by S A Sommers
I headed up the stairs with my dog, and stopped dead on the landing for my floor. There, on the common billboard, was my apartment number written in red at the top of a piece of paper.
One week. Just one week and they already didn’t like me?
I walked up to the paper and my eyebrows hit the top of my hairline at the message. It was actually…really well drawn.
Dear Neighbor in 302—
I appreciate you being an animal lover, but most people agree that a barking dog at three a.m. negates most of that love and appreciation. Sorry, but you got to keep him quiet.
Your neighbor,
301
And there under the short note was a picture of what was clearly a German Shepherd, looking sad and sporting a very dog-friendly basket muzzle.
Which also meant that the artist, no doubt my neighbor 301, didn’t really want me to muzzle Pollux, but to generally shut him up.
I took the sheet off the bulletin board and shoved it in my back pocket and stepped to my door. Unlocking and stepping inside, I eyed the dog.
“Dude. Are you barking in the middle of the night?” I asked him. As if he could answer me. He dropped his haunches to the ground and stared at me.
How could he be barking in the middle of the night and I couldn’t hear it? That was bad on several different, important levels. Pollux was a good guard dog. Very good. He had an instinct for not barking at just anything and everything, so when he did, there was usually an actual threat. And next, I wasn’t waking up to his accurate barking. That scared me because if I didn’t wake up to his bark, what said that I would ever hear the smoke alarm, or someone busting in the front door?
I was a rural kid, and I had to talk myself out of thinking that everyone was going to break into my apartments. Pollux helped that.
Taking his leash off, I refilled his water bowl and sat down at the small folding table that served as a kitchen table. I pulled the note out of my pocket and studied it.
The art was actually really cute. The dog looked like he was sad and sorry at the same time, and it was clear that the artist in 301 didn’t want to go to the landlord about me.
Of course, 301 could have just knocked on the door and talked to me. That would’ve been the polite and neighborly thing to do, instead of calling me out like that. I wondered if anyone else had seen it.
I also wondered if 301 was home and we could chat about this in person. Glancing at Pollux, slopping water all over the floor as usual, I nodded. “Let’s see if we can solve this like a gentleman.”
Just as my hand wrapped around the doorknob, I froze. What if the artist in 301 was like the last boyfriend I had? What if he was like Ed? What if he took my innocent request to talk as some kind of invitation? If anything happened to him, or I was in the house with him alone for too long, it would be Boston Conservatory all over again.
So I chickened out. Again.
It seemed ridiculous for the star linebacker of his high school football team to be just such a fucking chicken about facing a neighbor. But all I could think of was how I’d barely made it out Boston with my degree.
Forget my dignity, that had been shredded.
I chewed on my lip. Now what the hell did I do? I had to deal with the barking and the complaint, but I was stuck behind the wall of my own damn fears.
I glanced at Pollux who was now dutifully licking his butt. I rolled my eyes, and sat back down at the table. Tapping my finger on the note, I studied it.
A moment later, I grabbed a pen and some paper. I wasn’t such a bad artist myself.
“Are you liking the city?” Sorcha asked, spinning a knob on the sound equipment.
“So far so good,” I answered. “Just getting my bearings and getting everything sorted. I think I have the commute down pat, and I’m trying to find a decent grocery. I’m used to Price Chopper.”
She stopped and looked up at me. “Excuse me what?”
Chuckling, I nodded. “Price Chopper. Great name, isn’t it. I don’t know what dingbat branded that, but we’re all used to it up there.”
“Well, there you go.” She turned back to the soundboard. “I would recommend D’Agostinos, but honestly, if you can find the fruit and veggie bodega and a bakery, you really only need them for things like meat and cheese.”
“A man does not need more than meat and cheese!”
Sorcha busted out laughing. “Okay, Captain Caveman, chill with the testosterone.”
I chuckled. “Actually, I love fruit and vegetables. So thank you for reminding me about the markets. I’m not a vegetarian, but I don’t go to Delmonico’s and eat a thirty-two ounce steak as a habit.”
“Look at you, learning the city’s fancy restaurants off the bat.” She grinned.
“Gotta know where I can’t afford to eat right now.”
She nodded, then studied me. “Are you paying attention to what I’m doing at all?”
“Well…” I drew out the word and coughed at the end.
“You already know how to do all this, don’t you?”
“I do…”
She was suspicious, and I had the feeling I was about to be outed. “Why do I think it’s not just something you picked up in school?”
“It wasn’t. I have a working set up in my place.”
Her jaw dropped. “For audio?”
“Yes.”
It was quiet a moment, then she cocked her head. “Why?”
“I do independent audiobook narration.”
This time, she rotated the whole chair around to look at me. “Holy. Shit. You’re that Marcus? Chastain?”
“Well, my real last name is Romano, but I ask to be published and distributed by Chastain. Simply because I didn’t want to take the chance that someone would know my name and recognize my voice.”
“Dude. I listen to your books all the time,” Sorcha gasped. She flushed bright red, and I knew what was going to come out of her mouth. “You have the most amazing bedroom voice ever…”
I shook my head and pinched the bridge of my nose. “Yeah. I’ve been told. At least you were discreet about it.”
“People aren’t discreet?”
I laughed. Hard. “Are you kidding? I’ve had more women come up to me and ask me to talk to them just so they could—uh…Jill off in the bathroom.”
“Jill off?!” She couldn’t stop laughing. “Oh, my God, you’re precious. None of them offered more?”
“They all offer more,” I said. “But I’m gay, so it doesn’t do shit for me.”
She gasped and put a hand to her chest. “Oh, no! Did you hear that? It was the sound of millions of hearts breaking!” The grin never left her face and she dropped her hand back to the board. “Actually, I kind of figured you were.”
“How?” I asked.
“Gaydar, my friend. Gaydar.”
“That’s pretty strong. I’ve always been told that I let off a pretty strong straight vibe.”
Sorcha shook her head. “You’ve never met anyone as straight as me, my friend. I have like zero interest in the same sex. I have trouble finding even the most beautiful woman slightly more than objectively beautiful. I can suss out even the smallest amount of bicuriosity in anyone. And you are not bi. You are lighting up my gay-board like a Christmas tree.” She made little flashy motions with her hands.
“Usually people who say they are that straight…”
“Don’t you fret, Marcus. I’m an ally. I couldn’t give a shit what you do with your boy bits in your down—or up—time. Just because my pendulum is stuck in the upside of the swing doesn’t mean I don’t get it.” She patted my arm and flipped a few switches on the editing board. “Sex is awesome. Get you some.”
I couldn’t stop laughing. “I have the feeling that this job is going to work out just fine.”
“And remember, I’m so straight that we can appreciate a fine male together.”
“Bonus!”
“All right, Mister Women-Jill-Off-to-My-Voice,” she said, pushing back from
the editing board, “if you know what you’re doing, why don’t you show me.” Sorcha held out the set of headphones she’d been using. “Back track and see if you can match me.”
Sliding my chair over, I exaggeratedly cracked my knuckles—actually hurting one of my fingers—and wound back the track so I could listen to the whole thing. I knew she was working on putting natural water sounds for a scene in a show, and I had to hear what she had done to that point before I could pick it up.
She was good and this was what I had been dying to do for a while. I loved voice work, but I also loved working the soundboards. I listened a few more times, and finally caught her pattern, and started laying down more special effects.
“How long do we need the effects in this for?”
“The whole scene,” she answered. “Another four minutes.”
I lost myself in the board and watching for perfect places to drop different kinds of water sounds to make the whole thing seem natural. It took me twenty minutes to layer in the sound the way I wanted, and that blended with hers.
I put the headset down, and smiled. “There.”
She pointed to the screen and speakers. “Show me.”
I keyed it up to the marker and let it go. The switch from her tracks to mine was flawless, and while there were a few things I noticed outside the headset that I wanted to adjust, I was reasonably pleased with the track.
The clip ended and Sorcha was staring at the screen, tapping a finger on her chin. She was quiet and I couldn’t read her at all. I was ready to hide under the soundboard before she finally spoke up.
“I’m getting Jerry to give you a room tomorrow. You don’t need any tutoring on this, man. That was flawless and damn near perfect.” She swiveled in the chair. “Ed is going to approve it on the first pass, and if you can get past Ed Roberts on the first pass, you’re golden. There’s a reason they always give me his stuff. He likes what I do. Well, now he has two of us.”
My stomach dropped a little and I hoped that it didn’t show on my face. “Ed Roberts?”
“Notoriously hard to work with,” she said. “He’s an up and coming producer and he’s a bit of prima donna and why do you now look like you’re going to barf?”
I coughed, and covered my mouth. “I uh…my stomach went sour. Sorry about that. I need to grab some tums. Do you mind?”
“Go on. I’m going to go find Jerry and talk to him about you and your own editing room.”
I nodded and tried to leave the room calmly. I hoped it work. I made it all the way to the bathroom, managed to lock the stall, and proceeded to heave up all of my lunch and swore half of my breakfast.
Not caring that this was a public bathroom, I leaned my forehead on the stall divider, absorbing the cool of the metal on my skin.
Ed Roberts.
I had just mixed a segment for Ed Roberts.
I heaved again, and this time, it was all bile, and I wasn’t sure that I was done gagging yet.
All at once I had impressed my mentor enough that she felt like I didn’t need more mentoring, and at the same time, I had a horrid realization that yes, Ed was in the same field as I was now and we were totally going to cross paths. Possibly often.
There had to be a way that I could avoid him. In all likelihood, Sorcha would be the one going to see him about the track, not me. But if I had my own studio and own assignments, at some point I was going to have to see him.
There was the rest of the gagging. Was this going to happen every time I had to deal with him?
Shit.
CHASE
THERE WAS A NOTE ON THE BULLETIN board where mine had been. I’d used red marker, and this one was in blue. It very clearly said To 301.
Oh, goodie. We were passing notes like we were in kindy-garten again.
Plucking it off the wall, I headed into the apartment. I chuckled as I dropped my messenger bag on the floor by the door. I hadn’t brought any work home that night, because I’d managed to finish most everything I had on my desk on deadline.
Also, Felix had been out, so I didn’t have to deal with his sniping. That was a relief. I hated that we shared that cube. There was nothing about that man that was likeable and I was over it.
Looking at the note in my hand, I made myself a promise to go talk to management about changing my desk location. There had to be another open desk on the floor where I didn’t have to deal with Gayzilla all day.
Opening the paper, I found my neighbor’s response to the damn barking dog.
Dear 301,
Pollux is a willful, free spirit and I cannot contain his joy and delight at simple things like bugs, curtains and air moving around his head. I would not want to contain it, because it is joy on an ethereal level. Sorry if he barks.
Your Neighbor 302 and Pollux
The dog was named Pollux.
And my neighbor was an arrogant jerk.
Under the note was a more than serviceable drawing of a much smaller dog than the German shepherd I’d imagined, leaping off the ground with his idiot tongue hanging out, and look of pure, stupid, doggy bliss on his face. His leash swung free, he wore a crown of flowers, and there was a fire hydrant on the other side from the leash.
Well, Neighbor 302 could draw, I’d give them that. And I’d give them another night with Pollux the Wunderhund. It was all my sanity could afford between the dog and Felix.
Glancing at the clock, I gasped. I didn’t have a lot of time to get ready. Grabbing my phone out of my pocket I checked the text messages.
I let out a breath of relief.
Kieran: Hey, sexy. You ready for this?
I smiled and wrote back. Been ready.
He and I had been chatting for nearly two months, at first just online, then through text and just two weeks ago, we actually moved up to the phone. We were clicking in a major way and tonight we got to try our in-person chemistry.
Kieran had been so patient with me. It was one of the worst things about me—that I had to form a personal connection or sex didn’t happen. He’d been willing to do that, and there were not many men who would.
I could not wait. I needed to get laid and soon. My right wrist was sore and even my left hand was getting familiar at this point. I was feeling good about the two of us working well together, and just maybe I might get myself a boyfriend. Finally.
I rushed through my refresh and clean up, and rushed out the door. I was going to have to take the time to come up with a witty retort to the neighbor’s message at some point, but right now, I just ran down the stairs and out to the subway to catch the train.
I’d lived in New York City for five years and I’d never been to Delmonico’s. I had been dying to go the whole time. Kieran suggested it because if we didn’t hit it off, at least we would have had a date at one of the oldest and best restaurants in the city. We’d even agreed to go half because it wasn’t a cheap place and we both had rent to pay.
I laughed at the rent again. Poor Noah. We’d actually all wound up giving him about fifty dollars apiece to help him recover a bit. He wasn’t hard up for cash, but that had been an unfair situation and none of us wanted him to have to tap his savings for his rent.
We all paid through the ass to stay in Manhattan. It still wasn’t as bad as Brooklyn, and while some of my friends were doing okay over in Jersey, we were all paying exorbitant rents. It was easy to see why people moved way out.
I’d lucked into my place, just below Bleaker near Washington Square, so the ride to the restaurant wasn’t going to be very far or long. A quick walk to the Bleaker stop and down five to Wall Street, then two blocks more on foot. Easy peasy.
Standing just outside the restaurant was Kieran, looking like a perfect gentleman. He looked exactly like his pictures and I was glad. It meant I’d lucked into a fairly honest—and hot—guy.
“Chase?” He perked up as I approached, and a smirk graced his lips.
“Kieran,” I said, sticking my hand out for him to shake.
He did. It was a f
irm, kind grip with a lot of confidence. I liked it. It was comforting.
“It’s so good to finally meet you.” He smiled and motioned to the door of the restaurant. “I’m looking forward to dinner. Shall we?”
I nodded and he held the door for me.
“Come up for a coffee?” I managed to force the words from my lips.
I hadn’t been sure I was going to ask him up at all until that moment. Dinner had been amazing, and I’d really started to feel a connection with the guy. We weren’t off the charts hot, but there was chemistry there. I couldn’t keep putting off chances to find a good guy while waiting for the perfect man. Because on top of waiting for him, he’d also have to wait on me.
Kieran was hot. Smart, polite, kind. All of it. He was also patient and interested. If we took this to the bed, I was sure he wasn’t going to be a fuck and flee.
Smiling, he nodded. “I’d love to.”
We walked up to the building, and he stopped. “Wait. This is your place?”
I looked at the door and then back to him. “Yes?”
“You seriously live across the street from 177 Bleeker Street?”
“Oh…no…”
Kieran started laughing. “Please, please tell me a wizard doctor in a red cape lives there?”
I put a hand to my forehead. “The second floor is an adorable newlywed couple. The third is two NYU students, and the fourth is a single businessman.”
“You memorized it?”
“Everyone who makes the connection wants to know if Stephen Strange lives there. I mean, does it look like a wizard lives there? Would you live there if you were a wizard? There are much nicer brownstones and Gilded Age mansions uptown.”
Kieran tossed his head back and let out a resounding laugh. I pushed the door to my building open and led him inside. I chuckled along with him as we walked in.
We headed up the stairs to my apartment door. I glanced at the bulletin board and didn’t see another note. The light was on under the door and I sighed softly.