Welcome to Cerise Gates (Sierra-117 & Sensualist)

[Sensualist]

As Jacob Kelly pulled his pick-up truck through the wrought iron entrance to Cerise Gates, a convoy of luxury cars made their way in the opposite direction. The men – mostly men – behind the wheels of the pricey, polished Maseratis and BMWs fiddled with their hands free phones or listened to the stock prices as they made their way towards the city's glass towers of high finance, entertainment industry and media palaces and halls of government. His beaten-up vehicle with the tool boxes and maintenance gear in the back looked positively schlubby by comparison, and was the only one travelling into the gated community.

The gates slid quietly shut behind him, and he drove through the private streets lined with palm trees, neatly manicured hedges and rose bushes, between elegant colonial hacienda-style houses and glitzy McMansions. Money was on full display in every oversized abode. A few residents were out and about this morning; women in brand-name jogging gear, or walking fluffy little yappy purse-dogs, or taking pumpkin soy lattes in the local café. Jacob caught more than a few curious glances coming his way as he drove through and pulled up at the maintenance shack.

His shack.

The new job seemed simple enough: do everything. He was Cerise Gates' new Mr. Fixit, plumber, electrician, cleaner, exterminator, lawnmower... whatever needed doing to keep the residents in the luxurious style they were accustomed to, was his problem. Jacob checked the smartphone he'd been issued with his supervisor, which collected requests and reports from the residents and set his daily schedule. Even it was top of the line – he guessed that it just wouldn't do for the rich folks to see even their handyman toting around something less than brand-new. The first thing on his docket seemed to be an electrical fault at the Harrison house. They didn't have numbers here, just ostentatious, gilded ownership plates.