The Good Neighbor: A Novel

by Jay Quinn

Meg sighed and stood. “Don’t worry about it, Josh. It’s just a glass.”

  “You want to come see your present?” He asked tentatively. “Dad had to take us to Home Expo to get it. They didn’t have one at Home Depot.”

  Meg smiled at him as she walked to the door. If she didn’t follow him right away, any surprise would be forfeited by his eagerness to make her feel better. “Well, let’s go see what I got, okay?”

  Josh rewarded her by taking her hand and tugging her into the family room. “Dad says you’ve been wanting one,” he urged.

  Meg laughed. “Well, don’t tell me what it is. That’ll spoil the surprise.”

  Josh let go of her hand and nodded gravely. Without another word, he turned and headed past the kitchen toward the living room. Meg watched him go, feeling the absence of his warm little hand in her own as she followed.

  When she arrived in the living room a few steps behind Josh, Noah and Austin were pushing the sofa that sat under a large painting away from the wall. “What’s going on?” She demanded gently.

  Austin looked at her and smiled. “Look in the bag,” he said motioning toward her antique writing desk that stood on slim, elegant legs against the narrow wall by the foyer.

  Josh scampered around the sofa ahead of her and tugged the bag from the writing table’s top, pulling the leather blotter that it sat on along with it. She managed to reach the table before the blotter fell along with the silver pen stand, inkwell, and sand shaker crowded under the bag. She shoved the leather blotter and accessories back just in time. Josh gave her a worried look as he handed her the bag, but she only stroked the fair hair off his forehead before sitting on the sofa now askew in the middle of the area rug.

  Austin walked around to sit beside her. Noah perched on the sofa’s back and Josh settled by her feet. “This is like Christmas,” she said happily.

  “Open it,” Austin urged.

  Meg reached inside the bag and pulled out a long, narrow box with a picture of a painting light gleaming over an impressively framed old master work.” She looked at Austin with a delighted smile. She’d been hankering for a light over her living room painting for years. While it was no old master, it was a large painting she and Austin had circled back to after three circuits around the Coconut Grove Arts Festival when Noah was only a baby in a stroller. It was impossibly expensive and set back their goal to pay off Mastercard for nearly a year, but Meg loved it all the more for the effort to make it their own.

  Eagerly, Austin took the box from her. “It is the largest one they make. And, I remembered to get the antique brass finish you wanted,” he said proudly.

  Meg kissed him in reply, delighted with her present.

  “Open it, Dad,” Noah urged.

  “Why don’t you boys run go get me my tool box from the garage,” Austin laughed. “And we’ll get it put up right away.”

  Noah swung his legs over the back of the sofa and bounded off a cushion, leaving shoe prints on the pale blue fabric. Josh took off after him. Meg smiled and brushed at the marks and dirt Noah’s sneakers had left beside her. She was too happy to make a big deal out of it. Every night, when she walked in the front door, she imagined the luminous glow of a light over her painting welcoming her home. It would be a meaningful testament to her own hard work and bespoke a kind of graciousness in her life and tastes, she thought. Impulsively, she put her arm over Austin’s shoulder and gave his neck a playful squeeze.

  Intent on getting the box open, Austin shrugged off her embrace, but tossed her a happy grin to show he appreciated the gesture. She watched as he freed the light fixture from its cardboard packing and plastic sheath. He tilted the box and was rewarded with another plastic bag containing a face plate, screws, and wire twists. He looked in the empty box again, gritted his teeth, and said, “Shit!”

  “What’s wrong?” Meg asked with an indulgent patience won from Austin’s typical ineptitude around things requiring a certain type of handiness.

  Austin turned the painting light over in his hands and slumped. “It doesn’t have a plug. It has to be hardwired to a switch. Oh for fuck’s sake.”

  The boys reappeared excitedly with a plastic tool box that rattled promisingly. Hearing their father’s frustration, they stilled and looked at him anxiously.

  “It’s no big deal, Austin,” Meg said calmly.

  He looked at her with sheer disbelief. “It is a big deal. It means pulling a wire. It means using tools I don’t have. It means I’ll have to pay a damn electrician to get it working,” he said furiously. “You know Meg, sometimes it seems like I can’t get a damn thing right around here.”

  Josh sat the tool box on the floor within his father’s reach and backed away, sensing a sudden parental storm he hadn’t expected.

  Meg patted his shoulder and gave the boys a conspiratorial look. Smiling, she said, “Look, isn’t Rory next door an electrician? Maybe he can give you a hand.”

  Austin dropped the lamp on the cushion next to him and caught Noah smirking back at his mother. “Great idea, Meg,” he said as he stood. “Why don’t I go get a gay guy to show me how to wire a lamp. Why not?” Disregarding Meg, he shoved his end of the sofa back into place against the wall with two serious pushes.

  Speechless, Meg and the boys simply looked at him. In sheer frustration he glared at the boys and said, “Worthless. This is just fucking worthless.”

  “Dad, maybe we could just…” Noah offered.

  “Just what? Just what, Noah? Jury-rig it? No, it has to be done right, and your old man can’t do this right, okay?”

  Noah hung his head.

  “Austin…” Meg began.

  He shook his head and shoulders like an enraged lion and then became stock still, with another sudden mood shift taking him from angry frustration to simple defeat. Wearily, Austin said, “Josh, please put the tool box back where you found it. I wish we could get this up today, but we can’t. Noah, help your mother get the sofa back against the wall.” With that he looked shamefacedly at Meg. “I’m going for a walk.”

  “Sweetheart…” Meg began again.

  Austin simply held up his hand, turned on his heel, and walked out the front door. Meg and the boys watched as he closed it gently behind him.

  Meg sighed, her mind turning to what she could make better. “Josh, on your way back from the garage, please bring me the broom and dustpan so I can sweep up the mess by the pool.”

  Josh nodded, picked up the tool box, and backed away.

  Meg stood and looked at Noah calmly. “Give me a hand with the sofa, okay?”

  Noah stepped around her and shoved his end of the sofa back into place before she could turn to help him. Done, he looked at her proudly. Meg nodded and gave him a small smile.

  “Mom, why was Dad so pissed off? It’s just a stupid lamp.”

  Meg looked at him tenderly, but only said, “Don’t say pissed off, Noah.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  What a lovely home

  RORY WIPED HIS hands with a dish towel and looked around the kitchen and family room. Everything looked okay on final inspection, but Bruno had a way of growing clutter in his path like Mother Nature strew spring flowers as she passed. Harmlessly enough, Bruno was kneeling by the rack of audio equipment under the flat-screen TV, feeding CDs into their player. The empty cases were neatly stacked back on top.

  “What did you choose?” Rory asked.

  Absently, Bruno replied, “The Essential Luther Vandross, the new Jack Johnson, Wayman Tisdale, Grover Washington’s Winelight, and, to spike things up some, some old Dire Straits, and that acid jazz rap thing you got from Dazz Coleman when I told you not to.”

  “What do you think of it?” Rory asked cautiously.

  Bruno got to his feet and shrugged. “It’s not really my kind of deal, but it’s not bad. So, what did you tell Dazz?”

  “It’s only a few days of studio work, Will.”

  Bruno walked to the bar and picked up his glass of wine. “So it’s Will now, is it? How
much is he going to pay you?”

  Rory carefully folded the dishcloth in his hands and placed it next to the sink before he met Bruno’s eyes. “Not much point in talking about money until they decide if they want me, is there?”

  Bruno took a sip of his wine and gave Rory an appraising look before sitting his glass back on the bar. “So how does this fit in with your clients?”

  Rory stood in the glare of the overhead lights and stared at him. “I’m slack right now. The new client has me on hold until they get the lease signed for their space. They said they’d call by the middle of next month.”

  “When do you try out?” Bruno said.

  “They’re waiting for their keyboardist to get in from D.C. They want me to try out with the entire group. It should be some time next week, maybe as much as ten days.”

  Bruno nodded and said, “And just when did you plan to tell me you were going ahead with this? When they’d made their decision?”

  Rory laughed and moved closer to him. “I figured there was no need to get you all freaked out unless there was something to be freaked out about.”

  Bruno nodded once more, then picked up his wine glass and drained it. “Sneaky little fuck, aren’t you?”

  “Aw c’mon, Will. It’s not like that and you know it. It’s just something I want to do. How long has it been since I had the chance to sing? They may hate me, but what’s the harm in trying?”

  The doorbell rang and Bridget started awake and let out a deep long baying. Bruno’s eyes followed the sound back to the foyer. “This discussion isn’t over,” he said as he headed to the door.

  Rory caught Bridget by the collar as she trotted after Bruno and steered her into the bedroom. Once she had found her place on the foot of the bed, he ran his fingers through his hair to get it out of his eyes, closed the door, and tiredly walked to the foyer. Secretly he hoped the Hardens hadn’t brought flowers. He hated it when guests brought flowers. It meant hunting for a vase, trimming the stems, and finding a place for them when all he wanted to do by the time guests arrived was have a glass of wine and relax a bit before he had to start serving dinner.

  Bruno opened the door and warmly welcomed the Hardens inside. He shook hands with Meg, then Austin, and steered them toward Rory waiting behind him. Shyly, Meg extended a bottle of wine instead of a bouquet of flowers hastily bought at Publix. Rory smiled as he took it and welcomed her by taking her hand in his. Austin was waiting behind her with his hand extended. Bruno stepped between them and, taking Meg’s elbow, offered the couple a tour of the house.

  Austin glanced at his hand extended awkwardly and gave Rory a shy smile. Rory switched the bottle of wine he was holding and clumsily offered his own to shake. As they both laughed, Austin gripped his hand warmly and thanked him for having them over.

  Rory squeezed his hand in return and waited for Austin to let his hand go. Austin held on just a beat too long and looked past Rory to where his wife and Bruno stood in the living room. Gently, Rory took his hand back. At once, Austin looked back at him and laughed again nervously.

  “A little overwhelmed?” Rory asked with a smile, nodding toward Bruno.

  Austin smiled. “I’m a little out of practice with social things,” he said.

  “It gets easier, I promise,” Rory replied. “You’re missing the tour.”

  “Coming along?” Austin asked hopefully.

  Rory nodded and lead him into the living room where Bruno and Meg were examining the paintings that lined the walls. As Austin and Rory joined them, Bruno was pointing out a near-nude figure draped in dark wings, prominently featured at the side of the center painting. “That’s me,” he said proudly.

  Meg leaned in for a better look, as did Austin. “My god, it is you,” Meg said, her voice betraying both admiration and a hint of hesitation. She leaned back from the painting and gave Bruno an admiring once-over. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

  Bruno laughed. “I’ve had my wings clipped, though.”

  Austin’s eyes flared with recognition. “These are from your senior show, aren’t they Rory?”

  Rory nodded and smiled.

  “You did these in college? Were you copying Raphael or Michelangelo? Someone like that?” Meg asked earnestly.

  “Tiepolo, actually,” Rory said and laughed. “Do you recognize the school library in this one,” he said, pointing, “and the front of the art building in that one?”

  Austin and Meg both leaned closer for a better look. “I need my glasses,” Meg apologized.

  “Yes, that is the library and the art school both,” Austin announced, pleased.

  “That one’s Rory,” Bruno said, pointing to another nearly nude angel, this time with white wings.

  Meg and Austin stepped to the right to get a better view of the figure. Meg gasped. “It is you!” Her eyes swept Rory and generously she said, “And you haven’t changed a bit either.”

  Austin turned to Rory and said, “A few weeks ago you said your senior show almost made you flunk out. Was it the paintings or your band playing?”

  “They loved the band. They said it was the most original part of the exhibit,” Rory snorted. “It was these paintings they hated.”

  “Why?” Meg asked. “These paintings are very good.”

  Bruno looked at Rory and grinned. “The art faculty didn’t enjoy having their leg pulled. They had no sense of humor.” Meg and Austin looked confused. “Show them Rory,” he prodded.

  Rory gestured at the characters inhabiting the paintings. “All of these characters are real people. Classmates. Teachers. What I did was take some of Tiepolo’s paintings that showed these historical visits or whatever, and painted the people from the art school as the characters. This fawning cardinal? He’s the head of the Art Department. The person he’s welcoming is supposed to be the king of France. I gave him the the face of the vice-chancellor for academic affairs. Everything is contemporary but the costumes and poses. That’s why the buildings are from campus and not from Venice.”

  “But that’s a really interesting idea. Why did they have a problem with it?” Meg asked.

  “They said it wasn’t very imaginative,” Rory explained. “All of my classmates in the painting program were showing these tedious, neurotic, nonrepresentational things. I like representational art… .”

  “Beside the fact he can actually draw,” Bruno interjected.

  Rory gave him a pleasant nod of the head and then looked at Meg once more. “Anyway, the senior show committee said it wasn’t painting, it was illustration. They gave me a D for the semester’s work.”

  “That’s not fair,” Meg said indignantly.

  Rory gave her a smile. “It was all a long time ago. No big deal.”

  “So what are you painting now?” Meg asked.

  Bruno gave him a pointed look. Rory ignored it. “I don’t really paint anymore,” he said. “I’m really just an electrician these days.”

  “Why aren’t you still painting?” Austin asked. “These are very good.”

  “That’s what I keep telling him,” Bruno agreed. “I encourage him all the time, but he doesn’t listen to me. He’d rather sing with some bullshit…”

  “Not now, Bruno.” Rory said firmly.

  “You’re singing again? That’s great! You were fantastic the one time I saw you. It was this show,” Austin said gesturing at the paintings.

  “Tell them, star child,” Bruno said and laughed snidely.

  Rory cut him a sharp glance and shook his head. “Look, it’s nothing really,” he said to Austin. “I don’t want to get into it.”

  “Rory has an audition in a week or so with some whacked out jazz funk rap fusion bullshit group that won’t pay him squat. But you want to do it for creative reasons, don’t you Rory? Stretch your boundaries or something, that right?” Bruno asked tauntingly.

  “Maybe,” Rory said. “We’ll see.”

  Meg and Austin looked distinctly confused and uncomfortable with their exchange. They glanced from R
ory to Bruno with pleasant smiles glued to their faces. Finally, Austin said, “I never got why you played at the senior show. I mean the band was great, but I wasn’t sure why… you know?”

  Rory shifted the bottle of wine from one hand to the other and looked to Bruno for help. Bruno only looked back at him, waiting along with Meg and Austin for an answer. He took a deep breath, looked at Austin, and said, “It was for a couple of reasons. Both of them personal.”

  Obviously, all three were eager to hear more. Rory wished they could just let it go, but their rapt attention demanded he continue. He straightened his shoulders and went on, “For one thing, the whole art school thing was so artificial. The most real thing in my life back then was the band. The other thing was Bruno. For the show, I dressed us up in the same wings we had on in the painting. It was like the words from the song “Best of Both Worlds” by Van Halen. In a gravelly voice, he half sang, half spoke:

  There’s a picture in a gallery

  of a fallen angel

  Looked a lot like you

  Rory stopped singing and looked at each of them briefly before pointedly examining the picture of the black-winged angel. “I was so in love with Bruno. I really… I wanted the whole world to know it. I know that sounds stupid, but that’s what you do when you’re young, you go for the big statement.” Half laughing, he stepped away from them and said to no one in particular, “And, I guess you don’t mind making a fool out of yourself in the process.”

  For a moment, no one said anything, then Meg said, “That’s probably one of the most touching things I’ve ever heard.”

  Bruno, who’d shut up for once, only offered him a quiet smile.

  Austin focused his attention on the self-portrait Rory had painted at twenty-two, his neck and cheeks flushed.

  “Well, enough of that,” Rory said. “Can I get you some wine?”

  There were murmurs of assent all around. “Let me show you my office,” Bruno said. Rory left the room without another word as Bruno shepherded the Hardens toward his lair adjoining the living room.

  In the kitchen, Rory opened another bottle of wine and poured it out into four fresh glasses. He emptied the dirty ones he and Bruno had abandoned to answer the door and loaded them into the dishwasher. Then he took the cling wrap off a platter of cheese and fruit and walked it over to the coffee table. Already he wished the evening were over, and dinner hadn’t even been served. He made sure there were small plates within reach for the cheese and fruit on the coffee table before making his way back to check on the roast chicken resting in its pan on the stove. Before he could think about slicing it, Bruno and the Hardens made their way into the family room. Smiling graciously, he waited for Bruno to seat them on the leather sectional and then served them their wine.