Dear Neighbor

by River Laurent

  ‘Well?’ she asks, when I have looked at the last painting.

  ‘I think they are strangely beautiful. I don’t mean that they are chocolate box pretty, but they have a lot of passion and they are different.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Absolutely. I don’t know much about art, but these are good. I’ve never seen anything like this before. They are completely original.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she whispers.

  ‘Who are these figures? I ask pointing to the featureless people.

  ‘Me,’ she says simply.

  I look at her curiously. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It’s how I feel sometimes. Unfinished. The most important parts of me missing.’

  ‘Oh, Brit,’ I whisper softly, my heart breaking for her. Her art is the outward manifestation of her instinctive knowledge that something is missing or lost inside her.

  She shakes her head. ‘I don’t want you to pity me.’

  ‘Come here, you silly Billy.’

  She takes a step towards me and I stroke her hair. Strange how much affection I have for her now that I have seen the real her.

  ‘I don’t pity you,’ I tell her. ‘You have everything. You’re beautiful, you’re talented, you have a family that loves you dearly, you’ve got friends, you’ve got a trust fund, even if you never work a single day in your life you will never starve or be homeless. Why on earth would I pity you?’

  She stares at me as if she can’t believe I mean what I say.

  ‘In fact, I wish I had half of what you have,’ I tell her honestly.

  ‘No you don’t.’

  ‘Actually I do. Do you know that you are luckier than anyone else I know? Everything falls into your lap. Designer clothes and shoes, music classes, expensive holidays. You just have to open your mouth and ask for it and it’s yours. It’s not like that for me. I’ve had to take summer jobs to get the things I want. When I go back I’ll have to take out a student loan just to complete my studies. A debt that I will spend a great deal of my working life paying back.’

  She doesn’t say anything, but I can see she is thinking about what I said.

  ‘When I was young my dad told me a story and it kind of changed the way I thought about things. You want to hear it?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ she says quickly.

  ‘It was about this set of twins. One of them was an eternal optimist. No matter how bad the situation he would find a reason to be happy, and the other was the eternal pessimist. He would do the opposite and find something to be sad about no matter how good the situation was.

  ‘So one day their father decided to see if he could change their attitudes. On the boys’ birthday he filled the pessimist’s room with every imaginable toy. He practically bought his son a toy store. Then he filled the optimist’s room with donkey dung. Just a big stinking pile of dung right in the middle of the poor kid’s room. When the boys came home from school the father said, ‘Boys your birthday presents are in your rooms.’

  ‘The pessimist ran into his room and began to berate his father for buying so many toys. He complained and cried about how he would never have enough time to play with all of them. In the other room the optimist began skipping around the dung heap, laughing. ‘Woo hoo,’ he sang happily. ‘There’s a pony around. There’s a pony around.’

  Britney laughs. ‘I’d like to be the pony boy in your story. He’s cute.’

  ‘You could be,’ I tell her softly.

  ‘Thanks for the story. It’s a good one.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’ I look at my watch. ‘I have to go. My aunt will be waiting for me. Let’s talk again when I get back on Sunday, OK?’

  ‘OK,’ she says slowly.

  I start to walk to the door.

  ‘Tori,’ she calls. ‘I’m sorry you have to take out a student loan just to finish your studies.’

  I smile at her. ‘It’s OK. Most people have to, Brit. Just be grateful for everything you have.’

  ‘My brother likes you, you know.’

  ‘What? Why?’ Whoa, that had come out like high pitched squeaks. I clear my throat. ‘Er … what makes you say that?’

  ‘Everybody knows you only get pushed into the water by a girl who’s jealous of you, or a guy who has the hots for you.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Do you like my brother?’

  ‘Um … I never really thought about it.’

  ‘Really? Most girls can’t stop thinking about him.’

  ‘Well, he must be very bored of it all then.’ I look at my watch. ‘I should get going.’

  ‘Have a nice time with your aunt.’

  ‘I will. You have a lovely lunch with your dad.’

  ‘Bye.’

  ‘Bye.’

  Tori

  I take the tube to Waterloo and get on the train to Virginia Water station. The train is almost empty and I sit in a carriage with one other person and stare out of the window unseeing. My mind churning with thoughts. Sometimes I catch my reflection smiling like some lovesick fool. I wonder what he must be doing. Probably still in bed. I think of his lips going down my stomach, kisses fluttering like butterflies.

  When the train gets to Staines I call my aunt, and by the time I exit Virginia Water Station she is already waiting at the car park. I fling my knapsack into the boot of the car and get into the passenger seat.

  ‘You all right?’ she asks, smiling at me and turning the key in the ignition.

  I smile back. ‘Yeah. Did you have to wait long?’

  ‘No, I just got here.’

  ‘So where is this antiques fair then?’

  ‘At the Runnymede Hotel. It’s only ten minutes away. Hopefully we’ll find something special for your mom’s birthday.’

  ‘I hope so too,’ I say, and suddenly miss my mom. I take my mobile out and send her a message.

  I love you, mom. <3x

  Her reply is instantaneous.

  Me too. Love you with all my heart, my darling. Call us tomorrow. We’re at grandad’s. Send your aunt my love. <3 <3 <3

  ‘Mom sends her love. She’s at grandad’s,’ I tell my aunt.

  She smiles. ‘I’ll call her tomorrow.’

  Her phone rings and she fits her ear piece and says, ‘Hello.’

  With a sigh I turn to look out of the window.

  Virginia Water is a stockbroker belt and fittingly we are flanked on either side of the tree-lined road by massive mansions. My aunt often says that her family is the poorest in Virginia Water. My uncle bought his property for an unthinkable sum of £220,000 twenty years ago before it became the real estate haven for the City boys. Now her home is worth more than £2.2 million. ‘One day I’ll sell my house and be a millionaire,’ she always jokes.

  Less than ten minutes after we hit the A30, we turn into Runnymede Hotel. I trail after my aunt from table to table looking at brick-a-brac that I would have cheerfully thrown out, but it is apparently still considered of value.

  A chipped porcelain cup that a woman wanted £5.00 for, a dusty doll with a scratched face going for £20.00, yellowing tablecloths, a purple feather boa, but none of it puts my aunt off. She is determined that she will find a gem in that junk, and she is right. We, well she, finally finds a surprisingly pretty Victorian Cameo brooch pin with pearls that I know mom will love. My aunt bargains and gets £7.00 taken off the price. I hand over £30.00 and the vendor wraps it up and puts it into a bag for me.

  Afterwards we have lunch at the hotel, then we head over to her house. My niece, Tabitha, who is eight years old comes running from the garden next door. She is wearing her swimsuit and her hair is in pigtails.

  ‘Come for a swim, Aunt Tori,’ she begs.

  ‘I’m too tired. I didn’t sleep well last night and now that I have had a big lunch I think I’ll take a nap for a couple of hours, but look what I got you.’

  ‘What?’ she asks excitedly.

  She runs off after I give her a packet of gummy bears. I throw myself on the couch and almost imme
diately fall asleep.

  I wake up to the sound of my aunt’s panicked voice calling me.

  ‘There’s a big black Lamborghini stopping outside the house.’

  I blink sleepily.

  ‘Heaven’s above, a man who looks very much like Cash Hunter is coming out of it.’

  I sit bolt upright. ‘What?’

  My aunt turns away from the window and looks at me, her eyes shining with inquisitiveness. ‘Looks like he is coming up our driveway, Tori.’

  I stare at my aunt with horrified eyes.

  ‘Would you like to freshen up first, or are you OK with him seeing you with drool on your face?’ she asks calmly.

  With a yelp I jump up and dash up the stairs.

  At the top of the stairs I hear my aunt say graciously, ‘Do come in. She’s upstairs. I’ll give her a quick shout.’

  She then pretends to call up the stairs. ‘Tori, you have a visitor.’

  I rush to the bathroom and my aunt is right. I look a right mess. With shaking fingers, I hurriedly repair my hair, splash some cold water on my face and slick on a lick of lip gloss and spray some perfume from a glass bottle. Too late I realize that it is air freshener. Shit. I try to wash it off my skin as best as I can before I go downstairs.

  ‘Hello,’ I greet, with a little awkward wave of my right hand. Cash looks like a living god in my aunt’s sitting room.

  He lets his eyes wander hotly down my body. Damn him. I feel my cheeks begin to flush and my heart rate soar.

  My aunt smiles at me. ‘I’m just about to make some tea. Would both of you like some?’

  ‘That’s really kind, Mrs. Carter, but I was hoping to take Tori out on a picnic.’

  My aunt’s eyebrows shoot up into her hairline. ‘Oh. Yes, of course. What a splendid idea. Yes, yes, you must take advantage of this fine weather. That’s if Tori is happy with the idea, of course.’

  I feel both eyes turn towards me.

  ‘What have you got in your picnic basket?’ I ask.

  He grins. ‘I have no idea. I ordered the deluxe picnic basket from my local delicatessen.’

  ‘That’ll do,’ I say with a grin.

  ‘What time will you be bringing Tori back?’

  I laser my aunt with an I’m not twelve look.

  ‘Just kidding,’ she says with a laugh.

  Both Cash and I pretend to laugh with her.

  ‘Right, we should be off,’ Cash says.

  ‘I’ll call you later,’ I tell my aunt.

  ‘Please do,’ she says with emphasis, as she walks us to the front door. She remains at the doorway and watches as we walk down the drive. There is at least half-a-foot between us.

  I smile up at him. ‘So how did you find me?’

  ‘Do you remember answering a little question called next-of-kin on your employee form?’

  I nod. ‘I thought that information was personal and confidential.’

  ‘I slipped into that category last night when I was eating you out. Now might be a good idea to wave at your aunt, Buttercream.’

  ‘Don’t call me that,’ I say as I turn around to wave jauntily at my aunt.

  My aunt waves back.

  When I turn around Cash too is waving at my aunt.

  He opens the car door and I slip into the black interior. Inside it is all sleek lines and so super masculine, I feel a bit like Naomi Watts when she was carried in King Kong’s oversized, leathery palm.

  ‘Fancy,’ I say.

  ‘It’s always nice when a girl is impressed by your … equipment,’ he says with a predatory grin.

  ‘Do you know I sometimes fantasize about slapping you?’

  He laughs and guns the engine. The roar is incredibly Alpha. I get why these kinds of cars are standard issue for successful men the world over. It’s a good ole my-roar-is-louder-than-yours chest beating competition.

  Tori

  ‘Where’s your security?’ I shout over the noise of the engine.

  ‘Let’s just say they’re still somewhere on the M25 driving in a standard issue Range Rover SUV and hoping I get to where I’m going to in one piece so they don’t have to look for a new employer tomorrow,’ he says flashing me a wide grin.

  ‘Why would you do something so selfish and juvenile?’

  ‘You wouldn’t understand, but sometimes I feel like I’m living in a bubble. I can’t go anywhere like a normal person. When I am in the States I can’t even fucking walk to my car, I have to run surrounded by beefcakes in suits. Today I wanted to just be any guy to take a girl on a date.’

  ‘Where are we going?’ I ask.

  ‘Pennyhill Park,’ he says.

  ‘Very posh,’ I say.

  Minutes later we turn into an impressive set of black and gold gates. The grounds are beautiful with mature trees and hundreds of rabbits running around. The winding road takes us to a stupendous mansion house. Cash cuts the engine.

  ‘Wow! This is amazing,’ I exclaim.

  ‘Isn’t it just?’ he says as he hits a button. The door slides upwards and I get out and look around me in awe.

  ‘I thought we were having a picnic.’

  ‘We are. In our hotel room.’

  He holds out his car keys to a liveried valet and tells him about the picnic basket that needs to be brought in. Then he holds his arm out to me. With a small smile I take it. I feel as if I am in a dream. How is it possible that this is happening to me? A small voice jeers. ‘Better enjoy it, Buttercream. It’s all based on a pack of lies and it’s going to come crashing down on your head very soon.’

  ‘What?’ Cash asks as we stand in the grand stone portico.

  ‘I didn’t say anything,’ I say.

  ‘Yes, you did. You said no.’

  ‘Oh. I didn’t mean to. Just overwhelmed by the beauty of this place, I guess,’ I lie quickly.

  As we walk into the grand reception with its massive stone fireplace, I have the first inkling of what life is like for celebrities. The wide smiles, the excessive politeness, the starry eyes, the cannot do too much for you attitude. We are shown to the Heywood Suite, which is lavishly furnished in opulent fabrics.

  ‘This is the only suite with its own private terrace,’ the bellboy tells us as he opens the door to the terrace. I step out and the view over the grounds takes my breath away. I stand outside admiring the lush greenery while Cash tips the bellboy and closes the door. He comes back out to stand behind me.

  ‘Do you like it?’

  I turn around to face him. He has taken off his leather jacket and the magnetism of the man hits me like a brick wall.

  ‘What’s not to like? It’s unquestionably beautiful.’

  ‘Apparently it is very popular with honeymooners and people celebrating special occasions like us,’ he says.

  ‘Is this a special occasion?’

  ‘Is there any reason why it shouldn’t be?’ he asks softly, advancing on me. I know I keep saying it, but he really is very hunky. ‘Unless you’ve got some deep dark secret you’re hiding from me?’ he finishes.

  I feel the color draining from my face. ‘Why would you say a thing like that?’ I ask. My voice is high pitched and panicked.

  ‘I don’t know. You tell me,’ he says quietly.

  I take a nervous backward step. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Like a boyfriend maybe?’

  The relief that pours into my body is indescribable. Oh, thank God. I’m not going to be horribly exposed miles away from anywhere, after all. Elated, I bat the air with my right hand as if I am swatting away a fly, or he has just expressed the most insane idea I’ve ever heard. ‘Me? Boyfriend? I mean, Pffff.’

  He looks at me curiously and I realize that it is possible my reaction might have been a bit over the top.

  I take a deep breath. ‘What I meant to convey is that it’s not special because we’re just foolin’ around. Right?’

  ‘Yeah, we’re just foolin’,’ he says as he scoops me up and throws me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He c
arries me off to the bedroom and throws me still squealing and protesting onto an enormous bed.

  ‘Sex in the afternoon in a hotel room? It’s a bit decadent even for you, isn’t it?’ I laugh.

  He grabs my right foot, pulls my black sandal off, and throws it behind him. ‘It’s backbreaking work, but someone has to do it,’ he says, grabbing my other foot.

  I unbutton my jeans. ‘Don’t put your back out on my account,’ I say as I wriggle out of them.

  ‘My cock would never forgive me if I didn’t step up to the job,’ he replies, grabbing the hems of my jeans and tugging them clear off my legs before he chucks them somewhere behind him.

  I grasp the edges of my top and, lifting slightly off the bed, I pull it over my head. ‘You talk as if your cock has a mind of its own.’

  ‘Rule number one. All cocks have a mind of their own. Any man tells you otherwise, he’s a lying, son-of-bitch fuckboy,’ he says, popping my bra open, and flinging it south.

  I hook my fingers into the waistband of my panties. ‘What’s a fuckboy?’

  ‘Fuckboy: typically, a man who refers to his conquests as his body count, expects sex after buying you a cheap meal, messages you, or worse turns up at your place during booty call hours—’

  ‘Excuse me,’ I interrupt, completely nude. ‘Didn’t you turn up in my bed during booty call hours?’

  He kicks off his shoes, his eyes twinkling. ‘That doesn’t count. I dug my seduction trap well before twelve when official booty call hours begins.’

  ‘I’m sure hell will freeze over before anyone mistakes you for a fuckboy,’ I say sarcastically.

  As a response he pulls his black T-shirt over his head and it’s like a magic trick. Just like that he is a whole lot hotter. Molten hot. Suddenly I don’t want to talk anymore and he’s won the discussion. Shocking how just the sight of this man can have my whole body in an uproar like this. Until I met him, I can count on my hands the amount of times I’ve had sex. Now I can’t get enough.

  I feel lust spreading in my veins like an electric current. Arousal courses through my body. Between my legs I start leaking. I stare at the tattoos, the muscles, the utter deliciousness of Cash Hunter as he takes his belt off and yanks his jeans down his muscular thighs. His boxer shorts are terribly tented.