A/N: Yes, it's been a while since I updated my 'Wordy' 5 Things anthology. Here's more silliness. Hope you enjoy it.

5 Things That Never Happened to Kevin Wordsworth

Just a Handyman

It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out why the lyrics to Dire Strait's Money for Nothing were running through Kevin Wordsworth's head.

"You can just put the microwave over there," Mrs. Penelope Vanderford instructed, pointing with a slender finger towards the dining room, indicating an imported teak dining table. She was wearing a white sundress with a plunging neckline and short hem, revealing enough skin to show she'd probably already been to the tanning salon more than once for the season.

Kevin, dressed in faded jeans with a tool-belt strapped to his waist, white T-shirt and steel-toed boots, caught sight of a flash of deep, red nail polish on her immaculately-manicured nails.

"Will do, ma'am," Kevin said, as he hefted the heavy appliance from the spacious island in the middle of the equally spacious kitchen.

"Oh, you don't have to 'ma'am' me," she said with a laugh, swishing her hand through the air in a gesture of dismissal. "That sort of old-fashioned nonsense went out the window in my grandmother's time."

"Sure," Kevin replied easily, and gently set down the microwave, trying to mask his look of consternation over Penelope's apparent lack of concern for the finish on the expensive tabletop. He returned to the kitchen, and noticed not for the first time how Mrs. Vanderford's green eyes followed him around.

"Well, then, that's everything moved out of your way, right?" she asked.

"Yes," Kevin replied, nodding at the area in the kitchen that was about to become his workspace. The stainless steel oven, refrigerator, and dishwasher had all been moved aside, and he was about to embark on installing a brand-new set of custom kitchen cabinets and a granite countertop on what was at present a rather ugly Formica island.

"Okay, I'll leave you to it," Mrs. Vanderford said gaily, "let me know if you need anything!"

"I will, Mrs. Vanderford. Thanks."

"It's Penny, for heaven's sake! Don't 'Mrs.' me, either! What am I, an old lady?" she said with a playful pout, twining her pearl necklace around the slender fingers of her right hand. She fussed her shoulder-length russet-dyed hair with the other hand.

"No, no you're not an old lady," Kevin said in placating tones, "…Penny." But you are married…

Penny smiled with satisfaction. "Good," she said. "And I meant what I said earlier."

Kevin looked up from the large box filled with un-assembled pieces of kitchen cabinet. "What's that?"

"'Let me know if you need anything'," Penny repeated, with emphasis.

"Oh, yeah," Kevin said, "right."

He returned his attention to the box and moved to open it, trying to ignore the fact that 'Penny' was lingering in the entrance to the kitchen; he was keenly aware she was watching him.

Oh, well, he thought. Just get down to installing this stuff. The sooner you get out of here, the better.

Kevin carefully removed all the components, laying everything out on the tiled floor in a manageable order. As he squatted, his back to Penny, Kevin tried to appear to be in deep concentration. He hoped his body language would indicate to her a strong sense of 'Do not disturb'.

After a few minutes, the diminishing sound of clicking high heels on the floor alerted Kevin to the fact that Penny had finally retreated.

Sheesh, he thought. Who wears high heels inside the house?

He tried to picture his own beautiful Shelley chasing down their three girls in high heels. Never gonna happen, he thought. With a shrug, Kevin returned to the cabinets in earnest.

Kevin knew he'd been hired for the job because the previous worker – actually from the interior design/remodelling company – had had one too many disagreements with Penny; she'd revealed as much when Kevin signed on for the job.

"I like the stuff they make and their designs and all that," she'd said, "but what a rotten attitude! He was rude and condescending. My husband and I tossed him out. My neighbour recommended you. She said you did some work for her in their kitchen, and she was really satisfied… Hmm. Just by looking at you, I can see why."

Kevin rolled his eyes at the memory of that conversation.

A few minutes later, he was admiring the yet-to-be-assembled pieces of cabinets made of lovely cherry wood with a dark 'Espresso' finish, all laid out on the floor. The dismantling of the old set of cabinets and the re-finishing of the wall and other surfaces had already been attended to by the guy previously contracted for the job.

Kevin's ears perked up at the sound of clicking heels, indicating that Penny had returned.

Oh, great. What does she want now?

"You know, I'm at a total loss at what to call you…" she started, giving him a coy look. "I'm sure you can't abide 'Mr. Wordsworth' any more than I can abide 'Mrs. Vanderford'…"

"Uh, I guess 'Kevin' is fine, Penny," he responded uncomfortably, feeling as if she were trying to ascertain the name of a pet dog, "though people mostly call me 'Wordy'. You know, 'Wordsworth' ... 'Wordy'…"

"Ah, so not because you're a talkative sort of man," Penny said, smiling broadly.

"Nope. I'm pretty much a man of few words," Kevin affirmed.

"Yes, well, I'm sure you're the sort of man for which the adage 'Actions speak louder than words' holds true, hmm?"

"Yeah, that's me, alright," Kevin responded dryly.

There were a few beats of uncomfortable silence, and Wordy was at a loss as to how to get rid of the clingy Mrs. Vanderford.

"Um, Penny," he started, "it's about to get noisy in here while I get the drill going to assemble some of these pieces… I hope that doesn't disturb you too much…"

"It won't," she replied easily, still keeping her eyes on him.

Wordy sighed inwardly. Fine, he thought decisively. Let her stare…

He reached into his sack of tools for his power drill and fished out the proper drill bit. Look all you want, Penny; I just hope your mother taught you not to touch.

Over the din of the drill, Wordy did not hear Penny creeping up closer to him, did not see her bending closer to look at his rear, but he did he hear the explosive "What the hell?" shouted from the dining room.

In a flash, Kevin switched off the drill, and jumped a foot in the air when he saw Penny behind him, a look of guilty surprise on her face quickly replaced with one of sweet innocence.

"Penny!" the other voice boomed. "Who the hell put this microwave on the teak table?"

Wordy cleared his throat, and the person to whom the voice belonged stalked into the kitchen.

"My husband," Penny muttered under her breath, a sweet smile still plastered to her face.

Mr. Vanderford's face was red with unexpressed rage. He was dressed in a pricey tailored suit and gripped a leather briefcase very tightly in his right hand.

"Who the hell is this?" he asked, raising his briefcase and gesturing in Wordy's direction.

"Uh, I'm Kevin Wordsworth… I'm-"

"Another one of my wife's boyfriends?" Mr. Vanderford interrupted with a sneer, taking a few menacing steps further into the kitchen.

"Marcus!" Penny chided.

Marcus sent a look of disgust Penny's way. "Don't 'Marcus' me, Penny!"

Penny dropped her head and lowered her eyes in submission.

Marcus turned his attention back to Kevin. "You…"

There was a distinct smell of booze coming from Marcus that Kevin detected. Probably had a three-martini lunch, he thought with condemnation, but did his best to hide his disgust.

"Hey, look," Kevin said smoothly, trying to take a calming approach, "I'm just a handyman…"

"Yeah, I'll bet you are. I'll bet you're very handy," Marcus said tersely, slightly slurring his words. "I want you outta my house, now! Kitchen remodelling time's over! Beat it!"

"Marcus," Penny rebuked, "you're drunk."

"And you're a cheating little two-faced-sl-"

"Hey! Watch your language!" Wordy interrupted before Marcus could finish his predictably vulgar sentence.

"I thought I told you to beat it," the drunken man shot back insolently.

Wordy looked uneasily between Penny and Marcus. Sure, he could leave, but he was fearful for what might happen if he did. Marcus was clearly the type of man who liked to throw his weight around, and with a few martinis in him, the alcohol was only exacerbating the situation.

Marcus' eyes were red-rimmed and bulging with fury. If he'd been a cartoon character, Wordy was pretty sure there would be smoke coming out of his ears. He stood his ground.

"I told you to get out!" Marcus bellowed. "You're trespassing. If you're not gone in five seconds, I'll have the police remove you."

"Marcus…" Penny whispered.

"Enough from you!" her husband shot back.

"Mr. Vanderford, I don't like how you talk to your wife," Wordy said.

"You don't, eh?" retorted Marcus. He took an uneven step towards Kevin and threw a languid punch in his general direction.

Kevin easily sidestepped the errant fist, and Marcus's momentum caused him to topple forward and fall to the kitchen floor.

"Marcus!" Penny cried.

When the man did not rise, she began to panic.

Kevin bent down, checked over the fallen man, and turned him on to his side so he was lying the recovery position.

"He's just passed out," Kevin said. "Let him sleep it off."

Penny just stared at her husband's motionless form, his hand still gripping his briefcase.

"He's not always like this," she said plaintively. "He just gets jealous when he's been drinking. He'd never hurt a fly."

"Right," Kevin replied dubiously.

"No, really! He's never laid a hand on me, or anybody, if that's what you're thinking." Penny countered.

"Whatever, lady," Kevin said, gathering up his belongings.

"Wait, where are you going?"

"Home," Kevin answered. "I've had enough drama for one day."

"You can't leave! You're the fourth handyman to abandon this job!" Penny pleaded.

"Sorry. I don't need to deal with flirty wives and drunk, jealous husbands!"

"Well," Penny said with a pout of dismay, waving her hands around the kitchen, "who's going to finish all this?"

"You want my advice?" Kevin asked.

Penny stared at him, awaiting an answer.

"If you want someone to work for you, hire a handy-woman!"