The Good Neighbor: A Novel

by Jay Quinn

  “Oh yeah?” Rory said.

  “Oh hell yeah. It’s something about creating a welcoming glow when people enter the house. I think gracious good living was mentioned as well,’ Austin replied sarcastically.

  “Aw give her a break, Austin.” Rory said breezily. “I think she’s doing what comes naturally. Let her have some fun.”

  “I like your and Bruno’s style better.” Austin admitted. “It doesn’t look so forced.”

  “Well you would,” Rory said. “There’s no fussy lady stuff over here.”

  “No, it’s different,” Austin insisted. “Everything is the right size, the right color.”

  “Austin, if you start talking about fabric I’m going to have to stop seeing you,” Rory said firmly.

  “Why?”

  “It’s just a little gay, that’s all,” Rory said and laughed.

  Austin colored once more and looked genuinely flustered. “Okay. Keep your gay decorating secrets to yourself, then. Don’t share.”

  “There’s no secret to it, Austin,” Rory said gently. “Pick out a room or place in your house and tell Meg you want to help her put it together. You have a big house. Tell her you want the loft, maybe.”

  “Whatever,” Austin said dubiously, “I don’t think she’d let me.” Then, steering the conversation once more to other shoals, he said, “Are you nervous about the audition tomorrow?”

  Rory shrugged, but didn’t say anything. He looked at Austin and raised his eyebrows as if to say it didn’t really matter whether he was nervous or not.

  “C’mon, man. You can’t be that cool about it,” Austin said firmly.

  “It is what it is, Austin. Either they’ll like me or they won’t. Best I can do is give it a shot,” Rory said firmly. “I’m a little concerned about being this white boy trying out with a black group that’s tack sharp and talented as hell. But, if I embarrass myself, well… two tears in a bucket, mother fuck it.”

  Austin nodded, then leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “I heard you singing last night,” he said huskily. He cleared his throat and went on, “I couldn’t see you, but I could hear you. You sounded good, considering there were long spaces in between the parts you sang.”

  Rory looked away and took in the finished pots of geraniums already sitting with pride of place on the pool deck. He was suddenly embarrassed, and he knew that wasn’t necessarily conducive to his upcoming performance. “I was only singing my part,” he explained. “I’m just a vocalist. Like background coloring. The music and the rapping are out in front.”

  “Can I hear you with the music and everything?” Austin asked sincerely.

  “Aww man,” Rory sighed. “Don’t make me do all that.”

  “C’mon, Rory. It’ll be good practice. If you can’t sing in front of me now, how are you going to sing with a bunch of strangers tomorrow?”

  “No way,” Rory said. “There’s no music out here.”

  Austin looked pointedly over his head at the Bose outdoor speakers mounted under the roof’s overhang off the living room. “Liar. Bruno was really proud of how good the stereo sounded out here the other night.”

  Rory rolled his eyes and snorted. “Leave it to Bruno.” He eyed the speakers himself and for a moment seemed to consider it. Then he said, “Naw, Austin. It’s the middle of the morning. I don’t want to be playing music and shaking my ass all out here in the middle of the neighborhood. It’ll be too…”

  “Too what?” Austin asked. “Your only neighbor nearer than a quarter mile across the canal is sitting right here. You can’t use that bullshit excuse.”

  “I have to move when I sing,” Rory explained. “I’ll feel like I’m giving you a lap dance or something with just you sitting here.”

  Austin laughed as he leaned back in his chair and spread his legs, “C’mon, baby, don’t be afraid give me what you got.”

  Rory looked at him and something close to anger crossed his face. “Okay, asshole. Turn your big ass around and face the living room doors. If I’m going to do this, I want to be under the speakers.”

  Austin raised out of the chair enough to reposition it facing the small stagelike space below the roof’s overhang and then sat back down. He folded his arms across his chest and said, “Okay. Tear it up.”

  Rory stood and walked across the pavers into the house. Austin shortly heard amplified white noise come from the speakers, followed by a taut bass line merged with a fast drum syncopation that thumped along like jerking electricity. He recognized the song as Rory reappeared and took his place in front of him. It was a faster arrangement of the Isley Brothers’ “Take Me to the Next Phase.” Austin and Meg had danced to the original version as junior high-schoolers. Rory found his groove in the rapid beat and began to move from the balls of his feet. After an elegant rap intro, Rory came in on the beat with a husky falsetto sparkling with ground glass. According to the lyrics, he called on volunteers, enticing the people who party here. But he sang with his back arched, his hips moving with an authentic push. Austin couldn’t tell if he was being unselfconsciously suggestive, but his movement seemed a kind of surrender to an urging force as steady and sure as an act of sex.

  Austin felt himself grow hard.

  When the song finished, Rory stood stock-still for a moment and locked eyes with Austin. Casually, he reached into to his back pocket and took out a pack of cigarettes. He managed to extract one and get it lit with his eyes never leaving his audience’s. It was a look that was self-assured and nonchalantly challenging.

  Austin shifted uncomfortably in his seat and said, “Damn.”

  Rory nodded and stepped away to return inside. After a moment, Austin heard the stereo’s volume reduce to a background level. He glanced at the family room door before he tugged at his crotch and leaned forward once more with his elbows on his knees as Rory walked back onto the pool deck.

  “Think I’ll do alright?” He asked quietly.

  “Where did you learn to move like that?” Austin asked.

  Rory laughed. “It’s a soul move, not a rock-and-roll one. Soul moves are about fucking. Rock-and-roll moves are about strutting to get some. You see the difference?”

  “I never thought about it until now,” Austin admitted.

  “So I can move, so what? How did I sound?” Rory demanded.

  “I wish I could hear you sing something slower,” Austin said, suddenly all business.

  “You would have if you hadn’t pissed me off,” Rory replied evenly.

  “Fair enough,” Austin said and wondered what he could say next. “Are all the songs Isley Brothers ones?”

  Rory bent and took another deep hit off his cigarette before laying it on the pavers and grinding it out with the heel of his sneaker. “Not all the songs the group does are, but the only ones they’re interested in me for are,” he said and exhaled an impressive stream of smoke.

  Austin nodded. “They’re classics, anyway.”

  With nothing really to add, Rory felt the conversation lapsing once more. His earlier embarrassment over Austin’s noting his attire on his own pool deck returned to needle him. Rightly, he felt the need to tackle the subject. As the moment of silence between them lengthened and threatened to drag, he cleared his throat and said, “Austin, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

  “Shoot,” Austin replied gratefully.

  “For a pretty long while, well, until you guys moved in really, we never had any neighbors,” Rory began. “Well, Bruno and I got used to a lot of privacy, and don’t get me wrong, we’re not exhibitionists or anything, but neither one of us is particularly modest. And I… well, I noticed you said you’d seen my down here in my drawers…”

  Pale Austin felt the telling flush rise from his neck to spread over his face once more. Quickly he said, “Well, it’s not like I’m spying or anything.”

  “No, no. I didn’t mean anything like that,” Rory retorted. “It’s just Bruno and I have been known to get carried away, and I didn’t wa
nt you to think we were trying to put on some kind of show. I mean, I know you have little kids…”

  Guiltily, Austin recalled the long moments he had spent looking, watching for Rory to appear on his pool deck. At first, he’d attributed his interest to simple boredom, but he’d done it so many times, it had grown into a near pastime. Then, too, there was the time when his vigil at his office window had provided him with a view of Bruno and Rory’s lovemaking that had rooted in his imagination and had since grown in significance out of any proportion to mild curiosity. That was something he couldn’t admit. “Don’t worry about it,” he said gruffly. He looked over his shoulder toward his own house, and was relieved to see the only window with a view onto Rory’s pool deck was the one he’d always thought was. “The only room that really has a view of down here is my office, and no one’s ever in there but me.”

  Rory mistook his reddening and gruffness for a different kind of embarrassment. “Austin, please. If you ever see anything down here that offends you or anything, please just let me know, okay?”

  Austin felt the urge to get away from the conversation so strongly that he stood up and looked down at Rory, who continued to sit, looking up at him earnestly. “Rory, look. What you guys do down here is your business. I’m a big guy and I’m not a prude, okay? I just want you to know I respect you guys’ privacy.”

  “So we’re good?” Rory asked.

  Austin forced a smile and held out his hand to shake. “We’re good.”

  Rory took his hand and stood. “That’s a relief,” he shook Austin’s hand and let it go. “To tell you the truth, not ten minutes ago I was thinking of shucking down to my shorts and getting in the pool to get the worst of this dirt off before I go in the house. I’m glad you’re not going to think I’m doing it to fuck with you.”

  “Don’t worry, Rory. It’s kewl,” he said, trying to imitate his sons’ ironic inflection of the word as nearly as possible.

  5150 ST. MARK’S COURT

  BRUNO PLACED HIS suitcase on the bed with a sense of haste that told of his annoyance with Rory’s task and the late hour he’d put it off until. “Damn it, Rory. When do you think my underwear and T-shirts will be dry?”

  Unperturbed, Rory sat on the side of the bed opposite the suitcase and watched as Bruno unzipped the top and allowed it to fall, nearly brushing his knees. “I’m expecting the dryer to buzz any minute. If I’d known you were leaving, I’d have done laundry this afternoon.”

  “I should have done this a long time ago,” Bruno said. “I can’t believe I let it go this long.”

  “What time is the car service picking you up?” Rory asked as he watched Bruno pull suits still sheathed in the dry cleaner’s plastic from the closet and toss them over the suitcase.

  “My flight’s at ten thirty. Between the goddamn crosstown traffic on 595 and the line at security, I’ve got to be on the road by seven forty-five, eight o’clock at the latest.” Bruno said as he flung a half-dozen shirts, still on their hangers, toward the bed.

  “Calm down, you’re making a mess,” Rory said. “Why don’t you let me pack this stuff for you?”

  “Don’t worry about it. I have a system,” Bruno said irritably as he threw a handful of ties toward the bed as well.

  Rory watched as they hit the plastic-covered shirts and slid in silken sibilance onto the floor. “They didn’t give you much notice for this trip, did they?”

  “No, but they don’t usually. They’re New York. As far as they’re concerned, all my office is good for is just sitting around waiting for their beck and call,” Bruno said as he turned and regarded the pile of clothes on the bed. He looked at Rory and smiled. “But, in a way, I’m flattered. If they want me in Manhattan, it at least means they haven’t forgotten who I am.”

  “It is kind of a compliment, isn’t it?” Rory asked.

  “In this case, it is,” Bruno said as he shoved the clothes to one side and began to fold a suit into the bag. “This is a good-sized project. I did all the preliminary research. If they want me on the team, it means they think I have something significant to offer.”

  “You’re moving up to the show, then.”

  Bruno nodded absently and continued to pack. Rory watched him with growing alarm as he more or less crammed his pressed, clean clothes into the suitcase. Somewhat satisfied with his packing thus far, Bruno turned and stepped into the master bath. As he left, he said casually, “Rory? What would you think of moving to Manhattan?”

  Rory listened as he yanked open drawers and drawers and shifted their contents hurriedly. “My god, how long do you think you’ll be gone?” He called toward the bathroom.

  Bruno reemerged with his dop kit, its contents crammed in sloppily. “This trip shouldn’t be longer than a week, maybe ten days. But I’m interested in what you think about moving,” he said as he placed the open dop kit on top of the clothes in the suitcase and sat down next to Rory at the head of the bed. In a move that was unusual for him, he sought Rory’s hand and took it between both his own before looking him in the eye.

  Rory noted the abrupt shift in energy and the searching look. “Will, are you trying to tell me something? What is it you aren’t saying here?”

  “I’ve been talking to Shimon Saperstein. He thinks he might have a place for me in the New York office,” Bruno said and squeezed Rory’s hand before letting it go. “I think this command appearance up there might be like some kind of audition.”

  “No way,” Rory said.

  “You mean you won’t even consider it,” Bruno said earnestly. “Damn, Rory. This could mean so much for…”

  “Whoa, whoa,” Rory said and held up his hands. “I never said I wouldn’t consider it. I didn’t mean that at all.”

  “Well, what did you mean?”

  “What I meant was, how cool is that?” Rory said patiently. “I know how much moving up to the New York office means to you. It’s a big deal, baby.”

  Bruno put both hands behind his head and leaned back against the headboard. “Yeah. It’s a big damn deal, for both of us.”

  Rory sighed. He was not at all as excited about the prospect of moving to Manhattan as his partner was. “Will, you know I’ll follow you wherever you end up taking us. Haven’t I proved that over and over?”

  Bruno looked for his eyes without turning his head or breaking his pose. “I know, and yes you have. But, I want you to be excited about it too.”

  Rory laughed and turned to lay his head on Bruno’s lap. When he was comfortably situated there, he looked up into Bruno’s eyes and smiled. “I will be excited about it when the time comes. But right now, I’m not going to get all freaked out because Shimon Saperstein might, maybe, perhaps wants you up there.”

  Bruno dropped a hand and smoothed back the bristly hair on the top of Rory’s head. “So what am I gonna say if he does ask me?”

  Rory took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He didn’t want to move to New York. He didn’t want the long winters. He didn’t want to live in a tiny apartment and hand out money in tips every time someone stuck out their hand. He didn’t want to live in the biggest terrorist target in the world. He didn’t want to move in the social circles Bruno would be called into. He didn’t want to live in a city that offered Bruno sexual opportunities as casually as other places offered Starbucks coffee on every corner. He sighed as this ran through his mind with frightening speed. Despite all his fears and misgivings, he opened his eyes and found Bruno’s. The longing and excitement was written large across his face. “Tell him yes,” was all he said.

  Bruno grinned. “I love you,” he said.

  The dryer buzzed urgently in reply. Rory eased off Bruno’s lap and stood. As he turned to leave for the laundry room, Bruno leaned across the bed and caught his arm. “I said I love you,” he insisted.

  Rory gave him a smile that hid his ambiguity over the possible move with an indulgent look of love in return. He had known and loved Bruno a long time. If Bruno told him he loved him without prompting, it
often meant he’d gotten his way in some way or another. Where a different man would have found this trait obnoxious, Rory still found it appealing despite his seeing it for what it was. “And I love you back, you big crazy ox.”

  Bruno laughed and let go of his hand. “I’m going to my office to go online and print out my boarding pass. That’ll be one less thing I have to do tomorrow morning,” he said as he bounded off the bed and followed Rory from the room.

  “Will it let you do that this early?” Rory asked as they walked through the family room.

  “I think so,” Bruno said. “Anyway, I have a report I brought home to print out that I need to go over on the plane. I hate fucking with my laptop while we’re in the air.”

  Bruno left him in the kitchen as Rory made his way to the laundry room. Bruno’s underclothes were dry, and Rory gathered them from the dryer into a pile in his arms to take back to the bedroom to fold.

  As he made his way back, Bridget woke and followed him eagerly. Happily she wove back and forth in front of him until he nearly tripped on her broad form just as he got to the bed. In an effort to keep his balance, Rory tossed the mound of clothes onto the suitcase. Once he patted Bridget and got her settled down, he slid the tangled underwear and T-shirts off Bruno’s suitcase and the dop kit came off along with it. From its unzipped top, the contents spilled onto the bed. Among the items that lay mixed in with the clothes were several condoms and a partially emptied tube of KY Jelly.

  For a moment, Rory ignored them as he placed Bruno’s razor, toothbrush, toothpaste, dental floss, and bottle of aspirin back into the black leather bag. When he was down to the finality of the condoms and the KY, he froze with a partially opened roll of antacids in his hand and registered the feel of its coil of paper and foil where it looped and touched his fingers. In his state of heightened perception and awareness, the touch of the simple wrapping felt as if it had scrapped his fingers raw.