by Oliver, Tess
“That’s a kind thing to say to the woman who labored with you for sixteen hours.”
“That’s your one claim to fame, Mom, and it’s getting kind of old. I’ve got to go.”
“Where are you storing the instrument?” I hated the way she harshly referred to Stuart as the instrument, as if it was a cold, lifeless object. As far as I was concerned, my violin had far more passion and soul than my mom could ever have. But what I mostly hated was that she was half owner of Stuart, a grave misstep by my grandfather. He had died with hope still in his heart that the moneymaking machine that had replaced my mom, his beloved daughter, would eventually vanish, and the real person would return to take its place.
“Stuart is safe with me, Mom. You know damn well that I’d give up my right arm before letting anything happen to him.”
I could feel her eye roll through the phone. “Thought you’d eventually grow out of this nutty fantasy that the violin is alive.”
“Nope. Stuart is my closest companion. And you can thank my completely warped and bizarre upbringing for my craziness. I never had a chance to be normal. Lunacy comes much easier, and I’ve grown comfortable with my natural state of delirium. So, thanks for that.”
“You ungrateful brat. I made you what you are.”
“If you mean slightly unstable, then yes, Mom, you have. Got to go.” I pressed the phone off before she could say anything more. I tossed it onto the nightstand and closed Stuart into his case.
I was finally living at the beach, a goal I’d had ever since my dad and I had dreamt up the scheme of moving to the coast one day. The sun outside was warm and welcoming, and I wasn’t going to let a conversation with my mom throw clouds across it.
The apartment, shabby as it was, came with a bed, a faded and rather unsavory looking couch and a small refrigerator that made more noise than an eighteen wheeled freight truck. I reached inside and pulled out the sandwich I’d bought at the mini-mart off the highway. The lettuce was no longer crisp and the slice of turkey had a gray cast to it, but I hadn’t eaten since the night before when a package of trail mix had gotten me across the state line. I was hungry enough to eat the dreary looking sandwich.
I left the wrapper on the counter, slid open the glass door and stepped out onto the less than stalwart looking balcony. From the creaky perch, I could see a sliver of the white sand and blue water between the rows of houses. What the heck was I doing standing on the unstable balcony when I could be standing on the beach with the ocean breeze in my face?
I headed back inside and out the front door. The sun was so much warmer in California than Colorado, it was hard to believe it was the same star. I wasn’t completely sure of the path to the beach, but my extremely good looking neighbor just happened to be taking out a bag of trash. He glanced up at the first sound of my feet on the steps.
“Hey, neighbor.” I stopped. “Wait, are we neighbors, or is there a term for people who live on the same coordinates but at different elevations?”
My question made him smile. He was exceptionally nice to look at, but I wondered if there were any exceptional brains to go with the nice looks.
I reached the bottom of the stairs just as he finished discarding his trash. “I think a neighbor is someone who lives near you, regardless of latitude and longitude. I would say that since our living quarters are only separated by a ceiling and floor, we could use the term neighbors.”
“Wow, you’re not just an empty headed pretty boy with a dazzling smile and a heavy dose of laid back charm. Nice. Can you direct me to the beach?” I lifted my droopy meal. “I figure sand and the smell of the ocean are the only things that might add life to this otherwise zombie-like sandwich.”
“I could use a break from the house. I’ll walk down there with you. And thanks, never been called a pretty boy before. Although, I’m not completely sure I love it as a nickname.” He glanced over at the picture on my t-shirt. “Nicolo Paganini, right?”
I stopped and blinked up at him. He was deliciously tall. There was something about a guy who stood a good head taller, especially when there were broad shoulders to go along with the height. “Now I really am impressed, and I’m feeling a little foolish about the pretty boy thing. Not one in a million people could point at this silhouette on my t-shirt and recognize Nicolo Paganini. In fact, not one in a hundred thousand people has ever even heard of Nicolo Paganini, the greatest violin virtuoso of all time.”
We continued on our trek to the sand. The air grew cooler and moister as if the continual spray of ocean never left the coastal air current.
“I confess I have a somewhat twisted reason for knowing about him.” He pointed to the brick path that led us between two houses.
“Let me guess. You became interested in all the myths about his deal with the devil and how his audience would fall into a trance when he played. I guess no one believed that a mere mortal could be so talented. But don’t feel you have to confess as if a morbid curiosity is a bad thing. In the fifth grade, I did a report on Van Gogh just because of the whole ear slicing event.” The second we reached the beach, I kicked off my sandals. I hopped onto the sand and performed a clumsy version of the sixties dance move, The Twist. My feet spiraled down into the sand. “Wow, it’s colder than I expected.”
“In a few months, in the middle of summer, you’ll be hopping along this stretch of beach as if you’re running on hot coals.”
“Sounds fun. Anyhow, back to this guy”—I pointed to my t-shirt—“If you don’t mind—only because I rarely get to discuss Paganini with anyone. Supposedly, somewhere in a long, gnarled branch of the Holliday family tree, we’re related to him. Although that might just have been a lot of wishful thinking by my great grandfather. I come from a long line of violinists.”
“Cool. Do you play too?”
I took a bite of my mushy sandwich and chewed slowly, thinking about his question. “A little.” Playing was such a strange term. For the longest time, it had felt like playing. Practicing had always been hard, sometimes grueling, but every second had been bliss. But when it became a job, Mom and Harold had sucked all the joy out of it.
“I did read how his preternatural talent pushed people into believing that he’d sold his soul for fame, but I think it was more the scientific theories about his unearthly skills that had me hooked,” he added.
“Right. Guess he had some genetic mishaps. They say he resembled a cadaver, tall and thin with long bony fingers.” I lifted my hands and fanned them through the air.
He laughed. “I have to say, your fingers are exceptionally long. Maybe you really are related. Only you have absolutely no resemblance to a cadaver.”
“Thank goodness for that.”
“Holliday? That’s a nice last name. Guess there’s no way not to say that one without a smile.”
“My last name is actually hyphenated Holliday-Kruger. Kruger doesn’t sound quite as cheery, but it was my dad’s name. Ironically enough, he was the smiling half of my parentage. My mom has always been better at frowning.”
“Was? So he’s gone?”
“Died in a car accident when I was eleven.” I tore off a piece of sandwich and pushed it between my lips.
“That’s rough. I’ve still got both my parents. They live up north, so I don’t see them as much. But I can’t say a bad thing about either of them. And they have a great friendship. I hope I’ll be as lucky someday. My last name is Mathison, by the way.”
“Denver Mathison. Suits you well. Although, somehow, it seems like you should be wearing a cowboy hat and chaps. It’s more western sounding than east coast.”
“Never thought of that. Maybe I should just reinvent my whole past as a wrangler who was born in Colorado.”
“Nah, you’re fine just the way you are. “A white seagull walked confidently up to me and turned its orange beak up in interest. �
��Hey, buddy.” I ripped off a piece.
“I wouldn’t do—” Denver warned as the crust of bread flew to the sand.
Within seconds, appearing spontaneously as if they were born from nothing but the surrounding air, a massive, screeching, and frightening flock of seagulls dropped down over us. In a panic, I threw my sandwich and ducked behind Denver. His broad shoulders were even better from behind. I leaned to the side to watch the birds tear apart my sandwich. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that many birds in one place before. It’s like straight out of a Hitchcock movie. What was that one called?”
Denver glanced back at me over his shoulder. “The Birds.”
I laughed. “Good title. Doesn’t leave any room for misinterpretation.” I took hold of his hand. “Let’s escape while their beady eyes and sharp beaks are focused on the bread.”
I liked the way his hand wrapped firmly around mine. “The Birds—is that the movie with the famous shower scene?” I lifted my hand and rocked it back and forth, adding in a screeching sound similar to the gulls we’d just walked away from.
“Nope, that’s Psycho.”
“Oh yeah. Crazy Norman with the mother issues.” I thought briefly back to the conversation with my mom and had to force back a grin. Denver seemed to catch it.
“What’s so funny?”
I shook my head. “Nothing. It’s just kind of scary that thinking about Norman Bates and Psycho made my mind go straight to my own mom.”
We reached the wet sand. I let go of Denver’s hand, a hand that felt completely right in mine, and ran for the water. The water felt like ice and my feet ached instantly from the glacial temperature. Still, I ran through it, kicking up the foamy froth behind me as I went.
Denver stood on shore and watched. He had a great face, and now, as I looked at him, I could see the intelligence in his expression. It seemed I’d landed in the perfect place. The beautiful beach and my new neighbor were just what I needed to put all my trouble behind me for awhile. I just hoped it wouldn’t be too painful to tear myself away when it was time to return to reality.
The ache in my feet was radiating up my legs. I stepped out of the frigid water and walked back toward Denver. “So, tell me about yourself. I’ve told you about my possibly imaginary family tree and that Hitchcock makes me think of my mom. What about you?”
“There’s not too much to tell. I could have gotten into any college I wanted, but, much to my parents’ dismay, I skipped the engineering degree to build houses and ride motorcycles. Somehow dirt, defying gravity and the satisfaction of building stuff with my hands seemed far more rewarding than sitting in stark, dull classrooms listening to professors drone on about the way of the world.”
“I’m inclined to agree.” I stared down at his feet. “And just how do you defy gravity?”
“On my motorcycle. I ride and compete in freestyle motocross.”
“Huh. Don’t think I’ve ever heard of it, but if it involves defying gravity, it’s got to be fun.”
“It is.”
We headed back up toward the houses. The flock of hungry gulls had dispersed, leaving behind only a few desperate souls still hunting for crumbs. There was a bike path running in front of the homes. The great weather had brought out a lot of cyclists.
I braced my hand against Denver’s muscular arm as I slipped my sandals back on. “I need to get a bicycle or maybe some skates.” For the first time since I’d thrown my stuff in the car and headed out on the highway, I felt extremely secure about my decision to leave home. “I read that there’s a street fair every other Saturday down near the pier.”
“Yep, in fact there’s one tomorrow. Are you thinking about going?”
“Actually, I might.” I smiled up at my tall, very appealing neighbor. “I think I’m going to like it here.”
Chapter 5
Denver
I grabbed the phone off the kitchen counter. “Hey.”
“I have a problem.” Jami’s voice was just as cute over the phone. After our excursion to the beach, we’d exchanged numbers, deciding it would be a good thing. Then I’d gone back to my place to spend the rest of the evening thinking about her and wondering what she was up to, prancing around on the floor just above my head.
“I am your official handyman. What seems to be the problem?”
“Aren’t you supposed to say something like no job too big or too small?”
“It depends. A massive termite infestation or a roof cave in would be too big, and I don’t want to be accused of false advertisement.” I could hear water in the background as if she had a sink or shower on full blast. “I’m going to assume it has to do with running water.”
“You’re good. I went in to take a shower.”
That statement immediately put all kinds of visions in my head.
“And I finished with the lathering up and rinsing off activities that normally come with the shower.”
“You do realize what this whole shower story is doing to me, right?”
A sweet, slightly teasing laugh came through the phone. “I might have some idea, yes. But what’s the use of having a really hot handyman downstairs if I can’t relay my troubled shower story? Anyhow, the shower won’t turn off. I’ve turned the handle every direction, and the damn water just keeps flowing. To make matters worse, now it’s on hot, and the whole bathroom is filled with steam.”
“I’ll be right there.” Strange how the thought of the apartment above my head flooding didn’t cause me to move quickly, but the mention of my extremely beautiful and assumingly wet and naked neighbor standing in a cloud of soapy steam sent me up the steps like a madman. I’d had just enough sense to grab my toolbox on the way out the door.
Jami opened after two loud knocks.
My speedy flight up the stairs had not been wasted. She was wearing only a towel that covered just above what I could only guess were perfectly rosy nipples and stopped at the top of her thighs. Steam was rolling out from the bathroom into the small front room.
“Wet,” I said, struggling to catch my breath. It had nothing to do with my race up the stairs. “It’s a good look for you.”
“Thanks. I don’t think anyone has ever told me that before.”
We had started almost immediately with some major flirting, and I was having the best fucking time with the whole damn thing. It had been awhile since I’d met a girl who I was seriously wanting to flirt with. I only hoped it wouldn’t stop there. It was hard to know because Jami was definitely different than any other girl I’d known.
Jami waved toward the fragrant vapor snaking its way around the room. “You see my problem.” She looked down at the toolbox. “Oh good, you brought your wrenches and tools. God, handyman talk makes me hot.” She led me to the bathroom and waved her hand through the warm mist. “Or maybe it’s all this friggin’ steam.”
She stood looking on with adorable concern as I twisted the shower valve until the water stopped. My shirt was wet and the skin on my arm was slightly scalded, but a flood disaster had been avoided, at least for now. I leaned out of the shower. “I’ll have to replace the valve, otherwise it’ll just happen again.”
I followed her out of the bathroom.
“I’ve got a box of donuts on the counter. Help yourself.” She scurried quickly into the bedroom. Never being one to turn down something that came from a grease stained, pink bakery box, I walked to the kitchen. I glanced across toward her bedroom and was just about to bite my teeth down around a glazed donut when I caught a glimpse of Jami. She’d dropped her towel. She was faced away from the door, but that did nothing to lessen the impact. She pulled a tight dress on over her head and shimmied it down over her delectable curves, making sure to wiggle her smooth round ass a few times as she pulled the hem down to her thighs. The tight, stretchy fabric clung to her moist skin. She co
mbed her long brown hair back with her fingers, turned around and sashayed toward me.
My mouth was still hanging open, and the donut was still perched, untouched, in my hand. The slightly wicked glint in her blue eyes assured me she knew exactly what she was doing and that her little scene in the bedroom had knocked me fucking senseless. As she neared, the nipples that I’d only imagined under the cotton towel were now standing firmly pressed against the thin, tight fabric of her dress.
“Take another if you don’t like that one.” She pointed at the donut in my hand as she swished past me to her coffee pot. The scent of flowery soap wafted off her skin. It drifted my way as she poured herself a cup. The round curves of her ass were on perfectly erotic display under the dress, which fit more like a glove than a dress. She hadn’t put on any underwear, and that little fact was still crystal clear in my head. And a few other places too.
She turned around and leaned against the counter to sip her coffee as if she wasn’t completely aware that every muscle in my body was tense from watching her.
I put the donut down and leaned against the adjacent counter. “I guess I can switch out that valve today sometime.” My voice was dry and awkward sounding in my throat, but there wasn’t a thing I could do to stop it.
“Sounds good. I’d hate to cause a flood.” She put her coffee on the counter and peered up at me. “I was just wondering if we should get this over with.” As she pronounced this she swung her finger back and forth between us.
“What’s this?”
“You know, the first kiss. Thought it might evaporate some of the awkwardness, since I’m pretty sure we’re both thinking about it.”