It was going to be a hot summer. School was out and I needed a summer job. Unfortunately, because I waited until the middle of May;all the good summer jobs were already taken. I didn’t want to get stuck mowing lawns again for the summer, even though as a strapping nineteen year old guy, I had no problem with manual labor.
One of my dad’s business buddies got a job transfer and placed his house up for sale. He hired a real estate agent to sell the house but asked if I would keep an eye on the house and mow the yard every month until the house sold, so he wouldn’t have to pay the real estate agent to have it done. He said he’s pay me $100 a month and that I could use the backyard pool if I wanted to.
It was an easy hundred dollars. The first time I went to check out the house, which overlooked a golf course, I thought I had stepped into a mansion. The patio pool was cool. Ted, the guy who owned the house, had left a mower in the garage for me to use. I think it took me all of about thirty minutes to mow and do some edging. Afterwards, I stepped on to the patio area and surveyed the pool. I was hot and sweaty, so I stripped down to my underwear and then slipped into the pool, which was a bit chilly at first, but felt good.
I sat on one of the chase lounge chairs on the deck, sun drying myself, afterwards. The pool was rather secluded, but faced the golf course, so I was careful to not make myself too obvious.
My routine went on like this for several weeks. Then one day, as I was sun-drying myself off pool side, in my bikini brief underwear, I heard a female voice say, “I’m sorry,”
It was the real estate agent. She had stopped by the house to check it out before doing a showing and she had stumbled upon me laying out at the pool. I think I jumped about a foot when I heard her voice.
I turned to see a rather nice-looking woman that I guessed was in her early thirties, impeccably dressed in heels, a short skirt and a button down white shirt, standing in the threshold of the doorway that lead from the kitchen area and out to the patio and the pool area
I quickly introduced myself, as I stood by the pool chair, trying to use the upright portion of it to shield myself. There was no way I could adequately hide my best assets, so I simply tried to explain my presence by introducing myself.
“Ted said it would be OK for me to use the pool as part of my time mowing and doing the yard work,” I explained.
“OK, I see,” the agent replied. She explained she had a three o-clock showing and that she simply was checking on the house to insure everything was in order.
“Will you be gone by then?” she asked, as she stepped out on to the patio. Her eyes glanced towards my crotch. Whoops. She quickly looked out at the golf course.
“Sure,” I quickly replied.
“How often do you come over here?” she asked.
“Once a week,” I replied, grabbing my jeans and casually slipping them on as she stood and chatted with me.
I could tell our encounter was an awkward one, because she purposefully kept her eyes on the golf course as we chatted, and I dressed.
“I was just asking,” she replied, “As I don’t want to schedule a client visit when you are here.”
I told her that I usually come by in the early evenings, but that I came early today because I was going out with friends later.
“I see,” she replied, glancing back in my direction. She made her way to the threshold and stepped into the house.
I stepped inside behind her.
“I’m sorry,” I replied. “I didn’t catch your name.”
She said her name was Amy Rothschild. She extended her hand very business-like as I stood shirtless and barefoot in the doorway. We shook hands and I asked her how much the house was selling for.
“Four hundred fifty,” she replied. “That’s what Ted wants for it, but he’ll be lucky if he gets three.”
I was shocked at the selling price for the house. I knew it was a six bedroom and overlooked a golf course and all, but $450,000 seemed a bit much to me.
Amy agreed.
“I’m just the show girl,” Amy replied.
“Show girl?”
I was not used to the real estate lingo. I soon learned that Amy was simply a showing agent for the realtor. She said it was her job to present the property to a prospective buyer and that the real estate agent would be the one to close the deal.
Amy glanced out the window as we chatted. She seemed nervous, scratching at her neck, then taking a step in towards the kitchen, then checking her cell phone.
“What time is it?” I asked.
It was close to two thirty. I told Amy that I needed to grab my shirt and my shoes and that I’d be on my way. She casually asked if I had a contact number.
“Sure,” I replied. She took out her cell phone and entered my cell number as I called it out to her.
I just want to make sure there are no conflicts,” Amy added, after punching in my digits. She scrolled through her messages.
Suddenly, her shoulders slumped, and I could sense she was not happy, as she stared blankly at her cell phone.
“The three o’clock just cancelled,” she said. “I hate it when they cancel at the last minute.”
“Sorry,” I proffered, seeing the disappointment crossing her face.
“Stuff happens,” Amy replied. She casually stepped out of her heels and placed them on to the countertop of the pass through to the kitchen. She scrolled through her messages as I stood by, trying to decide if I could stay or if I should leave.