Dear Neighbor

by River Laurent

  From that day onwards I stopped obsessively buying magazines he was featured in, and I forced myself not to go to ILoveCashHunter.com where I normally got the latest and breaking news about him. I even deleted his official website from my bookmark list.

  Then when I was seventeen we heard that Alkaline was coming to Georgia. Cash Hunter was going to be performing at the Dome. My parents thought I was over him so they were quite happy for Leah and I to travel to Atlanta to see the concert.

  We had to pay $30.00 for parking, wait more than an hour to check in our purses, and the Cokes were $7.00 each, but as I stood there with 70,000 other crazed fans, none of it mattered anymore. I felt more alive than I ever had. It was not like watching it on MTV or YouTube. A live concert was like nothing I could have imagined. Indescribable, really.

  The very air was electric. Hundreds of roving spotlights moved over us adding so much heat to the evening that we were all bathed in sweat even before the performance started.

  The massive stage suddenly lit up with winking, flashing blue lights and the music started. Nobody told me the vibrations would travel through the concrete under my feet, into my shoes, and up into my flesh and bones. It drummed into my blood and made my heart thump faster and faster. I was so excited the hair on my body stood on end.

  Then the stage began to fill with smoke-like fog.

  I could hardly believe I was finally going to see Cash Hunter. I thought I would stop breathing when five steel platforms began to rise out of the floor of the stage. The smoke began to clear and the crowd went crazy. My eyes found him immediately. It was unbelievable, but he was on the platform closest to us. The bright light made his hair glisten and his face glowed like an angel. He blew across the microphone.

  ‘Are you ready to rock Atlanta?’ he yelled into the microphone.

  The crowd went wild.

  ‘Let’s hear that again,’ he shouted, and we screamed until we were hoarse.

  The exploding flash pots went off as the drums and guitars began the intro. Cash raised up both his hands as if he were a god. Tears flowed from my eyes when his voice filled the stadium. I stared at him, mesmerized.

  It was my favorite song. The Girls Who Don’t Say No.

  The crowd started pulsing with the energy coming from him. The platform he was standing on grew into a kind of walkway, and to my shocked delight it was bringing him closer to us. He strutted along the expanding metal walkway in my direction and I screamed hysterically.

  As he was right over me he suddenly looked directly into my eyes and sang, ‘I’ve been waiting for you all my life.’

  I froze. I felt as if he had zapped me with a cattle prod. Fine, I don’t know what that feels like, but it was what I imagine it would feel like. I lost the feeling in my legs.

  He moved on and sang the next line looking into the eyes of another girl, but my girlhood crush had just become love.

  I was in love with Cash Hunter.

  Tori

  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_tQLIyqtDx0

  At that time Leah was going out with a guy from a rock band called Roll Over Beethoven. The drummer was single and she thought we might make a good team.

  ‘Everybody knows the best way to get over someone is to go out with someone else,’ she declared.

  It seemed like a sensible idea. More sensible, anyway, than the fantasy love affair I was having with an unattainable pop idol. His name was Colton and he was sexy in a moody, grungy sort of way. The exact opposite of Cash. He dressed only in black, and I think he probably colored his hair jet black too, but he was a sweet guy underneath it all, and he made me laugh.

  It was easy to drink one beer too many, and let him take my V card in the back of his truck. We became an item. The sex was good, but it wasn’t the mind, body, and soul thing I was looking for, which was a real shame because he fell hard for me.

  Then, one night I went to one of his gigs and I found him by the toilets with his trousers around his ankles and his dick inside another woman. I didn’t love him, but I was still shocked and hurt.

  He looked at me with bitter eyes and said, ‘Now we’ve both cheated on each other.’

  Then he turned away from me and carried on humping her. I fled the scene knowing I’d hurt him, but I told myself I would never do that to another human being again. The next time I start a relationship will be when I am well and truly over Cash Hunter.

  My thoughts are interrupted by Victor stopping the car outside the house. Cash and Britney have not yet arrived, so I run up to my room and pace the floor. A million thoughts rush around in my head.

  The big plan came to me when my aunt mentioned that a good friend of hers who worked in a recruitment agency in London had told her about an interesting job that had just come in. Cash Hunter’s father was looking for a young woman, 19 - 25 who was independent, tolerant, and possessed a strong sense of duty to act as a companion/PA to his daughter. No actual PA experience was needed.

  That sounded like a description of me. I was all those things!

  The plan was simple. Apply for the job as Britney’s PA, see Cash Hunter up close, and realize that he was just a manufactured, media created, playboy prick, and naturally and effortlessly fall out of love.

  But at that time it seemed a very long shot since my aunt’s friend had already warned her there were hundreds of applicants. Imagine my astonishment when I was called for an interview and my shock when I actually got the job. I was convinced it was fate. It had to be. Me, chosen out of hundreds of applicants. I was meant to be here.

  So here I am. Close enough to see Cash for what he really is.

  Why then am I pacing the room like some caged animal?

  I hear the distinct thunder of his Lambo, followed by voices on the street below. I run to the window to stand behind the curtains and watch them. Britney skips up the steps. He says something to her and she laughs.

  I think I’m pacing because in spite of everything I’d told myself in the car … Cash Hunter is even more potent in the flesh than I gave him credit for, and it’s already pretty obvious that there’s no falling out of love with someone like him.

  I freeze when I hear their voices come up the stairs. They stop at the top.

  Then I hear Britney call out, ‘Sweet dreams.’

  Quick light footsteps come towards my room.

  ‘Come in,’ I call when she knocks.

  Britney puts her head around the door. She looks happy. ‘Just wanted to let you know that Cash is sleeping in the guest bedroom and Dad just came home so we’re off to buy me a birthday present, but we won’t be long because I know exactly what I want.’

  I force a smile. ‘Great.’

  ‘By the way I’ve already told Cora we’re having chicken pie for dinner.’

  ‘That’s good,’ I say, stretching out my smile until my cheeks hurt.

  After she goes I look at the time. It’s just after one. I had brunch so I’ll skip lunch and save myself for one of Cora’s lovely teatime treats. Unless I am mistaken, I believe she is making scones today. I open a magazine I picked up at the newsstand yesterday evening and go right to the horoscope page at the back of it. Hmmm … Aries.

  Acting impulsively is not the best idea this week. Resist temptation. Don’t eat that last cookie in the packet. Instead, take stock, get your ducks in a row, and get ready for the best adventure of your life. Life is about to surprise you.

  I read it again. Got it. Don’t act impulsively.

  I flick the pages disinterestedly. Imagine my surprise when I turn a page and see a large picture of a shit-faced Cash in leather pants and silver shirt. A disheveled blonde is snuggled up to him. They are in a nightclub or restaurant. The title of the piece is:

  IS CASH HUNTER THE MOST ELIGIBLE MAN IN THE WORLD?

  On closer inspection I note from their reflection in the mirror behind them that his right hand is full of blondie’s butt. An inappropriate and quite frankly tasteless butt grab, but the blonde seems to dig it. She is looking
up at him with an awed, stupid expression on her face. I let my eyes move over to his free hand. A sigh escapes my mouth. I’ve always loved his hands. They are big, strong and manly. Mooning over his hand, God, you’re lame. I leave the picture and start scrutinizing the next one.

  That turns out to be a to-die-for picture of him at a sunny beach. All his lovely, hard muscles are on display and he is with a different blonde this time. This one is curvier and seems more self-assured. She has a pair of sunglasses pushed up on her head, one hand is resting on her tanned hip, and the other is placed possessively on his chest.

  He’s always had a thing for blondes.

  A stray thought pops into my head. I’m blonde.

  I turn the page quickly and there is a full-page, black and white photo of him in a tux at some kind of award ceremony or music bash. This time I recognize the woman he is with. Octavia Harding, his manager. Except for her fake breasts, that actually look like two halves of a tennis ball shoved underneath her skin, she is two lean nuggets away from being an anorexic.

  I don’t like her. I never have.

  From the first moment I laid eyes on her I felt that there was something cold and malicious about her. A couple of times I have seen videos of her standing next to the band members, an arrogant smile stretching her crimson mouth; she actually makes my skin crawl.

  I could easily have sat there gazing at his picture a bit longer, but I close the magazine with a snap and drop it into the wastepaper basket. Seeing the magazine in the bin makes me feel mildly victorious. I’ll conquer my silly crush if it is the last thing I do. I decide to have a bath. Britney will be at least an hour, and being in the bath always relaxes me. Allows me to think and clear my head.

  I run the bath, pour in a whole load of fragrant bath cubes, put my hair into a messy topknot, and lower myself into the scented water. Mmmm … this was definitely one of my better ideas. I lean my head back against the folded towel and close my eyes.

  Let’s think this thru.

  I shouldn’t be so harsh on myself. First off, I’ve been in love with this guy for years. Obviously the first encounter is going to be either traumatic, disastrous, or both. It was both. So what? The worst is over. From now on I’m prepared. I’ve read the side effects warning label: This asshole is likely to break your heart.

  The good thing is I now know just how hot he is and how strong he comes on and things will be different. If I just stay calm and unaffected, bit by bit he will reveal his true self and I’ll discover that he ain’t all that. Once I see that my memories of him are all flawed and he is far from perfect, I will realize that he is a hero only in my mind.

  At that point I will either be put off, or better still, so totally sickened that I will wonder why I ever wasted so many years pining for him. On that happy day I will put in my notice and go on to my aunt’s house in Surrey and wait for Leah to join me for our victory backpacking tour of Europe.

  Sitting here in this fragrant steam, I see clearly that I over reacted. There is nothing to worry about. Everything is under control. I’m in charge of my body and my decisions. And in a way it is good, because he has shown his hand. He tries it on with every female he meets. Slut. Manwhore. Womanizer. Prick.

  So, now that I have redefined the parameters, I can relax. I wave my arms a little to circulate the hot water and exhale slowly.

  ‘Mmmm.’

  I start to chill.

  My mind wanders lazily away. I don’t check it. Whatcha gonna do? I’m in the bath. It goes to … Cash … no, not Cash, of course not Cash, just a man who looks like him. He is in bed. Between white silk sheets, his tan intense, some kind of lop-sided smile on his face. He pats the space next to him.

  And I, I’m in a slinky black nightie, my hair’s freshly washed and bouncing like a shampoo advert as I walk up to him with a sexy, totally sophisticated smile. As I reach the bed, he is so eager for me he jumps me and throws me on the bed. Before I can say, ‘You called?’ he has his face between my thighs and starts feasting his heart out.

  My fingers move to the hard nub between my legs. Swirl. Swirl. In the silky water. Ohhhh. Oh, Cash. Yes, Cash. Yes. Just like that. Oh, God, yes—

  Suddenly everything in my head disappears with a jolt. My bathroom door slams open, and my eyes open wide. Oh Good Lord!

  Cash freaking Hunter has dropped out of my fantasy and into my reality.

  Tori

  ‘What the hell are you doing in here?’ I screech, ducking down so violently water slops over the edges of the tub onto the floor. From my position where only my neck and head are visible above the soapsuds, I stare open-mouthed with a mixture of disbelief and reluctant admiration at him.

  Oh my! So much gloriousness is on show. Obliques, traps, pecs, biceps, six pack. Actually, the whole works … everything is irritatingly tight, cut, evenly tanned and finished off in a gorgeous tattoo wrap of Maori art.

  The life-size posters never did him justice. He was a boy then. This is a man’s body. And that V, that’s a V to beat all Vs. He’s wearing faded blue denim jeans with the top button unbuttoned, and wait, what? My eyes bulge like a freaking TSA inspector’s when he finds a restricted item in some poor guy’s baggage. Oh, my, God. His dick is massive.

  And totally hard.

  My senses reel out of control and I feel hot all over. I could be coming down with a fever.

  ‘This used to be my bathroom,’ he says conversationally, as he steps into the bathroom and closes the door.

  His hair is endearingly sleep-mussed, and his lips are slightly swollen and red, the way children’s are when they first wake up, so it’s damn hard to remain infuriated and forbidding, especially when my insides are buzzing with wicked thoughts, but a lot is riding on this. My plan will crumble if I don’t put a stop to this right now. I need to get him out of my bathroom right this minute.

  ‘It’s not your bathroom anymore. If memory serves, the guest bedroom has an en-suite. So: kindly GET OUT.’

  ‘I didn’t come in here to take a piss, wildcat,’ he says, his eyes all hot and crazy.

  Holy cow. ‘What?’

  ‘I’ve discovered I have a thing for ballsy girls. I’ve actually woken up with a raging hard-on.’

  Is he freaking kidding? ‘You’re batshit crazy.’

  He looks genuinely surprised. ‘Batshit crazy because I want to see my cock disappear into your sweet lips?’

  ‘How dare you?’

  He gives me a smug, self-satisfied look. ‘How dare I? I just saw you stare at my cock like it was a lollipop you wanted to suck.’

  I can feel color exploding up my neck and cheeks. I did make that a bit obvious. Fine, it was not a bit obvious, it was a get-in-my-mouth-right-now stare.

  ‘Any woman would have stared at an erect cock being shamelessly displayed less than five feet away from her,’ I counter as scornfully as possible in my circumstances.

  He shakes his head slowly. ‘An uninterested woman would have looked away.’

  ‘You seem to be laboring under the mistaken impression that I’m interested in you. News flash: I’m not.’

  He shrugs. ‘Why not?’

  ‘You’re not my type,’ I lie boldly.

  ‘Everyone wants a taste of celebrity cock,’ he states confidently.

  See. There is merit to my plan and a method to my madness, after all. These are exactly the kinds of things that will eventually get me out of my crush. Rude, crude, pompous jerk. Like I’m lucky to be getting a chance at having his cock. A few more statements like this I can go home with my mancrush obliterated for good. To my joy I find myself gloriously angry with him.

  ‘I know you think you’re hotter than shit and irresistible to the entire female population, but some women don’t care for guys whose hobbies include throwing clothes-optional parties, fucking girls who don’t wear panties in toilet cubicles at concerts, and banging whatever crawls into their beds.’

  ‘For a girl who’s not interested you know a lot about me.’

  ‘
It’s public knowledge. Cash don’t show up unless pussy is involved,’ I defend.

  He grins. ‘You can strike off sex in toilet cubicles with chicks who don’t wear panties from your list. It lost its charm after a while.’

  ‘Whatever. Will you please get out?’

  Instead of leaving he walks over and sits on the edge of the tub. ‘Give me one good reason I should.’

  ‘Karma is a bitch and you’ll have to pay the price of being an asshole?’

  He laughs. ‘Don’t worry. This has a happy ending.’

  ‘Are you kidding me? One-night stands are not considered happy endings.’ I scoff.

  ‘What makes you think I’ll only need you for one night?’

  I sigh elaborately. ‘Look. I work for your father and, shock horror, screwing his son’s brains out is not in the small print of my employment contract.’

  ‘We’ll just have to tear that contract and have a new one drawn up.’

  ‘This is all a big joke to you, isn’t it?’

  ‘No,’ he says, waggling his pointer finger between us. ‘Don’t you think we’ve got a lot of sexual vibes going on here?’

  ‘No we don’t. First off you hit me with the worst pick up lines in the history of shitty lines, then you barge in here uninvited and tell me you’ve got a hard on. It’s downright insulting. You’ve got a hard-on. Go fuck yourself.’

  If anything the expression in his eyes heats up. His eyes glint with interest. ‘I would if I didn’t suffer from Masturbator’s wrist.’

  My mouth drops open. Did he really say what I think he said? ‘What?’

  ‘It’s from indulging in my other … er … hobby. Ya know, like tennis elbow, gamekeeper’s thumb, writer’s cramp. It’s a repetitive strain injury …’ he trails off, his voice full of barely suppressed laughter.