ThisTimeNextDoor

by Gretchen Galway

  “Not if she locks the door and turns off the lights,” Mark said, hands on his hips.

  Were they fighting over her? But she’d never gotten any flirtatious vibe from Sylly, not once. It had to be something else.

  “Come on, boys, more work to be done.” She escaped out to the car. The men followed, and five minutes later the three of them had piled up her things and were staring at the elaborate mountain of pillows in the master bedroom.

  “How does it stay up?” Mark asked. “Are there wires under there? Scaffolding?”

  “Annamarie is a sorceress,” Sylly said. “She’s the real estate agent’s favorite stager. This place looked nice before, but then she came through here with her truck and her crew and I thought twice about selling the place.”

  “Why did you buy it?” Mark asked.

  “Buy low, sell high. I had the credit, some cash, thought I could flip it. Then the market dipped again and, well, here I am.” Sylly shrugged, glancing between the two of them.

  “She thinks she has to sleep on the couch,” Mark said.

  Sylly’s frown was real. “No, don’t do that. There are five beds in this house.”

  “She’s afraid of the pillows,” Mark added.

  “I am not. I’m fine.”

  “I’ll talk to Annamarie—” Sylly began.

  “No! Mark, stay out of this. Where I sleep is my business.” She pushed them both out into the hallway and shut the door. “So, lunch. How about I take both of you out?”

  Sylly gave Mark another stony look. “I’d hate to crash your date.”

  All right, there was definitely something going on here. Had she been right earlier—Sylly wanted Mark? There was certainly something personal going on.

  Whatever it was, it was a bad situation. Given Sylly was her boss and now her landlord, she couldn’t afford to get between them.

  She smiled brightly, determined to lighten the mood. “No date. Just my way of paying the movers.”

  “You can drop me off at my house on your way,” Mark said suddenly, turning away. “I promised my mother I’d finish decorating the house.”

  “You’re going to do more?” she asked, trying not to look hurt.

  “I’ll drive you, Mark,” Sylly said. Then to Rose, “Sorry I can’t make lunch, but thank you very much.” Somehow he managed to usher them all out to the car. “Doing the light show again this year? Always putting your best talents to use.”

  “That’s me,” Mark said, opening the passenger door. “Mr. Talented.”

  When the two men drove away, Rose had to remind herself several times that she’d always wanted to live alone. She was happy to have the place to herself.

  Very, very happy.

  Damn it.

  * * *

  “I still don’t understand why you can’t get a real telephone number,” Rose’s mother said that evening. “What if your phone is out of batteries and there’s an emergency? How will I be able to reach you? Or you the police? Cell phones are awful with 911. I saw a show on TV about it.”

  Curled up on the couch admiring the view, Rose moved her phone to her other ear. The sun had finally set, but the sky was still streaked with pale silver. She wondered if kids in the Bay Area waited until it was dark to go out trick-or-treating, if they went out at all. Just in case, she’d bought two bags of candy at the store with the rest of her groceries.

  “It’s not my house. I’m just staying here. In the unlikely event I forget to charge my phone, which you know I never do, then I’ll run next door and use the neighbor’s. Or drive to the hospital myself.”

  “What? Why would you need to go to the hospital?”

  “I don’t know. This is your nightmare. You tell me.”

  “Fine. Just promise me to plug it in every night. Do you have plenty of bars?”

  “They’re a bit of a drive, but it’s nice you’re thinking about my social life.”

  “Oh, be serious. Your phone. You have plenty of coverage?”

  “I’m fine, Mom.” Rose smiled and sipped her coffee, enjoying the return of her mother’s maternal instincts. “Did you get many trick-or-treaters tonight?”

  “Fourteen. You know how it is in this neighborhood; too many old people.”

  “Did you dress up?” Her mother’s Elvira costume was legendary.

  A long pause. “No, not this year.”

  “He didn’t like it, did he?”

  “This has nothing to do with him. It—” The line fell silent.

  “He couldn’t stand all the stodgy neighbors seeing you all hot and sexy, having some fun—”

  “The dress didn’t fit, all right? Now drop it.”

  Rose bit her lip. “Sorry.”

  “I’ve joined Weight Watchers again and, if I can just stick to it this time, I’ll be the sexiest Elvira the world has ever seen. Next year.”

  “The world has already seen the sexiest Elvira ever,” Rose said. “Every year at our house.”

  The only response was a delayed sniff.

  “I love you, Mom,” Rose said. “When are you going to come out and visit?”

  “I told myself we’d visit when you had your own apartment.”

  “A whole house isn’t good enough for you?”

  “Your own place. With a lease. Not just another pit stop on the highway.”

  “This is way better than a pit stop. I’m sending you pictures. There’s a bidet. A bidet. Have you ever seen one of those in real life?”

  “I’d rather not think about you using your boss’s bidet.”

  Rose laughed. “I invited him to lunch with me today,” she teased.

  “That’s it. I take it all back. You should come back home. I just put a new comforter on your bed, bright red with yellow embroidery, little daisies. It goes perfectly with the carpet.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m not going to sleep with him.”

  “I’m serious, Rose. I think you’re over your head.”

  “He’s probably gay,” Rose said. Though from the way she’d caught him peeking at her breasts while she carried boxes, she’d begun to revise that theory.

  “Oh, God. Your gay boss’s bidet. Are you in love with him?”

  “Wildly.”

  “You’re teasing me.”

  “Never.”

  “I’ve never liked your sarcasm, Rose. You should say what you mean.”

  “You wouldn’t believe me. This way I get to have a little fun.”

  Her mother sighed. “I miss you. It’s just not Halloween without you.” Her voice got quiet. “I’ve got the album out.”

  Oh, no, Rose thought. Homesickness she’d been fighting all afternoon crept over her. “Don’t. You’re going to make me cry.” Rose got up and padded into the kitchen. With the sun down, the house was getting dark, feeling bigger, emptier. The tile in the kitchen was icy underfoot.

  “Your kindergarten costume is still my favorite,” her mother continued. “I’m still angry with Miss Bullens about that. You were the cutest witch I’ve ever seen. All that blond hair everywhere, the black dress, the tiny little black boots with the striped knee-highs…”

  “And the bitch made me take it all off.”

  “She was a bitch,” her mother said feelingly.

  Shocked, Rose laughed. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you use that word before.” She frowned, tore open a tiny Twix bar. “Are you drinking?”

  “I never drink when I’m depressed. You know that.” She sighed. “Oh, look. Fifth grade. You’re already starting to look like a little woman.”

  “You promised me you destroyed those.”

  “I had another set made from the negatives.”

  Rose popped the chocolate into her mouth. “That catsuit needed a built-in bra. I was so clueless. You should’ve told me.”

  “So cute. I love the way you sewed the white tummy panel on the front, just like Buster’s.” Buster had been her cat back then. Her mom sighed again. “Oh, now I’m thinking about Buster. Goldfish just aren’t t
he same as a nice furry animal, you know? Such a shame Phil is allergic.”

  “I looked like a penguin with breasts,” Rose said.

  “And whiskers,” her mother sighed. “So cute.”

  Rose ate the rest of the candy and pushed the wrapper in the plastic bag she’d hung on a doorknob as a garbage can. Part of her agreement with Sylly and the real estate agent was making sure the house seemed almost lived in, but not yet. A fantasy. Every time she went out she had to erase any hint of her existence, which meant she couldn’t actually put her trash in a can under the sink, which might accumulate, emit odors, get forgotten.

  “I have to go,” Rose lied. “I think I hear the doorbell. I put out a pumpkin.”

  Her mom sighed and reminisced about her cuteness one more time before finally getting off the phone. Rose stared at the bag on the granite counter, wishing she hadn’t bought any candy. She’d end up eating it all herself. No kids were going to walk down that street trick-or-treating; too dark, no sidewalks, gates on the driveways. Any kid brave enough to knock on her door was probably armed and dangerous.

  She picked out one more snack-sized bundle of chewy processed corn syrup before heading for the front door to blow out the candle in the jack-o-lantern she’d carved an hour earlier. An early night would be good for her. She’d listen to music, catch up on her sleep.

  When she pulled open the door and saw a full-sized vampire on her front porch, she gasped and started to slam the door.

  Mark lowered the black cape he’d pulled up to his nose. “Rose, it’s me.”

  She put a hand on her chest. “You scared the hell out of me.”

  He braced a hand on the doorframe, leaned closer. His voice was low. “Trick or treat.”

  Chapter 14

  MARK DRANK IN THE SIGHT of her. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright. “Oh,” she said, seeming to regain a little composure. “Nice costume.”

  Hoping the cape and the gelled hair didn’t ruin the effect of his elegant black suit, Mark let his eyes travel slowly over her pink T-shirt and tight jeans. “I like yours.”

  Her lips parted. After a long second, she said, “I was just about to give up on having any visitors.”

  “You’re alone?”

  She raised an eyebrow. Nodded.

  “Your landlord and employer didn’t find some urgent repair that suddenly needed doing? Pillows that needed arranging?”

  “He got to that after the marathon of hot, sweaty sex.”

  He clenched his jaw. “Don’t even joke about that.”

  She stepped past him, squatted down, blew out the candle inside the pumpkin. He became transfixed with the way her full lips puckered, the way her breasts moved as she bent over.

  “Why not?” she asked. “He’s awfully cute. Maybe I should let him know I’m interested.”

  “You don’t know what a mistake that would be.”

  She had the nerve to pat him on the chest. “Oh, come on, Mark, lighten up. I was just kidding.”

  “I’m light,” he said through his teeth.

  “Sure you are,” she said with a patronizing smirk before walking back into the house. “I’ll go get you some candy.”

  That’s not what I want. He strode into the house and planted himself in front of her. “Get your shoes on. I’m taking you to San Francisco.”

  She frowned, but interest sparked in her blue eyes. “San Francisco?”

  “Big street party. Famous. Hundreds of thousands of people. Gets out of hand, like Mardi Gras. It’s been canceled since 2006, but it’s on for this year. This may be your only chance to see it.”

  Her face lit up. “Really? And you want to go?”

  “I love big crowds that get out of hand,” he said. “Are you kidding?”

  “I’d think you’d hate that sort of thing.”

  He despised them, but he’d get to be with her. “You might want to grab a jacket.”

  “I can do better than that.” Beaming, she jogged away from him, leaving him alone in foyer with nothing to admire but the flower arrangement on the hall table. It was perfect for the season, of course, rusty earth tones, black-eyed Susans, sunflowers, artfully arranged.

  How could she live in this place? It was like a department store. He went over and messed up the flowers so they were off center and lopsided, then shook pollen onto the glossy mahogany table.

  She still hadn’t returned, so he went into the kitchen, found a bag of candy on the counter and helped himself. He had to admit it was an excellent kitchen. Huge with an island in the center, granite and marble and steel and warm wood, everything new and perfect.

  Probably never used. Sylly had bought the place, fixed it up to sell without caring what he had, just eager to get what he could out of it.

  Typical. He tore open another candy bar.

  He was chewing out his tension when Rose reappeared and took his breath away. Which meant he choked on the caramel and had to bend over to reopen his windpipe.

  The tip of her red stiletto appeared in his teary vision. “Are you okay?” she asked, patting him on the back.

  Fighting embarrassment, he stood up, hand over his mouth, and gazed at her. “You look great,” he managed to say.

  The dress was black and form-fitting, the neckline a deep V that began at the shoulder and touched down between her breasts. No, below her breasts. The skirt, though nearly reaching her blood-red stilettos, was slit up both sides nearly to the hip, exposing long curvaceous legs in sheer black stockings. Thigh-highs, with lace at the tops.

  Her hands slid down her hourglass body. “My mom gave me the idea. She said I was the cutest witch she’d ever seen.”

  He dragged his eyes up to her face. That mouth. She’d done something to it. Something naughty. The lips were full, red, and shiny, slightly parted. “Not the word.”

  Her eyelids fell. “Shall we go?”

  No. Let’s stay here. “Yeah.” He turned away so he didn’t embarrass himself. “Don’t forget a sweater. It’s cold in the city.”

  * * *

  The crush of bodies made a chill impossible. Rose hadn’t expected so many people: the press of strangers’ elbows into her ribs, shoulders into her chin, stray hands on her ass.

  People were everywhere, many in costume, many not, all mixed together in a slow, throbbing street party. She saw the Pope, several Marie Antoinettes, roller-skating nuns, a giant baby smoking a cigar, conservative political figures in bondage wear, a giraffe. The other half of the crowd wore jeans and hooded sweatshirts, club wear, nothing at all. It was a circus and a Broadway show, a sporting event and a political rally, all in one, with the Victorian houses and storefronts looking down in aged, ornate resignation.

  A few times Rose was separated from Mark. She was blindly pushed from body to body like a leaf in the choppy rapids of a colorful river, unable to see him, as tall as he was. So she clung to him, her fingers entwined in his, and let herself enjoy the rush of decadent mayhem.

  “Can we get somewhere we can watch the parade?” she shouted to him.

  “You are the parade, darlin’,” a transexual Cleopatra told her.

  Sure enough, they were walking down the middle of the street with hundreds of others decked out in costumes that filled her with alternating sensations of appreciation and alarm. Was that chain driven through that man’s penis? Didn’t it hurt when he flapped his wings?

  Mark moved his mouth close to her ear. “I’m trying to get us over there. Less crowded.”

  She looked where he was pointing, a big intersection with cops lined up along the barricades. There was a small gap next to them, the party poopers.

  “Okay,” she agreed needlessly, since of course he couldn’t hear her in the melee. They moved into an area with so many bodies her average height wasn’t enough to look anywhere but up. The wires from the electric city buses and street cars dangled overhead like streamers. No, there were actual streamers, too, as well as silly string, lingerie, and glowing skull-shaped balloons. One young gu
y started to climb on top of the bus shelter before the cops called him down.

  Rose and Mark finally broke through the densest crush and stumbled up onto the curb near the police.

  Mark leaned down to her. “Do you want to leave?”

  The feel of his breath on her ear sent sparks down her spine, into her belly. The throb of the music battling from multiple speakers around them, the bump of strange bodies against hers, not to mention Mark in that suit, dark and handsome—had her in a state of building, frustrated arousal.

  Did she want to leave?

  “It depends where we go,” she said, gazing up into his eyes. They weren’t blue at the moment, but dark, almost black. Unreadable.

  One of the mystery hands that had been groping her all night suddenly squeezed her left butt cheek. She slapped it away.

  Mark frowned and looked between her and somebody behind her. “Did—excuse me, did you just touch her?” he demanded.

  “Sorry.” The voice was soft, young, female. Rose turned to see a girl with spiky white hair and a remarkable amount of rings through her eyebrows. “I couldn’t resist.”

  “Well, maybe you should try harder,” Mark said, scowling.

  The girl grinned and slipped away.

  “I’m sorry about that,” Mark said.

  “It’s not your fault.” Rose squeezed his hand.

  “I brought you here.”

  “I love it,” she said.

  Sighing, he looked into her face. “I thought you might.”

  The crowd surged over them again, breaking the moment, and they were forced to keep walking aimlessly, like cattle in a psychedelic dream.

  As entertaining as it was, Rose began to tire of the crowd. Mark seemed to be holding her hand out of survival, not seduction. He was obviously miserable. Rigid-backed and serious, he pulled her along with him, a look on his face that a real vampire might’ve had: arrogant and ready to bite somebody.

  Her own pleasure lessened. Then the hand cupped her ass again and she swung around to tell the girl to find a friend somewhere else—

  Only to see the steroid-enhanced, tattooed chest of a blond man at least six and a half feet tall. He had a scar across his cheek and lust in his hungry blue eyes. If it weren’t for his plastic Viking helmet, she might’ve been afraid.