Alan Parsons

You huffed as you trudged up the steep street towards Number 1121. You've never been up here before but you always thought the houses would be bigger. Even so, you knew even the smallest cottage was worth more than what you'd make in a lifetime. You spotted 1121 and Mr. Parsons from afar. A U-Haul truck was parked out front and the portly man was dressed in a crisp blue suit; his pointed brown shoes clicking on the sidewalk as he paced across the street yelling into his phone. He was about your height, heavyset, and with a military buzz cut hiding his growing bald spot.

'What!? I'm losing you! Look, just text me - Agh! Fucking piece of shit...'

'Hi, are you Mr. Parsons?' Mr. Parsons spun around to regard you.

'Ah, you must be Owen! Lickety Split right? Come, come! Right this way. You've got your work cut out for you, young man. I need to return to the yard for the rest of my stuff by three but you're the only one who's showed!'

You stare at the mountain of boxes awaiting you.

'I'll make it worth your while! I'll double your fee - you just need to help me unload as much as you can. I need to head back to the office for a while. Think you can handle yourself?'

'I'll do my best!'

'Good man!' He patted you on the shoulder. 'I have some snacks and water inside - feel free to help yourself. I won't be long!' With that, Parsons climbed into a blue Bentley coupe before speeding off.

Great, you thought to yourself. No supervision, no instructions... You hoped Parsons wouldn't screw you. Per Lickety Split's contract, you'd only get half your wages if the job wasn't done to the customer's satisfaction. You find a sizable dolly and you begin piling in the first box of cookware. You settled into a brisk pace of carting box after box into the house, determined not to give him any excuse to dock your wages.

Hours later, the blue Bentley pulled into the driveway just as you were settling down with a bottle of water. You've added the last box to the neat pile in the foyer only minutes before.

'Oh, you are a life saver! Owen was it? Thank you!' Mr Parsons came over to shake your hand. You were a little apprehensive about approaching the finely groomed man in your current state. In your haste to finish the job, you built up quite the sweat. You were bare-chested, having removed your soaked top hours ago, and your jeans were soaked through to your underwear. You looked like a hobo.

'No problem, Mr. Parsons.'

'Please, call me Alan. I apologize for being forward, but do you have anything going on this week? Forgive me, but I know an honest, dependable man when I see one and you helped me out big time today. Sixty an hour to sort out the rest of the house? What do you say?'

'Oh, uh... You see, I...' You scratched your head in embarrassment.

'What is it?'

'Well, I'm living at a YMCA... And I don't have any clean clothes with me right now...'

Parsons chuckled at that. Anger started to roil in your gut until the man continued. 'Well then come live here for a bit! I have a new washer and dryer and a few spare rooms.'

'Wait, you mean it?'

'Course! I even have a gym packed away - I see you're a fan of the weights.' Parsons squeezed your thick bicep. 'Play any sports?'

'Football, sir. In high school.'

The two of you settled down for a talk while you ate in the shade of the porch. You learned that Parsons just moved here from Milwaukee to oversee operations after buying out a local Silicon Valley startup. The man was beyond loaded: trading businesses and property like baseball cards. He also claimed to do a bit of power lifting while he was in the military. Reluctantly, you told the man about your own journey as well: coming here to LA from rural Texas to try to earn your way into college. Before long, Parsons had to leave with the empty U-Haul truck.

Insisting on dropping you off mid-way, you were a little embarrassed at sitting bare-chested next to the older male, but Parsons insisted there was nothing to be ashamed about.

'Think about it, alright kid?' You nodded, thanking the man as he drove off waving goodbye.

A million thoughts and emotions were running through your head. Just yesterday, you were ready to quit this town but now, you were actually making some decent money. You did the math in your head: even without Mr. Parsons, at this rate, you'd be able to start renting a semi-decent room without any issue. You were going to make it! A 'ping' from your phone derailed your train of thought. You stared bug-eyed at the tip he'd given you. $400 and you'd only done about a half day's work.

That night, you packed your bag and told them you were checking out the next morning. You texted Parsons, telling him you'd report to his place first thing tomorrow morning.