ODD NUMBERS

by M. Grace Bernardin

  Then Frank’s voice rang out from his apartment directly above Vicky. “Forget it! I’m the one calling the cops. And it’ll be your ass on the line, Dooley, for allowing this crap to go on here. This used to be a respectable place to live until you moved in. Why don’t you just go back to your trailer park where you belong?” he hollered out as two motorcycles noisily sped away.

  “Fuck you!” Vicky yelled back.

  “You’d die trying and I’d die laughing,” Frank hollered.

  “Yeah, you wish, Frankie boy!”

  “Not really. I’ve never had a venereal disease and I certainly don’t care to catch one now.”

  “Go fuck yourself. That’s about all you’re used to getting anyway. Ain’t it?”

  “There you go, spouting off your favorite word again! You know, only people who aren’t intelligent enough to curse creatively resort to such childish obscenities as the “F” word,” Frank hollered back.

  There was a brief pause followed by a sudden blast as the volume on Vicky’s stereo got louder. Moments later, some loud classical piece blasted forth from Frank’s stereo. Allison thought she recognized it as the climax to the 1812 overture.

  “Shut the hell up! Both of you,” Tim hollered out of his downstairs apartment across from Vicky.

  Allison, now angry rather than scared, stepped out onto the balcony and leaned against the grate. “For once I agree with Tim,” she hollered out into the night. “Talk about childish!”

  “Whose side are you on, Allison?” Frank hollered above the raging chorus and blasting cannons of the 1812 overture.

  “Shut up Frank!” Allison yelled back, feeling a surge of resentment toward him. He’d been cold and snooty toward her ever since the cookout last June and it irked Allison to no end.

  “You tell him, Allison,” Vicky yelled.

  “You know, Vicky, it would help if you didn’t give him so much ammunition,” Allison yelled.

  Suddenly Sally became visible to all of them as she ran out the front door of building 3300, her robe fluttering behind her in the cold night air. She stood underneath the streetlight which lit their parking lot and screamed so hard that she shook. “Shut up! All of you! Just shut up!” There was silence as some lights from some of the nearby buildings went on. The church bells rang. They chimed twice–two o’clock in the morning.

  “Meeting in the downstairs hallway in five minutes. Everyone be there, including you Vicky,” Sally barked from the parking lot.

  This wasn’t the first late night hallway meeting. But it was the first one that Vicky had been invited to. Of course, Vicky was the reason they had the meetings in the first place. This was about the third or fourth, Allison figured as she tried to remember each of the futile middle of the night gatherings. They always started and ended the same way. Everyone would be awakened from their slumber by some disturbance that Vicky had created. She would then be confronted, usually by Frank, in which case she would tell him to “fuck off”, as she stormed out of the apartment and sped off in her pick up truck. The rest of Camelot, building 3300 would then meet in the hallway, usually by Sally’s door, and discuss what they should do about the “Vicky problem.”

  And so Allison got to observe all her neighbors in their nightwear. Tim was typically barefoot, clad in only a pair of boxers no matter how cold the weather was. Frank usually showed up looking like someone’s dad in his plaid flannel robe, matching flannel pajamas, and tan leather slippers. Sally’s unsprayed hair was calmer than usual, having been flattened out by her pillow, and her face wasn’t caked with makeup. She always wore the most exquisite silky gowns, matching robes, and slippers with heels and pink puff balls on the toes. Barb wore her surgical greens and a pair of flip flops, looking the same in the middle of the night as she did during the day. Allison wore striped pajamas and a blue terry cloth robe to the first meeting, but Sally teased her and Frank, calling them Doris Day and Rock Hudson. Since then she dressed for the meetings, quickly throwing on a pair of jeans or sweats and an old sweat shirt.

  Frank was spearheading the “evict Vicky campaign”. He’d taken it upon himself to talk to Vicky, and attempted to delegate responsibilities to everyone else. Sally was in charge of carefully documenting the date, time, and nature of each disturbance. Tim was to check into possible legal recourse and to find out about Lamasco’s noise ordinance. And they had all spoken with the landlady, Louise. As for Allison, she refused to do anything except defend Vicky.

  “Why do you defend her?” Sally asked Allison later that night in the hallway. Allison was distracted for a moment by the pink feather boa-like collar on Sally’s robe.

  “Because everyone has the right to a fair trial. Isn’t that right, Tim?”

  Tim said nothing in reply. He simply stood there, arms crossed against his bare chest as he pinched his nose and sniffed.

  “This isn’t a trial, Allison,” said Sally.

  “Oh, yeah, then what is it? And where the hell is Frank?”

  “I’m here,” he hollered from the top of the stairs.

  “We thought maybe you were going through the dumpster again looking for more evidence of a cat,” Allison said, thinking about Frank’s accusation that Vicky owned a cat. No pets were allowed at Camelot, yet Frank was convinced. He claimed he was allergic and could sense the cat every time he passed Vicky’s door.

  “I was calling the cops,” he hollered, sounding like an irritated old man as he galloped down the stairs. Allison felt a sudden wave of heat ripple through her as Frank came into view. He just had on his plaid pajama bottoms, no top and no robe. The surprise at seeing Frank half naked from his broad perfectly formed shoulders all the way down to his hips, upon which rested the elastic band of his pajamas, nearly knocked the wind out of her. She felt suddenly ridiculous, as her mind conjured up images of screaming teenage girls watching Elvis or the Beatles. Had he looked at her and smiled in that moment, she might just have swooned. Fortunately there was no chance of that happening. She touched her cheeks to see if they really were as hot as they felt. Stop it, Al. You’re lusting after your nemesis. Remember you hate this man and love Kent. Don’t look at his eyes. Don’t!

  Allison looked instead at the clipboard he held in his hand. Frank wouldn’t show up for a meeting without his clipboard. It was the perfect turn off. She focused hard on it and wondered what notes he might have jotted down.

  “I see ‘father knows best’ forgot to dress for our little meeting,” Allison said.

  “It’s hot in here! I’m burning up. Is anybody else hot?” Frank’s agitation was apparent by his reddened face. He frantically fanned himself with the clipboard.

  “I’m freezing,” said Sally. “It’s the middle of November.”

  “It’s you, Frank. Your blood pressure is through the roof,” said Barb. “Have you ever heard of a Type ‘A’ personality?”

  “What are you talking about?” asked Frank impatiently.

  “You. You’re Type ‘A’. Stroke material. You need to learn to relax,” said Barb.

  “Where the hell’s Dooley?” said Frank, ignoring Barb’s comment.

  “You actually think she’d come?” said Barb.

  “Did anybody see her leave?” asked Frank.

  “No, and I would have seen her,” said Sally.

  Frank made his way down the hallway to Vicky’s door in three quick purposeful strides. He pounded on the door and hollered, “Come out, Dooley. We know you’re in there.”

  All the women called out to Frank to stop while Tim just laughed. All at once Frank stopped banging on the door, put his hand on his chest, and began a series of short labored breaths. He wheezed hard with each inhalation and his eyes grew wide and bulging with panic.

  “You okay, buddy?” asked Tim approaching him with concern.

  “Just take it easy, Frank,” said Barb hurrying over to him.

  “Oh my God, is he having a heart attack? I knew something like this would happen,” said Sally.

  “It’s that damn
cat. I can’t breathe,” said Frank gasping to catch his breath.

  “Oh, c’mon, how can you have an allergic reaction through a door?” said Allison, who now wondered how she could have possibly been attracted to this man just moments before.

  Tim and Barb walked him over to the steps. “I can walk by myself, thank you. I don’t need your help,” Frank said, red in the face and wheezing.

  “Just sit down,” commanded Barb, sitting him on the steps. “Do you have an inhaler?”

  “Take it easy, buddy,” said Tim, also aiding him.

  “Do I need to call 911?” asked Sally.

  “I’m fine,” said Frank. “I just need to get away from her door,” he said, sitting on a step, his elbow propped on his knee and his head buried in his hand, his other hand still clutching the clipboard. “I know there’s a cat in there.”

  “I’ve got some meds upstairs that might help,” said Barb.

  “I don’t need anything.”

  “I do. What’ve you got?” asked Tim.

  “Nothing that would help you,” said Barb.

  “C’mon guys, don’t you think we got enough drug dealing going on around here?” said Sally.

  “Exactly!” Frank said as he lifted his head and seemed suddenly better, despite a slight remaining wheeze. “I do think there’s enough drug dealing going on around here. And I think that’s one of the things we need to address.” He stood up, pulled the pen out from the metal clip of his clipboard and began making notes. Allison strained her neck to get a look at the page that Frank so furiously scribbled on. He had a list of items. 1) Loud Stereo, 2) Early A.M. Disturbances, 3) Pets!, 4) Possible Illegal Activity. Under each item was at least a paragraph with certain words underlined. The most noted thing on the top of the page, however, were the large capital letters, all in red ink and underlined that spelled out the words–STAMP OUT V.D.!!!

  “What makes you all so sure that Vicky’s dealing drugs? Unless, of course, you’ve purchased some from her, Tim,” said Allison.

  “I wouldn’t do Dooley’s drugs. God knows what they’re cut with,” said Tim.

  “Seedy looking characters coming and going at all hours of the night, staying for five minutes at the most then leaving. That’s enough evidence for me,” said Sally.

  “Beyond a reasonable doubt?” asked Allison.

  “In my mind,” said Frank.

  “In your mind, of course. In your mind it’s guilty until proven innocent. But all you have to go on is some kind of vague hunch. Produce the evidence and I’ll believe it,” said Allison.

  “This isn’t a court of law, and she’s not on trial,” protested Frank.

  “Listen to you hypocrites,” Allison snapped. “Frank can play his stereo as loud as he likes as long as it’s his music. And you, Tim, you can snort your coke and smoke your pot on the sly and that’s okay, but let someone move in whom you suspect might be dealing drugs and you’re all ready to throw her out on her ear.”

  “I’m not even going to humor such nonsense with a reply,” said Frank, rolling his eyeballs at Allison.

  “Look, I’ve got nothing against Vicky personally,” Tim said. “I have no desire to see her slapped with drug charges. Hell, I’d probably end up defending her if she was. Whether she is or isn’t dealing dope is completely beside the point. She probably is, but who gives a shit. I just want her out of this apartment complex for two very simple reasons. One, I’m tired of getting waked up in the middle of the night. I have a hard enough time sleeping as it is,” he sniffed. “And two, I’m tired of bumping into my clients in the hallway. I’m not real comfortable with them knowing where I live.”

  “We’re all short on sleep,” said Barb, who looked as if she’d never known any other state of being. She yawned and it sent off a chain reaction.

  “I thought by moving to a smaller town in the Midwest, I’d wouldn’t have to deal with these kinds of problems anymore. This is the kind of crap you have to put up with in Manhattan,” said Frank as he made his way down the hall and looked out the front door of the building. “Her truck’s gone. She must’ve escaped through the balcony. She doesn’t even have the guts to face us.”

  “You really expect her to walk head long into the lion’s den? It’s five to one here,” said Allison.

  “It is?” Frank glared at her. “I thought you were on her side.”

  “Why do you always take her side, Allison? You’re standing in the middle of a freezing cold hallway at two a.m. when you could be snug and warm in your bed snoozing away. Why? Because of Vicky. Close the damn door, Frank. It’s freezing,” Sally barked down the hallway to Frank.

  Allison wondered why she was defending Vicky. Hadn’t there been too many mornings when she dragged into work tired and exhausted because of Vicky’s stereo or her loud parties the night before? Hadn’t she been suspicious herself of some of the scary strangers either coming or going from Vicky’s? Deep down Allison was convinced that Vicky and Chief Bobby had some kind of shady operation going. She wasn’t blind, and despite what everyone thought, she wasn’t naïve either. She knew what was going on. So why did she always take Vicky’s side?

  They all stood there looking at Allison, just waiting for her reply. She quickly searched her mind but found no explanation there. The reason defied logic, because the answer was not in her mind, it was in her heart. She liked Vicky, plain and simple. Had Vicky been given some of the same opportunities that she’d had they might even be best friends. But Vicky hadn’t had any opportunities and she hadn’t been given any second chances. Not that she expected any. She set her own self up for failure, daring them all to kick her out because that’s all she knew. And yet Allison couldn’t forget that little reflection of herself she’d seen in Vicky–that part that wanted something better, wanted to raise herself up out of the dust heap. That’s why Vicky went to work for a swanky club instead of just another dive. That’s why she moved to the nicest apartments in town instead of just another roach-infested dump. So why was she ruining it all for herself? What was it in her that kept holding her back? And why did Allison feel so responsible for her?

  A small voice deep down whispered again and again to Allison that Vicky’s failure would be her failure too. If Vicky failed then all the Cinderellas of the world were condemned to remain in the pile of dust and ashes with never a hope of anything better. If Vicky failed then all the fairy tales were just that–fairy tales and nothing more.

  “I guess I always take the side of the underdog. After all I’m a Cubs fan,” she said glaring at Frank.

  “So am I,” said Tim. “That’s why I’m a public defender. But this particular underdog’s interfering with my sleep, and subsequently, my ability to effectively defend other underdogs.”

  “She needs a second chance. Haven’t we all at some time in our lives?” Everyone paused for a moment and thought about it. She wondered what second chances they’d all been given in their lives.

  “Second chance? If I’m not mistaken this is about her fourth or fifth chance,” said Frank. Sally, Barb, and Tim all agreed.

  “Not technically. It doesn’t count as a second chance unless the person knows they’re being given one. So far nobody’s sat down and really talked to her about it,” said Allison.

  “Wait a minute. I’ve talked to her,” protested Frank.

  “You’ve threatened her and verbally attacked her. The rest of us have snubbed her and given her the cold shoulder in the hallway, including myself. Frank, you’re in marketing. You of all people should know your don’t insult someone before you try to persuade them.”

  “I’m not trying to sell her a product.”

  “It doesn’t matter. It’s the same thing. Don’t you realize that if you put someone like Vicky on the defensive she’ll do just the opposite of what you want her to do?”

  “I say we talk to Louise again,” said Barb.

  “So far Louise hasn’t done squat,” said Sally.

  “No kidding. Louise is great at dealing
with maintenance issues. You got a burned out light bulb in the hallway or a roof leak and she’s right on it, but people problems, forget it. Hell, she doesn’t care–as long as you pay your rent on time and don’t damage the property. Those are about the only two capital sins Vicky hasn’t committed,” said Tim.

  “What about the ‘no pets’ policy? An animal can do a lot of damage to property,” said Sally.

  “She says she’s talked to Vicky about it and she emphatically denies having any pets,” said Barb.

  “She’s got a cat, and I will find evidence of it if it’s the last thing I do. But until then, I’ve got a plan that I think will speak volumes to Louise,” said Frank, forthrightly pulling a piece of paper out from under the top page of the clipboard. “A petition stating that unless Vicky Dooley is evicted we refuse to pay rent.”

  “Great. She’ll evict us instead of her,” said Barb.

  “Well, you know I’m not going to sign it,” said Allison.

  “I figured as much, but it really doesn’t matter. All we need is a majority.” Frank scribbled away on the page then handed the paper, pen and clipboard to Sally who stood to his left. “What do you say? Does everyone besides Allison agree to sign it?”

  Sally was thinking about it. Allison could tell by the way she hesitated. This was her one last opportunity to jump in and save Vicky’s hide.

  “I’m going to appeal to you all one last time. I say we give her one more chance, if she blows it, then I’ll sign the petition too. Only this time let me talk to her. I think she’ll listen to me,” said Allison as calmly and convincingly as possible, being sure to go around the circle and look them each in the eye like how she’d learned to do in one of her books on selling. Frank’s eyes were the last in the circle she looked at. She thought maybe he let his guard down just a little when she looked at him.

  “Let’s vote on it,” said Frank. “All in favor of Allison’s suggestion say ‘aye’.”

  Barb, Sally, Tim, and Allison all said “aye”.

  “All opposed, ‘nay’,” said Frank, looking very defeated as he raised his hand and said “nay”.