Meet Me In Moonlight Pt 03

There is no sex in this part of the story, though it sets the stage. If there were, it might be categorized as an Erotic Couplings yarn, but overall Meet Me in Moonlight is a ghost story, so it is categorized as NonHuman.

*****

I was laying on my back on the pantry table, my shirt ripped open, pants and shoes gone, with one of the housekeepers sitting on my face and the other with her head in my lap. My ID card was clearly visible, dangling off the table by the lanyard around my neck. My medical bag lay open on the floor. It was a surprisingly erotic picture.

My supervisor Joanne pushed it closer to me. "This is the kind of thing that gets you fired from the company."

-----------------------

Monday came too soon, I had to give up my search for Amber.

I met my new supervisor, Joanne, at the company office; she had keys, an ID card and a key card for me. She had caught a ride down, she had me drive back to the house where we worked.

The patient lived up on the mesa, back near the ridges that framed the northern edge of the city. As I drove up the view varied from sections tightly hemmed-in by walls or hedges to yawning vistas overlooking town. From the overlook sections I could see sailboats and dive tours departing the harbor, the beach volleyball courts down near the zoo, and the long stretch of beach west of town. The club squatted far off to the west on county land between the beach highway and the pier; from here cars were dots, but I could see the parking lot was empty. Oil platforms sat out near the horizon, tiny black frameworks from this distance.

Joanne started briefing me as I drove. The patient was David Ingersoll, the only son of an oilman. He had suffered neurological damage when young, his muscles were quite weak and he suffered from seizures. Our primary job was to care for his medical needs, there were household staff for cleaning and housework.

We would be available twenty-four hours a day, five days a week, Joanne got Fridays and Saturdays off, I'd have Sundays and Mondays. We had a small workroom and bedrooms for three nurses; Joanne and I would live onsite and the third bedroom was kept for Giuletta, the relief nurse who'd cover our days off. I'd met G during training, she had been friendly and I looked forward to working with her.

The house was surrounded by a tall stucco wall, a sturdy Mission-style gate blocked the entrance. Joanne pointed out the camera and card slot on the left; I pushed the red call button and held up my ID and stuck my keycard in the slot as directed by somebody inside. A long driveway flanked by cypress trees led to an Italian villa. I parked in a carriage house next to some kind of 70s muscle car; it was dusty and its tires were flat.

We entered the villa from the side; through a pantry with deep shelves and a sturdy Mission table, across a hallway, and into the kitchen. Two youngish women (in their late twenties if I had to guess, one blonde and one redhead) in housekeeping uniforms were cutting up fruit at the sink as a older Hispanic lady rolled pastry dough on the counter. A sunburned older guy was sitting at the kitchen table sipping a beer and talking to a well-dressed lady (my mother had had an interest in fashion and I had learned all about it by osmosis; this lady was wearing couture).

Joanne stopped near the table. Everyone had turned to look at me; I tried not to slouch. "Steve, this is all of the staff we work except for G; she's upstairs with Mister Ingersoll. It seemed easiest to get introductions out of the way early, if you would start. Please give the name you want to be called, and staff please do the same."

I dipped my head to the group. "Hi, I'm Steve, Stefano if you have to. I'm new to this job but I'm a licensed R.N. and I've worked in medicine since I was 16. I know I'm new here, so just tell me if I'm in the way or doing something wrong, and please, let me know if I can help with anything."

The redhead said, "Hi, I'm Shannon and this is Vera," pointing to the blonde. "We're housekeepers, and I'll be asking you to get things down from up high."

"I am Tia Zorra, welcome to my kitchen, let me know what you like to eat."

"Ruggiero, I have the grounds. Do you know anything about cars?"

"And I am Mrs. Simpson, I am Mister Ingersoll's chatelaine. Joanne is your supervisor but I am the mistress here except for specifically medical activity. Welcome to the Villa Ingersoll." She smiled, patted Ruggiero's hand, and strolled out.

"Steve, I will be with Mrs. Simpson for a while, please get to know the staff members, I will text you when I'm free, and I will introduce you to Mr. Ingersoll later. You are off duty today, this is a good time to get to know the house and grounds."

Shannon immediately claimed my assistance and got me to pull down several objet d'art that needed cleaning, pulling me along through several of the downstairs rooms in succession. She chatted gaily in a low voice as we worked, sounding me out about my background.

"Are you a local or an import?" she asked, as I handed down a green jade statue. She wiped it with a cloth and I put it back.

"Local, born and raised on the west side, off of Storke. My grandparents met and settled here in the '20s."

"Can you reach that painting of the barn? Thanks. Boys or girls? I know that sounds pretty blunt, but we live here with you, and everybody's gonna want to know."

"Girls. Here you go. What about you?"

She smiled. "Boys. Favorite movies? There's a movie room upstairs we are allowed to use." She pointed at a brass mechanism; I studied it for a minute before figuring out how to pick it up.

"I'm a guy; I need my explosions and gratuitous nudity, but I'll watch anything once. What IS this thing?"

"A non-sparking something-or-other, I forget what it does. What's your taste in music? Zorra loves opera, and Ruggiero does power ballads when he's working."

"My granddad was a bluesman, I like Chicago blues most but any of it is good. Do we need to do anything upstairs?"

"No, we'll wait until Mr. Ingersoll is up."

Shannon handed me off to Vera, who explained the layout of the ground floor.

"The ground floor of the villa is split between the front of house, for the homeowner and guests, and the back of house, where the kitchen rooms and staff quarters are located. It was modeled after a villa in Tuscany."

The front door, on the north side of the house, opened into a large foyer that was open to the second floor. Mirror staircases flanked a large, glass-encased elevator on the south wall of the room. Decoratively-carved oak doors opened to a parlor to the east and a library to the west.

"I don't know if Shannon asked you, are you okay working in small groups like this? I mean, at the hospital you're part of a huge staff."

"Yes, I had some practice working one semester with a hospice."

Panel doors (covered in wallpaper to blend with the walls) between the stairs and each side of the elevator opened into parallel hallways heading south into the back of the house (we'd just entered the foyer through one of them). We walked through the other panel door into a hallway.

"The back of the ground floor is arranged as a hollow square around the kitchen; the hallways run along both sides of the kitchen and then turn and meet across the back of it."

She stopped for a moment. "Are you dating anyone? The last junior nurse was a real horndog, he'd be chatting up Shannon and trying to pat my ass. Tia Z was all ready to cut him where it counts, so Mrs. Simpson got him fired."

I made a face. "No, not really dating, I met someone but lost her. I try not to date coworkers, there are so many ways that can go bad."

Vera pointed out rooms as we walked around the loop, "Arranged in a ring around the kitchen we have the pantry and refrigerated storeroom, you nurses' workroom, six bedrooms - 3 for the nurses, one for Tia, and 2 for the housekeepers... this one is mine - and two bathrooms. There are three exits in the back of the house; through the pantry on the west side, the nurses' workroom on the south side, and the cold room on the east side."

The tour ended back in the kitchen, where she handed me off to Ruggiero. He and I strolled out through the pantry talking about cars and about growing up locally; he'd attended my high school a dozen years before me, though he'd grown up on the east side.

"I know you're used to long hours, but working here is like working on the platforms for the week. Are you okay living isolated from town for 5 days a week while you are on-call?"

I smiled. "I hate crowds... I'd be out on an oil platform now except I hate loud noises even worse. This job is cake!"

"Can you handle a house full of women and women bosses? The last guy had some issues and got himself sacked."

That one I didn't even need to think about. "I've spent the last eight years surrounded by women students, teachers, and staff, I'm fine with a woman boss. I'm just happy that there are no doctors present, and none of that 'you can't do your job without adult supervision' attitude they all get."

Ruggiero showed me around the estate while we talked, and we spent a few minutes looking at Mr. Ingersoll's Dodge Charger, he popped the hood to show me an enormous engine; even a car noob like me could see it needed a lot of love to restore. We ended up back in the kitchen.

There were dishes in the sink, so I started washing them, drying as I went along. I could hear opera playing through the door to the cold room. Once the dishes were done, I went to inspect my new room. a twin bed was pushed against the wall; there were two bookshelves, a desk, and a chest of drawers. I fetched my bags from the car and unpacked, then sat down with my laptop. Instructions for the house WiFi were posted on a pad on the desk next to a tall glass of iced tea.

I woke up a few hours later, sprawled across the bed like I had been dumped there. My shoes were kicked into a corner. I washed up and then got some more tea from a pitcher in the kitchen. As I sipped my tea, Joanne texted me to meet her in the foyer.

"You've met all the staff, and seen the grounds. Now you'll meet the boss and the patient."

We turned left at the top of the stairs, the door was open and Mrs. Simpson was sitting at an exceptionally ornate antique desk. I goggled at it, and she smiled. "Care to guess the style? There's a pool - every guess is 5 dollars, and the first person to correctly identify it wins the whole lot. You can let me know later if you want a go. Have a seat here by me."

Joanne closed the door and strolled to the far end of the room.

"You're here to care for my brother David. Your job is to keep him healthy, my staff's job is to keep him happy. You know his symptoms; he is terribly weak and he is prone to seizures. Here at home he is comfortable but he is still embarrassed by what he considers a self-inflicted wound, so he never leaves the estate. He hasn't left the grounds for 29 years, not even for the wildfires."

"Never? What does he DO? What about medical events?"

"We're rich; if there's a medical emergency, doctors come here. He's not impaired mentally so he keeps up with his interests by mail and online. And the staff help him with anything he needs physical help with."

"Is he sexually active?"

"Only vicariously. The seizures and weakness hamper his ability to make love, but he relishes watching others."

Joanne added, "And he can't take Viagra or Cialis, they interfere with his seizure meds."

"How's that work? Videos? Does he have friends for this or do you bring in professionals? What kind of sex, how many participants? I hate to seem nosy, but this is something way outside my experience."

"All of David's needs are taken care of by the staff here at the villa."

I turned and looked across the room to Joanne; she was staring out the window. I looked back at Mrs. Simpson, "Are WE staff?"

I heard Joanne walking up behind me. She whispered into my ear, "Although this is not officially part of your duties here, yes, you are considered staff for this purpose. You will be compensated for your participation in preserving our patient's morale. If you feel uncomfortable participating, you can be re-assigned right now to a job down in town."

"You will not speak of this outside the villa or to persons who are not staff. We've had nurses try to blackmail the family; if you do, you will be fired and blacklisted in the nursing community. The justification will be documented with photos like this."

Joanne slid an 8x12 print in front of me, showing one of the housekeepers sitting on my face and the other with her head in my lap. "This is the kind of thing that gets you fired from the company."

I picked up the print and studied the scene, it really was an erotic image. You couldn't tell I wasn't really having sex with the two ladies, and the badge and bag were clearly visible. I set it back down and slid it toward Mrs. Simpson.

"Ketamine in the iced tea? Some other date rape drug? At least you have medical staff on hand when you do this."

From behind me, "Medical grade, and I had your weight so I could tailor the dosage. You don't seem very concerned."

"We had a training session about date rape drugs where I was voluntold to be the guinea pig. You were much better with it than my classmates, I'd never have known without the picture. And honestly, I'm just sorry I wasn't awake, those girls are cute. I want a copy of this for my Christmas card this year..."

Mrs Simpson snorted. "Getting back to the topic at hand, yes, you would be participating in sexual acts with other staff members to gratify and entertain my brother. That will certainly include multiple partners, are you willing to have sex with others in a group setting? We will not ask you to do same-sex acts, but you might be sharing a partner with Ruggiero."

I stood up and walked to the window. A picture caught my eye; a group of divers on a pier, with their hoods rolled down and big grins on their faces, their horsecollar BCs and other gear put the shot some time in the 1980s. There was something about one of the divers that seemed familiar. A short blonde, you could tell she had a cigarette in one hand. "Can you tell me who these people are? I'd swear I've met the blonde lady somewhere." I leaned closer; she looked like Amber, down to the smirk.

"I doubt that very much. That was my brother's dive class, the day before the accident. The blonde was his fiancé, Carolina Guzman. Her body was never recovered."

Joanna perched a hip on the window ledge. "Come on, Steve, in or out?"

"Yes, I am entirely willing to participate. Plus you're going to pay me too? Talk about every young man's fantasy... if you hadn't drugged me already, I'd think you were punking me. Are either of you participants too?"

Mrs. Simpson shook her head. "Are you fearless or stupid, Steven? I suppose we'll find out..."