Extra Income

/// Hi, just wanted to say that I am working on quite a few stories at the same time and, frustratingly, I have written them in different tenses. please forgive me if suddenly there is an odd tense shift, I will edit them to all be written in 1st person present to make my frequent updates smoother.

Please feel free to comment or tell me how you are enjoying (or disliking) new chapters, or even write your own. likes and comments are encouraging and help me know which stories to put most of my focus into. Okay that's it.///

I honestly don't know how I ended up here, but here I am, knocking on old man Harvey's door down at number 10. I was a fresh uni student by day in my first year of study for my bachelor in physiotherapy. By night, trying to make enough money through ridesharing or delivering fast food so that my parents don't need to support me anymore. I messed around for a year after high school—like every ordinary 18-year-old—but after I turned 19, my dad told me that I would need to study or get a job to continue living at home but what I really wanted was to get an apartment and be done with it.

Anyway, my mother had apparently run into Harvey—the rich old guy that lives on our street—and his wife earlier in the week. I don’t really know why they’re on speaking terms but regardless, while they were talking, my name came up. Long story short, Harvey was a retired financial advisor or planner or something in finance, I didn't really know but he had apparently offered to have a talk with me. So when I had a day off classes, naturally, my mother bugged me to go talk to him. So here we are.

Harvey opened the door to his ridiculously large and fancy-looking house with a genuinely inviting smile.

“Dean, it’s been quite some time,” he said to me.

He was in his 60s, maybe even almost 70, and for the most part, he had always seemed kind, albeit a little soft or reserved. His wife, Jen, seemed like the boss in the few interactions that I have had with them. He greeted me with a firm handshake as he gestured for me to come in.

“Soft hands,” he commented.

I just gave an uncomfortable sound of agreement and smiled.

We sat in his living room. The room—and what little I saw of his house—was insanely nice. The couches looked like they cost more than my car and photos of Harvey standing next to various important people, family friends and Harvey and Jen in their youth sat on every expensive-looking cabinet and shelf. From the photographs and various knickknacks around this room, it was safe to say, he had a clear interest in golf. Their home was exactly what I imagined it would be for a rich upper-class elderly couple.

“Tea or coffee… wine?” he asked.

I declined politely, thinking ‘wine’ was a crazy suggestion for 10am on a Monday.

“So, Dean, your mother tells me you're studying,” he said conversationally.

Harvey was a conventionally handsome man. He always wore a blue suit anywhere he went despite being retired. And he had aged rather well considering the salt and pepper of his hair only made him look more distinguished and professional, like he could be some professor or politician.

“I’m trying to,” I chuckled. “It’s not easy these days to juggle study and work while also trying to have a social life,” I added with a nervous laugh.

Harvey chuckled. “Oh, I would have to agree with you there. It was no easy task in my day either. I imagine you are a pretty popular boy too at… 21?” he dragged out his guess seemingly hopeful that I would inform him.

Despite being called a ‘boy’—which, I suppose is fair, considering _his _age—I corrected him politely. “I’m actually still 19.”

“Ohh… well you have all the time in the world,” he gestured widely with a big grin on his face.

I smiled absentmindedly, wondering why I am even here. My silent question was answered almost immediately.

“In fact, I have to come clean here. Your mother told me about what you’re doing and that you were struggling, so I suggested that we have a chat. I’ve done… moderately well for myself,” he said looking around at the room.

I mused feeling slightly jealous of his lifestyle and assumed that Harvey was about to launch into a big spiel about how to save money or not spend on unnecessary expenses. I just hoped maybe he had some useful advice that wasn’t so blatantly obvious like: ‘Don’t buy expensive coffees and avocados every day’.

“Those delivery jobs are all crap!” he said definitively and unexpectedly. “They’re a scam.”

With how frustrated I had been with my rideshare and delivery jobs lately, his comment had elicited a genuine laugh from me. “You’ve got that right,” I agreed enthusiastically.

“So why are you doing it?” he asked. “Surely a boy with your expertise must be able to find better employment.”

My mood dropped quickly from this understatement of how easy it was.

“It’s not so simple… I only do this because most other jobs want me to be there every day and, on their schedule… this just works for me, I guess,” I said gloomily.

“That is nonsense.” he declared, making me question whether he was going to be useful to talk with at all. “Now if you want my advice… and advising people was my entire professional life, I’d like to think I was rather good at it. Quit that gig-work rubbish.” he said rather matter-of-factly.

I bit my tongue, wondering whether I looked as annoyed as I felt. I went to speak but stopped and thought better of getting worked up over something he knew nothing about. He seemed to be able to sense my discomfort and spoke once again.

“Now! I’ve never been one to offer only problems. When one identifies a problem, one must seek a solution! A new job,” he said simply, a genuine smile coming back to his face.

I raised my eyebrow questioningly. That is your grand advice: get a new job? What a joke, I thought as I sat on his couch getting more and more uncomfortable by the second.

“And what would you—” I was cut off before I could finish.

“Your mother tells me that you are studying Physiotherapy…” Harvey said.

Flustered, but wanting this conversation to be less awkward, I humoured him. “Yes,” I said simply.

“Do you know, Dean, what I did while I was studying to become a financial advisor?” he asked in the way that told me that he was about to tell me regardless of what I said. “I gave financial advice…” he added simply, as if it was obvious. “Sure, to friends and family mostly. But then some small businesses and eventually, some quite large clients… all before I had even finished my degree. Between you and me,” Harvey said in a hushed voice and leaning forward. “I never even finished my degree.” Harvey said before sitting back comfortably and laughing with a nostalgic look on his face.

“So…” I said slowly, assuming where he was going with this.

“So, physiotherapy. That’s what you want to do right… you should be doing it then,” he chuckled, seemingly not knowing that the world has changed since he was young.

I was going to respond but he answered my questions before I had the chance to ask them.

“A physiotherapist works with the body, correct? Deep tissue massage and sports injury recovery and whatnot, yes?”

I nodded looking sceptically at him. I wondered whether he thought this would be an easier profession to get into, being unqualified and with a strict working schedule.

“So we come to the exact reason that I thought you would be perfect to talk to. It just so happens that I am the president of a golfing club and many of us are… older gentlemen. Of course, still fit and healthy, mind you,” he was quick to add. “Nevertheless, it got me thinking. How would you like to find some employment in something that is relevant to your studies, and, I can assure you… would not only suit your schedule, but pay far more than this… delivery gig, or whatever it is you do?” he said with a straight face sitting up and watching for my reaction.

I didn’t know what to say. ‘Is he offering me a job?’ I wondered.

“You might think golf is an easy sport but let me tell you. I’ve seen some pretty intense injuries and… sprains on our course. What do you say? I know at least 3 friends that would pay handsomely for a skilled pair of hands once a week. Even just some good conversation and time away from their wives,” Harvey laughed deeply.

I was quite flustered. Not only at the ambiguous comment he had just made, but at the idea of what it was that he was suggesting. Massage therapy is just one small aspect of Physiotherapy but am I really going to turn down something like this? I guess it all would depend on the schedule and the… money. I told him as much, even though I always found the idea of being so forward about financial matters strangely awkward.

“Well Dean, I’m a business man. I would offer, as I am sure the others would as well, what the service is worth to us. So I guess that all depends on you,” Harvey laughed healthily again.

As strange as the offer sounded, if I was being honest, the idea of the ambiguity in payment from a bunch of rich men was an exciting prospect.

“And would I be able to schedule appointments around my studies and other things?” I asked, maybe sounding a little too interested, which did not go unnoticed by Harvey.

“Of course,” he smiled. “Most of us still have busy lives so nights would certainly suit, if you study during the day,” he said, doing a good job of assuaging me.

“What about—” I started but was cut off.

“Look, Dean. How about I invite you to the club... call it a trial. I’ll have a room set up for you and everything. If you don’t like it or find it not worth your time, then we can forget all about it. How does this Friday, 8pm sound? Maybe you can help me with my back.” he said, suddenly clutching at his lower back when he sat up in the chair with a pained look on his face that he didn’t seem to have before. “What do you say?” he asked, extending his hand for a handshake.

I thought about it. It was so tempting and the idea of doing something related to my study along with the mysterious allure of what rich people might pay for services was making me a little anxious.