Sapphire Lane

Jameson and Clarrie Crawford pulled up to the gate with their rented moving truck. The guard came out of the gate house over to their truck. Clarrie rolled down the driver’s side window.

“Can I help you ma’am?” the old man smiled.

Jameson and Clarrie looked at the sixty something lean black man in the 1950’s police style uniform.

“Yes,” Clarrie smiled, “The Crawfords? We are supposed to do our walk throw and move in today?”

“Oh yes,” the man smiled, “Just need to see some ID.”

Clarrie looked for her purse, Jameson pulled his driver’s license out of his wallet. The guard looked at it and wrote something on the clip board in his hand.

“Thank you,” the Guard smiled, “Now you are going to be the one right at that corner over there, left side before the intersection.”

“There is an intersection?” Clarrie asked.

“One throw twenty is here on the left,” the guard gestured with his hand, “Twenty-one throw thirty is the col-de-sac on the left, thirty-one throw forty is the coul-de-sac ahead, forty-one throw fifty is the coul-de-sac on the right and fifty-one throw sixty is the right side coming back to the gate. Please watch out for the children. And Welcome to the neighborhood.”

The man went back to the gate house and pressed a button. The front gate slide back opening the way for them. As the pair drove their vehicle down the road it started creeping Jameson out.

“I feel like we are in the middle of the old Pod People movie,” Jameson muttered.

“It has the fifties feel to it,” Clarrie agreed.

Looking around Jameson and noticed a woman and her daughter on the sidewalk.

“Oh, that’s Sally Mercier, she is the VP of product development for the company,” Clarrie recognized the woman, “And that is Kelly Navratil. She is in HR.”

“Your boss is a lady, they are ladies,” Jameson looked at his pretty red-haired wife, “You are a lady. Are there any guys at your company?”

“Willy Randel got a job with us,” Clarrie said.

“Who?”

“Grabby hands at the first office I worked,” Clarrie clarified.

“Oh you are going to be stressed when you come home,” Jameson remembered how he annoyed his bride.

“Lucky for everyone he has an office in Manhattan,” Clarrie said, “Oh John Bell works in senior management.”

“Who?”

“The Santa look alike I did the video call with,” Clarrie said, “You know to make sure my hiring was done legally.”

“Which house is his?” Jameson asked.

“He is in Manhattan too so he can deal with the FTC, Wallstreet people and what not,” Clarrie stopped the truck as a soccer ball rushed out into the street.

They watched as a mother and her daughter waved after seeing the truck come to a complete stop. It was an Asian woman and her half Asian daughter in soccer shorts and cleats that went over to grab the ball.

“So they put mister grabby in New York with the Lawyer, do they have desks across from each other?” Jameson joked.

“Maybe,” Clarrie watched the pair in the street run back to their lawn, “Oh that’s what her name, she is the consultant for the Asian Market expansion.

“Is everyone here a company member?” Jameson asked.

“I don’t think they are,” Clarrie pointed at a pair of women on the street to the left.

While the company women were wearing blouses, tight jeans and heels the two in front of the house next to theirs were dressed like 1950’s house wives.

“In this neighborhood, they must be married to a judge or doctor or something,” Jameson said.

“They could be judges,” Clarrie said.

“Why would a judge go around dressed like June Cleaver?” Jameson asked.

“Two points,” Clarrie admitted.

“That was at least a 3 pointer,” Jameson said.

“Don’t push your luck,” Clarrie said as she pulled into the drive way.

A woman waited in a gold colored skirt suit with a clipboard at the front door.

Clarrie and Jameson got out and made their way over to the waiting woman.

“Jamie and Clarrie Crawford?” the woman asked.

“Jameson Crawford” Jameson corrected as he shook her hand.

“Clarrie,” Clarrie took the woman’s hand.

“Maggie Selene,” the woman’s voice oozed a honey thick southern accent, “I am the real estate agent for the Community. We have been talking on the phone Mrs. Crawford.”

“Ok,” Clarrie said.

“Care to do the honors?” Maggie handed Clarrie the house key.

“Just the one?” Jameson asked.

“No there are more on the counter in the kitchen inside. To the left there is the three car garage by the fence, any basketball players?”

“No,” Jameson said.

“Well as we go in there will be a front sitting room, then a behind it a pantry, to the left a mud and laundry room, then a kitchen behind it with a small intimate eating area and to the left a dining room. Both of those open on to the back patio and lawn,” Maggie ran the sales pitch, “Inside by the mud room is the stairs to the upstairs. From the front back is a home office, three bedrooms sharing a full bath and in the back is the master bedroom with full bath plus walk in closets and an upper patio overlooking the back yard.”

As Clarrie opened the front door, the three looked in at the model 1950’s sitting room minus furniture. Jameson tried to whistle the theme song to Leave it to Beaver.

“It is a hardwood floor,” Maggie pointed down, “The dark bits are maple leather and the light squares are Natural Hickory.”

“We can play chess,” Clarrie said looking at the alternating dark and white foot squares below her feet, “Oh boy.”

“Oh your left is the closet under the stairs here. And this leads back to the center of the home,” Maggie lead them past their sitting room, “On the right here is the Pantry.”

They looked in at the four foot way eight deep storage room.

“And on here on the left is the mud room and laundry room,” Maggie pointed behind them, “Next here is the Kitchen on the right and the stairs over on the left.”

The kitchen looked like a modern attempt to recreate the 1950’s astatic.

“Ok I have to ask,” Jameson asked, “How are we getting this much house? We paid for maybe a quarter of this house?”

Maggie half frowned, half smiled.

“This house belonged to Mister Tillerson,” Maggie started.

“Oh,” Clarrie softly gasped.

“Huh?” Jameson arched an eyebrow.

“Honey,” Clarrie tried to whisper, “I was hired to replace him.”

“What?” Jameson was still confused.

“It’s alright,” Maggie said, “While tragic it isn’t scandalous. Mrs. Tillerson died some years ago leaving Mister Tillerson with their three daughters. I am sure you heard of the crash in the pacific, The Hobbit Disaster?”

“Yeah the New Zealand flight that crashed,” Jameson said.

“Mister Tillerson and his youngest daughter were on that flight,” Maggie sighed, “Miss Kerensky bought it from the estate for a very large amount to set up the remaining children in addition the benefits package she authorized for them as survivors. Now she doesn’t have much use for this house in and by itself, so she put it back on the market at a loss to be done with it.”

“Oh,” Clarrie and Jameson said.

“Now back here is the formal dining room and informal one and in there is the back yard,” Maggie said pointing out the glass door, “If you want, the association has a gardening service come by every Tuesday. We get a discount by group bargaining. Trash is every Monday and Friday.”

*

Once they had toured the house and signed the paper work Jameson hugged his wife as they looked out over the back yard from their bed room.

“We should unpack the moving truck,” Jameson said.

“We should,” Clarrie agreed.

Jameson had his chin on his wife’s shoulder.

“I know jumping ship on the shop was hard to do,” Clarrie said, “But working for Jen’s company was too good of an opportunity.”

“I am not sure about this,” Jameson confessed.

“Jen worked her way up to a VP in three companies before she went back to her dad’s company,” Clarrie spoke, “She just asked me to apply. I had to go through HR on my own and I didn’t even get the first job I applied for. It’s sad that Mister Tillerson died, but nobody could have seen that opening up.”

“I always got the feeling she hated me,” Jameson thought of the times he met his wife’s new boss.

“She liked you fine,” Clarrie said, “She just didn’t like certain parts about you…”

“She would rather I was your wife,” Jameson finished the thought.

“Honey,” Clarrie turned around and kissed her husband, “I married you because I love you. I am working for the queen of the SS Lipstick because it is a great opportunity to secure our financial future and our kid’s future.”

“Speaking of kid’s future,” Jameson smiled.

“Ah,” Clarrie looked around, “We need to unload the truck first. You know so we have a bed to screw on?”

“Why?” Jameson asked.

“Come on horn dog,” Clarrie broke free from his embrace, “Enough dilly-dallying.”

Jameson looked out the rear windows one last time. He saw the neighbors in their room. It was a woman in a rockabilly jeans and top with another in a house wife outfit kissing and making out.

“I guess Ms Jen Kerensky isn’t the only dyke on the block…” Jameson noted to himself.

As he left he couldn’t hear the pair giggling and commenting about what a cute couple their new neighbors were and they looked forward to helping them adjust to life on Sapphire Lane…