Mr Computer Cleaner Ch. 02

"It just a small piece of verse. It goes like this," he said, quoting the first verse of 'As Long as your Eyes are Blue'.

Her hand clenched his. "God, that sounds so romantic. Is that one of Rivers' poems?"

"No, Banjo Paterson's."

"Oh, I've heard of him. He wrote 'Waltzing Matilda' and I remember one of our teachers reading one of his poems, Clancy something."

"Was it 'Clancy of the Overflow'?"

"I guess so."

"Do you remember the film, 'The Man from Snowy River'?"

"Yes, it was excellent but the sequel was not as good. Did he write that story?"

Before he could answer the music ended and she said: "Oh, that's the end of the dance. You have done very well."

Dio had been aware that other people had come on to the floor, but he now found the floor was really crowded. He'd forgotten he'd been doing something called a foxtrot. Somehow it had gone all so fast.

"Well, that wasn't too bad," he admitted.

"When I get you dancing well, you'll love it."

There it was again, the assumption that there was going to be more good times. As they left the floor, arm around each other's waist, which is how they finished the dance, allowing their right hands to unclasp, he squeezed her slightly and felt her squeeze back.

"You filthy man, you filthy man," shouted a woman, marching away from Rivers swinging her handbag angrily.

Rivers were going hee-haw, hee-haw, while people nearby were looking at him curiously.

"Oh dear," said Carra.

"Leave it," advised Dio. "She's asked for it, and her problem is that she'd not delectable."

"What do you mean?"

"Ask Rivers."

"That man? No thank you. I've heard he's horrible."

Dio considered that for a moment. "Maybe, maybe not. The way he is going he's on the way of becoming a bit of a legend."

"You are not just a simple computer technician who spends a lot of time just looking at porn, are you Dio? In fact you seem to becoming increasingly complex."

"You'll find only what you see."

She twitched her beautifully proportioned nose. "Oh really, I doubt that very much."

The music started and a hand circled Dio's midriff and he could feel the fingers testing his abs.

"Our dance, Mr Wellington, our dance," purred famous author Marion Wells.

Carra drove Dio home slowly and happily. She said: "Marion was all over you – that was an invitation if I ever saw one."

"Yes, without question. But I gave her no encouragement so she eventually lost interest in me, much to my relief."

"Mine, too."

In excellent voice she sang exuberantly the first two verses of 'I Feel Pretty'. Whenever she turned to glance at him, Dio was looking straight ahead, smiling.

Outside Dio's house he leaned over and kissed her on the lips. She made no effort to break away. He did so, reluctantly. "Thank you for this evening, I enjoyed it."

"Me too," she said in a small voice.

"This is our first date, so I won't ask you in."

"Ooh, what exemplary behavior," she almost whispered, adding, "I'd like a good night kiss, perhaps two. If you wish to touch my breasts I won't mind."

She drove off and Dio watched the tail lights of the car until she made a right turn down the crossroads. He had touched her breasts, just cupping them over her top and it was true – she hadn't objected. He looked up at the stars, and began humming one of his mother's favorite songs that he'd picked up at an early age – 'I Feel Pretty'; it was one of his favorites and, stretching and yawning, thought that it was an encouraging sign that it was Carra's first song choice rather than something currently in vogue.

Inside the house he paced the floor, feeling very unsettled. Then it struck him, they'd not made a time for their next meeting. He still didn't know where she lived, so gave her twenty minutes then phoned her; the cell phone number was on the business card she'd given him.

"I was willing you to phone me. I've just got into bed."

"What are you wearing?"

She giggled. "Is this one of those obscene phone calls that people talk about?"

"I wouldn't know."

"My blue t-shirt?"

"Anything else?"

"No. Oh God; this is going to be an obscene phone call!"

"Shhh! Your folk will hear you. I just wanted to say good night again and to ask when can we meet again?"

"Why don't you come around for breakfast – it will be Saturday morning. The folk want to meet you, so why not tomorrow?"

"How do they know about me?"

"They are always awake when I come home. I'm still their little girl, and have just had ten minutes in bed with them because they wanted to know everything. Dad reckons you might be all right if you quote Banjo Paterson but I didn't tell them how old you are as he'll think you're cradle snatching. He's rather quaint like that."

"What about your mother?"

"She'd like to see you in your underpants."

"What!"

"Don't get excited – she would have a professional interest, looking at structure, muscle tone and all that. Just in case I get pregnant."

"What!"

"Shhh! You'll wake up your neighbors."

"How could you get pregnant?"

"Dunno, depends what you have in mind."

"I don't know what to say?"

"You could say you're coming over for breakfast."

"Yes, thank you. Where do you live?"

"Nine Ploughman Street."

"That's just three blocks from here!"

She giggled, "Yes, I know where I live."

"I'll be there around 8:30. Get some sleep; sweet dreams."

"I loved you calling me. I feel so happy. Good night."

The next morning Dio shaved and then showered, whistling 'Summer Holiday'. He was very happy. The phone went and Dio scramble to find his phone in the bed linen. He said good morning cheerfully. It was Carra; she was crying.

"They don't want you to come."

"Oh?" he said glumly.

"Mama came in a few minutes ago, and by the look of her face I knew she was not on a friendly visit. Earlier she'd asked me how old were you and I told her. She said something like 'Oh, that's rather old for you, isn't it?' I mumbled that I didn't think so and she walked off, obviously to share that bit of news with daddy. Now she says they think that because of the twelve-year age difference, I should not have anything more to do with you."

"They?"

"Yes, in a showdown they invariably stick together. I'm so unhappy," Carra said, beginning to cry, wrenching something inside Dio.

"Cheer up," he said, trying to sound light-hearted. "The world's half full of guys like me."

At that she began to wail.

"I still like you."

The noise against his ear lowered somewhat.

"I like you very much."

The noise softened to sobbing.

"Is this the end, or do we have to go underground?" she sniffed.

"The hell it is. I'll be over as arranged at 8:30."

"Oh Dio, please don't. Daddy has a bit of a reputation for dealing with difficult men."

"I don't care so long as your mum doesn't start swinging as well."

Something a little like a troubled laugh sounded against his ear.

Dio cleared his throat: "There are some things a man's gotta do, what a man's gotta do."

"Oh Dio, you're aiming to have a showdown over me, aren't you?"

"Don't be soft," he said. "Cheer up. See you in thirty minutes."

Dio had a vision of his mum returning, a bit bloody, though smiling triumphantly after dealing with his stroppy pottery tutor. She'd said before leaving the house, "Never let the bastards get you down," and when he repeated those words, instead of clipping him over the ear she'd grabbed him and hugged him.

He and his father had been waiting outside the picket gate for her. It was the only time he could recall his mother threatening violence – apart from clipping him over the ear repeatedly, though never really hurtfully. At that stage his father still hit her occasionally, and she just submitted, more often than not lying in a tearful heap. He'd wondered why she'd never hit back. After she'd dealt with his pottery tutor Dio wondered would have been the outcome had his mum gone toe to toe with his father. He rather fancied his mum would have had a real chance if she had gone in to win.

Brushing his hair before heading off to Carra's place, Dio examined his face in the mirror and to his surprise could see what she'd always said, but he could never see – 'You've got my eyes and forehead boy, especially my eyes.' He hadn't noticed this before, but somewhere along the way the color of his eyes had become hazel, just like hers. "Bejesus," he said, quite in awe.

Dio parked discreetly around the corner. He didn't want an enraged axe-swinging Mr Fleming beating up the ute. He admired the expensive looking house, knocked on the door and waited, not knowing whether the parents had been told he was coming for breakfast regardless. A tall – surprisingly tall really - dark-skinned woman with slightly hooded dark luminous eyes and a nose unfashionably sharp, answered the door. He wondered if she were of Italian descent. She stood aside and said formally with a slight accent, "Good morning Mr Wellington, please come in. I am Carra's mother Mrs Fleming. We have asked Carra to stay in her room until we have had a chat."

Dio acknowledged her greeting with a nod, not finding it necessary to say anything.

She led him to the dinning room. The table was not set for breakfast and at the far end sat 'headmaster' – well, it reminded Dio of school days when he was sent to headmaster's office; headmaster remained seated.

"Darling, this is Mr Wellington," said Carra's mum, unnecessarily, and in a slightly husky almost sexy voice.

Where they expecting another boyfriend? Dio thought aggressively.

Carra's dad inclined his head towards the chair nearest Dio, but the visitor chose to look at the wedding photograph of Mr and Mrs Fleming. He could see that the bride truly had been a stunner, despite the sharp facial features. Little wonder porky behind the table had married her – he must have been beside himself in lust.

"Well, if you won't sit I'll stand," Carra's dad said, doing just that.

Mrs Fleming looking decidedly nervous kept looking across to the closed door as if Carra was about to crash through it riding a brumby and cracking a stock whip as she charged at her father reciting 'The Man from Snowy River'.

Dio took a good look at Mr Fleming: Same height, headmaster was at least forty pounds heavier and his square jaw looked solid as a rock. Best to send a right hook into that belly being suffocated by the tight belt.

"Look here Wellington..."

God, thought Dio. Daddy really was sounding like headmaster.

"Neither Carmen..."

Dio's heart lifted. He knew it, he knew it – a dancing instructor looking like she did just had to be a Carmen.

"...or I am are the slightest bit chuffed about my daughter becoming involved with you."

"Our daughter please, Caleb."

"Sorry, dear," he said and looked at Carmen. A tiny smile appeared at the corners of his mouth, his shoulders slumped ever so lightly and he unclenched a hand to scratch behind his ear. He looked as if he'd just been counter-attacked in a boardroom fight and was taken aback. But the shoulders lifted again and Caleb pressed on.

"I don't want you dating our daughter." He fell silent.

The parents looked at Dio expectantly who imagined he could hear heavy breathing behind the closed door more than thirty feet away. Dio didn't hurry to take his cue. But as Caleb opened his mouth to say something, Dio wound them up: "Nice to meet you, Carmen." He said the name with as much feeling as he could, allowing the 'ah' sound to roll across the roof of his mouth.

Her head lifted slightly, she looked pleased.

"And you too, Caleb."

'Headmaster' looked decidedly displeased, saying gruffly, it's Cal to everyone. Then flicking his head towards his wife said, "Caleb is just for her."

"Right Cal. As I see it you have three options. One - you back right off now and we have breakfast. Two - we shout and scream at each other and I stalk off and sure as hell you'll be left wondering will I lure your daughter from this home. At least if I am made to feel welcome you can keep your eye on me. We're not in the processing of planning to made babies or get married, if that's what you're thinking."

"I beg you pardon," snapped Carmen, her eyes piercing him.

"You heard me."

She looked at Cal, and nodded.

"And the other option?" Cal asked.

"We fight, but I warn you I inherited a king punch from my mother."

At that Carmen began to giggle. The men looked at her, surprised.

"Oh come on you two boys, this has to stop," she said. Caleb, help me get breakfast and we shall continue this while we're eating as a foursome. Carra has the right to be involved."

Cal seemed almost relieved by this sudden switch. "I've a whole lot of questions to ask you boy – sorry, I mean Dion," Cal said, not yet ready to show any emotion. Now what's this about 'The Man from Snowy River'? Carra came home and tried to recite as bit to me but she only got through two lines and then made a hash of the rest. Headmaster at boarding school made it compulsory for us – we had to learn it within two weeks or else forfeit our tuck boxes; that was a pretty good incentive to learn it."

"Do you still know it?" Dio asked.

Carra, who'd been lying on her bed all along, hoping not to hear the sound of breaking furniture, instead heard two male voices attempting to outdo each other, reciting that stupid poem. She began to weep. The bedroom door opened and Carmen entered, lay down and hugged her and also began to weep, releasing tension.

"He knows how to say Carmen and that silly father of yours called him Dion. I have a good feeling about you and this man of yours."

At that, Carra's tears ceased. Dabbing her eyes she lay there for a moment, feeling the warmth of relief percolating her body. She rolled off the bed and reached out for her mother's hand: "Come on, let's hit breakfast."

"You're not going out in the flimsy thing."

"Oh mama, Dio will be dying to see what I look like."

"Not in my home will he be granted that honor."

"Oh mama, you Argentines are so...so strict."

"I have English as well as Spanish blood in me and the English can also be very strict."

"Yes mother, I shall put on a shirt and shorts."

"And underwear."

"If you insist and jewelry also; I'm sure you want me to do the whole facial thing and cream my arms and neck?"

"Just some lipstick will do, cheeky one. Then, as you say, let's hit breakfast. You make it sound so exciting."

"It will; it's my first breakfast with him, mama."

"I should hope so," Carman snorted, then smiled softly. "Ah, to be so young again. I am sorry that you are not with the Church. We could have gone to give thanks in the morning."

"You go with my blessing, mama. With any luck I'll be in bed."

"Carra!"

Carra and Dio sat the table holding hands and whispering. Carra still looked a little less than relaxed. Carmen and Cal carried in plates of bacon, eggs and tomatoes and a side plate of chips and another of buttered white bread.

"I trust this is suitable, Dio," Carmen smiled. "This is the traditional Saturday morning breakfast in this household."

"In my mom's house also," grinned Dio, noticing the piled plate of chips.

"But...but Carra had told me that your mother..."

"Had died? Yes, that is true. Oh, sorry – I still call my house mom's house; I just can't seem to break the habit."

Carmen put some egg into her mouth, and dabbed her lips delicately with her serviette, her eyes not leaving Dio's face. He knew that the answer to the question she was about to ask was important to her. "You were close to your mother?"

"Oh yes, we were not only mother and son but also best of friends. We spent so much time together."

"Ah, a man who respects women. I like that."

"No more than I would respect men." Dio heard Carra suck in her breath.

Carmen looked taken aback, but the calmness with which Dio was munching a piece of bread, looking at her to respond seemed to satisfy her: "Of course."

"Of course what?" asked Cal, already wiping his emptied plate with a piece of bread.

Her narrowed gaze was now on Cal as if daring him to jam the whole piece of bread into his mouth. Cal caught the look, dropped the bread on to his plate and began cutting it with his knife and fork.

Good boy Cal, thought Dio, swinging his attention back to Carmen.

"It is acceptable not to place women on pedestals providing their sensitivities are nurtured," she said

"Do you know what she'd on about boy?" asked Cal. "I'm happy to put deserving women on a pedestal."

"His name is Dio, daddy."

"Yeah, right."

Dio decided to was time to force a decision. "I'm sensitive about the age difference between myself and Carra and wonder whether you are prepared to allow your adult daughter to decide whether it is acceptable or not?"

Cal bristled.

"That's a very provocative, Dion!"

Carmen slapped her hand on the table and Cal looked startled. "Call him Dion one more time and you shall sleep in the guest room until you learn to say his name properly, Caleb Ainsley Fleming.

Ainsley? Dio began to chuckle, earning a murderous glance from Cal, but Carman slapped her hand on the table again and Cal's attention riveted on her.

"Do you understand?"

Cal nodded and his lips were moving as in prayer, Dio, Dio, Dio, Dio.

Carmen looked at Dio with smoldering eyes. As she did so she could see her daughter's hand gently patting Dio's forearm. It was time to surrender.

"Dio, what you say is absolutely correct. Carra is not a child and so we should pull back; Cal, are you with me on this one?"

Cal wiped his forehead with his napkin and then wiped his hands. He offered his hand to Dio, saying, "Shake, I'm sorry for the hostilities. Any friend of Carra's is welcome in our house, Dio. There, I got the name right."

Carra squealed, kissed Dio and flew around the table to kiss her father and then to hug her mother.

An hour later Dio walked from the house after being warmly kissed at the front door by Carra; he touched her breasts and she didn't flinch except to whisper, "You live dangerously; my mother is only in the next room."

"Call her out and I'll really show her how to hot up a woman."

"Don't tease me; where's the ute?"

"Parked around the corner."

"What, in case daddy went berserk and tried to trash it?"

"Yes, either him or Carmen."

She began giggling almost uncontrollably.

Dio had promised to take Carra to dinner that evening but where would depend on where he could get a table as it was peak time – Saturday evening. He had an idea. Pulling out the 'Yellow Pages' he took his coffee on to the table on the back patio of his mum's home and said, "I'm taking out a very sweet girl tonight, mum. You will love her."

He called the Ferryboat Company. Yes, tonight was their opening night for the season, and yes there was plenty of room as many diners though it was still too chilly to venture on to the river.

"A table for a romantic dinner for two, please."

"Oh, how sweet," exclaimed the motherly-sounding hostess. "You shall have our very best table."

Late morning he posted his worksheets and other details of earnings and expenditure to his accountant, Ronnie Marks, who'd registered him for payment of GST – goods and services tax. It was Ronnie's advice – Ronnie was at school with him – that he should not bother to register as a company as the advantages would be negligible for an 'itinerant tradesman' with very low operating costs and sole recipient of all profits. Ronnie had said it would be different if he employed staff and if he would be disposing of worthwhile assets. Ronnie suspected not all of Dio's income was being declared. He warned Dio to keep good records and paper trails in case he ever received a visit from Government tax inspectors. Dio saw the wink, so translated that as meaning keep no records whatsoever on anything not declared in case he was inspected by tax officials.