Page 34 of My Boss

TS

I glance at my watch. 12:07 p.m. Okay, a quick shower and I’ll beready.

It’s 12:25 p.m. when I step out of the shower with wet hair. I’m almost ready. Let’s hope the guy isn’t on time, because…

The intercom bell rings.

Holy shit. Jesus, how I hate it when someone comes early. I hastily wrap my hair with a towel, put on my bra and panties, and slip my foot into the leg of my jeans… Come on! I balance on one foot, falter, lose my balance… Oh, shit! I grab the edge of the sink, my wet hand slides over it, I crash to the ground, and bang my head against the toilet. I rub my shoulder against the toilet brush, I fall face down on the tiles, straight into the pool of disgusting water from the brush container. Fuck!

I bounce up like an ass and bang my head against the toilet.

“OUCH!!!”

Christ Almighty. I collapse to the floor again. I see only darkness, my head throbs, my ears ring. Ding-a-ling-a-ling!

It’s the church bells. I must have died.

Rrrrrrring!

No. It’s the intercom. I’m trying to get up. The wing armchair, the customer, I have to get up.

I scramble up with a groan; my head hurts like hell and I literally smell like shit. Note to self—empty the toilet brush container at least twice a week, not just on Christmas Day.

Rrrrrrring!

Wait a minute, you asshole! I’m coming! I pull on my pants, stand up, lean against the sink, and look in the mirror… Mother of God, have mercy on me! I have a red bump the size of a grapefruit on my forehead.

Rrrrrrring! Rrrrrrring!

The sound of the bell pierces my brain. I’ll kill the guy, I swear.

I rush to the hallway. Just as I walk over to the intercom to pick up the entry phone receiver, there is a knock on the door.

I shudder, look through the peephole, and see… a muscleman. Ms. Ala is standing right next to him. Jesus, the guy looks like a thug.

What the…?

I grab the broom I keep by the door, turn the lock and open to face my neighbor and the customer. They both fix their gaze on my chest and part their lips.

I instinctively follow their gaze and… Oh, shit! In addition to the fact that I’m in just a bra, there’s a gross wet spot on my skin. And from what? From the sludge from the toilet brush container. By God, how much of it was there?Blah!

“Maria, the man came to pick up the wing armchair.”

I look at Ms. Ala. She seems a little embarrassed. I shift my gaze to the muscleman, and he keeps staring at my breasts. Well, let him look. I have bigger things to worry about.

“Ms. Ala, why do you let strangers in?” I look again at my neighbor. “I asked you so many times, no flyers, no strangers…”

“But this gentleman is not a stranger.”

“What do you mean?” I glance at the hunk. He had thick black eyebrows, a wide jaw, and a tattoo on his neck. He’s built like a brick shithouse and is about my age, and he is not the type to play bridge with Ms. Ala.

“We have met before. This nice gentleman brought your chair,” she stammers a little. “I just don’t understand why you want to give it back now, if you liked it so much.”

“Give it back?” I shift my gaze to the muscleman, and he is still standing in the same position like a wax figure, with his eyes fixed on my boobs. Who is this guy? “Are you the TS?”

No response.

“Hello, sir?” I wave the broom in front of his face. “Are you the one who ordered the wing armchair?”

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