hello?" I said, as if I didn't know exactly who it was.
"Hey, it's Zulema," she said. "How are you?"
"Great. What's going on?"
"Sorry to call again, but one of those detectors in the kitchen is beeping and I can't shut it off. I'm worried there may be a gas leak or something."
"Okay, well don't worry. I'm not that far from you now. I can come check it out in about 10 minutes."
"I appreciate it. Thank you."
I hung up and sighed. I was fairly certain it was an innocuous low-battery beep and not an actual alarm, but it was worth checking out anyway. I grabbed a few tools I anticipated I might need and made my way to Zulema's house. Checking my appearance in the rear-view mirror, I grabbed my bag, made my way to the door and rang the bell.
"Hola!"
Zulema flung open the door, uncharacteristically cheery. Her appearance was more casual than I was used to, with her long black hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her attire that afternoon was charcoal gray yoga pants and a tight yellow t-shirt, with a deep v-neck revealing just the right amount of cleavage. I could tell right away that she was not wearing a bra, and I tried not to stare too obviously at the faint outline of nipple that was noticeable through the fabric of her shirt.
"Come on in. Take off your shoes there please," she said, as if I didn't already know the drill.
I slipped off my shoes and followed her down the hall, watching her cute bare feet delicately land on the tile floor. Her hips swayed from side to side in an almost exaggerated manner, as if she was a model on the catwalk, or trying deliberately to get me to notice her butt. She didn't have to try. Her ample but tight rear end was perfectly highlighted by those pants, and I was free for a moment to stare at that ass and those thighs, knowing she did not have eyes in the back of her head.
We entered the kitchen. I noticed a half-full glass of wine on the counter next to a half-empty bottle of cabernet. Her house, usually in perfect order, was a bit more cluttered than I'd come to expect. There were several dishes in the sink. An empty pizza box was perched above the trash can.
"The beeping is coming from this guy here," Zulema said, reaching up toward a round box on the ceiling in the kitchen. When she lifted her arm, her t-shirt rose a bit as well, revealing her tiny waist and much of her flat caramel brown abdomen and perfect little belly button. This woman was at least five years my senior, and gave birth to a child less than two years ago, but still somehow looked like a fitness model.
"As long as the beeping isn't constant, it's just a warning. That blinking light there indicates a low battery. I need your ladder and a 9-volt battery if you have one."
Zulema looked through a drawer in the kitchen island, taking a sip of her wine before finding a new 2-pack of 9-volt batteries. She left for a minute, then came back with a 4-foot ladder I knew she had in the house from my previous visit. I climbed up to the top step and began to dismantle the carbon detector.
"Do you need me to hold you?" she asked, grabbing on to both of my legs before I could respond. Her face was inches from my crotch. I felt a little movement between my legs as I imagined her unzipping my jeans. I glanced down for some quick appreciation of her cleavage from above, and was not disappointed.
"I'm sorry to have you come over for this. I would ask Greg to look at it, but we're kind of in a separation right now. He's pretty worthless at this stuff anyway."
"Oh wow, sorry to hear that."
"No, it's okay. Frankly I am happier without him right now. But I do get a little lonely on days when he has Junior with him."
The news about the separation was a bit surprising, but I couldn't say I was shocked. Based on my limited observation, she didn't treat him all that well. She wore the pants in this house. And no matter how great they made her ass look, it just wasn't going to work anymore if she stopped putting out for poor ol' Greg. He probably had to beg for sex, and even when she caved in it was probably quick, pragmatic missionary sex that neither of them truly enjoyed. I wondered if this lady has even given him head since their marriage. My money would be on "once, on his birthday, and not even to completion."
"Well okay that takes care of that," I said, stepping down from the ladder. "What else do you need?"
"While you are here, can you please look at the upstairs shower? It does not get very hot anymore."
This was classic Zulema, calling me over for one quick repair that would eventually lead to a dozen tasks and at least half a day of work. Of course it was a bit more understandable in the context of what I just learned about her personal life, but I didn't want to spend any more time there than I had to. I followed Zulema up the stairs, paying close attention to the shape of her legs and butt. She stepped into the master bathroom and turned on the water in the large glass shower.
"Even on the hottest setting it is just barely warm," she said. "And it used to work so well. Using this shower was my favorite part of the day."
"Okay let me see what I can do."
"I swear if you fix this I will do anything."
This offer certainly put some colorful ideas in my head. Not being sure how literal she meant it, I decided not to acknowledge her comment, and instead stepped into a literal cold shower to cool off.
"Hmmm yeah this water is warm but definitely not hot. Let me take apart the valve. Sometimes they have a built-in mechanism from preventing it from going to hot. I might have to just re-align it."
I'm not sure if what I said made any sense, nor if it was correct in any technical kind of way. I am not a plumber but I can usually fake my way through most repairs on dumb luck, and I have actually successfully taken these things apart and gotten them to go hotter before. I shut off the water and got to work.
"I'm sorry, can I get you a beer or water or anything?" Zulema offered.
"I wouldn't say no to a glass of that cabernet," I said, hoping the request made me seem as sophisticated as I had hoped.
"Sure no problem."
I took the handle off the shower valve and found a little plastic cartridge inside. I repositioned it so that it was able to turn an extra few degrees counterclockwise and then put it all back together. A simple enough job, but that should do it. I had the water running fully hot again when Zulema came back with two glasses of wine.
"Did you fix it? My god, I could kiss you."
"Salud," I said, taking a huge gulp from the glass.
