Next To You

by Sandra Antonelli

  Caroline blew back her hair with a puff of air, and smiled. ‘Well, you know all about my seamy past, you even saw part of it today. Are you ever going to tell me about the neighbors, William? In spite of the romantic lighting, weren’t the other neighbors the pretext for this neighborly get together we’re having? My uncle’s told me little bits over the years. I knew a lawyer lived in the building. That’s you. There’s somebody else who likes to sing, a Greek couple, and one guy is a writer, but I have to admit I don’t always pay that much attention to my uncle’s chatter. You tell me the rest.’

  ‘The Neighbors: A Cautionary Tale.’

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you included in this story of dangerous fellow neighbors?’

  ‘For that, you would have to ask our first subject, Mrs. Bonnie Chesterman.’ Will tried to sound as much like Rod Serling from The Twilight Zone as he could, pulling his mouth back into a grimace, moving his head around like the eerie show’s host did, ‘Apartment A. Bonnie, the resident Gladys Kravitz gossip from Bewitched, will talk your ear off and you’ll be lucky if you get in more than three words before you’ll want to gnaw off your own foot to get away. Spiro and Helen Dimitrios, apartment B, will suck you into their vortex of grandchildren photos. Wolfy Schultz, freelance writer, bears a striking resemblance to Hitler, or maybe it’s just Hitler’s mustache that lives in apartment C. And then there’s Archie and Dennis, newlyweds who would just be tickled pink by your kitchen. Oh, crap, listen to me. That was offensive. How much wine have I had?’

  ‘You just opened a second bottle.’

  ‘And I drank three quarters of the first. It’s getting late and I should probably go before I break into a tune because I’m the neighbor who likes to sing. I forgot to say that.’

  ‘It’s not that late. It’s only …’ Caroline glanced at her watch. ‘It’s almost eleven. It’s a lot later than I thought.’

  ‘I’ll go. I’m getting a little too … happy.’ He stood and began to stack the dishes.

  Caroline gathered the empty bottles and set them on the tray. ‘Thank you for picking up dinner,’ she said. ‘What do I owe you?’

  He took the tray from her. ‘What do you owe me? Well, considering I asked you first, then you asked me, and then I asked you again, and we ended up here at your house, using your dishes, which I’m sure you’re not going to let me wash …’ He grinned.

  ‘I’ll let you wash the dishes, William.’

  He looked at the dirty plates on the tray. Batman trotted inside over and sat beside his owner. Will glanced at the dog, and cocked his head at Caroline. ‘I’ll make a deal with you, Mrs. Jones. Dinner’s my treat, you wash up, and I’ll give you a ride to work this week.’

  ‘Thank you for dinner, but there is no way I’m getting on your motorcycle.’

  ‘What do you drive?’

  ‘I have an old Triumph Spitfire.’

  ‘Triumph used to make great motorcycles. I had one once. I traded it for an Indian, and traded that for a Ducati.’

  ‘You really like motorcycles, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I do. Why do you hate them?’

  ‘I don’t think they’re particularly safe.’

  ‘Would a Volvo suit you better?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘Me too. Do you have one?’

  Chapter 3

  Nothing gave a cleaner, smooth-as-a-baby’s-bottom result than a pore-opening, skin-softening, hot water shave in the shower. Will examined his terribly prickly stubble in the anti-fog mirror and soaped up his face. He shaved above his top lip first and began singing a perfect, note-by-note cover of David Cassidy’s vocals on ‘I Woke Up In Love This Morning.’ In a few minute his face was whisker-free and he’d done an excellent impersonation of the entire Partridge Family, including Shirley’s soprano. He’d even kept time with the bar of soap in a way little Tracy Partridge never seemed able to with a tambourine.

  Quincy often made fun of him for liking old bubblegum pop, but Will didn’t care. He climbed out of the shower, dried himself, and wrapped the towel around his hips. He slapped an Yves Saint Laurent aftershave on his face, and launched into ‘One Bad Apple,’ his skin stinging. His voice cracked when he hit the high notes like a young Donny Osmond.

  Once he’d dressed, he checked the lay of his tie and jacket the mirror on the back of his bedroom door, straightening his cuffs, picking off a bit of fuzz from his shoulder.

  Quiet elegance. That’s what Caroline said, he had a quiet elegance. Quiet menace was what most people who didn’t know him thought, once they stopped elbowing each other to point and stare at him. It was a sad but true fact; many people believed in the pulp fiction and Hollywood stereotype of the sore-covered, spooky albino with demonic red eyes. Movie albinos were evil henchmen, assassins, satanic cult members who took glee in inflicting pain on others. Movie albinos were comic relief or misunderstood, miserable, lonely souls shunned by entire communities.

  Will was used to all those misconceptions, and he’d had a long time to get comfortable in his own skin. Still, Caroline’s comment was the nicest thing anyone had ever said about his appearance. He wanted to believe it and tried hard to see what she found elegant. He was built like a rugby player or slightly taller, somewhat older, beefier Russell Crowe in Gladiator. There was no doubt he possessed a sartorial sense, he knew that, but whenever he scrutinized his image, he simply saw a white face, blue eyes, and a burly frame in a perfectly fitting suit. In his book, being well heeled and polished didn’t equal elegant. Yet she had chosen the words. Quiet elegance. That phrase wiped off the sprinkling of dusty antiquity he hadn’t realized had settled on him last Saturday.

  ***

  The blue-black jacket William left draped over a chair on the terrace last night had fallen on the outdoor tiles. It was covered with short hairs from her uncle’s cats, or from Batman.

  Caroline put the jacket on a wooden hanger and hung it from a knob on a cupboard in the kitchen. Methodically, she ran a clothes brush over the wool fabric. The action released a pleasant trace of the clean fragrance William had worn yesterday. Right in the middle of a downward pet hair-collecting stroke, she paused, lifted the sleeve and held it against her nose, inhaling slowly. She put the brush on the countertop, pulled the jacket from the hanger, slipped it over her shoulders, and buried her nose in the lapel, wondering why she hadn’t noticed how nice he’d smelled last night.

  Well, hello there, Caroline! Yes, it was true. She stood in the middle of her kitchen, enveloped in Italian wool, her eyes closed, having a good sniff of something that belonged to a man she hardly knew, and she was getting turned on.

  It was a hilarious indication a disused part of her life was beginning to stretch its legs. Caroline smiled at her own idiocy, and returned the jacket to the hanger. She went back out to the terrace with a glass of pink grapefruit juice. Batman followed.

  Near the edge of the hip-high wall, she looked out to the few trees beginning to change color. Garnet and topaz leaves fluttered in the light breeze, and her thoughts drifted to her father.

  Her dad always slipped into her mind whenever she saw anything jewel-colored, because he’d been a jeweler and precious stone merchant. She’d learned a lot from him about gems, where they came from, and had a piece of jewelry in every color stone imaginable.

  She drained her juice, had a seat on the edge of the wall, set the glass beside her, and pulled an earring from her left ear. The stone was emerald-cut, an iolite the lightest hue of purplish-blue, almost-but-not-quite the palest shade of tanzanite.

  Iolites were interesting. Vikings who had sailed and explored the world had used iolite as a navigation tool to look at the sun’s position without going blind. With his extremely pale complexion, William Murphy looked something like a Viking, but to navigate his way through life, he had to avoid the sun and wear tinted glasses to shield eyes that were sometimes the same color as the stone she held in her fingers.

  Combining those two ideas, Viking and cool color, led to image
s of Will in a horned helmet, the kind she’d associated since childhood to Bugs Bunny dressed as a Wagnerian Brunhilde. She saw William Murphy, complete with breastplate and flaxen braids, singing opera on his terrace, like an albino Elmer Fudd.

  O Bwoonhiwda, yoh so wuv-we …

  It was one of those silly songs she used to sing to Drew. She had pushed that memory from her mind long ago, but thinking of William sitting on a fat white horse, tossing rose petals as he performed an aria, made her laugh out loud.

  She laughed and laughed. It hurt her sides, her eyes watered, she took in huge gulps of air until the dog let out a single bark. Cackling, she glanced at Batman sniffing at the ivy-covered trellis. His little black and white back body crouched forward in a play bow, his skinny tail wagging, whipping.

  She replaced her earring, wiped her eyes, and followed the dog’s playful movement. In between leaves, she saw William on the other side of the lattice.

  ‘Good morning,’ he said. ‘I didn’t want to startle you in the middle of a private joke and lose you over the side of the building.’

  ‘Thanks for being so thoughtful.’ Caroline hopped off the wall and moved to the trellis, trying to get a better view of him through the ivy. All she saw was a dark blue lapel and his fingers poking low through the greenery. Batman licked them. She started laughing all over again.

  ‘What’s so funny?’

  Caroline giggled. ‘You ever see that Bugs Bunny cartoon where Elmer Fudd sings kill the wabbit to Wagner’s Ride of the Valkyries?’

  ‘That’s What’s Opera Doc.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s the one. I was just … thinking about it.’

  ‘It’s classic Warner Brothers. Personally, I prefer The Rabbit of Seville. Sometimes, when I shave, I think of Bugs taking off Elmer’s five o’clock shadow with a little lawn mower.’

  She giggled again. ‘I have something for you,’ she said, moving from the ivy. ‘I’ll bring it over.’

  ‘What is it, a little lawn mower I can use to shave off my five o’clock shadow? Hair tonic that’ll make my scalp spout flowers?’

  Inside, Caroline put her glass in the sink. She took the jacket from the hanger in the kitchen, folded it over her arm, and took it across the landing to his place. Rather than knocking, she waited, and listened for his footfalls, for sound of movement inside his apartment.

  She heard nothing until he opened the door. He smelled even better in person than his jacket had wrapped around her body. Well, hello there, Caroline!

  ‘I left that on your terrace, didn’t I?’ he said.

  ‘I may have saved it from the certain doom of Batman’s teeth, but it has a bit of his hair all over it.’

  Besides the big grin and Tom Ford suit, William also wore a pair of silver wire-framed glasses with blue tinted lenses. ‘Tell me something … I’m sorry, please come in.’ He stepped back, holding the door wider for her to pass. She went in and stood beside the Edwardian coatrack, handing him his jacket. Without a glance at the garment, he hung it on the rack, and walked backward, leading her into his home.

  The layout of his large apartment was a mirror image of hers. The front door opened into a small foyer that spread out into a large living room with a curving bank of bay windows. The long hallway ran past two bedrooms and bathroom. Further along were the dining room and kitchen. The master bedroom, which included an attached bathroom, sat just off the dining room. Like her place, his bedroom had a set of French doors that led out to the terrace.

  With a peek down the hall, Caroline noted that his white and black kitchen had butcher-block finished countertops. The interior of her place was a buttery yellow. His was a sage green. They both had gleaming birch floors scattered with rugs, and while her furnishings were striped or floral, his were rich browns mixed with shades of deep greens and reds.

  In the living room, William sank onto the long end of a wide, L-shaped, mocha-colored couch. Caroline perched on the edge of the matching ottoman and gaped at his entertainment system setup. ‘Holy shit,’ she said. ‘That thing is huge. It’s the biggest TV I have ever seen.’

  ‘Don’t believe anyone who says size doesn’t matter. Would you like some coffee?’

  She shook her head. ‘I’ve met my two cup quota this morning, but thank you.’

  ‘Tell me,’ he frowned. ‘Did I offend you in any way last night? With my rosé-colored glasses I’m afraid I may have painted a few of the neighbors with a bit more color than necessary.’

  ‘You were a polite, perfect gentleman, and we drank Chianti, didn’t we?’

  ‘Hmm, I was afraid of that too.’

  ‘Of Chianti?’

  ‘No, of being a perfect gentleman.’

  ‘Why is that bad?’

  Will smiled. He didn’t think he was flirting, like he had last night—and he had flirted last night—but that was only because this was so easy; it was as if he’d known her for two years, not two days. That feeling was rare, and he appreciated the instantaneous camaraderie. He thought she did too. ‘My conservative attire, saying please and thank you, and offering ladies my seat on the bus, often gives the impression I don’t know how to have fun, and I had fun last night. I was hoping you did too.’

  ‘I had a horrid time,’ she said, making a horrid face.

  ‘How can you say that when I let you wash dishes?’ He shook his head, and then smiled. ‘I never had a friend who lived next door like Lucy had Ethel, like Ralph had Norton, like Jerry had Kramer.’

  ‘You left out Monica and Joey.’

  ‘All right, all right. Like Monica had Joey. You know, I like to think one day I may be able to barge into your apartment, eat all your ice cream, or complain about something.’

  ‘I get the impression you never complain.’

  ‘You should hear my very un-gentlemanly whining sometimes.’

  ‘I also get the impression you watch a lot of TV.’

  ‘A kid’s gotta have a friend he can depend on, especially a much-maligned albino kid.’ He sat up straight. ‘So how’s my attire today? Conservative enough for you?’

  Caroline looked him up and down, inspecting his dark blue Tom Ford three-piece. For a half second Will thought she was checking him out, but she was merely examining the cut of his suit. ‘You’ll do,’ she said. ‘Do you ride to work on a motorcycle dressed like that?’

  ‘Hell, no! It’s safety first. I wear leathers, and keep a few suits at work for the days I ride in. This morning, my boss Quincy’s picking me up. We’re going to a building site down near Hyde Park.’

  ‘You’re going to a construction site in a hand-stitched suit and silk tie?’

  ‘Quincy’s the one who gets dirty. I just stand there in a hard hat, in the shade, and listen. I’m a very good listener.’

  ‘Do you ever get dirty, William?’ Caroline hoped he would say no. There was enough grime leftover on her from her extended winter’s nap to last for years. She liked how his while skin seemed so sparkling fresh. Maybe being near him would eliminate her dullness the same way adding bluing to whites brought back their brightness.

  ‘I may get a little dust-coated,’ he said. ‘But it’s my job to keep things as tidy as possible. I take care of what I can, and brush myself off at the end of the day. Most of the time I’m in my office, out of the sun, looking out the window, wondering,’ he took off his glasses and rubbed the lenses with a handkerchief, ‘what I’m going to have for lunch. I get paid quite a bit of money to do that.’

  With a laugh, Caroline glanced at the dark mantle clock sitting above the fireplace. ‘I need to get moving if I want to get the bus.’ She rose. ‘Hey, you wouldn’t have a Phillips screwdriver I could borrow, would you? I bought a dog door for Batman, but I haven’t been able to find any of the tools I kept from husband’s toolbox. I’ll have to leave the terrace door open again until I can install the flap.’

  It was hard to believe that Alex was pissed off about her having some of his tools, but Will supposed some men got that way, possessive with their thing
s and possessive with their women. The thing was, if you wanted out of a relationship, you got out of a relationship and left the bitterness and emotional baggage behind. Granted, not everyone broke up as amiably as he and Yvonne had. They’d been a lousy married couple, yet they remained close friends. Amiable certainly made everything so much less complicated. It also it offered them both a particular kind of soft, close friendship, an uncomplicated sort of reliability. He was a huge fan of uncomplicated.

  And his new neighbor was anything but uncomplicated.

  ‘I’ll bring my toolbox by tonight,’ Will said, reminding himself how much he liked uncomplicated.

  Half an hour later, he sat in the passenger seat of Quincy’s Jag, his legs bunched up and his thoughts on his toolbox, domestic violence, and Caroline. His mind wandered back to earlier, as she’d sat on the terrace wall drinking her juice. She’d looked pretty in the light of a newly risen sun, all muted pink and soft orange, with a tinge of palest lavender. She was his pretty new neighbor, and a pretty old complication for someone else.

  ‘Murphy,’ Quincy’s elbow nudged his. ‘Are you awake this morning?’

  ‘Sorry. I was woolgathering.’

  ‘Evidently.’

  Will said, ‘You know I have a new neighbor.’

  ‘Did someone in your building die or split up?’

  ‘Neither. John Reginaldi, the golf pro across the hall, moved into a retirement community on one of his golf courses. His niece moved in.’

  Quincy glanced at his friend and nodded. ‘Oh, that’s right. You were concerned you’d get a yuppie couple or crabby old witch with ten cats.’

  ‘She has a dog.’

  ‘Did the dog keep you up last night?’

  ‘No, I slept fine.’

  ‘Then why are you asleep now?’

  ‘I wasn’t sleeping, I was just thinking.’

  A little laugh popped from Quincy’s mouth. ‘What’s she look like?’