Dear Neighbor

by River Laurent

  ‘He doesn’t,’ my mouth blurts out before my brain can get into gear.

  ‘What?’ she explodes, her eyes popping open.

  ‘Um … he has a big dick.’

  ‘And you know this because?’

  ‘He had an erection and I saw it through his jeans,’ I confess.

  ‘Oh Lord. Just get your condoms ready, OK?’

  ‘You should have more faith in me.’

  ‘I do. There is merit to my strategy. Good looking and a big dick means he’s definitely a lousy lover. You’ll be wanting to be rid of him sooner than you think.’

  Not if his kiss is anything to go by. Fortunately I’m not dumb enough to voice this particular thought.

  ‘So when are you seeing him next?’ she asks, picking up her bowl again and spooning another mouthful of cereal into her mouth.

  ‘Tomorrow. He’s throwing a pool party. Britney is all excited about it because Taylor Swift is coming.’

  ‘Hmmm. Do you think you can swing an autograph for my sister?’

  That evening Cash doesn’t turn up for chicken pie. I eat my dinner without tasting it, and wonder if Leah might have been totally wrong. There will be no need for condoms at all because Cash has already lost interest in me.

  Cash

  Hunter by name and hunter by nature.

  Goddamn. She’s something else. My head’s reeling and the blood is pounding so hard in my dick I feel like pulling over to the side of the road and fucking taking care of it myself, but I don’t need to see grainy pictures of me jacking off in my car on the evening news. Been there. Done that. And I definitely don’t need Octavia breathing hot air down my neck again about imaging, branding, target audience, or urban cool.

  Nope.

  Still? Tori fucking Diamond, eh?

  My little sister’s PA. Who’d have thought she’d be the hottest thing to cross my path in a long, long time? She’s so hot she’s bouncing with it. And that attitude of hers. Talk about a badass mouth. I can already see it full of my dick.

  And my, my, what a sweet picture that is.

  I was a walking zombie this morning. I’d been up all night partying hard and all I wanted to do was go back and crash in my own bed. Yeah, I know, it’s called a hedonistic lifestyle.

  But as Fate would have it, I’m driving down the road when I spot the Bentley with Victor cooling his heels in the driver’s seat. On Harley street? There’s only one scenario: Britney was up to no good again. Believe me, I fucking cuss the air blue, but I stop and go in, and there she is like a long, cool drink on a hot day. Blonde hair down to her waist and the ass on that bird. It’s one of the reasons I still believe in miracles.

  Oh, yeaaaaah.

  If a jaw ever dropped … but damn if she didn’t look at me as if I was a bit of chewing gum stuck to the bottom of her shoes. It made me want to rip the clothes off her back and give it to her right there.

  You see, when every woman you meet can’t wait to choke on your dick and lays it all out on a silver platter for you, you start to yearn for the woman who throws you a bit of shade. You miss the buzz of a chase. You wish someone would resist you. Everyone wants a piece of Cash. She doesn’t. That makes her fucking precious.

  I just had to break off a little piece of that Kit Kat.

  I chased her all the way to my father’s house and right into my old bathroom. So she’s naked and in the bath and giving me all the sass, but I catch her staring at my dick like a starving animal looking at a fuckin’ feast.

  I don’t know. Maybe she never saw a dick so big, but fucking hell I could have roasted a pig in the bonfire in her eyes.

  You gotta respect a contradiction like that!

  I mean, one minute she’s slaying you with her tongue and giving you spicy ass attitude, next moment she’s looking at your junk like it should be registered on the endangered species list. It’s a challenge and an invitation, but in my case it’s a red rag to a bull.

  Tori Diamond just put hunt back into Hunter and poured a little bit more awesome sauce on to my already fantastically awesome life.

  I glance at the speedometer. 102 MPH.

  There are no speed cameras on this stretch of the road so I lean on the accelerator and revel in the rush of watching my metal baby eat up tarmac at incredible speed. Music is blasting from the stereo and adrenaline is coursing in my veins. The high is unbelievable. This is my life. Money, pussy, and speed.

  What else is there, anyway?

  Tori

  A cousin of mine who once won a minor beauty pageant used to say real beauty requires hard work and discipline. I didn’t truly know what she meant until I go shopping with Britney.

  We spend hours looking for the right dress. She tries on what seems like a hundred different outfits in at least thirty shops. She twirls in front of me in dresses that are, quite frankly stunning, and decides that they make her grasshopper long legs look stumpy and fat or her augmented and perfect 32C chest look flat and blah.

  She almost bursts into tears because the color of one of them, she believes, makes her glowing teenage skin look washed out. Another classically simple dress gets the ultimate insult.

  ‘I’d rather wear one of Kanye West’s plain white T-shirts that he has the cheek to sell at $150.00.’

  I flash a placating smile, find a broken sweet in my jean’s pocket, slip it into my mouth, and crush it to death between my teeth. Then, just as I am about to tear my hair out with sheer boredom, we go into Couture Couture and Britney finds a mini-dress in Clementine. Even I have to admit this dress is special. It is super-sexy, trendy, and perfect for her body shape. Good, I think we can take a break for a couple of hours before her appointment at the hairdresser, but life is never that easy.

  ‘Now,’ Britney says, moving again towards the dress rail, ‘we have to find something for you. I think I saw something that might be perfect just now.’

  There is absolutely no way I’m buying anything at Couture Couture. Even the tiny dress Britney is swanning around the shop in carries a £695.00 price tag. That’s more than three weeks’ worth of wages to me, and there is no way in hell I’m about to go traipsing around the shops all over again.

  ‘I have a little black dress. I think I’ll wear that,’ I say trailing behind her.

  Britney stops in her tracks, balances her weight on one hip, and looks me up and down. She reminds me of one of the divas in that Real Housewife reality show that Cora likes to watch.

  ‘What little black dress?’ she asks.

  ‘You haven’t seen it. I didn’t bother to unpack it.’

  She folds her arms across her chest. ‘I have seen it. Isn’t it made out of T-shirt material?’

  ‘Well, yes, but I can dress it up.’

  ‘Absolutely not,’ she says imperviously, and turning away from me resumes rifling through the dress racks.

  ‘Look, even if I do decide to buy something, I definitely can’t afford to get anything from here.’

  ‘Hmmm …’ she says, ignoring me and moving quickly through the rack.

  ‘Britney,’ I call, my voice louder and more impatient.

  ‘You’re not paying for this dress. I am,’ she says without turning around.

  I puff air out of my cheeks. ‘It’s really nice of you and everything, but you will not be paying for it, will you? Your Dad will be, and I don’t think he’ll appreciate being forced into buying me such an expensive dress.’

  She turns to look at me in surprise. ‘Dad’s not going to mind me buying you a dress. It’s not like it’s every day that Cash comes home and throws a party.’

  I shake my head.

  ‘If you don’t believe me I can call him right now and ask,’ she challenges.

  ‘That won’t be necessary. It’s not that I don’t believe you. I’d just feel uncomfortable accepting such an expensive dress from my employer.’

  ‘Think of it as a uniform. You have to come to the party with me and you need an outfit that won’t show me up.’

  ‘
OK, let’s compromise. Maybe we can stop by Topshop or Miss Selfridge and I’ll find something suitable there.’

  She wrinkles her nose in disgust. ‘Tori, you don’t understand, do you? Everybody there will be dressed to kill. You might as well come naked instead of a little number from Topshop.’

  I stare blankly at her. My mother calls it my owl look.

  ‘It’s just a dress,’ she says persuasively.

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Good,’ she says with satisfaction, and turns back to the rack. Less than a minute later she yanks something out from the rail. ‘How about this?’ she cries triumphantly.

  I stare at it in amazement.

  ‘It’ll be gorgeous when it’s wet,’ she says, walking towards me.

  Wow! I don’t know about it being gorgeous when it’s wet, but it’s awesome dry. I mean, I would never even have considered a zebra print, semi transparent, maxi dress with a plunging neckline and long sleeves, but now that she has pulled it out and is waving it temptingly in front of me, I have to admit she knows her fashion. I take it from her and look at the price tag. An eye-watering £799.00. On sale. Supposedly reduced from £1,399.00.

  ‘Have you seen the price?’ I whisper, horrified.

  ‘If you don’t hurry up, we’ll miss my hair appointment,’ she prompts, one eyebrow raised expectantly.

  I take the dress from her and bustle into the dressing room. I wriggle out of my clothes and pull the dress over my head. I zip it up and I can quite honestly say I have never worn anything so revealing, sexy, or glamorous before. I feel slinky and sheer, and in a funny sort of way like my grandmother’s favorite movie character, Suzie Wong.

  ‘Come out then,’ Britney calls.

  I step out. ‘How do I look?’

  She gives me the critical once over, grins and says, ‘I think I officially hate you.’

  ‘You don’t think it’s too … er … sexy?’

  She comes closer to me. ‘It’ll be tremendously sexy when it gets wet, but that’s the whole point,’ she explains, tilting her head slightly as she adjusts the material around my hips.

  I swivel my head to look at the back of the dress. Actually, it’s already tremendously sexy. ‘Are you sure your dad won’t mind?’

  ‘I have a credit limit. Sparks only start flying when I go over it.’

  I smile at her awkwardly. ‘Well, thank you for the dress. It’s very generous of you.’

  She looks down at her bare feet, and for a confusing moment she looks young and vulnerable. ‘It’s only a dress. You do a lot for me.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I say softly.

  She raises her eyes to mine and smiles shyly. ‘You’re welcome, Tori. I really like you.’

  For a fraction of an instant I can’t bring myself to reciprocate. Then I realize that she’s just a kid. A lonely, rich kid. Telling her I like her won’t be a lie. Sometimes, like now or when she was hanging on to my bathroom door and twerking, I do like her, a lot.

  ‘Me too,’ I say.

  Her smile widens into a massive grin of pure joy. It is infectious and I start grinning back at her too.

  ‘Are you planning to put your hair up or let it down?’ she asks suddenly.

  ‘What do you think?’ I ask, bowing to her obvious expertise when it comes to clothes, fashion, and pool parties in the homes of celebrities.

  ‘Without any doubt, down.’

  ‘You don’t think that would be too … obvious?’

  ‘God, no. It’s an asset. I wish my hair was as beautiful as yours. Actually, I wish my everything was as beautiful as yours.’

  I frown. ‘I think you’re way cuter than you give yourself credit for.’

  ‘No,’ she says gloomily. ‘Cash got mum’s lovely coloring and looks and I got dad’s.’

  ‘I think you’re beautiful, Britney,’ I say sincerely.

  She shrugs. ‘You’re hardly going to tell me I’m ugly even if you think so, are you?’

  Astonished, I stare at her. ‘Why on earth would you imagine that I think you’re ugly?’

  She shrugs again.

  ‘I don’t think you’re ugly at all. In fact, the opposite. You’re beautiful. People are always telling you that.’

  ‘Sure they are. Everybody wants to be Cash’s sister’s friend.’ Her voice is husky, almost tearful.

  ‘That’s not true,’ I deny immediately, but we both know that there is no real conviction in my tone.

  She smiles suddenly, a forced stretch of her lips. ‘Never mind. Let’s settle the bill and go get us some killer shoes.’

  We pop into Russell & Bromley and Britney gets a pair of mile high platform sparkly shoes and I buy silver stilettos. My shoes come to £120.00 and I insist on paying for them. They are more expensive than what I would normally splash out on a pair of shoes, but what the hell? We only live once!

  After buying our bikinis, black for me, and white for Britney, we head off to the hairdressers. While I wait for Britney, the girl from Thailand who does nails comes and asks me if I want to have my nails done. My nails are actually pretty rough looking.

  ‘I make pretty,’ she says, nodding her head vigorously.

  How can anybody resist such an invitation?

  ‘Oh, go on then,’ I say. A little part of me has started to get excited about this pool party and seeing Cash again.

  ‘Manicure and pedicure?’ she asks, sensing an easy prey.

  ‘OK,’ I agree, and she shows me her color swatches.

  To be honest she does make both my hands and feet look very pretty. Feeling generous I leave a good tip.

  ‘Thank you,’ she says with a small nod. She immediately roots around in her basket and carefully presses a small crystal onto my thumbnail and finishes it with a layer of clear varnish.

  ‘Hmmm … your carriage awaits, Cinderella.’

  Tori

  ‘She most popular girl in bar. She got sex appeal.’

  - The World of Suzie Wong

  The cool air smells of roasting meat and pulses, with techno music and the sounds of a seriously good party in progress. As soon as the car noses through the gaggle of paparazzi gathered outside the gates, the guard waves us through and we turn into Cash Hunter’s drive. The house, a massive, modern, glass and steel monster structure, is lit up like a mother ship.

  Britney and I get out of the car and walk up to the team of bouncers standing around the front doors. We go through the tall doors and, I’m not kidding, step into every manslut’s wet dream.

  The living room has —wait for it—an Olympic-size swimming pool. OK, Olympic size might be a bit of an exaggeration, but you get the picture. It is infested with nearly naked, nubile, squealing bodies. As my dazed eyes watch more super-excited, shrieking, gloriously perfect, scantily clad girls land in the water with a splash.

  Oh, you should also know that the living room boasts a dance floor (that’s right, a slightly raised square platform that flashes), two well stocked bars (on either side of the pool), and a giant movie screen with images of whales swimming underwater in slow motion. The whales, I’ll admit, is a cool and surreal idea.

  Honestly, the whole thing looks like an MTV music video.

  Right in the middle of all this fun and laughter is Cash Hunter. Lying on a giant purple inflatable bed between two giggling babes. One of them is pouring champagne straight from the bottle onto his chest. Talk about living a cliché.

  Still, awesome, fantastic, wonderful.

  This is exactly the kind of stuff I was hoping to run into. Right this minute, the lead singer of ALKALINE doesn’t seem all that attractive. In fact, he looks like a shallow, selfish, vain, egocentric, show-off, media created, hateful, sexual deviant of a jerk. Who in their right mind would ever want a party god like this?

  Beside me Britney screams, ‘Cash.’

  His head swivels in our direction and our eyes meet. Suddenly the blood in my veins starts fizzing like soda water. Oh God. Apparently, I’m not in my right mind. Because I want him so bad it hurt
s my stomach, and until he decides to break the eye-fuck I find myself totally, completely, and absolutely unable to look away. I just stand there frozen and stare idiotically at him.

  Until his eyes flicker and he turns his gaze to Britney. A smile breaks out on his face. Rolling the girl next to him into the water, he slips into it himself and swims strongly towards us. Placing his palms on the tiles at the edge of the pool, he hauls himself out easily. His eyes are luminous with water reflections.

  From his crouched position, he uncoils, full of sexual energy. Water sluices off his body in fast flowing rivulets and I actually feel my eyes widen. Holy crap. What a rush! He lifts his powerful arms and slicks his hair back, and my eyes just follow like some starving, stray dog.

  It’s just not fair. Why should anybody look like that? I shake my head to clear the weird hypnotic effect he is having on me. It’s not like I want anything to happen between us.

  Britney takes a step forward and pecks delicately at his wet cheek.

  ‘Great party,’ she says stepping back.

  ‘There’s not much to your dress,’ he notes darkly.

  ‘We’re here to have fun,’ Britney giggles.

  His eyes narrow disapprovingly. ‘Watch it, Brit. I don’t want to have to bash anybody’s head in.’

  ‘Oh for God’s sake don’t be such a spoil sport, Cash. I never get to go out and have fun,’ she groans.

  He scowls at her. ‘I mean it. I’m not your BFF. I’m your older brother.’

  ‘‘What time is Taylor Swift coming?’ she asks, craftily changing the subject.

  ‘Not until later.’

  She clasps her hands together. ‘I’m so excited. I can’t believe I’m going to meet her.’

  He smiles indulgently. ‘She said she’s bringing something special for you.’

  Britney’s eyes become dinner platters. ‘What?’

  He lifts one wet, muscular, tanned, taut shoulder. Phew. This man could start a new category of porn – shoulder porn. ‘It’s a surprise,’ he tells her.