Dear Neighbor

by River Laurent

‘Lie back and close your eyes.’ I return the joint to him and lie back. He puts his phone close to my ear.

  ‘Who is this?’ I ask.

  ‘Disturbed singing The Sound of Silence.’

  ‘OK,’ I say. I close my eyes and this deep, deep, hauntingly beautiful voice pours like oil from a jar into my ear. Smooth. Smooth. It is so poignant I feel tears start to gather at the backs of my eyes. In my mind Cash is singing it. As the song progresses, the man’s voice becomes richer and richer and the words resonate and ring in my ear. Under that patch of Cash’s night sky, I became witness to someone else’s darkness. Finally, the man’s voice becomes rousing and powerful, a screaming crescendo like the kind of thing you would hear at a heavy metal concert.

  When it is over I turn my head and look at Cash with new eyes. I thought I’d see the real him and he would not live up to my fantasy, but he is even greater than what I believed him to be.

  ‘Why don’t you make music like this then?’ I ask softly.

  ‘My record company doesn’t want it.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘The fans don’t want it,’ he says with a shrug of his broad shoulders.

  ‘How do you know your fans don’t want it?’

  He sighs. ‘Your fans never want something different from you. They just want more and more of the same. Every artist in the current climate, no matter how successful, has found that out. When they produce the kind of music that they think is special, their critics are quick to accuse them of indulging themselves and their fans simply don’t buy their records.’

  ‘But if you don’t love what you are doing …’

  He flicks away the cigarette butt and laughs, a short bitter laugh. ‘Well, Wildcat, we all have to do things we don’t want to. I’m sure all those people working in chicken processing factories or collecting the refuse or finding things to recycle from rubbish dumps would rather they weren’t doing those jobs, so I can’t complain too much about singing teeny-bopper stuff.’

  ‘They don’t have a choice. They’d probably go hungry, or be homeless if they don’t. You have enough money behind you to be brave.’

  He stands up and looks down at me, an odd expression on his face. ‘Brave? You want to see bravery?’

  I feel fear clutch at my stomach. He has just smoked a joint. We’re a crazy distance from the ground. He’s going to do something stupid. We’re both going to die. ‘Don’t be an idiot,’ I say sternly.

  Fixing his eyes on me, he lifts his hands out to shoulder level on either side of him and he starts walking backwards on the narrow ridge with a kind of elegant dance move.

  ‘Stop it. This is stupid,’ I shout, my voice full of panic.

  ‘Why? You wanted me to be brave and this is what bravery means when you go against billion-dollar record companies,’ he says as he carries on walking backwards.

  ‘OK, I got it. OK. I got it. Now stop. Please. You’re scaring me.’

  ‘Look, handstand,’ he says, and suddenly he is on the palms of his hands.

  With my heart in my mouth I stand shakily. ‘I’m going back in, you stupid freak. Go ahead and break your neck. As if I give a shit,’ I cry, my voice trembling with emotion.

  He rights himself and stares at me. For a few moments we are both standing on the roof staring at each other. Then he hunkers down on his haunches.

  ‘Don’t give me them eyes, baby.’

  ‘Yeah, well,’ I breathe, embarrassed by my own outburst. ‘Can we just go back into the house now?’

  ‘I’m sorry I scared you,’ he says softly.

  I wrap my arms around myself and nod. ‘Apology accepted.’

  ‘Remember when Prince was so furious with his record company he went around with the word slave written on his face. He was not kidding.’

  I lower myself back down into a sitting position. ‘But you could create something original. Something special,’ I say earnestly.

  He shakes his head. ‘The record companies don’t want creativity or something special from their artists. In fact, they do everything in their power to turn us into homogenized, processed ‘stars’. Fucking puppets, that’s what we are. They give us the tune, they give us the words, they even give us our dance steps. We sing their words and move to their commands and even before our sell-by date comes around the machine will have already picked and begun grooming our replacements.’

  ‘That’s exactly why you need to follow your heart. You should reach for the stars. I believe you can touch them because you have a truly unique talent.’

  I lean back against the chimney and he walks up to me. ‘Your concern is touching though,’ he says softly. ‘Thank you.’

  I open my mouth to deny that I care, but I can’t. Not when his eyes are so naked and sincere. For a few seconds neither of us moves. Then the mask drops back over his face and he is Cash Hunter the star, the celebrity, the irrepressible skirt-chasing bad boy again. He puts his finger under my chin and smiles cheekily.

  ‘Ready for another round of basket weaving?’ He smiles wickedly.

  ‘No,’ I whisper, but my eyes look at his lips hungrily.

  ‘Fuck,’ he says, dragging his thumb along my lower lip. ‘You’re driving me mad, Wildcat. I can’t even think when you look at me like that. All I want to do is bury my cock inside you.’ He drags his thumb along my lower lip.

  I stare at the smoldering pits of green fire as they come closer and closer. Sparks fly between us. His mouth is warm and tastes of smoke. I thought I would hate it, but it is sexy. Everything about him is infuriatingly sexy. Our lips part reluctantly. I stare at him. The silky strands of shoulder-length brown hair dusted with gold lift in the breeze and fall about his strong neck. I reach out a hand and curl a silky lock around my finger.

  ‘What shampoo do you use?’ I whisper in a hypnotic daze.

  He grins. ‘Something called Ten Voss. Why? Is it turning you on?’

  ‘Screw you, Hunter.’

  ‘Excellent suggestion,’ he growls and, putting his spread palm on the small of my back, pulls me close to his body. I know that I will never forget this moment for as long as I live. When I went up on the roof and shared something real with Cash Hunter.

  He helps me down the roof and through the window.

  I watch him close and secure it. Then we walk down the corridor, silent as mice. At my bedroom door I turn to face him. I see the look in his eyes.

  ‘Cash …’

  ‘Uh … huh?’

  ‘What happened between us earlier was a kind of temporary insanity. I … we really shouldn’t do it anymore. It’s … er … not right. I … well … work for your dad,’ I stutter.

  ‘You’re right, we shouldn’t do it again,’ he murmurs as he reaches behind me, opens the door and pushes me in.

  Tori

  He kicks the door closed with his heel and our mouths crash together, our tongues twine, and our hands pull and rip each other’s clothes off in a wild frenzy.

  Then we are naked. His fingers are like fire on my skin. Everywhere he touches burns. I press my naked body into his hardness and rub myself restlessly against him. He propels me backwards until the backs of my legs hit the bed.

  Locked in a kiss I vaguely hear the sound of a condom packet tearing. Our mouths make a sucking sound as he pulls away. He takes a pillow and throws it on the bed.

  ‘There’s no one to save you now,’ he says thickly, and turns me over. My face lands in the pillow.

  ‘Lift your ass higher and show me your pussy,’ he orders.

  I obey, spreading my legs wider to give him a better view.

  ‘Look at that. Hot, wet and ready.’

  Splaying my legs wide open, he gets between them and finger fucks me. A fiery stream of pleasure rushes through my veins as juice gushes out of me and soaks his hand and the bed. My orgasm is immediate and shockingly explosive. I bite the pillow to keep my scream muffled. Possessively, he grips my ass and keeps his thumb jammed inside my pussy while the waves of contractions race from my cor
e to the tips of my fingers and toes. I hear his voice come from far away.

  Gripping my butt cheeks he pushes into me. Thick, hot and incredibly hard. It seems to take forever to journey into me. Finally, he is in and I squeeze and milk his cock with my pussy. My muscles dance around his cock making shudders race through him and his dick pulse inside me.

  ‘Goddamn you,’ he says in a low lusty voice, and starts to ferociously pound my pussy.

  ‘Oh yeeees,’ I hiss

  With the sinews of his shoulders straining and his neck and chest red, fucking me hard, he shoots hot cum into me.

  ‘That was so amazing,’ I pant, gazing up at him.

  Pulling out of me, he crouches between my legs and, to my shock, I feel his hot, velvety tongue lapping at my wet folds, his tongue slicing through. His mouth suckling.

  ‘Oh God! Again?’ I squeak.

  ‘I’m gonna make your sweet, achy pussy come so hard, you’re won’t be able to breathe,’ he says, and spreads my slit with four fingers of his magic hands. Opening me right to my sphincter he gets engulfed in my heat, my scent, my flesh. Until I go rigid and climax again. When the aftershocks subside, he pulls up to me.

  ‘Nice basket,’ I whisper hoarsely.

  He chuckles. ‘I was working with a grade A, premium pussy. I could spend all day weaving.’

  I turn my head to look at him. ‘Do you realize that your thumb is still inside me?’

  He grins. ‘Yup. Pussies are where I’m at.’

  ‘Would you mind terribly taking it out?’ I ask in a mock English accent.

  That makes him laugh. ‘Only if I’m going to replace it with my cock.’

  ‘Holy crap. What are you? A sex addict or something? Have you not had enough?’

  ‘Are you kidding? I’ve barely started.’

  ‘Oh, yeah?’ I look down and his cock is already an exclamation mark.

  I roll on to my side and crouch next to his body. ‘Do you ever think of anything else but getting laid?’ I ask, wrapping my hands around the base of his cock.

  ‘Sometimes I think of making baskets,’ he says with a devilish grin.

  ‘I want to taste you,’ I whisper.

  ‘I’m not going to argue with that.’

  Bending my head, I slowly lick the entire length of his shaft before enveloping the head with my mouth.

  He groans. ‘I love to see my cock disappear into your pretty face.’

  I look up at him and slowly, very slowly, start swallowing his cock. Inch by inch I let it enter my throat.

  ‘Oh fuck. That feels amazing,’ he moans.

  He holds my head with both hands and starts to fuck my mouth. Pre-cum drips down my throat and flows out from the sides of my mouth.

  ‘I’m gonna cum,’ he warns.

  I grab his hips and suck ever harder. The muscles in his buttocks tense as he starts to lose control, and his rocking becomes faster and more frantic. With his hands gripping my head he fills my mouth with his seed. I look into his eyes and swallow. Then swallow again when he spurts more hot cream into me.

  ‘Whoa. That was amazing,’ he says, pulling me up to his mouth. We kiss. It is so gentle, my breath stops. The kiss ends and I realize I am now on my back, my hands clasped around his neck. I stare into his gorgeous, gorgeous eyes.

  ‘What about Tori? Tell me about her,’ he asks.

  I don’t want to talk about myself. I don’t want to spoil the moment with lies. ‘I’m actually tired. I think I should go to sleep.’

  His expression becomes guarded. ‘Sure, babe, but I’ll be asking that question again.’

  I watch him get ready. He comes to the bed and looks down at me. ‘Can we keep this a secret?’ I ask softly.

  He touches my hair. ‘I never met a girl who wanted to be my dirty secret,’ he teases gently.

  ‘I’d rather Britney didn’t find out right now.’

  His eyes narrow. ‘Why?’

  I nibble at my lower lip. ‘I can’t properly explain it so that it would make sense to you, but we have just found a kind of bond tonight and I think she will feel that I cannot be trusted with all her secrets if she knew we were having sex. Does that make any sense?’

  He nods. ‘Sure. My sister is a complicated girl, but how long are you planning on keeping it a secret?’

  ‘Just until she feels safe. Maybe a few days.’

  Tori

  The alarm was set for eight o’clock. I wake up groggy and unrefreshed, and almost immediately smell Cash on my sheets. Wow! It was not a dream. For a few more minutes I hug my pillow and replay last night. Creeping around in the dark, sharing a joint on the roof, coming back to my bed. Heat fills my face as I think about how bold I was. How amazing it was. Could this really be my little life?

  After a while, I drag myself out of bed and get into the shower. Dressing in my usual uniform of T-shirt and jeans, I go one floor up and knock on Britney’s door.

  ‘Go away,’ a sleepy voice scolds.

  I open the door and enter her room.

  She sits up and, when she sees me, smiles at me. ‘Sorry, I thought you were Jacinda. She’s always trying to clean my room when I am trying to sleep.’

  I walk up to the bed. ‘It’s only me. I wanted to make sure you were all right. How do you feel this morning?’

  ‘Super,’ she says a bit too brightly, and pats her bed. ‘Sit down. I want to talk to you.’

  I sit at the edge of her bed.

  ‘You won’t tell Dad about what happened last night, will you?’

  ‘Of course not,’ I say.

  A look of relief passes over her face. ‘Oh good. Thank you. After all, nothing bad, not really bad, happened so no need to worry him.’

  ‘If you ever want to talk about anything, I’m here, OK?’

  She looks down at the pattern of pink roses embroidered on her duvet, her expression undecided, before she looks up with a determined smile on her face. ‘OK. Thank you.’

  ‘Good. Want to have breakfast together?’

  She beams. ‘Yes, I definitely do.’

  ‘Go on then.’

  ‘Give me five minutes,’ she says and leaps energetically out of bed. I walk to the window and stand looking out at the garden. It is not a beautiful garden. No one in this house cares for it. Someone comes to cut the grass and trim the hedges, and the tall wall of rhododendron bushes at the bottom of the garden flower and die unnoticed.

  Britney is out in less time than it takes me to squeeze toothpaste onto a brush. We walk down the stairs together while she chatters on about one of her bitchy friends. To be honest I have to agree with her. I met the girl once and I didn’t like her one bit.

  The breakfast room is full of sunlight from the lantern roof. Cora has already laid out all the breakfast stuff. We drop our slices of bread into the toaster and while we are waiting for it to pop we fill our cups with coffee.

  We sit opposite each other at the long table. I butter my toast and cover it liberally with blueberry jam while Britney thinly spreads her slice with butter and an even tinier amount of Marmite. I can smell it from where I am sitting. Ugh. How is that even food?

  ‘Dad’s taking me to lunch at Groucho Club. Do you want to come with?’

  I hold my toast suspended in front of my mouth. ‘Have you forgotten, Brit? I go back to my aunt’s every second Saturday. I’ll be back Sunday evening.’

  ‘Oh,’ she says, her little face crumpling. ‘What time are you going?’

  ‘Right after breakfast. My aunt is taking me to an antique fair.’

  ‘Oh,’ she says as if being dragged around an antique fair is something she has wanted to do all her life.

  I smile. ‘Britney Hunter? You hate antiques!’

  She bites into her slice of toast. ‘Yeah, I know, but I hate being here on my own more.’

  ‘You don’t have to be here on your own. Why don’t you ask Natalie to come over?’

  ‘Natalie is in France.’

  ‘Right, how about Victoria?’

&
nbsp; ‘Nah. Don’t worry about me. I’ll probably just paint all afternoon.’

  I take a sip of coffee. ‘How come you’ve never shown me your work?’

  She worries her lower lip. ‘I’ve never shown it to anyone.’

  I stare at her. ‘Why not?’

  She shrugs. ‘But I’ll show you.’ She pauses. ‘If you have the time.’

  ‘Of course I’ve got time,’ I say immediately.

  ‘Only if you want to.’

  I look her in the eye. ‘I want to, Brit.’

  ‘OK,’ she says and a simple, childlike joy fills her little face.

  We finish our breakfast and go up the stairs. We pass the room that leads to the attic where Cash and I had been in last night, and go towards the last room. It bears a skull and cross bones sign on it. When I was first shown around the house this was the one room I had not gone inside. She stops in front of it and turns towards me.

  ‘I feel really nervous.’

  ‘If it helps I still draw stick figures.’

  She giggles. ‘OK. I trust you. You always tell the truth.’

  I feel my ears becoming red. She turns and puts a key into the lock and turns the handle. It is quite a big airy room with a bare wooden floor. There is a mannequin parked at one corner, a tall easel in the middle of the room, and a massive, deep-red velvet armchair by the window. On the floor next to the chair are empty packets of crisps, discarded chocolate wrappings, and a couple of detective novels. Along the walls there are many canvasses lined up with their backs showing to the room.

  ‘This is my secret room,’ she says in a small voice.

  I turn to look at her. ‘I love it.’

  She grins. ‘So do I.’

  ‘Come on then. Show me your art.’

  I follow her to the canvasses lined up against the wall and one by one she shows them to me. I say nothing. Just look at each one carefully. They are beautiful but very strange, and leave me with a sense of unease. Most of them are images of unfinished humans or humans with holes cut out of their bodies and children curled up inside the empty spaces. Other figures are white and featureless standing against a dark background. They have a string, like an umbilical cord coming out of them.