Social Neighbor (The Social Series Book 1)

by J. L. Mac

  A small round, middle-aged woman in medical scrubs, whose eyes remained downcast as she scurried out the door, cleared her throat, paying no mind to me and yelled back into the apartment, doing her best to be heard over loud music. “Mr. Stone, Margaret already paid me for one month of home healthcare!” The music blaring from within switched off abruptly, gaining my attention.

  “Out!” a deep muffled voice barked from within the apartment making me startle.

  “Asshole. Too old for this shit,” the woman muttered as she made her way down the hall. I glanced after her and wondered what in the hell just happened.

  “And shut the damn door!” The same muffled voice boomed from within. I glanced down to the small carton of chocolate chip cookies and grimaced, realizing that I’d creased the box under my tense grip.

  I swallowed hard and cleared my throat loudly to make my presence known. “Um, hello?” The booming voice that I’d just heard remained silent. “I’m your neighbor. We’re friends on Facebook, I think,” I offered feebly, thinking that I sounded pathetic.

  No answer. Nothing.

  “I-I’ve never really introduced myself, though. I, uh, I live next door. Well, Matt and I. He’s my roommate. I brought some cookies.” I held out the creased carton to no one, feeling really uncomfortable with his silence, but determined to establish some sort of rapport.

  “No thank you. I’m on the gluten-free bandwagon. Shut the door.” He sounded…strange, more muffled than before like he had a mouth full of food or a scarf wrapped around his face. Either way, I had to lean forward and squint to make out what he was saying. Who knew why people squinted to hear better anyway? It made no sense.

  “Out!” he bellowed again, his disembodied voice remaining garbled by who knew what.

  I recoiled slightly, feeling as though a rabid dog had just snarled, showing off a mouth full of glistening teeth. “Oh. Um. Okay. Sorry. Goodnight, then. I mean, afternoon. Good afternoon. Sorry.” I took one step into his apartment chancing a glance at a photo of a brown haired man with an enchanting smile, his arm resting comfortably around an older woman and his other hand stuffed into his pocket. She looked happy, and I wondered if my neighbor, the chubby, balding, insurance salesman had a wife and son. If he did, why hadn’t I seen or heard evidence of them?

  They probably hate him. That’s why!

  How could the enchanting man in the photo possibly be a product of the neighbor who was a blatant prick?

  I pulled his door shut, feeling like an idiot for attempting niceties. My cheeks burned red-hot with embarrassment and anger. His music came back suddenly and loudly, forcing me to grit my teeth.

  Without further delay, I scurried back to my apartment and tossed the box of cookies on my counter feeling frustrated.

  What a jerk!

  “Shut the door,” I mocked in the deepest, most garbled asshole voice I could manage. There was nothing more disagreeable than a wounded ego for lunch, but a wounded ego was what I had.

  Asshole!

  “I baked cookies, prick!” I yelled at our adjoining wall. “Homemade cookies!” I added, charging the wall in the living room to deliver a blow with my foot. I hopped on my other foot as a bolt of pain shot through my toes and up my shin. “Gah! Ass! Hole!”

  Displaced chocolate chip cookies were my lunch for the day and they would have to suffice. They did little in terms of proper sustenance but they plied my wounded ego just fine.

  I managed to scarf down six cookies and the last of the milk in the carton before will power to walk away finally kicked in. Mr. Wall Ball was a moron for not taking the cookies. His loss.

  If I were smart, I would have focused on channeling my frustration to get a few illustrations done before my day off was completely wasted, but my unpleasant morning had spoiled my creative appetite and the sugar high that I’d been floating on for the last half an hour was tanking. It was just as well, I supposed. I was tired anyway.

  The only upside to my ruined day off was the Law and Order marathon that was playing on the television. My eyes peered over at my work in progress then back to the TV. It was no use beating myself up over it. I would just have to try again the next day even if I had to remand myself to our apartment until some progress had been made.

  “Prick,” I muttered, still angry with my ghost of a neighbor. “Loudest ghost I’ve ever not met.”

  Just then, Matt came through the door with a paper bag in his arms.

  “If you’re still pouting about your goliath asshole, I’m here to save the day. Still pouting?”

  “Perhaps a little,” I admitted from the couch.

  “Yeah, well based on those yoga pants, sweatshirt, and ratty ponytail that you’re rocking, I’m going to say you’re pouting a lot, so…”

  “…I figured…” he huffed setting the bag down on our small dining table. “…that if my very best friend was going to bum around the apartment all day then I should too.” He looked up smiling at me as he pulled the contents of the bag out one by one.

  “For the record, I am pouting about multiple things. Not just him.”

  “Regardless. Anyway, I got a few of your favorite things, which had me singing that song in the market. You know the one.” Matt held his finger out like a composer and began giving me his own rendition of the musical pop culture classic, “My Favorite Things.” “Which had me thinking that we should watch The Sound of Music.” He reached into the bag again and held up the DVD of The Sound of Music like a showcase showdown model on The Price Is Right.

  “A musical?” I asked, smiling in spite of myself.

  “Mhmm,” he hummed and nodded, biting into a piece of beef jerky that he also produced from his bag of “favorite things.”

  “Your gay-level just pegged out. Just in case you were wondering,” I muttered, hopping up from the couch to see what other goodies he’d brought home.

  “I know,” he nodded, grinning.

  “Fine. Let’s do it. Should we invite Cal? Is he free?”

  “He’s working,” Matt pouted with his bottom lip rolled out for effect. “He’s coming by tonight, though.” His pout was instantly replaced by a devilish smile.

  “Probably best, anyway. Our neighbor is being a real jerk today. We will have to turn on the surround sound just to hear the movie.”

  “Are you implying that we should drown out our neighbor’s noise with a musical?”

  “Exactly. Yes, we should absolutely do that.”

  “Who’s gay-level is pegged out now?”

  “Touché,” I smiled, snagging the remote for the surround sound.

  Matt and I watched The Sound of Music—loudly—in companionable silence for the most part. We both swooned over Captain Von Trapp in all his tall, dark and handsome intrigue. It only encouraged thoughts of my own recent tall, dark and handsome man full of intrigue. Incidentally, he was full of shit, too.

  I caught Matt checking his cell phone a time or two as I’m sure he caught me checking mine a time or two, though I’m certain Matt didn’t look half as disappointed as I did. Why couldn’t I stop reading his text message over and over again? It was driving me crazy. Matt’s slight smile every time his phone chimed made me want to roll my eyes.

  He and Cal had been carrying on in the glow of a budding relationship, and I would have been lying if I said I wasn’t slightly jealous, because I was. I was green with envy.

  As Captain Von Trapp and Maria’s love story was coming to a satisfying end, my phone chimed in my lap making me jump and fumble with it like a high school girl waiting for her crush to call.

  It was a text from my dad.

  Dad: Just checking in with you. I was hoping we could have dinner soon.

  Me: Yeah. That’s fine. I’ll let you know when.

  Dad: Actually, is tonight okay? We have reservations at the new French place down the street. Chez Thibodaux. Want to join us?

  Me: Rain check. I don’t feel up to going out.

  Dad: I’d really like it if you came. Liza m
isses you too.

  Me: Okay, dad. What time?

  Dad: 6:30. Need a ride?

  Me: No. I’ll see you there.

  Dad: Thank you.

  “You all right?” Matt asked, eyeing me suspiciously.

  “Yeah. I’m fine. My dad wants me to have dinner with him and the step-monster tonight.”

  “I don’t know why in the world you call her that. Liza is awesome and you know it.” Matt rolled his eyes.

  “You only say that because she tips well at the spa.”

  “True. She also has fab hair. Do you want me to go with you to dinner?”

  “No. Cal is coming over tonight. Don’t ruin your plans for me.”

  “I can cancel,” he offered.

  “No. Don’t do that. You guys have a good time—in your bed only, please! And I’ll be back after dinner.”

  “So the couch and kitchen counters aren’t off limits?”

  I mocked gagging as I slid off the couch and made a beeline for my room so that I could shower and get ready for a trying evening in the company of my father and stepmother. I wasn’t looking forward to it and I had to wonder why he’d asked me to dinner on such short notice.

  Usually our encounters were pre-planned well in advance. Birthdays, anniversaries, Christmas and the like. I preferred them that way. When I knew a little reunion was coming I had time to get myself in order before facing him. Today was nothing special, but something told me that there had to be a reason for his impromptu dinner invitation. I guess I’d find out soon enough.

  Graham

  Something More

  A lot had happened since I’d last seen Flor, and none of it had been good. It felt like ages since I’d laid eyes on her and yet it had only been six days.

  Being plowed over by a taxi was made worse only by the fact that I’d been hit then pinned against a dumpster in a sandwich fashion, my Ducati was totaled and the pain medication that they prescribed were too scary to take.

  I wanted to take them. The pain in my leg was pretty intense, but the idea of allowing myself to feel any kind of high or buzz felt too much like falling off the wagon. Though alcohol was my addiction of choice, prescription drugs didn’t seem too far a stretch for someone like me.

  Martin had come by the hospital the moment he found out, and I loved the old goat for his commitment to me. He’s not truly that old but he’s got twenty-three years on my thirty-one years. I’d asked him once why he was so invested in me. His response was simple and resonated through me.

  “Well, bud, you and I are one in the same. Seeing you succeed is like investing in my own success. You keep me sober. As long as we have each other, I believe we just might be all right, our pasts notwithstanding.”

  He’d offered to stay with me at my place for a while, but I knew his wife wouldn’t appreciate that and I hadn’t mentioned the fact that the only place I wanted to be was at Tommy’s apartment. The only remaining secret between Martin and I. I declined his offer to stay with me and promised to update him daily on my recovery.

  Halley hadn’t left me in peace for long. She came barreling into my hospital room, theatrics in full swing and began barking orders at everyone, me included. I hadn’t been out of orthopedic surgery for more than two hours and she was already trying her best to make me swear to leave motorcycles behind, and in truth, my interest in riding on things with two wheels waned dramatically when something with four wheels nearly killed me.

  Instead of telling her that, I let her stew in her own indignation. I informed her that I’d already had Conrad, my assistant, order a replacement bike, which was a blatant lie but who was I to pass up a good jab at my little sister’s expense? Being stuck in a bed had seriously hindered my entertainment.

  Poor Conrad sat on the couch on the far wall in my room and gaped at me with wide eyes when I had thrown him under the bus. Halley glared at him before turning her fury back to me. She’d collected my things from the nurse and ordered poor Conrad (who was underpaid, I decided) to buy a new cell phone for me because mine had been crushed in the accident.

  All humor had left me when I realized that I couldn’t call or text Flor until I got a replacement phone and worse, I’d have to have Conrad dig through phone records in an effort to find her number. He definitely deserved a raise.

  I kicked myself and wished that I took notes and paid closer attention when Conrad had explained how to back up my cell. Halley stormed around as though she were a general in Hitler’s Third Reich. Conrad kept his head down and worked to keep up. I laid in bed feeling helpless.

  My mom was another story. She cried and cried some more and pleaded with me to stay away from anything dangerous. I knew well that she didn’t only mean motorcycles. It killed me to see her so upset. I’d absently wondered how many times she had cried because of me. She had suffered enough because of her three children, and I hated the sick feeling that knowledge had spawned in me. Since my father passed away, I’d kept a close eye on her. She had her own money and plenty of it. My father had made sure of that. She would go on living the lifestyle that she had grown accustomed to, but it seemed to be of no consequence when she worried so much about her adult children.

  The large external fixator on my leg made me look like a pin cushion with several steel rods imbedded into my flesh and down into my fragmented bones. They had said that they could remove it and fit me with a hard cast as soon as four weeks, but that depended on how quickly I healed. The doctor had made it clear that I could be stuck with the fixator for up to six months and to me, that sounded like just this side of hell. What in the fuck was I going to do with myself if I had to keep this thing on for longer than just a few weeks?

  Still, I was fortunate. There was no doubt about that. I always wore a helmet and it saved my life. I was bumped and bruised and I had a deep laceration at my hair line where the handle bar of my bike rammed upward into the mask of my helmet, successfully splitting my scalp. A few sutures later and my head was as good as new without so much as a concussion to show for it. I didn’t deserve the good luck, but good luck is what I had been given.

  My right leg was another story. Bones are meant to be inside your body, not out. The orthopedic surgeon fixed me up, though. I hated that I had to wear this cumbersome and heavy fixator for a while, but I had no right to complain, all things considered. Road rash here and there, a deep cut to my scalp and a busted up right leg didn’t seem so bad if I considered what could have happened.

  There was talk about having a nurse come to visit me daily to monitor my vitals and care for my wounds, but I couldn’t see why that was necessary. I couldn’t get around well, but I got around. I could clean my own wounds. How hard could it be? I watched the nurses do it multiple times at the hospital. Unwrap, clean, rewrap with fresh bandages. Done.

  In truth, my reasoning for refusing the extra help was simple. I wasn’t going to be home. I’d planned on being at my brother’s place and there would be no dissuading me from it. I was most comfortable and confident there. Being in his four walls made me feel strong. Stronger than my alcoholism, and stronger than a busted up leg.

  Halley flipped her shit when I told her I’d be at Tommy’s apartment. She had stomped out of the hospital, to go get reinforcements no doubt, but I’d signed myself out before she could return.

  I was going to be discharged the next day anyway. What did it matter?

  Imagine my shock when the very same day that I was discharged, the neighbor came by with an offering of cookies and said neighbor just so happened to be Florence Randall.

  Florence Randall. My Florence Randall.

  The nurse that Halley had dispatched to Tommy’s apartment was easy enough to chase off. I yelled and glared and off she went. If Halley and her husband were going to be out of money over it, then so be it. She should have consulted with me first before hiring and paying a home healthcare nurse. I didn’t need anyone there hovering over me. I had control over the situation. How hard could it be to wheel myself to the kitchen
for food, wheel myself to the bathroom and transfer myself from Tommy’s recliner to my wheelchair a few times a day? No big deal.

  Confusion jumbled my brain when I heard Flor’s voice right outside the front door to Tommy’s place. The moment she opened her mouth I recognized her voice and my heart seized in my chest.

  I wanted to rush to the door and hide at the same time. If she knew I split my time between Tommy’s place and my place she’d want to know why, and that was a question that I didn’t really want to have to answer.

  It didn’t require too much thinking to come up with the fact that a successful businessman such as myself wouldn’t be likely to have a middle-of-the-road apartment here in Manhattan as their primary residence.

  I had deepened my voice an octave and held a blanket up to my mouth as I barked at the front door. It had worked. I scared her off. I was rude and I felt awful, but this development needed careful consideration before I just let the cat out of the bag. I had a lot to explain and not the faintest idea of how I was going to do it.

  I stayed at Tommy’s place only because it was Tommy’s place. Being within his space made me feel close to him. It reminded me why I had chosen sobriety over booze and being amongst his things, his vinyl album collection, his tennis gear, his DVDs, his furniture, his bed… Seeing all of it on a regular basis was punishment and my atonement. Not so much for what I’d done as what I didn’t do. I’d never not come here.

  Knowing Flor was my part time neighbor was exhilarating and terrifying. She had been so close for who knew how long and yet she’d been a total stranger to me. She was no longer a stranger but she may as well have been. After Halley had run her off at Four-19 she’d chosen to ignore my text, and then I had been in an accident that landed me in an operating room.

  She’s just next door. She sleeps there. She eats there. She showers there. She undresses there.

  It occurred to me that I had a choice. I could either have my assistant come over and help me get transported to my place, away from Flor, or I could stay put, risk running into her and try explaining once she saw me. Or I could wheel over there right now, spill my guts, and hope like hell she wouldn’t slam the door in my face.