Derek sneaked off to his room early on the night of his stepfather's annual beginning-of-summer party, miles out in the country at the estate. Not that the party wasn't interesting. It was a virtual 3-ring circus, with liquored up lawyers, older women pretending they were young chippies, and actual young chippies strutting their stuff quite prominently. There were young guys hoping to impress bosses, and bosses who didn't give a shit about anything but the free booze and young tail. Nearly a hundred folks were there, but nobody that Derek was close to. But then, there were only a handful of people in the world that Derek was close to, and none of them was in his family.
Derek was in his room to try out his latest project. His stepfather had assigned him a full summer's worth of unpaid jobs which would assure him a bed and food for the summer. At the end of the summer, as he had just graduated from high school, Derek knew he would get the boot. That's just the kind of step-father Lawrence was. A real prick.
His assignment had been to install a security system in the house. Like many rich people, Lawrence was overly concerned with keeping the grubby hands of the poor off his stuff. The irony never hit him that most of that "stuff" was obtained by overcharging and swindling people. Derek was given some leeway about the details of the project, and so he was able to buy a high-quality closed circuit camera system, and he had placed tiny cameras discretely around the house prior to the party. He had deliberately neglected to mention the cameras to anyone, including his mother and stepfather. One camera was of particular interest. It was placed in his mother's art studio, which was nearly always locked and strictly off limits.
From his vantage point behind the laptop, Derek observed the party in silence. Switching from one camera to the next, he saw middle aged men make vague passes at bikini-clad office girls, older women clumped together discussing pool-boys over pooh-pooh platters of cold shrimp, and younger men doing cannonballs off the diving board or swilling free drinks. Late in the evening, as some of the guests began to head for the rented vans that would take them back to the city, he saw movement on the art studio camera. It was relatively dark in there, with only a small night light, but as the door opened, he could make out two figures entering the room together. He set his laptop to record.
Half an hour later, Derek was watching the front door camera. There hadn't been much to see there so far, since most of the guests left by the side entrance. But when he saw his mother and a young guy he recognized as an intern come out the front door, something told him to begin recording. A second later, Delores was turning her face up to kiss the young man, an exchange student from Holland. After a brief cuddle, she led him by the hand out of view of the camera, behind a large hedge next to the front porch. Derek's eyes were glued to the scene for long minutes until the pair returned, the Dutch kid adjusting his belt and Delores straightening her party dress and swiping the back of her hand across her mouth. They kissed again, and she patted his butt as he headed for the van.
Derek stopped the recording. "Holy cats," he said. Derek knew this was a momentous occasion. Sometimes, a small event is life-changing, and he felt that this was such an event. He had the videos. Now he needed a plan.
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Derek's mother (not mama, not mom, but mother) was aloof and exotic. In reality, Delores was quite plain and ordinary looking, but she had a talent for hair, makeup, and clothes through which she had made herself over into a "woman of mystery". She was known to many as the "Ice Queen" and was living her life as if she were in a play. Lately, she had been less enthusiastic about the wealth she enjoyed, and she even began to question whether being Lawrence's wife was worth the rewards. Often, she felt hollow inside, but she kept up the pretense. It was the only life she had.
Physically, she was short and slim-waisted, with hips a bit too wide for some tastes and smallish breasts. These perceived defects she hid with clothing and all the womanly arts. Delores' hair was dark red and extended half-way down her back when she wanted to show it off. Most of the time, she wore tasteful but rather dramatic makeup.
To Delores, Derek was a constant reminder of the one great mistake in her life, and he had suffered because of that association. As a teenage girl, she had given her heart, and other body parts, to an older man who had suddenly felt the need to be on the other side of the globe as soon as Delores announced she was pregnant. Her parents had done the minimal amount required by their narrow-minded religion to provide support for their daughter and her new son, until the day Delores disappeared into the big city, leaving young Derek behind to grow up miserable.
Her native intelligence and knack for looking good and ingratiating herself with bosses had led over time to a position at the law firm where her future husband, Lawrence, was a partner. Lawrence saw her as a trophy, a good organizer for the home, a great hostess, and his personal whore, and he married her not long after they met. Throwing her success in her parents' faces, Delores contacted them and told them about her marriage to a rich man. They promptly showed up at her door, dropped off young Derek, and hit the road. He had been there ever since, in a largely loveless home, coping the best he could. Lawrence and Delores had not been pleased that he was there.
Up until recently, there had been another member of this household. Juanita Flores, the housekeeper, had been with them for a couple of years. Juanita was a pistol, as Lawrence would say. Nearly 50 years old, muscular and quick from years of physical labor, but still with an attractive face and penetrating eyes.
Not having a car, Derek had always ridden the bus to school, which drastically limited his social life. He had gotten through high school with none of the usual fumbling in the back seat of a Toyota. His total experience with women had been via pictures and stories on the Internet. His fortunes changed dramatically one day when he found himself alone in the house with Juanita while Delores and Lawrence were gone for the weekend, early in his senior year.
"Juanita, don't you get lonely living out here in the country? You only get to town a couple of times a week."
"I gotta cell phone. I keep in touch," she said.
"Yeah, but don't you have a boyfriend, or something?"
"You think a man would want an old lady like me?" she said, looking up from her work and smiling.
"Well, sure. I mean, you're hot, Chica."
"Gracias, Hijo. So glad you noticed," replied Juanita. "But you're the needy one. You need a girlfriend. Have you ever had a girlfriend, Hijo? I never see you with any friends out here. I know you like girls, though."
"How would you know that, Juanita?" He laughed.
She looked at him with her piercing black eyes. "Hijo, I do the laundry. I wash your sheets and underwear. I know everything that goes on around here."
Derek's eyes went to the floor.
"Hey, don't be embarrassed. It's natural, what you do. And those things you look at on the computer. I know about those, too. It's okay." She walked to Derek and put both her hands on his shoulders, her face near his. "Hijo, you need a date. You want me to be your date, just for practice?"
"I don't have a car," he stammered. "I don't have money to take you anywhere."
"I tell you what. You clean yourself up, pick me some pretty wildflowers, and come to my room about 8 o'clock tonight, and we'll have a date."
By 7:30, Derek had been washed and dressed in his suit for an hour. The last half hour before 8PM dragged by at a snail's pace. When he knocked on Juanita's door at 7:59, flowers in hand, his heart was beating hard in his chest. When she opened the door, his heart flip flopped.
Juanita must have learned her sexuality from old copies of Playboy. She was purely old-school sexy, in a sheer black nightgown over bustier, garter belt, black nylons, French-cut panties, and high heels. Her look worked on young Derek. She accepted his flowers from shaky, sweaty hands and laid them on a side table without bothering to put them in water.
"Juanita, uh, you don't plan on going out in those clothes, do you?"
"Hijo, we're not going anywhere. I promised you a date. You can stay home and still have a date," she replied. "Let's get you out of that jacket. You won't need it, and I think it might get a little too hot for you soon."
Juanita took the jacket and hung it on her bed post. When she turned back around, she leaned up and kissed him on the mouth. A chill ran down the right side of his neck.
