The house had that something special right from the start. A huge Victorian just outside of town, on three acres, in need of a little plaster, a little paint, it looked just shabby enough to drive the price down. But it was built like a Sherman tank, and once I fixed it up, the price would soar.
I'd made my living for eight years remodelling the homes I occupied and harvesting the increase in value. This was definitely the best investment I'd ever made.
I moved in the minute escrow closed, eager to start work. In a week I had the weeds mowed, lumber and new tools bought, and a fireplace insert installed and cooking. I called my girl friend, figuring I deserved a little reward for all my good honest labor. Great, she said. Seven o'clock.
I rubbed soot off the mantle, the last of the debris left from the modifications to the hearth, and stepped back to admire the gleam of the mahogany. I smiled and pranced upstairs to get cleaned up, only then noticing how grey the skies had grown.
Rain pounded on the gables an hour later as I headed for the front door, car keys in hand. The phone rang.
"It's Trudy," she said. "This storm's awful. Let's try another night."
I didn't argue. Get her mad and next date, she wouldn't put out. But I hoped the damned storm made her roof leak.
It was time for a new girl friend. Past time. Trouble was, I didn't meet many women, working solo at home as I did.
Looked like another night by the VCR with my videos. I opened up the cabinet with my tape library. Before I could make a selection, the electricity went out.
"Shee-it," I said, having not the slightest idea which of my still-packed boxes contained my candles and oil lamps.
Just as I nabbed my flashlight from my tool chest, a knock echoed through the foyer.
I opened the front door. A young woman stood on my porch, drenched from head to toe. A blonde, tall and slim, with tits to dream about.
"Can I help you?" I asked, riveted to the sight of the nipples poking through her thin and now virtually transparent university polo shirt. What the hell was she doing out so lightly dressed in November?
"I just had a car accident," she said, voice so soft I knew she'd had the loudness frightened right out of it.
"Come in," I said. She inched inside like she'd forgotten how to walk, almost tripping on the doorsill. "Are you okay?"
"I think so," she said. "But my car won't start."
I gave her a blanket and told her to sit by the fire. I found one of the oil lamps and lit it. A hint of color crept back into her cheeks.
"You're not hurt?" I asked, just to make sure.
"No," she said, voice stronger.
I believed her this time. "I'll go out and check the car. You stay here and get warm."
"Thanks."
I found the car wrapped around a utility pole not far from the end of my driveway. The sight nearly made me lose my grip on my umbrella.
I'd seen worse, but only in a wrecking yard. The girl was one lucky cookie to have walked away without a scratch. Suddenly I was worried about her. Only someone truly dazed would have tried to restart that. I hurried back to the house.
She sat by the fire, cocooned in the blanket. She smiled at me. Her clothes lay spread on the bricks, drying.
"You'll definitely need a tow truck," I said.
"I knew that," she said. "I don't know why I let you go out. Guess I wasn't thinking straight."
That, at least, made sense. I called the nearest towing service.
"Can't do it yet," the dispatcher said. "The storm's got us hopping. It'll be at least two hours."
"No problem," I said. "We'll be here."
The girl didn't seem too upset. "Maybe my clothes will be dry by then."
The comment drew my glance to the panties hanging from the mantle. She was stark naked under that blanket. As she shifted, the cocoon partially unwrapped. I glimpsed the tops of the fine breasts I'd already seen through the polo shirt.
Might not be a lost evening after all. "What's your name?" I asked.
"Roxane," she said. "With one 'n'."
"Well, Roxane. Looks like you stole my electricity."
"Not all of it, I hope," she said, and smiled. She glanced past me to the dining room table. "Is that wine?"
The bottle I'd wrapped up for my date with Trudy rested there. I poured us each a glass.
As she leaned forward to take hers, the blanket shifted again, exposing a portion of smooth white thigh. Lordy. She was choice.
"I can't thank you enough for all your help," she said. "I don't know what I can do to repay you."
"I'll ... think of something," I said, coughing wine.
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