The Misadventures of the Laundry Hag 00 - Swept Under the Rug

feet took the command in the wrong direction. Without intent, I made my way to a copse of evergreens in the adjacent lot and leaned against a pine for support. Without my electric blue parka, I blended in with the Spartan landscape and I hunkered in to watch for Neil.
    In the back of my mind, I knew I couldn’t stay here forever. Neil’s typical shift started at nine, which roughly translated into ninety minutes from now. I’d be a hag-popsicle by then, plus kinda late getting Josh and Kenny off to school. The thoughts buzzed around like disgruntled bees, but I didn’t budge from my bird’s eye view of the front door.
    The house was a fixer-upper cape cod with a tiny screened-in back porch tagged on as an afterthought. A small building, probably a garage, squatted perpendicular to the main house. Both sported aluminum siding in a Robin’s egg blue and were trimmed in white. The gutters needed to be cleaned, as the house was surrounded by leafless elms and oaks, and there was a big sheet of plywood over one of the upstairs windows.
    My hands were numb inside my dollar store knit gloves when the front door opened and Neil stepped out onto the porch. He smiled at someone who remained out of sight and spoke softly, too far away for me to hear. Frozen fingers gripped the tree as I leaned closer, hoping to catch a vibe from the scene, but it was over quickly and Neil trotted down the steps and backed his car out onto the road. Counting to fifty, I unglued my hands from the poor pine and scooted across the open area to the house. No way was I leaving until I knew who lived inside.

Eleven

    “ D oes this look all right?” Dressing for a society luncheon was not on my list of top ten favorite pastimes and neither Marty nor Penny had been any help, so I accosted Leo as he answered the door.
    Standing in the foyer of my in-laws estate in Cambridge was like entering a new world. The floor was Italian marble, the statuary classic Roman design and the curtains were thick, allowing only the softest glimmer of light in to illuminate the interior. I’d only been to the estate a handful of times, but on every visit I couldn’t help but hum that ditty from Sesame Street. One of these things is not like the other…. My Gap pants and faux Prada purse certainly didn’t belong.
    Leo ushered me into one of the many sitting rooms and turned me around for a 360 degree inspection. “I like the pearl color of the blouse on you, very new money in combo with the black slacks, if you get my drift, but those shoes—”
    I held up a hand to his lips. “I know they’re awful but I didn’t want my feet to freeze.”
    “How many times do I need to tell you, invest in a pair of classic black pumps and you won’t go wrong.” It wasn’t a question.
    “I’ve told you I can’t walk in heels,” I shuffled my gray winter boots, adjusting the pants so they hid more of my footwear. “Picture me in heels, walking across an icy parking lot. Now look me in the eye and tell me the vision doesn’t include an ambulance.”
    “Darling, where you’re going, you won’t have to walk further than the valet drop off in front of the building.”
    I cringed. “Yikes. This doesn’t sound good for me. Got any tips, oh czar of haute couture ?”
    Leo leaned in and wrapped an arm around my shoulder. “You look great and unfortunately it’s too late to do much about the shoes, but your manner needs some work.” He had the grace to shift his weight and glance away.
    “Hit me,” I sighed.
    “Well, you need to remember not to exhibit fear. Show no weakness. They can smell the stink of apprehension like bears emerging from hibernation. So whatever you do, don’t limp or you’re done for.”
    I glared at him as he fiddled with my diamond necklace. “Way to pep me up before the big game there coach. Now that you’ve filled my head with that lovely comparison, how do you suggest I cage the fear?”
    He winked at me. “You could go with the classic ‘picture them in their underwear’.”
    Gack. Not if I didn’t want to gauge out my own eyeballs.
    “Seriously Maggie, You’re a hard working self-employed woman with a hotty of a hubby who comes from money. Do you really feel inferior to Laura’s gaggle of persnickety geese?”
    Yeah, I did, but I wasn’t about to reveal that to Leo, who was a God, but his resume said otherwise and he might take offence. “Speaking of my self-employment, I made a few calls this morning and I have some leads