Neighborly Ch. 01

"It was an honest mistake," noted my neighbor, Ellen, who stood beside my mother while I sat on the stoop of her back porch. "No harm done."

"I understand that," my mother, Tanya, remarked, "but Jack is not going to get away with this with just a slap on the wrist."

"This" that my mother referred to was the careless mistake I made while playing baseball with some friends earlier today. Ellen was still at work, so I took it as a golden opportunity to cover up my accidental vandalism. When the ball struck and the window cracked, my friends scattered, leaving me alone in my backyard to handle the damage. I poked my head over the tall, wooden fence in hopes of reclaiming the baseball, but it was nowhere to be seen. A similarly sized knot in my throat sparked endless possibility of reprimanding; by hand of my mother, my neighbor, or the law. I decided to brush it off, out of sight and out of mind. If I couldn't find the baseball, I doubt my neighbor Ellen could.

But perched within the windowsill garden of Ellen's bedroom window sat the key to my doom. It was easy to rule me as the culprit, as we didn't have any backyard neighbors to blame, just a forest the edge of our neighborhood sat on. Ellen's neighbor's opposite of us were old, and well out of their prime to play sports. On top of all that, "Don't think I don't see you out there playing baseball with your little friends," Ellen winked earlier in this conversation.

"I'll cover it, El," my mother insisted, "Jack can work it off for you in the meantime."

"Work it off?" I asked, questioning what that entailed.

"Yes, young man," my mother scolded, "Everyday after school you are to go straight to Ellen's right when you get off the bus. Understood?"

"And do what?" I asked further.

"Everything she says," my mother answered, blunt.

"Everything?" I asked with a touch of concern, unaware of the real dread to come.

"Anything and everything," my mother answered before turning to Ellen to ask, "That alright with you?"

Ellen smiled, devilishly eager, "Anything?"

"Yes. Whatever you need. No questions asked. Right, Jack?" my mother turned to me with a menacing look.

I nodded, frozen in fear of a worse punishment.

"Well how can I say no to that?" Ellen chirped in approval. "I've always wanted a handsome young man to help around the house."

"Don't butter him up," my mother mocked, "And he'll do more than just 'help' around the house."

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"It means that I don't expect Ms. Ellen to have to lift a finger when you're around, and then some when you come home for the night. Otherwise, I'll let your father know about this and have you stay with him for a while. Understood?" My mother's tone and knife-like eyes moved me like a puppet. She knew how much the idea of moving in with dad irked me. After the divorce, I was placed in her custody, only seeing dad on the weekends. My dad eventually moved away, working in the military. He was a notorious hard ass that was more strict, and far less gentle than my mother, so I did anything I could to stay with her at all costs.

"Y-yes, ma'am," I muttered.

"Good," my mother gave a nod. "Now, why don't you go with Ms. Ellen and get to work while I get a quote for how much this is going to set us back?"

Ellen's open hand called for me to take hold. Her smiling face seemed all too excited to put me to work.

"Yes, ma'am," I replied as I cupped my hand into hers.

"Let's go, Jackie-boy," Ellen teased using the nickname she gave me when we first moved in. "You've got a lot of work to do, young man."

Ellen's home threw me off, as it was much nicer than mine on the inside. Despite its middle class, suburban exterior, the inside appeared like that of a mansion. Not so much in size, but in Ellen's expensive taste in furniture, clothing, decor, etc.

"Y-your house is really nice, Ms. Ellen," I said nervously.

"Thank you, sweetie," she responded. "Now, be a dear and take my shoes for me," Ellen commanded, lifting her red high-heel slightly off the ground.

"Take your shoe?" I asked.

"Yes, dear," she said as she directed her purse toward me, "Take my shoes for me and place them in the closet with my purse."

"O-okay..." I was a little weirded out by this, but my mother made it clear that Ellen was not to lift a finger when I'm around. (Thankfully, she didn't say foot).

I had to kneel down to pop off Ellen's high heel. The heat escaped, radiating toward my face. I tinged in a mild grimace, too afraid to let my full disgust be known.

"Thank you, dear," Ellen said, "and mind your manners, please. None of these groaning, 'Okay's you teenagers do. I want polite and eager 'Yes, Ms. Ellen's from you. Got it?" Her sweet tone never waivered despite her demand.

"Y-yes, Ms. Ellen," I responded, turning red in the face.

"Good boy. Now," Ellen strolled off deeper into the house and waved her hand toward her foyer closet, "set them in there and grab me a glass of water."

"Y-yes, Ms. Ellen."

I got right to it with no hesitations. I dumped the shoes and her purse among the pile of footwear and darted toward the kitchen. Ellen reclined in her lazy boy chair and pointed me in the direction of her drinking glasses, along with a silver platter she requested I bring it to her on. Presenting the water on the serving tray made me feel silly, but I obliged.

"Here you are, Ms. Ellen," I said, nervous and trying to sound sweet.

"Thank you, Jackie-boy," she said before pressing her bright red lips onto the rim and taking a sip. A print left behind on the glass and, frankly, made me mildly aroused at the shape of her lips. She pointed back into the kitchen, "Top drawer by the fridge. Grab a washcloth and wipe the rim clean, would you dear?"

"Y-yes, Ms. Ellen," I responded, swiftly taking to the kitchen for the washcloth, and back to her drinking glass to wipe it clean of her lipstick residue. "What do you want me to do with this?" I asked, regarding the used washcloth.

"Just hold onto it," she said as browsed her phone a bit, "I'm sure you'll need it again..." and took another drink, leaving behind another lipstick stain, "now."

It took me a moment, but I caught on and wiped the rim of the glass clean.

"Good boy," Ellen said with a wink. "Now, be a dear and rub my feet while I think of some fun chores for you to do." She leaned back in her recliner, propping her feet up on the pull-out foot stool as she grabbed a notebook and pen nearby.

"Rub..." I nearly shined in a pink expression of embarrassment, "Rub your, uh... your... your feet, Ms. Ellen?"

"Yes, dear," she responded so matter of fact, "I need my feet rubbed every day, usually multiple times a day, and they go neglected far-too often if I can't find time for a masseuse."

"Can't, uh... can't your husband rub your feet, Ms. Ellen?" I wanted to weasel my way out of this embarrassing chore as much as possible.

Ellen laughed, "What a sweetie you are, assuming I have a husband. No, no, I'm afraid I'm a single, independent woman who doesn't have a man." Her eyelashes fluttered in my direction, "Well... that is... until now, I suppose." Ellen laughed a giddy chuckle at my obviously shy demeanor. "Now go on. Get to it. Rub my feet."

"O-okay..." I stuttered, unfamiliar with the act of giving a foot rub.

"That's 'Yes, Ms. Ellen," she corrected me.

"S-sorry... Yes, M-Ms. Ellen."

I stood at the foot of the recliner with Ellen's red pedicured toes at my waist level. My hands reached out to touch before she stopped me. "Sit down, Jackie-boy," she insisted. "You're going to want to take advantage of any chance I give you to sit," she laughed with a wink. I dreaded what she meant.

I peered about my surroundings, but didn't see a readily available chair or anything I could move closer to sit on, other than the couch on the opposite side of the room. "Um... w-where?"

Ellen rolled her eyes, "On the floor. Where else?"

"Oh," I felt stupid, "Right," so I took to the floor sitting in a cross-legged position.

My already short stature didn't help me in the slightest, as this seating arrangement gave my eyes just enough height to peer over the footrest, where Ellen's large feet led to her body seated with her in between. The smell was unpleasant, to say the least... key word being the LEAST. Luckily, heat rises, so with my nose tucked lower than the horizon of her recliner, the odor was mildly tolerable.

Until she ruined that bit of comfort I had left. "Oh, Jackie-boy," she mocked with genuine laughter, "You're such a shorty, aren't you."

"I-I'm not THAT short..." I tried to defend myself as politely as possible.

"Get on your knees," Ellen demanded in a tone that sounded like a suggestion. "It'll give you a bit more height so you're more at eye-level." She tapped my head with her damp, clammy foot, "Or foot level," and laughed.

"Y-yes, Ms. Ellen." I obliged.

For lack of a better term, I did not want to do this. Having your mother send you away to act as your neighbor's servant was embarrassing enough, let alone having to rub her feet.

Upon raising myself up on my knees, Ellen's foot stench made me wince. I tried my damndest to hide it, but she saw right through me. As my hands finally met with her moist, sweaty soles, she gave a cocky half smile and sipped her water, placing it back on the coffee table with another lipstick stain.

"Ahem," she coughed to get my attention, to which I was too naïve and out of sorts from the foul odor before me, prompting Ellen to cough once more, "Ahem."

My eyes finally darted up to meet hers. Ellen kept facing me, but moved her eyes over to her lip-stained glass, to which I promptly stood and apologized, "S-sorry, Ms. Ellen. Won't happen again. I-I'll be sure to pay more attention."

I wiped the rim of the glass clean once more and return to my post beneath her feet. "Thank you," Ellen said so eerily sweet.

I slaved away at her soles for nearly a half an hour while she jotted down various tasks for me to do during my punishment with her. Whatever punishment came my way, I knew this temporary humiliation and misery would be far more comfortable than moving back in with my hard-ass military dad, who'd no doubt beat the hell out of me if I broke a neighbor's window.

"Alright," Ellen said with a proud smile, ready to read off my sentencing, "Are you ready to hear what I have in store for you?"

"Sure- I... I mean... yes, Ms. Ellen." I said as I started to stand to my feet and escape this cloud of foot funk.

"Ah, ah, ah," she cooed, "keep rubbing, dear. I didn't tell you to stop."

I winced at her command, "S-sorry, ma'am..."

"You're learning," Ellen smiled at my automatic response. "You'll get the hang of it." I hoped that I wouldn't stick around long enough to.

A quick tear of the paper from the notebook ushered un a cough to begin reading my list of chores off to me. With a whip of the page to stability and Ellen's reading glasses donned onto her nose, she began: "So, everyday when you come home from school, I want you to send me a picture of you here by the clock in my foyer." (I didn't know what a foyer was and had to ask). "That way I know you made it here on time and weren't dilly-dallying. I want you here no later than 4 every day, understood?"

From the foot of Ellen's recliner, as I slaved away at her putrid feet, I answered, "Yes, Ms. Ellen."

"Good boy," she patted my hair with her toes. "Now, let's start with your daily tasks," Ellen began, putting emphasis on the word 'daily,' "First thing, when you get here, check the sink for any dishes I might have left behind the night prior, or the morning of. I expect the dishwasher to be empty by the time I get home. Check my laundry basket for anything that might need done. If it's half full, wash it, dry it, iron it, fold it, and put it away before I'm home." This sounded impossible as Ellen gets off work at 5, and is usually home by around 5:30. "Make sure all the trash and recycling is taken out with a fresh liner in each waste bin before my arrival." Ellen flexed her toes a bit, sending a waft of unfresh air in my direction. I turned my head but kept my composure. "I want the house smelling nice with a candle lit before I get here. You can work to your heart's content after that, but when I arrive, I expect you at the door ready to greet me and ensure my comfort, understood?"

"Yes, Ms. Ellen," I said, reluctantly.

"Excellent," she smiled before picking up where she left off. "Make sure the pool is skimmed free of any leaves and what not. Keep my bathrooms nice and tidy at all times. Make my bed. Fetch my mail and place it on the table here," she tapped the end table beside her, "for me to look over when I get home." Ellen flicked her wrist to make eye contact with me from the paper between us, "I'll end up giving you the list, but overall, just make sure the house looks pristine by the time I get home. It's the little things that count: trash liner tucked out of sight, silverware straight and orderly in the drawer, closets neat and organized. You know how to clean, right Jackie-boy?"

"Y-yes, Ms. Ellen," I answered, still struggling to keep her noxious feet from getting to me. My hands started to become exhausted as I rubbed her soles.

"Good boy." Ellen continued, "Now; you'll have weekly duties I expect done before Friday of each week. You should only have to do these once a week but additional work may be necessary throughout. These include," she put up a finger to make a point with an added chuckle for emphasis, "but are in no way limited to: dusting, scrubbing the trim of the walls, washing the windows, washing my car..." (she had to add that one in that moment when it came to her), "mowing the lawn, trimming the hedges, cleaning my shoes, mopping, sweeping, cleaning the gutters... I could go on. Some of what I said isn't even jotted down, but you'll learn what I want in due time."

It was her use of the phrase 'in due time' that had me question, "Ms. Ellen... how long will I have to do this for?"

Ellen placed a finger on her chin to feign thought, though looking back, I know she didn't spend a moment considering, "Hm... I'll have to talk to your mother about that. For now, let's just leave your service at: 'until further notice.' Okay?"

That baseball-sized knot returned to my throat. I tried to gulp it down but it nearly choked me. "Y-yes... yes, Ms. Ellen."

"Good boy," she smiled, folding the piece of paper up and planting a bright red kiss onto it like a wax seal.

"So once I'm done with my chores for the day, I can go?" I asked.

Ellen paused and shifted her feet to push the recliner down to sit upright and lean in close to me. "Oh, Jackie-boy..." she ran her sharp, manicured, red fingers through my hair so gently. As a teenage boy with a libido to match, I loved it just as much as I feared her. "That's just your list of chores to do. Don't you remember?" I felt her breath against my face as she nearly touched my nose with hers making brutal eye contact that locked me frozen, "Your mommy told you she doesn't want me to lift a finger. I'm afraid that your shifts end when I say so. So you better make me happy, sweetie, or else..." I felt the point of her fingernails scrape so lightly against the back of my head as she took a handful of my hair, not with painful force but with easy potential to, using the tuft to pull my ear toward her lips for a soft, breathy secret: "your shifts may never end."

Doom filled me from the inside as the thought of being stuck here forever loomed into my imagination. And that's all I considered it to be: my imagination. I was a minor. Surely she couldn't keep me here indefinitely against my will. Ellen was obviously bluffing. Nevertheless, her words shook me to my boyish core.

"Now," Ellen's threatening demeanor turned off like a light as she leaned back in a swift recline to prop her rancid feet back up into my face, "I think you have some feet to rub."