I need a housekeeper

Rubbing his temple in hopes of alleviating the throbbing in his head, Simon listened bored to what the black-eyed, brown-haired woman in a blue micro-dress was saying. Her voice was irritating, the crossing and uncrossing of her legs were irritating, and the faces she made were irritating. Everything about that woman annoyed him, but the main thing was that she forced him to waste his precious time interviewing her when it was obvious that she wanted much more than to be his housekeeper. It was evident in the way she smiled, pretended to be modestly pulling down the ultra-tight dress hem to cover her thick thighs— obviously without success— and the way she leaned for any reason, offering Salvatore a beautiful view of her ample breasts.

He closed his eyes for a moment after the eighth time she slowly crossed and uncrossed her legs since he began interviewing her. He assumed she had watched Basic Instinct too many times.

She was not the first interviewee to blatantly insinuate herself to him. And on another day, in another place, or even there, after a productive night at the club, Simon would accept the invitation with satisfaction. It's just that, as a matter of common sense, he would not be crazy to hire a woman who would work overtime in his bed. He would never have casual sex with someone who had total access to his home and who, in a fit of anger, set everything on fire.

At the moment, all he wanted was to hire someone to keep his apartment in order, his clothes clean and perfectly aligned in the closet, and to make sure that when he came back from the club or work, he had something to eat. A simple and practical desire, but apparently impossible to obtain.

"You can be sure that I will fulfill each of your fantasies," the brunette hinted, licking her lips suggestively.

Right! Basic Instinct was a very intellectual movie for that woman, who had certainly seen the leg-crossing and lascivious gesture in some fifth-rate p**n movie.

"Miss Moraes, I'm looking for a housekeeper, not a…" He held back the desire to say "fuck" and stood up. "Thank you for coming, and if I choose you, I will call you later this week." "Which will never happen," he added mentally as he walked decisively to the apartment door and flung it open. "Have a good day, Miss Moraes."

"I look forward to your call, Simon."

Simon wondered at what point in the interview he had given such intimacy to that woman that she purred his first name and kissed him on the cheek - and that was because he turned his face.

"New girlfriend, son?" The distinguished female voice behind him caused a slight tremor of apprehension.

He turned and watched his mother, Mirela Salvatore, elegant in a combination of white and black striped pencil skirt, white long-sleeved shirt, and high heels, walking towards them, her perceptive black eyes interested in the brunette beside him.

"No, Mom," he replied, fearing the consequences of the misinterpretation. "I just interviewed her for the housekeeper position."

"Really?" Mirela looked the woman up and down, smiled, and commented sarcastically, "In my day, housekeepers wore more clothes and didn't leave lipstick marks on their future employer's face." Ignoring the swear word Simon muttered after wiping his cheek and seeing his fingers stained with red, she continued sarcastically, "New time, new attitudes, right...? What's your name, my dear?"

"Fernanda Moraes."

"Fernanda… nice name..."

Mirela supposed that she had made her displeasure evident, as the woman said goodbye quickly and left her alone with her son, who thought he was a conqueror. As soon as Simon closed the door, she asked:

"Are you thinking of hiring that woman, Simon? I won't say anything about her... let's just say her life is a bit... unconventional. But hiring a woman who wants to be more than just an employee is dangerous," she warned, following him into the living room. "She'll soon want a diamond ring on her finger and a hefty divorce settlement."

"Don't worry. I have no intention of hiring her, or marrying anyone for that matter," he hastened to add.

Mirela frowned.

"I'm glad you still have a shred of common sense, but I hope you change your mind about getting married."

"Hmm..." Simon rubbed his temple harder. Whenever Mirela started talking about marriage, the conversation would drag on for hours.

"You'll be thirty soon, and you need to start thinking about marriage, children, and a home," Mirela repeated, much to her son's chagrin. "I need grandchildren."

"I still have three birthdays until I turn thirty," he grumbled. "And Alessandro has already given you two grandchildren."

"Simon Salvatore, just because your brother has children doesn't mean I don't expect you to have them too," Mirela retorted, sitting on the soft sofa and straightening her perfectly dyed black hair and clothes before fixing her disapproving gaze on her youngest son. "You need to find a girl to settle down with instead of having flings."

Simon rolled his eyes, hating being represented, for the umpteenth time, as the ungrateful son who didn't think about the future and would die without leaving any descendants.

On one hand, he understood his mother. Orphaned at the age of ten, Mirela had spent many years in an orphanage. Whenever she talked about that time, it was with the sadness of losing family ties and successive rejections due to her age. Joy only returned when she remembered how she had met her husband and together formed the family of her dreams. Or almost, she emphasized, looking at Simon.

She cherished family. Practical Simon cherished himself.

"Do you know what I really need?" he asked, throwing himself on the sofa in front of his mother. "I need a discreet, reliable housekeeper with a sense of organization who can live in my apartment without attacking me at night," he said, running his hand over his exhausted face due to the dozens of women he had interviewed. "But everything indicates that such a person doesn't exist."

"I know the perfect woman, darling," he heard from the matriarch.

Ignoring the huge smile on Mirela's face, which usually meant an idea loaded with ulterior motives, Simon didn't hesitate to ask, "Hire her."

That was all Mirela needed to spring into action. She got up and marched quickly to the door.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to tell Carlos to prepare the contract for your future housekeeper. I'll come to introduce her tonight, my dear," she announced cheerfully before disappearing out the door.

Alarmed to hear the family lawyer's name, Simon got up and followed her, but it was too late. He only saw the elevator doors closing as his mother waved goodbye.

~

Author's note: Instinctive Savage: Erotic suspense film from 1992, directed by Paul Verhoeven and written by Joe Eszterhas.