Father's Mechanic (rpfiend_123 & AndNich123)

[AndNich123]

Marigolds. She hated them. Her mother had insisted on having them planted. Honestly she expected her to want something more exotic, but instead she had shocked her wanting Marigolds. The harvest orange color decorated the side of the house, looking out towards the pool and the pool house. Perhaps she knew no one would ever see them. That would make her choice understandable. A woman with such exceptional taste and a flair for the ostentatious certainly shouldn’t be settling for a flower as simple as a marigold. They swayed and bobbed in the breeze, without a care in the world. Asters. Yes. Asters. She would have preferred them to Marigolds. So simple. So plain. They were a flower she could relate to. No. She was doomed to look at these flowers, these growing contradictions that the gardner tended to. She could always tell him her mother had changed her mind and wanted Asters planted there. It wasn’t as if she would notice anyway. The thought drew a smile from her lips as she stared hidden somewhat behind her curtain. Yes. It was indeed a thought worth looking into.

Callie’s mother had taken a holiday. Again. So making such a change would be easy. Jet setting off to some country overseas, the woman was intent on finding the one thing she simply couldn’t live without. If diamonds are a girl’s best friend, then her mother wanted to grow inner circle of acquaintances by leaps and bounds. In fact, she was even well associated with all of diamond’s close friends. Rubies, emeralds, sapphires, and peals. Gold was a distant cousin, and she of course knew him well. The right earrings could frame a face perfectly. A proper bracelet simply completed an outfit, and of course a necklace adorned with precious jewels was a must have. Her mother had her vices. This was certain, but so does her father.

If it were not for his work ethic and success, her mother couldn’t afford the lavish lifestyle she was so accustomed to. If spending money was her pleasure, then earning it was his passion. They went together like peanut butter and jelly. He made the cash, and she spent it. Whatever the dynamics of their relationship, it worked. A happy marriage was another trophy for him to display to magazines and newspapers when they came asking questions for various interviews. The family’s picture had been on display more than the Hope Diamond, and that of course was making a statement. It said they were a happy, close family, but of course that was only in print. In color, amid glossy pages, it looked perfect as he spoke of his wife and daughter and how he had made his millions. In reality the only time he ever had any dealings with his daughter was when he placed his hand on her back or shoulder for the camera. She was a stranger to him behind closed doors, and for the public, she was just another prop used for status purposes. His true baby, or babies as it was, were his cars. Jacob Coleman loved his cars, and he went to great lengths to acquire and care for them. Even his best efforts fell short though. Time away left his cars in need of repair and upkeep, and he certainly didn’t have the time to devote to it. All he wanted was his cars ready for his use at his beckon call, and for that, he needed to hire someone to make sure that happened.

As it was, he was leading around his newest employee. She watched her father pointing out the key points of the property. The pool house was to be his. Father simply would never allow the help to reside inside the main house. What would their high society friends think if they knew? Perish the thought. Of course she was sure he was not to be allowed inside the main house either. No smoking, no drinking, and of course no sexual partners were allowed on the grounds either. If he wanted to indulge in the company of someone else, he would have to find other arrangements. Father couldn’t risk a scandal breaking out among the tabloids. Again, perish the thought. The only job this man had was the cars. She saw father handing him a key. Was there a separate entrance to his garage that she didn’t know about? Her fingers gripped the curtain and pulled it back slightly. Callie didn’t want him to see her. She didn’t want her father noticing either, though the chances of that were slim. Carefully she studied him. The way he walked, his body language with her father, how he was dressed, everything about him really. He was new, a stranger who she wasn’t sure belonged here. Time would certainly tell. Her father was looking at him as if he were some lowly being, a weed among the grass of his perfect world that needed to be plucked, and yet he knew he needed him. That fact alone must have burned him up inside. He actually needed this man. Jacob Coleman hated needing anyone, but if he wanted his babies taken care of, he would need this man. Her mother would certainly not care for him either. Yes, it was clear he did not fit in. Callie already began to make guesses as to how long he would last here. It would be a struggle between her parents as to if he stayed. ‘A week. Tops,’ she thought, still looking down at him. ‘Yeah. One week. Don’t get too comfortable here.’

 

[rpfiend_123]

The faint scent of aftershave lingered in the air as the man in the impeccably tailored suit walked away from him. It would soon be replaced by the not-so-faint musk of gasoline, grease, and tide laundry detergent that seemed to constantly surround the one left standing on the concrete, feet from the entrance to a modestly sized pool house. A grimace overtook the manufactured smile on his face as his newest employer walked away from him. It wasn't that he hated the wealthy; on the contrary, he'd been almost exclusively employed by men wealthier than him many times over. It was these same numerous encounters with rich people that had left him with a certain perspective - a certain expectation, if you will, that the well off rarely seemed to surpass.

It seemed that Mr. Coleman was no different than his last few benefactors. The air of superiority that eaked from every pore in the man's body was palpable; from the way he stood and walked to the way he talked down to him. But Micah took it in stride. Ever since he left home right after high school and set out on his own - he'd leaned to have thick skin and a humble attitude. It was this personality, combined with his work ethic, that had landed him some choice apprenticeships with some brilliant minds of the mechanic world. Now, it seemed, he was on the other side of it, and had made a respectable living maintaining luxury autos for the rich and famous. This, though, was something of a peculiar arrangement.

Previously, he had just stopped by his client's homes and garages when work needed to be done. He would show up for the day, work until the job was complete, and leave. Never had he been offered lodging as well as pay in exchange for his services. It was this unique experience, along with the list of dream-cars that Mr. Coleman owned, and Mike was keen to work on, that had made him so willing to agree to the terms of the contract. Although, as he had just found out, his new gig came with some strict guidelines. It was these guidelines that he'd been mulling over in his head as he turned on his heel to walk along the side of the pool house to the several-doored garage that would be his place of work as long as he was employed here.

At 6' 3", he was quite an imposing figure; and years of his strenuous occupation had left him broad and muscular. He was in his late 30s, yet time's toll on his body seemed to just be beginning. The slightest hint of grey was beginning to twinge in his jet black hair, and his grey eyes were accented with wrinkles from where he squinted against the brightness of shop lights. His skin was naturally tanned due to the Spanish heritage from his mother's side, and where his wrists were exposed just a bit from the cuffs of his long sleeved shirt, bright colors of what appeared to be sleeves of tattoos peeked out.

He wasn't too concerned with the 'no smoking' rule - he'd quit a few years back - beyond that, he had his gin and whiskey vices he could keep well slated from the roomy kitchen in his pool house. It was the "no entertaining female companions" rule that had him most worried. "There are ways around that." he thought to himself, remembering the days of sneaking girls in and out of his room in high school. "Besides, it's not like he'll come around much." Again, he knew how the elite treated their help; he'd be fine.

He slid open a black electric panel on the far end of the garage and typed in a 4 digit code, opening a side door and stepping in to flip on the lights. The expanse of the garage was breathtaking to those who appreciated that sort of thing. The floors glistened with a shiny black, freshly waxed sheen. The stark red of the tool chests lining the spotless white walls looked enticing to him. He headed over, opening a few drawers and starting seemed to be a bottomless inventory. He only made it through a few before he realized he'd need to get settled in the pool house before he could truly feel free to start in on his work. With that, he flipped the lights off and headed back to the pool house to unpack.

The next few days at the Coleman residence was uneventful for him. He'd get up in the morning, make coffee and breakfast in his kitchen and sit out on the patio surveying the lawn maintenance crew fastidiously prune and mow. It truly was like eden surrounding his little corner of the estate. Then he'd get dressed in his 'work issued' clothing - which he found ridiculous. It's not like he was at a real garage with a brand to promote. But nevertheless, he'd been issued a week's worth of long and short sleeved shirts - colored navy and grey, with his name embroidered on the side of them, just under the lapel, and "Coleman's Garage" in a retro script on the back.

He wasn't issued pants, or one of those goofy one-piece things that he hated wearing, so he just threw on some snug jeans that fit his muscular frame well for each day of work. One day, after he'd gotten the hang of where everything was and in what shape each automobile was, he'd decided it was a good day to spend some time under the hood of one of the beauty's Mr. Coleman owned. It was a sunny spring morning, so he opened up one of the garage doors and moved the car out just under the awning that the door made - and he set to work inspecting the black beauty.

 

[AndNich123]

They say everyone has an inner beauty. For some, it takes some care to bring it forward. Callie wasn’t like the flowers that seemed to spring up around the estate. She wasn’t tended to, pruned, and nurtured into a breathtaking young girl. She was the forgotten weed. Without the support of loving parents teaching her, guiding her, she became a wallflower content with blending in. The subtleties of her hair cut just the right way or highlights was lost on her. She had no idea how to properly make-up. In fact, she never wore it. Her glasses were not stylish, and her clothes seemed to belong to someone else, someone that didn’t even live there. Instead of this ravishing beauty, she appeared more like a school teacher. Her long, straight dark hair was always pulled back in a ponytail. Bangs covered her forehead, while loose strands of hair always seemed to escape the ponytail she tried so desperately to keep together. Black rimmed glasses that seemed almost out of place sat right in front of her brown eyes. Her face alone was enough to show the potential she had. She dressed in long sleeves and skirts that covered her legs down to her ankles. It was as if she belonged to some society that didn’t believe women should show any skin. Callie certainly didn’t think she should. It boggled her mind why anyone would want to see her body anyway. To her, she was nothing more than a plain, ordinary girl. When you’re raised to believe is beautiful about yourself, you tend to believe it.

She had watched him every morning. Like clockwork he always seemed to have the same routine, emerging from the pool house at the same time to go the garage. Callie would stand there, peering from behind the curtains once more. He was always dressed in that awful attire her father had given him. She knew the truth behind it. It wasn’t so that he wouldn’t soil his own clothes. It was to remind him of his place. Coleman’s Garage on the back. The letters practically screaming as he would make his way to his duties. He was nothing more than an employee, and this was her father’s attempt to make sure he never forgot that.

Even she was no exception to such treatment. Callie was at home, on vacation from the boarding school her parents had sent her to, one of the best in the country. It was an effort to rid the home, their lives, his life, from the responsibility of taking care of her. She didn’t need him to do so anyway. A girl of 16 could easily take care of herself. She was certainly capable of doing the chores he expected her to.

Callie wasn’t treated as family. There were no carefree days of lounging by the pool or riding horses. No. She was expected to pull her own weight. “Nothing is ever handed to you. You have to work for what you have. You have to take take take,” her father would say. So she was met with duties of her own. Assisting the yard crew, pool cleaning, tending to the stables, to assisting the maids, she would make her own rounds. A different post every week. The evenings were her own, and Callie took the time to relax. She had watched him leave, as she had done every morning since he arrived, and was now on her way towards the stables. Callie loved the horses. She could talk to them, as strange as that might sound to some. They didn’t judge. They simply listened. She liked that. It was freeing to saddle a black beauty and ride. With the wind in her face, all of her worries were behind her. She was stopped by one of the maids before she could leave the house. This woman appeared to be in a rush, and equally so, she was trying to be quiet about what she was asking Callie to do. Placing a container in her hands, she whispered to her to take it to the new employee. She wanted to make sure he had a proper lunch for later. Callie nodded and took the container from her. No other words were exchanged between them, simply a nod. Callie could feel her heart in her throat. It drummed on in her ears as she left the main house and headed towards the garage. The stables were in the other direction, but she knew something like this wouldn’t take long. ‘Maybe I’ll just leave it. He’ll find it. Surly he’ll smell the food. No. What if he doesn’t find it. I could just say hi and leave it. No. I can’t…..’ She stopped seeing the garage door open. He was there, working away already. Her fingers tightened their hold on the container as she approached closer. “Ex-cuse me,” she spoke to him, softly, her voice a bit shaky. “I have….this,” she told him, holding up the container, “for you. The cook….wanted you to have it.”

 

[rpfiend_123]

When Micah was working on cars, there was little that could distract him. It was equal parts interesting, soothing and exhilarating to him. His hands worked tirelessly, yet expertly along every part of the machine, like a rehearsed coreography of sorts. Twisting wrenches, removing parts for inspection, cleaning, oiling. It was something he could do for the rest of his life, even if he wasn't getting paid. Of course, the fact that he was making a living doing it was just as well. He was so entrhalled with his work on a car that he'd only dreamed of getting into that he didn't hear the faint clink of dishes on a silver tray, or small footsteps padding along the concrete leading up to the garage. It wasn't until he heard a small voice that he stopped and turned.

He saw a young girl standing there, holding food, and instinctively smiled, showing off his wide, white set of teeth. He was always known for his politeness and warmth at every past garage he'd worked, and he'd be damned if he was going to make this position the exception to that - even if his employer wasn't so cordial to him, he would at least be kind to the help - and that's exactly who he thought was bringing him his food.

"Hey, thanks!" He said, standing up and towering over the smaller statured girl. He produced a red cloth from his pocket and wiped thick, black grease from his calloused hands, tucking it away again before reaching over and taking the tray. "I was about to head back to the house for some food but you saved me a trip." He turned and set the tray down on a nearby tool chest then turned back to face the young woman. "I'm Micah." He stuck out his hand to shake hers, his toned forearm covered from wrist to elbow where his arm disappeared into his shirt, was covered in tattoos and a light glisten of sweat. As he stood, he noted all at once just how young she seemed - in his mind, a bit too young to be working here.

"Are you new as well? Or are your parents on staff here or something?" He waited for a response as he continued to note the plain, pretty features of the girl obscured by glasses and bangs - the length of her dress and the plainness of the rest of her outfit had him thinking it was another uniform he hadn't yet seen on a Coleman employee. "Man, and I thought my uniform was bad." He chuckled, trying to make light of the seemingly unfortunate situation he thought they were both in, of course, he was oblivious to the fact that he was speaking to his employer's daughter, and had he known, he never would have been so casual.

 

[AndNich123]

Tattoos. She couldn’t help but notice he had tattoos. They were a permanent mark on your body, one she would never be allowed to have. Most of the people her family associated with didn’t have them. They were looked down upon, but she to admit there was a certain fascination about them. It was a form of self expression, and she found beauty in the various colors and designs. To her, there was a story behind each and every one, and a story deserved to be heard. In noticing them, she had paused before reaching out to shake his hand. In that moment, when her soft skin connected with that of a working man’s hand, she thought about telling him her middle name. He may recognize her first name, and that might influence how he treated her. She liked being viewed as nothing more than the help. It had put her on the same playing field as him. Still, she heard her lips utter, “C-Callie. I’m….Callie.” Catching herself before her last name was spoken; she looked down at her own attire. Bad? Was her clothing really that bad? Granted it was an older dress, but she had thought she looked rather nice before leaving the house. Her hands were at her sides now, pulling on the fabric of her dress. It did have a certain burlap sack quality about it, but it was comfortable and cheap. It didn’t take something from a designer to shovel horse manure in. Those were saved for company events or one of the endless parties her family would throw. She and her mother were nothing more than trophies at those. At least her mother enjoyed it.

Looking up at him, she could feel her cheeks burning red. “The stables,” she said. “I’m working….the stables today.” She released her dress and felt the heels of her shoes click together, as if she were Dorothy trying to get back home as she stood along the yellow brick road. “My parents….work here.” It wasn’t a lie. They did in fact work there. A lie by omission is still a lie. Callie knew this, and she wasn’t one to lie. Despite enjoying not being looked at as better than him, which she feared he might, she couldn’t, and wouldn’t, lie to him. “My father….he….he is….Jacob….Coleman,” she told him, looking down as she spoke her father’s last name. There was a certain disappointment she feared that might be present in his eyes. Sometimes we meet someone, and while things are going fine, as soon as the status changes, so too does the relationship. It was clear every times someone found out exactly who she was. Her father wasn’t a well liked man among his employees, and being his daughter carried the consequences of that. Only those that truly knew her knew that she was nothing like him. Of course to find that out, one had to get past the wall that they usually put up as soon as they found out who she was. She wondered would he put up a similar wall?

Driven by the fear and disappointment that he might, she took a step back from him, still looking down. “There’s a phone….on the wall….over there,” she told him, pointing in the general direction where she knew it was. “A list of….extensions. The kitchen….the stables….they’re all on it. If you need….anything….just call. I uh….don’t mind….helping you….out! I don’t mind helping….out….I mean.” Callie had started to wring her hands at some point, unaware. Her anxiety levels were high. New people made her nervous. He..made her nervous. Still her eyes lifted, looking at his tattoos. “They’re….beautiful,” she said, shocked by the sound of the words coming from her mouth. “I….I think they’re beautiful. Tell me about them….sometime. I mean….I know you’re busy….and all.” She stumbled over her words, stuttering, sounding less and less like the well educated girl she was. It was unavoidable. It was who she was nervous and yet unable to simply turn and walk away. She was like a moth drawn to a flame that filled her with fear and perhaps something else that she didn’t quite know what it was.