Mr Computer Cleaner Ch. 02

"I always welcome a spouse being in attendance," replied Dio gravely.

"No worries mate, I was only kidding," Mr Manu said. He stepped out on to the terrace to look across to the driveway."

"Hey, nice wheels; is she a six or eight?

"Eight."

"Nice. Well, let's go inside and here's your money. Maggie knows the computer so will explain what she wants."

Maggie wasn't a beauty in looks, but Dio guessed her husband saw her differently, and he glimpsed that when she greeted him, her smile lighting her face and her lively green-eyes. She was also very pregnant.

"Our baby is due within two weeks," she explained. "We want him or her brought up in a beautiful environment, so Ricky and I agreed when we found that our baby was on the way that we would moderate our behavior – no more smoking weed, binge drinking or naughty parties but we'd forgotten the stuff we have on the computer. "I've trashed much of it, but am still occasionally finding things. I want you to remove all traces of anything dirty on it."

Dio loaded his special software. "This will search for adult-related images. It certainly will detect most of them. I need you to stay and to tell me which ones to delete as not all will be porn images, so you may wish to keep some of them."

Within fifteen minutes that was all done. Dio had time to fill.

"Look, tell me the names of songs or pieces of music you'd like your baby as an infant to hear. Some says it helps to develop music appreciation at any early age, even in the womb."

Maggie named twenty-two titles before faltering, and Dio said that would do. He then searched some music sites and downloaded the various files. He saved the file to disk under Baby's Music and cut two CDs.

"Keep one of these CDs in your music collection and another in your car. Babies often go to sleep when they hear familiar music."

"Oh, it's so good having an expert like you on the job, Dio. How many children do you have?"

"Pass, I'm a bachelor without a girlfriend."

"Oh my God, I've got a couple of friends who are not between the sheets at present who'd be all over you – you could choose, or perhaps they may want you to be with both of them."

"Well," said Dio blushing. "That is a very generous offer that I must decline with thanks."

"Oh, so you prefer male company?"

"Hell no, no way. It's just that this girl is dating me this Friday and perhaps she will take a fancy to me."

"Oh Dio, I'm so excited for you!"

"What's this; you're not exciting my wife are you? Too much excitement and you'll encourage her to break her waters."

"I have no desire to interfere with nature Mr Manu..."

"Call my Ricky.

"OK, and sorry, Maggie, please keep calm."

"Oh, don't take any notice of Ricky, Dio. He's a panic merchant. Ooh, baby's kicking – feel!"

Dio recoiled back two steps, but Ricky pushed him forward: "Go on mate, it's only her belly she is asking you to feel. Do it and experience a most wonderful feeling. The first time I felt it I was in tears – me, a former bar-room brawler."

Dio felt the baby's movements; it was rather an eerie experience. Slightly reminiscence of the first time he experienced penetration, he thought. Bodies were wonderful things.

"What do you think?" Maggie asked. "What did you think?"

He said it felt eerie. As sure as hell he wasn't going to mention that other thought, not with her solidly built husband standing behind him and saying something that could send her into shrieks of laughter, causing her waters to break.

"Dio, what a nice and unusual name," Maggie said, as he was leaving.

Oh no, don't name a boy Dio, thought Dio. He'll be teased.

"Dion has a little bit more class," he offered.

"Bye mate," said Ricky. "Thanks for helping to improve baby's environment."

Driving out of Buttercup Lane, Dio stopped and in his digital diary for the next two weeks placed an entry – Check birth notices Manu; send appropriate present. He resumed his calls, whistling 'Hush Little Baby'. His mom had always been singing as she'd performed her home duties and he'd picked up scores of songs from her – perhaps a hundred or more. During a lull in whistling and humming he suddenly remembered he was expected to make a nocturnal call on Louise next week when her husband was out of town. He phoned her to cancel, and she sounded very disappointed. But when he said he had a promising date she screamed with delight; a lovely woman was Louise.

* * *

Right on his planned time to be home by 4.00 on Friday afternoon, Dio unlocked the side door to his small weatherboard house with its grey-painted corrugated iron roof. He turned on the bath and added the last of his mom's favorite bath salts that she always used on special occasions – like having his father take her out to dinner, and that had been a rare event; the bath salts were probably a hundred years old!

He shaved and then went to get some clothes out and stopped dead. Oh hell he thought: formal or informal? He decided to go in-between, something that Nancy had always urged him to wear, something she'd called 'smart casual'.

He took out his favorite light blue sheen shirt, but then put it away again; dancing would show perspiration. He chose instead a dark linen shirt and a singlet to soak up any rampant moisture. Cotton navy pants came off the hanger and matching socks from the drawer. The black shoes – with leather soles good for dancing – were not shiny. He still hadn't got used to his mom not being around to polish his shoes. He went to the laundry and cleaned and polished them, thinking that any mother doing this chore for an adult son must truly love him.

That thought brought a gentle smile to his face, the kind of smile the mused his partner for the night may have observed when he first approached Carra when she was stranded. Of course, until getting a good look at him Carra may have been worried that she might be flagging down a clone of Jack and Ripper. Carra, thought Dio. Carra what?

He didn't even know her surname or even how old she was or where she lived or anything else about her, except she was a trainee events manager working for some outfit, she drove her mother's car and had access to a computer. Golly, he thought, I'm taking a bit of a risk going on a blind date with her. What if she is a nun's daughter? He thought about that, before accepting that was very unlikely a nun would have a child unless she was a naughty nun.

He poured a 'water on the rocks' and put on a Thelonious Monk re-issue on CD and wandered back to the bathroom just in time to avert a bathroom and hallway flood. After bathing, slicking down his hair and gargling two rounds of mouthwash, he lay back on the sofa and allowed Thelonious to send him into dreamland.

A loud banging on the door roused him and he raced to see who it was.

"Good evening," smiled Carra, looking great in a very short back dress with thin shoulder straps. "Is this the way to greet a lady?"

Now wide-awake, he realized what she was looking at; he was dressed only in his underpants. His hands leaped to protect himself from her gaze; he yelped and as he disappeared through the doorway called, "Please come in. Oh God, I am so sorry; I fell asleep until stirred by your knocking."

"So, it's my fault, is it?"

"Oh no, please. My fault entirely."

He was deeply into it; time to lie. "I was dreaming of you in a white ball grown and tiara when somebody knocked on the door."

"A tiara? Well, that suggests you've got some class. I perhaps could image you dreaming about me being totally undressed?"

Time to shift into neutral, defusing with a question: "Who, me?"

There was no answer until she called, "So you like Thelonious?"

"Yeah, my mom loved him and I loved the music she loved. I'm surprised that you even know him."

"Born during World War 1, pianist composer now dead, compositions including 'Round Midnight', '52nd Street Theme'. Want me to continue? Actually, it's you who has surprised me; next you will be telling me you know who Nora Jones is."

"Composer, pianist, singer – I'm currently playing one of her CDs in my ute and the second CD is there in front of you somewhere," said Dio, entering the room.

"My, you look nice though perhaps I preferred your earlier attire."

"Cheeky bitch."

"That's not nice."

"I know, but used with slight emphasis of endearment."

"Oh, my, and that's supposed to excuse your uncouthness?" she said, her pretty compact face full of smile.

"Of course."

"Well, who am I to argue that? Shall we go? As organizer I cannot be late. The Council is already indicating that I'm a luxury, that they only require one events organizer."

"What, you work for the District Council?"

"Yes, does that make me a less desirable date for you?"

"I really like that dress."

"Do you," she said doing a twirl. Mama wouldn't buy it when I saw it and wanted it, so I took daddy to look at it; I'm daddy's girl."

He didn't reply; he was too busy looking at her as she completed the twirl. Her legs were magnificent, and she was very pretty. But there wasn't much to her – her breasts would easily cup into his hands. He jerked upright. God, having carnal thoughts already! You slob.

"Come on, start your motor while I lock up," he ordered.

She walked out briskly, her hips swaying a little. He only just avoided walking into the door jam.

For a female, she was a good driver - very smooth, actually; taught very carefully and expertly by her father no doubt. That was worth checking.

"You drive very well. Who taught you?"

"Mama."

"What's her claim to fame?

"Mama's just mom these days. She has her own dance studio. Once she was quite famous as a horsewoman and then as an adult within the dancing set as a Latin American specialist."

"That's interesting," he said, aghast. A dancing instructor! He was going to take to the floor with the daughter of a dancing champion – a daughter who probably drove more smoothly that he did. It promised to be a disastrous night, with his big feet crushing her toes!

"Good evening, Miss Fleming," said the burly man at the door of the Events Centre, a hub of entertainment activities with several buildings that Carra told him proudly had won a national design award for the local architect. Dio had a practiced eye and could easily have said that the centre looked as if it comprised of surplus buildings trucked in off farms. However, a wise man does not be a smart-ass to a woman of note. A woman of note was – yes – one of his mom's sayings. Dio's heart had experienced a minor flutter at the door when he first saw Carra in that neat little black dress, and when she twirled his hormones began to race. A woman of note, indeed!

But he was a mature guy, thirty-two and in control. So he remained conversationally intelligent. But that was difficult. Each time he turned to talk to her in the car he'd catch the line of her face to those very tempting lips and then it was down to a gracefully arched neck. He'd just caught a fragrance of perfume he recognized as Nina Ricci something Temps and it almost became too much. His hormones were stampeding ... he needed a diversion and found it, realizing Carra was addressing the man at the door.

"Hullo, Stan," she said. "This is my partner's ticket."

Expecting Stan to sneer, thinking fancy letting a shelia pay you to dance with her, Dio got it wrong as usual.

"Very nice to see you with Miss Fleming; you make a nice couple."

"Thank you," said Dio. They walked through towards the reception room opening off the main gallery that Dio had to admit was very impressive.

"Stan knows I am Carra, everyone does. I'm only twenty but because I am a trainee manager I just manage to slip into managerial class, and when the public is around – that's you in this case; staff are required to address us formally; it's rather old fashion, but so are both the Mayor and CEO."

Dio was elated. He felt like kissing her. She was twenty, still twelve years younger than he was, but not nearly as bad had she been only eighteen. At twenty his friends might not notice the age difference if Carra and he went on to date regularly.

A woman in a long blue evening gown and a flower in her hair came up to them, her lined face crinkling further into a warm smile. "Oh Carra, my dear; this room has been done so beautifully, it's a real credit to you. Now, who's this hunk?"

"Marion, please meet my partner for this evening, Dio Wellington. Dio, this is Marion Wells, a really famous author."

"Please to meet you madam," said Dio, not knowing to half bow or hold out his hand.

"Kiss my cheek, boy. I won't bite. The only reason why I come to these functions is to feel some young flesh against me."

Cripes, thought Dio, doing as he was told; she must be one of those authors who write hot little novels that make women squirm.

"Dio – is that short for Dioscorides as in Pedanius Dioscorides?"

His mouth fell open, and he stared at Marion Wells; she was the first person in his entire life to have made the connection!

"Answer her," Carra urged. "Marion is national president of the Book Writers' Federation."

"I'm sorry, Marion; you rather stunned me. No-one has ever made the connection before since my mother conferred me with that name – she was a herbalist."

"Well, that shouldn't be surprising, Dio. We are not an overly educated lot down here in the southern antipodes. I happened to major in ancient Roman and Greek history. Look, you must have a dance with me later; I'd like to have a namesake of Dioscorides in my arms."

"Gosh, she's showing a sexy side to her that I haven't seen before," commented Carra, watching the president, who lived locally, move to some new arrivals to do PR.

"Well, you'd expect anyone who writes those sexy potboilers to be a bit sexy herself, would you not?"

Carra looked surprised. "Her hardbacks are certainly not potboilers – they average around sixty dollars and one is currently being made into a film in England. She's on to her seventh book in her series on Famous Women of Ancient Greece and now receives mostly rave reviews. She's becoming wealthy on her writings."

"Me and my quick jumps to conclusions," Dio said, offering a half-apology.

"I know, it's a bit of a habit of some men," replied Carra, making Dio wonder how a twenty-year-old would know that. She added, "From what I've been told," looking at him impishly.

"I'm one of those not overly educated people that Marion was talking about. You've going to have to tell me about your namesake one of these days."

Oh my word, thought Dio – 'One of these days'. She's intending to see me again! He was left alone as Carra went off to check on the refreshments, the band and supper. The room was filling up quite well.

A late-mid-aged man with thick fair hair, an abundant moustache and a pot belly approached him, carrying two glasses of wine. He handed one to Dio. "Here – Chambers' Gully chardonnay; I'm Rivers Fork."

Curbing a desire to check on that name because he was quite sure he'd heard the man correctly, Dio introduced himself as Dio Wellington.

"That's an odd name," said Rivers with a grin. "Are you a poet?"

"Good gracious no. It would take me a week to work out what rhymes with time."

"Ah, a smart bugger, eh. These days, of course, you can write poetry without rhyming." Lifting his glass, Rivers said, "Well happy days. I thought I was going to be stuck with dames advising me about their knowledge of poetry, such as saying they are aware that blank verse is made up of non-rhyming iambic pentameter lines. At that I would have to parry, saying 'Yes, but do you know that a heroic couplet is two lines of rhyming iambic pentameters?" Then, before she could answer, I would ask was their any chance of us doing a couplet together? Hee-hee, hee-hee. On the other hand, if the woman did not look delectable I would say, 'Look lady, here's a great limerick' and draw one from the bottom of my repertoire. I would then call 'Adios Senora" as she would quickly gallop to the far side of the room, head-swinging in panic as if looking for a policeman."

They laughed, and sipped their wine.

"This peculiar name of yours – it's unlikely to be short for Dion, because that's already short enough, and dioxide is again unlikely. So my guess it's short from some ancient Greek – Dionysus, my favorite God?"

"No, Dioscorides actually."

"Never heard of him, but I'm relatively uneducated."

"Why would your favorite be Dionysus?"

"He's the God of wine and fertility? Fertile woman are better in bed. Hee-hee, hee-ee."

"What are you two laughing about?"

Dio turned and a tall, big-chest smiling woman looking as though her bra had given up the ghost.

"Dio, this is Bridget Mounds – that's her pen-name, so-named for obvious reasons," Rivers snorted.

"You know that Rivers' real name is Dickhead, don't you Dion?"

She and Rivers laughed. She walked away after saying to Rivers, "A couplet is on tonight unless I get a better offer."

Rivers stroked his moustache, watching her walk away.

"Your name is not Dickhead, is it?"

"No lad, it is plain old Tom Brown, but who would want to listen to an itinerant poet attempting to become the New Zealand equivalent of Banjo Paterson – I guess you've never heard of him?"

Dio recited the first verse of 'As Long as your Eyes are Blue'. "That was written by Andrew Barton 'Banjo Paterson. We studied it at school."

Rivers was impressed. "Well, bugger me, at least one of those lazy bastards of school teachers got off his or her ass and gave you something of value."

"Oh yes, and I think you are being totally unfair to them. A lot of them are very devoted and work very hard."

"Think what you wish, but as I was saying who'd want to listen to a Tom Brown rattle off his verse. I fly fish a bit for trout in rivers and one day when I was fishing a fork a big trout broached right in front of me, scaring the daylights out of me. That evening I read that a young joker that seemed to be emerging as a new James Dean calling himself Rivers had topped himself. I grabbed a pencil and without thinking I wrote down Rivers Fork. I looked at it and decided to get my name changed to that name. As soon as I sent it my small manuscript of poems that had been rejected time and time again, was accepted under the name Rivers Fork. The publisher told me that the name would attract readers. Poetry doesn't sell well, but I've had money trickling back to me and now that I'm published I get paid to make appearances at country music festivals, in beer gardens and get the occasional gig at weddings. So, treasure your name, my lad. People who get it right will remember you."

The three-piece band started playing, but no one took to the floor. To Dio's horror Carra came floating towards him, her hand outstretched. She didn't have to say it, he knew.

"This one's got the hots for you son," whispered Rivers, taking Dio's glass.

"You can't dance, can you? I see terror in you eyes." Carra said, twirling around to just slip in against him backwards.

"I can jiggle and joggle to hip-hop and stuff like that, but not this slow classical stuff."

"It's a foxtrot. Just do anything and I shall follow; just move to the rhythm and have faith."

"Sorry," Dio said, as his first step was on to her left foot.

"Silly me, I missed my cue."

It wasn't his fault? Dio was relieved.

"There, I feel you are relaxing," she said. "Get your mind off you feet. Think of something – even lie and say I'm beautiful."

Dio looked down into her face:

Her mouth was opened slightly, her lips were full and red, if he wasn't at a party, he'd have her home in bed. - First verse, You're a Lovely Little Honey Pot, by Dio Wellington on the dance floor.

"What's funny?"

"Nothing, I was just thinking."

"Please tell me what you were thinking."