Richard believed it was called “gloaming”; the sun had not yet risen, but there was enough light in the sky to make a feeble attempt to banish the darkness. The pulled blinds and open windows of his office let in the sweet feeling of a new day dawning. He’d have to shut it all down a few minutes after the sun’s sweltering rays ruined the brief pastoral interlude, but for the moment, he could enjoy it. Besides, it was easier to get rid of the dust if the metal desk fan blew it outside into the street. All he had to do was stir it up.
He ripped open a new pack of manila folders; they even had that new-manila-folder smell. He labeled them as needed, and stuffed loose papers inside, organized vaguely by category. Most applied to cases he had closed, or at least stopped working on, so they were easy to sort. The folders flew into the filing cabinets almost as quickly as he could fill them; his somewhat linear working style simplified the task greatly, even if having only one case at a time was bad for both business and his stress level.
In the middle of one of the many disheveled stacks, he suddenly stopped and gaped. Taking hold of a small collection tied together with a binder clip, he realized it was last year’s tax return. Skimming through it quickly, he finally found the relatively generous sum he was entitled to receive. Continuing to read, he saw all the deductible expenses that overwhelmed his minuscule income, justifying that refund. He shook his head dejectedly as he dug for an envelope large enough for it. He vowed to post it soon; any money flowing in, from any source, would be appreciated.
Richard noticed the blinding brightness of the sun a moment before the unrelenting heat. He looked around his office; most of the dust had either fallen onto the floor or blown out the window. He smiled; good enough. It was time to batten down the hatches, block out the ghastly weather, and switch to blasting the old rusty swamp cooler. It took the same type of freon as his car, giving it exactly two settings — “too cold” and “off”. Just the way he liked it.
Digging through the closet, he found an old carpet sweeper. He vaguely remembered rescuing it from the landlord, who was going to throw it away. Richard had been struck by its 1950s kitsch — the Fuller Brush name emblazoned across its top, the chrome handle, and especially the avocado paint with harvest gold highlights. They didn’t make them like this anymore! He cheerfully dug it out from behind several other disused tools and triumphantly pushed it around the floor. The disjointed grinding sound and the odd smell of old rubber added to his joyful morning ambiance. The bluesy saxophone once again stirred in his imagination.
Before long, he noticed it wasn’t collecting much debris. He opened it to find it was stuffed full. Shaking its contents into the trash can, another plume of dust rose, seemingly defeating the purpose. He grimaced as he went back to his task, but had to stop again only a minute later. He moved the disposal bin into the hallway and emptied the sweeper there; it could become someone else’s dust for a while. Grinning to himself, he realized that this was actually a sign that his rustic carpet sweeper did a good job. A short while later, the floor was borderline presentable.
He surveyed his handiwork. There was still more to do, but his office hadn’t looked this good in…he really couldn’t remember. Just the sight of more order than disorder seemed to cheer him up. He wondered why he didn’t do this more often, and then the obvious struck him; because it wasn’t every day that he expected to receive a lovely lady visitor.
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The sound of the incoming text-message hadn’t stirred him out of sleep immediately; he dimly pondered what the noise meant before the meaning pushed its way through his mental haze. He bolted awake when he saw it was from Alexandra. She wanted to talk to him, but it had to be an early appointment, so she still had time to get ready for her job, and would 8 AM work for him? In an instant, he texted back affirmatively. The thought of being graced by her voluptuous presence got his blood pumping, and he soon realized he’d never get back to sleep. So, after a quick shower and a perfunctory breakfast, he had high-tailed it to the office, finally filled with the energy he needed to tackle its inadvertent homage to wartime Warsaw.
Richard checked the time. Still forty minutes before her arrival! He’d actually have a chance for some optional chores. Grabbing some paper towels and window cleaner, he went to work on the film-covered glass. It seemed gratuitous to clean something that’d never be seen behind the blinds, but that’s what made it feel so good. As he moved on to the furniture and filing cabinets, he realized he didn’t have any other cleaning sprays. He shrugged and sprayed window cleaner all over his desk and the filing cabinets; it only needed to be wet in order to pick up the dust. He even made a pass at the more accessible sections of the wall. Hopefully, the smell of ammonia would fade before his ravishing guest arrived.
Finally, he carried all the garbage outside, and had a chance to sit in his chair, relax, and try to calm himself before her blessed egress. He checked the time again; ten minutes to go! Not bad at all! If only he could maintain this motivation all the time…he’d have a decent chance of succeeding in this field. It was no mistake, he decided, that detective movies usually started with a comely customer — perhaps that was necessary to get the action moving. Screenwriters knew the score.
Only a few minutes to go. He swiveled around in his chair, the better to behold the glory of his newly-polished office. He stopped suddenly and gaped at the window. The blinds were just as dirty as they had ever been! Quickly, he looked for something he could use to clean them. The worn-out feather duster was a possibility, but that would just stir up choking clouds of sediment. Paper towels and window cleaner would work, but there were too many slats to clean individually in the time remaining. With a defeated sigh, he realized that the blinds were pretty much the same color as the dust anyway. Turns out there was some wisdom to using the classic neutral tan that outfitted most offices.
His mind drifted to the approaching wonderment. She would rap softly on the door, somehow making even that act elegant. The door would open slowly, the hinges squeaking for dramatic effect, as it revealed her pert form and graceful curves. Their eyes would lock, and between them would pass a deep understanding, a subliminal connection, as if they had known each other all their lives, just waiting for this moment to arrive. He would thrill at the knowledge that his soulmate was devastatingly attractive, in one fell swoop making up for years of deprivation and humiliation. Good things were bound to come to him eventually; why not right now? “Do you mind if I take off my clothes?” he could hear her say. The thin robe would fall away, fluttering teasingly to the ground, unveiling her silky, ivory skin and delicate toes. The vision of her loveliness would hit him like six airborne kittens, baring their teeth and claws as they impacted — jarring, but adorable. A soft, warm light would appear behind her, highlighting her glorious silhouette before somehow bursting through her, flooding the room with its brilliance as a chorus of angels sang their praises—
“Detective Schmutz?”
Richard blinked. Alexandra was standing before him, a puzzled look on her face.
He blinked again. She was naked.