Challenge: Job

Lost my job. No income, but I have high standards. I need a job. All my so called friends are looking out for me. Will surely give me a ring they have found something for me. Something better. It has been three months now, and still nothing happened. My savings are almost gone. Clubs, parties, the rent. I'm broke. Life is expensive in this city.
So I take this crappy job. Catering, cleaning, some security measurement, do what's necessary, what comes on my path. It is in the evening. In a creepy empty building. A concert venue or something. Don't know. Don't care. It is empty and creepy. And most of the time I am the only one here. Apart from the security guard that locks up after me.
My shift just started. I read what I have to do on a chart.
Tonight some band is rehearsing. So now I am not alone. Technicians, managers, crew and members of that band should be around and be serviced. A band. that's good. I like music. I'm wearing this old t-shirt, baggy jeans and a beanie because my hair is a mess. I have prepared a trolley with drinks and all kinds of snacks. Cheese, chips, nuts, dip and French bread in slices. I enter the hall, make a lot of nose, stumble over a cable while pushing the trolley to the middle of the floor in front of the stage. Some entrance. It is really dark in here and appears deserted. I take a deep breath, cough and yell.
"Snacks and drinks! Come and get it. Snacks and drinks."
Silence.
"Snacks and drinks! Come and get it."
"What the fuck do you think you're doing!" A deep angry voice sounds through an amplifier thing.
I look up the stage.
Darkness.
"We are in the middle of a sound check, you idiot." The voice says.
"Just doing my fucking job, sir, no need to get pissed." I respond cranky.
I hear a small chuckle.
"Your job..."
"Okay, lights. One and four, operator follow spot 1200 standby , front." I hear another voice calling.
And the next thing I know is that I am standing in the middle of the beam of a spotlight. Can't see a bloody thing.
I'm scared, but I straighten my back, throw my head back and say loud and clear: "Beverages, appetizers. Beer, water, anything and more. Whatever."
"Break." Another voice calls. And then from every angle in this darkness people appear and plunder my car. Grateful, polite, greedy. I came at the right moment apparently.
Then the deep voice behind me. Hand on my shoulder. "Don't you have any wine?"
I turn. A silhouette. A crown of wet golden hair, gleaming shoulders. I put my hand above my eyes to block out the light.
"There is wine, sir, not the best though. But I can get you some if you want."
"No thanks, Gatorade perhaps?"
"Sorry sir. Not in my trolley. In the canteen. I'll dash and get it."
He takes a small step forward. In the spotlight now also. I gasp. The guy is gorgeous.
My hand drops. I realise I stare. He smiles. Wants to say something but the next moment he is surrounded by a couple of busy talking people zooming in at him and he walks away, absorbed and concentrated.
And I turn and sprint back to the canteen, open cupboards, pantries, boxes. Nothing. Snatch my coat from the coat rack, run to the nearest night shop, buy some bottles of good quality Italian wines. Out of breath I return to the venue, to the canteen, grab a corkscrew and get into the hall again. To my trolley. To my spotlight.
They started practicing again. Guitar riffs. Drums. And that deep voice. "Echo, echo, echooooooo." And a wordless melody.
I lift one of the bottles and yell. "Sir! I've got some if you want it!"
Silence.

Oh, I'm so ashamed. Don't know what came over me. After disturbing that sound check again a man came from behind and shoved me out of the hall. Thanked me and said he didn't want me in there again. Said that I was a crazy woman and that he would talk to my boss about this.
So now I'm sitting here. Thinking about my sin. One of those bottles in my hand. Barolo no less. I am crazy. Why would I buy wine for that guy? There was enough other stuff.
Shit. And I am probably going to lose my job.
Hand on my shoulder.
"You alright?"
Hassan, the security guard has come to tell me, that they had finished, and almost everybody was gone so I can go about the rest of my cores.
"They're gone? Oh thanks. Don't want to see them again. Made a complete fool of myself."
I get a mop and a bucket with soapy water, go to the toilets -put a bin in front of the door so it won't fall in the hinge all the time- and I start cleaning. With a wrinkled nose and plastic gloves I swipe the urinals. And I sing. I can't sing, but I sing. Loud and out of tune.

Oh baby, let's get down tonight, ohh

Baby, I'm hot just like an oven
I need your lovin'
And baby, I can't hold it much longer
It's getting stronger and stronger
I hear a door slam in the corridor. I thought I was alone in this section of the building.
Ah well, must have been Hassan, or one of the last technicians leaving. I refill my bucket again and splash lots of water in every filthy stinking corner. I mop, I splash I refill and I sing.

And when I get that feeling
I want Sexual Healing
Sexual Healing, oh baby
Makes me feel so fine
Helps to relieve my mind
Sexual Healing baby, is good for me
Sexual Healing is something that's good for me

It's clean. And I'm dripping wet. I put away the bucket in the broom cupboard and get out a big dustbin on wheels to empty the smaller bins in. I start with the offices. One, two, next is a locker room, other is a dressing room. Before I put my hand on the door handle I hear music. A guitar. I think. Sounds like a guitar. I curse. I want to go home. I need to finish this. I raise my hand to knock, but then I hear the tune that is played. And soft humming. What I was singing just now. But in tune.

Get up, get up, get up, get up
Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up

A bit shocked to hear that song I take a clumsy step back and kick over the big dustbin. Loud clanging.
Hands on my ears.
"Fuck this." I mutter.
Door opens. Amused face looks me up and down. The gorgeous wine guy.
I stare at him again. Still with my hands on my ears. Panic stricken. I am an idiot. True.
He picks up the dustbin, throws some rubble back into it, wipes his hands on his ass, eh, pants and smiles at me.
"No harm done. You should chill out a bit, girl. Let's get that cheap wine you said you got."
"Oh no, not cheap! I...wait!"
And I run away to get the bottles of Barolo I bought.
When I return he is sits and is playing this guitar, no, it is a ukulele. Plucking and then writing in some notebook.
"I bought this. Thought that maybe you'd like it?" And I hand him the bottle.
"My favourite. How did you know?" He takes the corkscrew I brought and opens the wine. Smells the cork, smells the wine. Offers me the bottle.
"Here. Take a sip. Cheers."
So I do. I take a sip. A large one. And I don't open my mouth. The wine streams over my chin, in my neck, over my already wet t-shirt.
"Oh, jesus..."
"What did you do to yourself? Did you swim here? You're wet and so stressed." a broad grin at his face.
He looked straight at my tits shimmering through the t-shirt, without shame. Makes me feel kind off tingly.
"Come here." He says. Knocking at the space next to him on the couch.
I sit.
"Do you smoke?"
"No."
"Mind if I do?"
"No."
So I sit next to this man. This handsome man with long beautiful hair and an attractive short beard. I sit with my hands in my lap. All stiff and straight, like a broomstick and he asks if I'm alright. Says I act kind of weird all evening. Asks me what is wrong. Nobody has asked me how I was doing the last couple of months, not my friends, not my parents, nobody. But this guy, a stranger, asks how I am doing. And I break down. I cry. And not a bit. No, I wail.
"Hey, hey, hey," he soothes me. Gently putting his arms around me and petting me on by back. "Now, now, now." Like some dear uncle.
He tries to dry my face with his shirt. Then he hands me the bottle again and says that this time I have to open my mouth.
"We don't want to waste this precious liquid."
I snort and trying to be brave I take some gulps and give him the bottle. Give him a shaky smile. He drinks without losing eye contact. I usually don't like blue eyes, everybody has blue eyes -or the colour of an overcast sky, but his are like the ocean on a clear and sunny day. Heaven. And there is that tingling feeling in my stomach again. I reach for the bottle and take some more gulps. The Barolo does it's work. Tipsy already.
"I lost my job. I was on my way to hit the ceiling. Top of the bill and al that. And now I have nothing. I am a nobody. A loser. Nobody loves me." I sniff.

After one bottle of wine we open a next. I tell him my story. How I ended up here, cleaning toilets. He listens. Asks the right questions. A really, really nice guy.
And then I jump up. Clap my hands together and grab him by the shoulders and put my forehead against his. Like I've know him for years.
"Just remembered!" I say. "I've got some good pot in my bag. Pre-rolled. Shall I fetch it?" And before he says anything I dash of and run to the canteen where my things are.
In the canteen Hassan is drinking tea.
"How's it going?" He asks. "Why are you so dirty? Next time wear an apron when you go cleaning. You messed up your clothes."
"Yes, thanks," I say. "Hassan, when are you gonna close up the building?"
"Oh, take your time," he winks.
What the fuck does he know? I wonder, snatching my bag and running back to the dressing room. The guy is still there. Reading, this time. Hair falling over his face. He looks up when I enter.
Big smile. Tingles.
"Taraa." I hold the pre-rolled weed up.
I plump down next to him and light the joint. Take a long drag and hand it to him.
"Why are you still here?" I ask when we have finished smoking in silence.
"I heard you sing." He says.
"You're kidding me. I sing horrible."
"Yes, you do."
I thumb him in his side. He laughs. We mock fight a bit. He grabs my hands. Pulls me towards him. Holds my face in his two hands. Intense stare.
"You are a weird girl."
"I'm perfectly normal."
"Sing for me."
"Now who's weird."
"Here," he pats on his lap. "Rest you head and sing for me."
"What shall I sing?"
"Whatever comes to mind."
"Oh. I won't do that to you." I say.
He chuckles.
"What?"
"No, nothing. I'll sing the next thing that comes to mind."
I rest my head in his warm lap. He takes of my beanie and strokes my hair. I'm dizzy. I close my eyes. The room turns. I never sang for anybody. Not in my whole life.
But I open my mouth, take a deep breath and I sing.

Born under a bad sign.
I've been down since I began to crawl.
If it wasn't for bad luck,
I wouldn't have no luck at all.

It doesn't matter that I can not sing. My head is coddled, being caressed by able hands. I feel safe and comfortable with my head on his legs. My voice is low for a girl's, and I don't do high tones, but I'm alright. And so is he because I feel something stirring against my cheek.

Bad luck and trouble's my only friend,
I've been down ever since I was ten.

I press my cheek a bit more against him. No, I do not imagine things. He has a bulge, and it growing. I turn my head a bit. The corner of my mouth now touches the swelling in his pants. His hands caressing my hair slows.

You know, wine and women is all I crave.
A big bad woman's gonna carry me to my grave.

I shift my head some more. Now my mouth is pressed against him. His hand tangles my hair. My singing only some muffled words. My hand slides under his shirt. His skin is warm and smooth. Slowly I bite his crotch, not hard, just a bit, playful. He unbuttons his pants, lifts his butt a bit from the couch, so I can help him undo them.
As I watch his erect manhood, marveling, I hear whistling and footsteps in the corridor. Someone is coming!
I get up. Run to the door, and look through the crack and see Hassan approaching.
He sees me. Gestures at his watch and then to the exit doors.
"Times up." He says.
And then to the man who was standing behind me. Clothes all decent again. Oh well. Decent. Not really.
"Sorry, mister Vedder, I have to close up now."
"It's alright, Hassan. I'll get my things and come with you."

And so the three of us walk to the exit. Hassan closes the door. Outside a big car is waiting. The guy turns to me. Lifts my chin. Kisses my lips. Hugs me. Then gets a small piece of paper from the pocket of his jacket, hands it to me.
"Tomorrow night. And thank you." he whispers and steps into the car.

As I watch the car drive away in total disbelieve I drop the card.
Mister fucking Vedder, I think, and walk away -still flushed.

Hassan picks up the paper. Backstage pass, it says.