Wading in Neptune's Pool

Wading in Neptune’s Pool By J.D. Walker It was hot already, and June had just begun. The beginning of the summer months always felt like this. The air in my truck was way up, in a vain attempt to cool me down a little before meeting with a potential client. At least I wasn’t too sweaty. The house in front of me was modest compared to the others in the cul-de-sac. The yard on either side was shielded all around by a tall wooden fence. A silver Jaguar was parked at the curb. After turning off the engine, I got out of my truck and walked up to the front door. Before I could ring the bell, it opened. “Pete Crawford?” the man at the door asked. He looked a little stressed. “Yes. Corey Brennerman, I assume?” “That’s right. Follow me, please.” He closed the door quickly and led the way through the living room into the kitchen, stopping only to open the patio door. He stepped out onto the deck, and I came face-to-pool with my reason for being here. Dear God. “When was the last time you cleaned this thing?” I asked, staring down in horror at the leaves and algae that had taken up residence in the water. It wouldn’t have surprised me to see frogs chirping away on lily pads. “Never. I bought this place a couple of months ago and just got too busy to do anything about it.” No s**t. I glanced at my potential client, noting his air of distracted impatience. He was texting away on his cell phone, which looked like a Samsung Galaxy of some kind. Definitely nothing like my generic mobile. Great, one of them. With an internal sigh, I said, “Look, Mr. Brennerman. It’s going to take a lot to fix this. From the state of this pool, I’d say cleaning it is the least of your problems. You might need to resurface it, do some minor repairs. The list could be long.” He looked up briefly from his phone. “Money isn’t a problem.” Must be nice. “I just need to have this taken care of before July fourth. Got people coming over for that holiday weekend. Can it be done?” “That gives me a month, which is more than enough time to do the job.” I kept my client roster small enough to handle, but still remain solvent. “Can you get started right now, maybe? Don’t mind me. I’ll be working on my laptop over there.” He pointed to the lounge chairs at the far end of the pool, in a shaded area. A table with a laptop was nearby. “I’ll need access to the pool area. Since you seem to be so busy,” I said with emphasis, “It would probably be better for me not to have to bother you with something so mundane. I suppose there’s a side entrance I can use?” So I don’t mess up your hallowed halls with muck. His house was nice, actually, from the brief glimpse I’d gotten of it as I was ushered toward the back. “What?” He looked up at me. “Oh.” Mr. Brennerman cleared his throat. He was not much for social graces, it seemed. “Yeah, over there by the shed. Here’s a key.” He pulled it out of his pocket and handed it to me. “Thanks. I’ll be in and out. I have to get supplies, do some measurements, bring in equipment. Do you want to see some samples for the resurfacing, talk about the tiles—” He cut me off. “I don’t care. Just get it done, okay? Thanks.” With that, Corey Brennerman moved away, head down as he continued texting whoever was so important. Didn’t bother me. Even assholes like him helped me pay the bills. * * * * Jimmy was finishing up a call when I returned to the office. I inherited him from the previous owner of the business. We got along well. “Hey, Pete. Mrs. Teague wants you to come over Friday to clean the pool. She’s promised peach pie,” he said after he hung up the phone. His smile was evil. “More like peach pie and two hours of gossip.” I rolled my eyes. Mrs. Teague was a longtime client, a seventy-year-old widow of many years who had no kids and few friends nearby, so she was often lonely. “You know she likes to see you with your shirt off. She always complains when I go over there instead of you, says she misses that ‘hot bod.’ You old folks need to stick together, you know,” Jimmy said cheekily as he handed me the rest of the messages. “Age has nothing to do with it,” I retorted, my fortieth year looming on the horizon. “And just for that crack, you get to clean her pool on Friday. Save me a piece of pie.” “Aw, man!” Jimmy groaned as I went to my desk and turned on the computer. While I waited for it to boot up, I read the messages he had given me. Most were for maintenance, along with a few requests for quotes. As I logged into my email account, I thought about Corey Brennerman. Guy like that was wound up tight, always tense. I used to be like him, but had learned the hard way how important it was to put myself first, and not let what I did for a living rule my life or ruin my health. At four o’clock, I sent Jimmy home as usual, made some return calls about quotes, and set up appointments. I locked up the office at six o’clock and headed upstairs to my two-bedroom apartment. The place was a little messy, but it was mine. I bought the building eight years ago after making the decision to quit the finance business. Too many sleepless nights and anxiety attacks led me to the decision that my health and well-being were much more important than earning six figures. I’d always enjoyed being outdoors, and especially loved anything to do with water. So after I quit my finance job and worked on getting my head back together, I searched for something that would be satisfying and still let me sleep at night. I found Neptune’s Pool Service for sale, and the rest was history. Looking into my refrigerator showed me I needed groceries. God, I hated shopping. No help for it, though. I grabbed my wallet, keys, and cell phone, and headed out.