by Heidi Lowe
“Because the developer really liked azaleas?” I suggested, before taking one final swig from my glass and feeling it go straight to my head. Wine and sunshine also didn't mix.
She shook her head. “Second World War, before this street was redeveloped, the wives and mothers of some of the soldiers banded together to plant purple lilies. But due to the high number of shotgun weddings taking place that year, no one could find lilies anywhere. So they settled for pink azaleas instead. Almost none of the boys made it back from the war alive, but every azalea planted that summer survived right to the end of it.”
“Really?” I asked, skepticism heavy in my voice.
“True story. Cross my heart, hope to die.” She did the motion and accidentally spilled wine on her leg, then giggled. “I looked it up before I signed the lease. I like to know about the area I'm moving to, you know.”
I looked around with admiration at the newly planted azalea shrubs we'd spent two hours working on. Surprisingly my garden was the only one on the street that had them now.
“Wow, what a sad story.”
“Yeah. The flowers are beautiful though. Great choice.”
“Thanks for helping me with them. I don't think I could have done it without you. I hate gardening!” I said.
“Me too.” She dropped the trowel in the dirt and came to sit with me at the table. “But you said there would be wine, so how could I resist?” She flashed me her perfect smile, and when the sunlight hit it, it actually gleamed. I didn't think this woman could be more perfect if she tried.
She took down the straps of her jumpsuit and the top part fell to her waist. Beneath, specks of mud clung to her off-white t-shirt. It took me a while to realize that my eyes were still on her, particularly her chest. Even now, after spending almost every other day with her for the past three months, our unexpected friendship happening so rapidly it made my head spin (or maybe that was the alcohol), I found myself mesmerized by her with every encounter. I found myself staring long after a normal friend ever should have. The more time we spent together, the worse it seemed to get. Putting distance between us would have cured my growing obsession, but this was the last thing I wanted. I wanted to keep her close – as a friend – while admiring her secretly – as something else. She was my guilty pleasure.
“You can have the rest. I'm out,” I said, gesturing to the half empty bottle of wine on the table – our second bottle.
“You trying to get me drunk, Miss Klein?” She raised a suggestive eyebrow, her brown eyes sparkling with relish.
“I'm trying to prevent myself from getting drunk.” I laughed tipsily.
She topped up both glasses, shooting me a smile that said “I dare you to challenge me”. Then her smile faded and her mouth turned up at the side. “Don't look now but we have an admirer.”
“Who?” I fought the urge not to turn around immediately.
“Just one of the street's many coven members,” she quipped. “That bitch doesn't have anything better to do than spy on her neighbors.”
I waited a few seconds before turning, and spotted Ellen several gardens down. She pretended to water her flowers as a ruse to hide the fact that she was spying on us.
“Hi Ellen,” I called out, waving with false enthusiasm.
“Hello,” she called back, with no enthusiasm, false or otherwise, then cleared her throat and went inside.
“What was that about?” I asked perplexed.
“You really don't know? It's about me, it always is. It's the law of the land that anyone seen fraternizing with me gets ostracized.” The speed with which her whole demeanor changed, going from gleeful to dismayed in the space of a minute, was remarkable. Did any of those women realize how much of an impact their fiendish bitchery had on her?
“Well that's just too bad, because I like fraternizing with you a lot more than I hate being ostracized.” I clinked my glass against hers and smiled warmly at her, which made her face light up. I found her vulnerability sexy mainly because it came without pretense.
“I hope I'm worth it,” she said quietly. I wasn't sure whether or not I was supposed to hear that, so I ignored it and let it get swallowed up in the birds' song. When she spoke again her happy-go-lucky demeanor returned. “Speaking of fraternizing, I'm throwing a barbecue for Conrad this Sunday. Nothing big, just a few close friends. I'm expecting you there.”
“Is that your brother? The guy I saw the day we met?”
She nodded. “It's his thirtieth. He insisted no one make a fuss about it, which means he wants everyone to make a fuss!”
Now that we were apparently close friends, I finally felt comfortable asking her about that particular family connection. “So, how does that work?”
“What?” she asked, genuinely curious.
“Well... let's just say you don't look alike.”
She laughed. “Why would we? He's my adoptive brother. My parents adopted him when he was five. I was three at the time.”
“Are you sure he'd want me there? I mean, he doesn't know me.”
“I want you there,” she said adamantly. “You'll come won't you?”
“Of course. Sounds like fun.”
It was going to be one of those evenings.
As I rummaged through my closet – extracting outfit after outfit, taking one look and snarling at how unsuitable everything looked – I must have umm'd and ahh'd a thousand times over whether or not to go to the barbecue. There were a dozen reasons not to, excuses I listed that would have gotten me out of it: I wouldn't know anyone there; I was tired from spending all day with my folks; I would probably be older than all the guests... But I knew none of that would fly with Casey, who'd insisted I couldn't under any circumstances back out.
“What is someone supposed to wear to a goddamn barbecue?” I grumbled.
“Whatever you want. You're gonna stand out no matter what you wear.”
I spun around to find Adrian in my room, looking self-satisfied. Maybe it was all in my head, but the kid always seemed to derive pleasure from my hardship. There was something slightly sadistic about his smirk.
“And what is that supposed to mean?” I shot him a vexed look.
“It's like a house full of models over there. Hot women everywhere. I went into the yard and couldn't believe it.”
“Great!” I mumbled. Another excuse to add to the long list of excuses for not going. “What the hell am I doing? I think I'll sit it out.”
“You have to go. You're just starting to get interesting; don't blow it now.”
“You realize that me attending isn't going to get you in good with Casey or any of her model friends, don't you?” Now it was my turn to smirk. I felt it needed to be pointed out to my sex-crazed son, whose every decision seemed to center around meeting attractive girls.
“I'm just trying to help you out. Do what you want,” he said, before turning on his heel and leaving.
Half an hour later, having settled on a skirt and blouse, I made my way next door. The base of the House music was so powerful it made the ground beneath my feet rattle. The music wasn't the only thing that had spilled out into the front yard. Several people were gathered around the front door, smoking, drinking, talking and laughing, doing everything loudly and beautifully. Adrian was right about the guests: everyone was gorgeous. They all greeted me as I approached, and one guy held the door open for me.
I should have known Casey Adams could never do anything small. I squeezed my way through the horde of people – who seemed to cover every inch of the house – looking for Casey. I held tightly to the bottle of red I'd brought, afraid it would get knocked out of my hands. I searched around for a couple of minutes, and apologized at least a dozen times for stepping on feet or accidentally shoving someone in the back. I started wondering whether she was actually there, because she was nowhere to be seen.
Just as I was about to give up and wrestle my way back out of the house, I heard a familiar voice coming from the backyard. Of course! That was the first pl
ace I should have checked. She was sitting on the table of her wooden bench, beer in hand, several people surrounding her, one of them was Conrad, the birthday boy. A bearded, bare-chested man in shorts worked the industrial-sized barbecue.
“She's always taking things that belong to me. She's been that way since we were kids,” Conrad told the group, pointing an accusatory finger at Casey, who wore an expression of mock shock. “I turned my back for five minutes in college and she'd stolen my girlfriend!” Although he didn't laugh, there was amusement in his voice.
“To be fair, bro, you had no intention of getting to more than first base with her. She didn't have a penis.”
This time, Conrad did laugh, hard. “The girl speaks the truth.”
And then she spotted me.
“Hey! You made it.” Everyone looked at me as Casey jumped down off the table and came to meet me at the door. “I was beginning to think you wouldn't show.”
“Here I am,” I said shyly. “So, this is what you call a small gathering?”
She laughed. “You try keeping people away when they know there'll be free food and beer.”
She introduced me to the people at her table, including her brother, who was less frosty than he'd been the first time we'd met. I sat with her awhile, downing a beer and listening to her friends' wild and wacky stories. And when she offered to fetch me another beer, she disappeared, leaving me with people I hardly knew. I sat there for about ten minutes, nodding and laughing on cue before I finally excused myself.
It wasn't Casey's fault, I kept reminding myself. And this wasn't about me. She couldn't spend all her time with me. This wasn't my party and I couldn't cry if I wanted to. Yet, I hated having to share her with everyone. They'd all known her longer than I had; it was completely irrational of me to feel so... so entitled. I was no more entitled to her time than any of the other guests. But that didn't stop me feeling disgruntled about being ditched.
“Sabrina?” someone shouted from the kitchen. I didn't recognize the voice, but when I spun around I vaguely remembered the face. It was one of the guys I'd met that day when I came to deliver Casey's package. I didn't recall telling him my name, though.
“Hi...?”
“Derek. It's Derek. You're Casey's neighbor, right? We met a few months ago.”
“Yeah, I remember. How are you?” I didn't know what else to say.
“Same old, same old,” he answered, rolling his eyes and giving a wrist flick. “I keep telling myself I'm gonna stop attending these things because the only meat-free food Casey serves is potato salad... and I hate potatoes!” Everything he said was so dramatic and theatrical it was like watching a one-man stage play.
“Vegetarian?” I asked.
He nodded grimly. “Yup. Going on eight years now. Though each year I celebrate by eating a nice, juicy steak.”
I couldn't help but laugh. Casey's friends were all so colorful, so full of life, and possibly slightly insane. It was easy to see why she always had them around. I stuck out in more ways than one because I had never been colorful. What did she see in me?
“You know Casey talks about you all the time,” he said, watching me with a curious glint in his eye.
“Really?” I asked, taken aback.
“Sure. It's Sabrina this, Sabrina that. What in God's name are you doing to her to make her sing your praises like that? And whatever it is, would you do it to me too?” He chuckled and hit me on the arm.
I laughed nervously. Could she have told her friends about our little tryst in her car? She didn't seem like the type to kiss and tell, but who knew? The thought unnerved me. I didn't want to be anyone's gossip.
“I'm just a really good listener,” I said.
“Oh puh-lease! Casey's got a million of those in her life and she never talks about them the way she talks about you.” His eyes narrowed and a cheeky grin settled on his face. “I think I know what's going on here.”
My heartbeat started racing at record speed; I was close to breaking out in a sweat, though that could have been because of the heat and all the bodies crammed into the small space around me.
“Derek, you gotta see this!” someone shouted from the hallway.
“Excuse me, lovey, duty calls,” Derek said. “I'll come find you later and continue our little chat.” He gave me two air kisses on either side of my face then hurried away, taking his suspicions with him.
Once again left alone, I went in search of Casey. As I pushed my way through the sea of guests, I couldn't help wondering why I was even bothering. She'd only wander off again a couple of minutes later, playing host. I would never get five minutes alone with her with all these people around.
From the bottom of the stairs, I spotted her head on the landing. It was like looking for Waldo! But as I climbed, slipping past several people seated on practically every step, I saw that she wasn't alone. There was a man with her; a good-looking model-type who, I could tell within just a few seconds of observing him, oozed narcissism. With every little laugh, raised eyebrow, every word he spoke, his cockiness shone through. I'd never despised anyone as quickly as I did this asshole. I knew despise was a strong emotion, one better reserved for someone truly despicable; but standing at the top of the stairs now, watching him with one arm wrapped loosely around Casey's waist while he whispered into her ear, I saw red.
That was my first reaction. My next came before I could stop myself. Casey had her back to me and only realized I was there when I purposefully shoved past her and stormed to the bathroom.
I locked the door behind me and let out my breath, only just realizing I had been holding it. I stared back at myself in the mirror. My rage was written all over my face, in my blush, which reached to my neck.
“This is ridiculous!” I scolded myself, gripping so tightly to the porcelain sink, I thought my fingers would break. “Why does it bother you so much what she's doing, and who she's doing it with?”
I felt foolish standing in front of the mirror, seething, my breathing heavy, the veins in my forehead ready to pop. Of course I already knew the answers to my questions; I'd always known. Admitting them, however, was another thing entirely.
A light tapping on the door made me spin around.
“Someone's in here,” I called out.
Another tap, louder this time.
Furious at being disturbed, I unlocked the door and pulled it open, ready to scream at the moron who couldn't take a hint. But Casey pushed her way into the room before I could say a word.
“Do you normally barge into the bathroom when it's occupied?” I asked bitterly, cutting her a scathing look.
“That depends on who's inside.”
I rolled my eyes. “Well, I was just leaving, so it's all yours.” I made to pass her, but with one hand, without taking her eyes off me, she twisted the lock on the door, trapping me.
“We should talk.”
“There's nothing to talk about,” I insisted, folding my arms.
“I think I owe you an explanation. The guy you saw me with–”
“It's none of my business, Casey. I don't care.”
One of her eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “So this is how someone who doesn't care acts?”
“Why the hell would I care about what you get up to?” I unfolded my arms and folded them again, all in the space of a couple of seconds, now so flustered I didn't know what to do with myself.
Slowly, she made her way closer to me, until only a couple of feet separated us, and I could smell her perfume and the scent of burning coal from the barbecue. “Because... you're jealous. And you can protest all you want, but we both know it's true.”
“God, is this what it's like to be a model? You think everyone wants to screw you.”
She giggled. “Well, a lot of people do want to screw me, but right now there's only one person I want to screw... again.”
I gulped, and when that did nothing for my dry throat, I gulped again. And then for a third time, as the hunger in Casey's eyes reached fever pitch.
The hunger that was directed at me.
I opened my mouth to speak, or stutter, but I felt her mouth on mine before any sound could come out. Her tongue found unrestricted access inside, where it was met with no resistance. She devoured me with her kiss, as her hands slid onto my waist, her hold on me territorial, assured, as though stating her claim. She gradually guided me backwards, navigating blindly, her tongue still battling mine, until I collided with the alcove window.
She pulled her lips from mine, leaving her wet residue, her sweet beer-fueled kiss. She sat me down on the alcove.
“The guy you saw me with, that was my ex, who just so happens to prefer guys to girls, but sometimes forgets that when he's had too much to drink. That's it. You don't have to worry about him. Okay?”
I nodded, my mouth still open, desperate for the sensual feel of her lips on mine again. I watched her sink to her knees, her hands on my thighs. A rush of adrenaline shot through me suddenly, realizing what would come next. She pushed my skirt onto my waist, and as her hand vanished between my legs and sought out my panties, I bit my lip in anticipation.
“I've wanted to do this to you ever since we met.” Her voice had a smoky sexiness to it that sent another spark of adrenaline through my body. She sounded so determined, so certain of her cause, that I knew she would get what she wanted, my feelings be damned.
“Me too,” I said in a breathless whisper, seeing as we were being honest.
She slid off my panties at a careless, almost desperate pace, not giving me any time to change my mind (not that I wanted to). The stone alcove was cold beneath my bare ass. That wasn't enough to cool me down though.
I spread wider for her, allowing her to position herself between my legs with ease. I leaned back, my back pressed against the glass. She brought her lips to my inner thigh and trailed gentle, wet kisses along it, while her fingers dug into the flesh of my other leg as she held on for balance. I thrust my head back against the window, hearing the loud thud but not feeling it. I was already too lost in the moment to feel anything but rising ecstasy.