Dear Neighbor

by River Laurent

  The thing is. He is funny and I am starting to really like our snarky back and forth. And that is a bad thing. A very bad thing. I definitely do not want to like anything about him. I squeeze my lips together in a bitter line.

  ‘Careful, you were about to crack a smile there.’

  ‘You know what? I’ve had enough of this bullshit. I know you’re my employer’s son and everything, but if you don’t get out right now I’m going to scream, and I can scream loud enough to wake the dead.’

  He crosses his arms over his chest and grins. ‘Go ahead and scream. Dad and Britney are still out, and Cora is well used to hearing women screaming in my bedroom.’

  ‘What do you actually want, Hunter?’ I demand sternly.

  ‘One kiss.’

  ‘What? No.’

  ‘Come on. What’ve you got to lose? If you don’t like it, we’ll call it a day.’

  ‘No. Absolutely not,’ I say very, very firmly. I have a plan. I have it all figured out, and this is certainly not part of the plan. Who knows where one kiss could lead. Even the idea is already giving me goosebumps.

  ‘You chicken shit, Diamond?’ he taunts.

  ‘No,’ I deny, jutting my head and bobbing it the way kids do when they are trying to annoy you. ‘I’m not chicken shit. Has it ever occurred to you that maybe I just don’t want to kiss you?’

  ‘No.’

  I gasp at the arrogance. Unbelievable. ‘Well, I don’t.’

  ‘Prove it.’

  I throw my hands up in exasperation. The action pops my breasts out of the water and his eyes immediately dip down to them. I slide back down and his eyes take the slow route back up to my face.

  ‘Nice tits,’ he says, his eyes doing a slow burn.

  Suddenly he stands and takes a stride towards me. A totally Alpha move. I panic. Oh my god. I can’t let him kiss me. I just can’t.

  I hold both my hands out, palms outstretched, as if I am in a horror movie and warding off Dracula or some other evil. ‘Let’s talk this out,’ I say urgently.

  ‘Let’s not,’ he says, and before I can do anything he is already bending over me. His hand claws into my hair, making my topknot loosen and my hair tumble all over his hand. He fists the hair at the back of my head and tugs downwards, pulling at my neck.

  ‘Tori,’ he whispers, and then his lips touch my exposed throat. His mouth sears my skin. My gut constricts and my sex starts to throb and crave something. Something called Cash. My hands come up to grip his shoulders and my back arches and pushes my chest out of the water.

  Then his lips touch mine and, to my shock, I moan into his mouth. At any other time I would have cringed. I sound like an animal, but at that moment I don’t care. I open my mouth, our tongues touch and … Oh Lord, everything goes white. The whole world drops away. I fall into a huge vat of warm chocolate or toffee and I get sucked deeper and deeper into the thick sweet liquid. I feel myself melt. I could have stayed in that moment forever. The kiss going on and on …

  But he snatches his mouth away from mine.

  ‘Wha—’

  ‘You can thank me later,’ he mutters, his voice so thick it is almost harsh. With dazed eyes I watch him stride to the door, open it, and walk out without looking back. For a few seconds I stare at the closed door blankly. What the hell just happened? Then I hear Britney’s laugh come from the top of the stairs. Cash says something indistinct and their voices move away.

  Oh, sweet Jesus, I was so involved I did not hear them come in. I could have been killed by an axe murderer and I would not have known.

  Yup. That’s me all over.

  No sense of self-preservation.

  Tori

  ‘Tori, can I come in?’ Britney calls from outside my bedroom door.

  For heaven’s sake. The last thing I need is to see anyone. What if she notices that I have been kissing her brother? Then I take the long view. I’m in the bath. Of course I’ll be flushed.

  ‘Come in. I’m in the bath, Britney,’ I call out.

  She comes in and sits at the very place her brother had occupied. I definitely did not need to have worried about her noticing anything. She’s in a world of her own. Her eyes are shining.

  ‘Will you come with me to a pool party tomorrow, Tori?’

  I sigh inwardly. A party full of spoilt teenagers is not my idea of a fun evening. ‘Of course,’ I say politely.

  ‘Guess who will be there?’

  ‘You got me.’

  She excitedly clasps her hands in front of her chest. ‘Taylor Swift.’

  Britney is a massive Taylor Swift fan.

  ‘Great,’ I say, injecting some enthusiasm into my voice. ‘Where is it being held?’

  ‘At Cash’s house.’

  ‘Oh! Oh I see.’ I pause to cough. ‘Look, since it’s at your brother’s house maybe Victor can take you there and back. You don’t need me to come and cramp your style.’

  She stares at me astonished. ‘You don’t want to come?’

  ‘Well, I thought I could stay home and read. You know, have some time to myself.’

  Her eyes fill with tears. It never fails to amaze me no matter how many times I see it, how Britney can go from super happy to the pits of depression in a New York minute.

  ‘Oh, no,’ she cries dramatically. ‘You have to come. You know Dad won’t let me go if you don’t come. Please. This might be the only chance I ever have of seeing Taylor.’

  Tears are running down her cheeks unchecked. Britney truly is the queen of exaggeration, but it looks like I’m stuck. I paste a smile on my face. ‘Of course, I’ll come.’

  She leaps to her feet and, running up to me, slaps her hands on either side of my cheeks, and plants a noisy smacker right on my kisser. Oh, for heaven’s sake. First the brother then the sister.

  ‘I really do love you, Tori,’ she says with a laugh. Then she goes to the door and, hanging on to the edge, she begins to twerk and sing a made-up song.

  Oh, yeah. I’m happy. So happy.

  Tori said, yes. She said yes.

  Oh yeah. I’m happy. So Happy.

  Tori said, yes. She said yes.

  She looks funny doing it and I laugh. I kinda like Britney when she is like this. She’s cute and adorable. When she stops twerking, she twirls around the small space like a ballerina and says dreamily, ‘I can’t believe I’m going to meet Taylor tomorrow.’ Then she stops suddenly and looks horrified.

  ‘Oh my God! I’ve just realized. I’ve got nothing to wear. We’ll have to go shopping tomorrow.’

  ‘You’ve got karate at two o’clock,’ I remind. ‘We can go in the morning if you want.’

  She pulls a face. ‘Do I have to go? Can’t I just skip this once?’

  ‘Look, Britney. You know your dad really wants you to be able to defend yourself. It’s only an hour.’

  ‘But I won’t be in the mood, and I’ll be tired after all that shopping. And I want to go to the hairdresser. I need to get my roots done,’ she whines.

  ‘OK. This is what we’ll do. I’ll call Mr. Wong and see if he can fit you in sometime in the morning, then we’ll spend the rest of the day shopping.’

  ‘All right,’ she agrees reluctantly.

  ‘Good. I’ll try to make it for nine, OK?’

  ‘OK.’ She brightens. ‘We’ll have to get you something super-sexy too. You never know there might be a hot guy there for you.’

  ‘I won’t bother. I’ve got loads of stuff I can wear.’

  She puts her hands on her hips. ‘No you don’t. You only have jeans and T-shirts.’

  ‘I thought it was a pool party.’

  ‘Pool party dress-code is: come in something that looks amazing when it’s wet.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘OK, I’ve got to go. Cash is taking me out for ice-cream.’

  ‘Have fun,’ I say.

  ‘Wanna come with us?’

  ‘No,’ I say immediately.

  Her eyes widen in surprise at the abruptness of my reply.

>   I smile to soften the rudeness of my refusal. ‘I would have loved to have come, but I can’t because I promised to call my friend in the States and she’ll be waiting for my call.’

  Fortunately she accepts my explanation at face value. ‘OK. See you later then,’ she sings.

  ‘See ya.’

  She skips out, then pops her head around the door again. ‘You will make that appointment for me at the hairdresser, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Oh, and can you make sure it’s not Eileen that does my hair. She drives me mad talking about Cash all the time.’

  ‘Oh? Yeah, I’ll make sure you get someone else.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she sings and is gone from my room. My brain starts ticking again. In a funny sort of way I feel numb and detached from the weird situation I have gotten myself into.

  The bad boy kissed me. And I kissed him back.

  The water is cold. I really should get out.

  Tori

  I dry myself and look at my reflection in the mirror. Tori Diamond. Blonde with a really guilty look in her cornflower blue eyes. OK, so the big plan is basically in tatters. Leah will have a fit when she hears where the plan has gone.

  I look at my watch. It’s too early to call her. She will still be sleeping. She’s an author and she works at night and sleeps until noon.

  I put the hairbrush down and wander over to my bedside table. Picking my cell phone up I call Mr. Wong and yeah, no problems. He’ll take Britney at 9.00am. Then I call the hairdresser.

  ‘Er … is Eileen around tomorrow afternoon?’

  ‘No, it’s her day off tomorrow,’ the receptionist says, after checking their roster.

  ‘Shame. Never mind, can I book an appointment for Britney tomorrow afternoon? Anything available about threeish?’

  ‘She’s booked with Pauline at three,’ she says crisply.

  ‘Wonderful.’

  ‘The nail technician will be around tomorrow. Do you want to book her at the same time?’

  ‘Why not?’’

  ‘Manicure & pedicure?’

  ‘Excellent. See you tomorrow,’ I say and ring off.

  I throw my phone on the bed and take Monstrosity out of my bedside table. Monstrosity is my diary. I call it that because there is a long fanged monster made with furry blue material on the cover. I sit cross-legged on the bed, unlock him, and flip the pages to today’s date.

  Dear Monstrosity,

  I think it’s safe to assume I f**ked up.

  Out of sheer spite the enemy kissed me and I, well, I kind of kissed him back.

  In my defense:

  There is no logic to a crush.

  I was in a weakened state.

  I was caught woefully unprepared, and

  The enemy is, while clearly rude, crude, vulgar, unrefined, whorish, cocky and just low, also very experienced. On a side note I suspect he may be sugarcoating his lips on the sly. Seriously, no man should taste that sweet. Either that, or it could be some dark magic.

  It’s true he won this round, but I will take heart from the fact that one battle does not make a war. All is not lost. If I get desperate I might even invest in body armor for the lower half of my body. By hook or by crook I will try to release myself from this torment. As a last resort I will even considering initiating Plan B.

  It is now four in the afternoon and to console myself I’m going down to the kitchen to eat some scones. I deserve it.

  I will start over tomorrow.

  Wish me luck.

  I lock my diary, put it back into the bedside drawer and go out of my room.

  The Hunter residence is a five-storey, London town house decorated in a limited color palate of white and grey, black, and an occasional splash of bright color to add glamour to the contemporary feel. I take the stairs with its black runner carpet, my hand sliding down the smooth intricately patterned wrought iron banister.

  I walk past Crittal style windows that serve to section off the living room where there are fabulous sixteenth-century antiques brought in from Milan, canary yellow sofas and a seventies chandelier by Seguso.

  The kitchen is behind a door with a black and white mural. I push it and enter a large rectangular space done up in walnut and cream. Simple, clean, and smelling like a food lover’s paradise.

  Cora, a tiny woman with sandy hair and warm hazel eyes, is sitting at the island watching TV. I glance at the screen and notice it is not one of the usual shows she watches. Cora is a fierce romantic. Occasionally it will be Cake Boss, but more often than not, she will be watching Say Yes To The Dress, I Found The Gown, or something that features a happy bride in it.

  ‘Whatcha watching?’ I ask as I take the seat next to her.

  ‘The Real Housewives Of Beverly Hills,’ she says without taking her eyes off the screen.

  ‘How come?’

  ‘I missed last Sunday night’s show so I’m watching the repeat.’

  ‘Is it any good?’

  ‘There’s only ten minutes left. Watch it with me. See this bitch talking now. She’s the one I hate the most. Everyone else thinks that Lisa Vanderpump is the bitch, but this is the real bitch. She’s always causing trouble.’

  I smile at how involved and mad Cora is. The camera pans to a beautiful, flawlessly made up blonde.

  ‘This one here is Erika,’ Cora explains. ‘She’s the richest of them all. The rest of the housewives are all secretly jealous of her. They don’t own private planes, but both Erica and her husband each own one.’

  The next shot cuts to what seems to be an enormous argument.

  ‘They’ve got all this money and they’re always fighting about stupid things,’ Cora says disgustedly. ‘Sometimes I just want to shake them and knock their silly heads together.’

  I hide a smile at her passion. While the shit is still flying around the screen, the show is over and Cora shakes her head with exasperation and gets up. She goes to the oven and peers through the glass door. Nodding with satisfaction, she opens the door and pulls out a tray of hot scones. Cora has asbestos hands so she peels the scones from the parchment with her bare hands and arranges them on a cooling rack.

  From the fridge she fetches the container of clotted cream and puts it on the island table together with a jar of homemade strawberry jam. I have to say, Cora makes the best jam in the world, every spoonful will have at least one chunk of strawberry in it.

  I start laying the island surface with two plates, a couple of knives and two spoons. I tear off four pieces of kitchen paper and lay them besides the plates.

  Britney, who has been to Mrs. Ottilia Flutie’s finishing school where she has learnt how to eat oranges with a knife and fork, says that there is a very clear etiquette involved in eating a scone. As a matter of fact, there are only two approved ways to eat scones properly.

  First you have to cut it horizontally. That then is the last time you can use the knife on the scone. The scone must then be eaten open faced. The jam and the cream added bite by bite, or one half scone at a time. Basically, don’t ever turn it into a damn sandwich.

  I spread enough jam and cream on my warm scone to leave long teeth marks and do the one-half-scone-at-a-time thing, and Cora employs the bite-by-bite method. The scones are so good we do not even speak. Mrs. Ottilia Flutie would have a heart attack if she saw me pick up every last crumb with my fingers and suck it off.

  ‘What are you making tomorrow?’ I ask as I clear the table.

  ‘Apple pie,’ Cora says, wiping her mouth with a napkin.

  I put the dirty plates and utensils into the dishwasher. ‘With custard?’

  ‘You can have yours with custard if you like, I’ll be having mine with rum and raisin ice cream. Scrummy combination.’

  I think about it for an instant. It does actually sound good. ‘I think I’ll join you.’

  ‘You won’t regret it.’

  ‘Same time tomorrow?’

  ‘All right, love.’

  As I leave, Cora increases
the volume on the TV. I trudge upstairs, open my laptop, and see that Leah is already awake. I Skype her and she answers holding a bowl of cereal in her hand.

  ‘Hmmm … let me guess? You met the singing sensation.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say with a small laugh. She knows me so well.

  ‘And,’ she prompts.

  ‘And he kissed me.’

  ‘On the cheek? On the forehead? On the hand?’

  ‘On the lips.’

  ‘Oh sweet Jesus. You fell at the first hurdle.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t fall exactly. It was just a kiss. I was taken by surprise. It won’t happen again.’

  ‘Just a kiss? Then why is your face red?’

  ‘It’s hot here.’

  She shakes her head disapprovingly. ‘You know what I think?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I think you should skip all preliminaries and move on to plan B. Get it over with, draw a line in the fucking sand, and then let’s go on our vacay.’

  ‘No way. I’m not throwing in the towel yet.’

  ‘You’ve already thrown in the towel.’

  ‘Look. I have more self-control than you think. I just … need a bit of time to adjust. This is not easy for me.’

  ‘I’ve got news for you, Tori. It’s not going to get any easier.’

  ‘I’m not moving on to Plan B,’ I say stubbornly. ‘Well, not yet, anyway. I don’t think I need to.’

  She puts down her bowl of cereal and sighs. ‘Before I do some straight talking, you know that I love you, right?’

  ‘Right,’ I say slowly. A lecture is coming my way.

  ‘Stop being delusional. You’re wasting your time trying to resist him. The more you resist temptation the stronger and more potent it becomes. The longer you keep spending time with the guy the more entrenched your feelings will become.’

  Of course, she is right.

  ‘The man is well and truly unavailable to you, long term anyway, but if you play hard to get you will only make him chase you which will make you fall even harder. You need to say yes, sleep with the guy once or twice, and put an end to your girlish crush once and for all. I mean, a guy who looks that good has probably got a small dick.’