by Emily James
I swallow down my sadness. Melinda and Steve got married on the same day that Brad married Jen. I was sure when Brad knocked up Angie that it would have no bearing on Melinda and Steve; they were as solid as a brick. Turns out, maybe I should have been concerned.
“Mikey,” I whisper.
“Yeah?”
“You know Angie left Brad?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Do you think they’ll get back together?”
“I don’t know, J.” Mikey sighs. “It'll be all right, though. There’s always Kim and Kanye.”
I gulp down a lump. I feel like my own parents just broke up.
“So we do as Melinda says?” I ask.
“Yeah, until she’s ready to tell us.”
“Okay.” I pull a tissue from the box on the coffee table. “Mikey, can you choose my numbers? I don’t think I can.”
“Already did, babe,” he replies. “Joanie, I start cookery lessons this week. She thinks it’ll be good for me. You will eat my shit, won’t you?”
“Of course, Mikey, we’re in this together.”
We say goodbye and I put down my phone, ready to have a good blub. It’s the end of an era, Steve and Melinda are like surrogate parents to Mikey and me; always inviting us over, Steve checking the oil in my car, and Melinda sending us home with food parcels. Knowing that Melinda is sad and alone right now upsets me more than when my parents told me they were retiring abroad. If she needs me to date ten random men, in ten damned days to take her mind off things, then that’s what I’ll do.
I WAKE SUDDENLY WITH a jolt. I’m lying on my back. The sheets are a sweaty mess around me, and no matter how hard I try to sink back into the abyss, sleep eludes me like Santa in June.
Right before bed, I made the mistake of stalking Chris on social media and now I’m awash with self-pity. Chris changed his profile picture. It’s now a selfie of him standing in front of the Statue of Liberty clutching a six-foot blonde; at least she looks about that height next to shorter-than-average Chris.
I hear the hinges of the foyer door groan as they are forced into action. The neon light of my alarm clock display informs me that it’s two-forty-five a.m. and I wonder who is coming home this late on a Tuesday evening. With my interest piqued, I rush to spy through the peephole, just in case it’s a burglar.
It isn’t a burglar.
No, it’s Six. Like a thief in the night, he stumbles toward my door. He turns and stops opposite the hole, peering in, as if it’s a two-way mirror. My heart beats like a drum and I hold my breath, frightened of making the slightest noise.
Six is wearing a dark V-neck T-shirt and casual slim jeans. He runs his hands through his floppy hair. Like silk, it slides back into place. He peers closer to my peephole.
It’s as if he can actually see me.
Even though it’s probably wasted, I give him my best stink eye and stare him out through the hole. Yes, Six, I am annoyed with you for stumbling in at this ungodly hour and making noises like you are trying to provoke a response from me.
My knees tremble from the draft that whooshes under the door and up my short Princess Fiona bed shirt.
Six steps back and grins. He sways his hips and starts to bellow an awful rendition of Nelly’s, Hot In Here.
His voice lacks its normal gravelly smoothness. He stumbles as he performs in the corridor, right in front of my door. It’s then that I detect faint, spicy and smoky tones in the air. I lower my body to sniff the draft under the door.
Six has whisky breath.
The scent, on top of his usual sweet, woody smell makes my skin sensitise and goose bump. My mouth waters and I crave a taste of his whisky. He’s drunk, but more importantly, he starts to take off his shirt.
“It’s getting hot in here, I’m taking off my clothes...” When he forgets the words, he just mumbles, “Duh, duh, duh...”
My eyes widen with a pop. He really does take off his shirt. He flings it on the floor and a gasp leaves my mouth. His shoulders are broad and strong, as if they could carry boulders or skinny little dark haired women with ease.
“Four, are you there?”
Six peers closer. His pupils are huge black, circular discs. His gaze is so intense I lean forward, bumping my head on the cold wood of the door. Shit! I close my eyes to stop from feeling dizzy but leave my head on the door to anchor me.
“Four, I know you’re there,” he sings. “Do you have any special requests?”
I stay silent. There’s no way he can be certain I’m here.
“Four...” He sings, louder. “Open up or I’ll blow your house down...”
I open my eyes, needing to see him. Even drunk, he looks like a cool glass of water here to put out my fire.
“Hey, J. I’m not sure how you thought you were going to get home without your keys.” There’s a jangle, and I glance around the peripheral of my spy hole. It’s Big-Tits-Twenty. I recognise her sickly, purring voice, even though I can’t quite see her yet. She sounds like a room full of tortured cats.
My teeth grind on themselves. What does J mean? John, Jacob, Jack? Why does she get to know his name?
“Hey, my saviour.” Six turns away from my door to face her.
“How much did you drink? That’s not even your door, silly.” She giggles. It sounds like someone stepped on her tail. “Here, let me help you.” Twenty comes into view, and I see her link her arm around Six’s waist and pull him away from me, along the corridor to his apartment next door.
Their voices fade. I go into my bedroom. I know the layout of the flat next door. It’s a mirror image of my own. I held the key for the agent while it was on the market, but I never met Six. The agent just said it was an overseas investor. I thought its new purpose would be short holiday lets. An apartment upstairs has a similar use.
I sit on my bed and rest my weary head above my headboard, against the wall.
“Whoa hold up. That’s it, on the bed...” Twenty’s laugh is like a hyena’s mating call.
My stomach flips in on itself. I lie down and pull my pillow over my head to try and distract myself from their drunken sounds. The walls are paper-thin. It makes me wonder how much sound proofing costs. I take my head out from under my pillow and grab my phone off the nightstand to check. I’m annoyed to see that it’s very expensive. Perhaps I should invoice Six.
There’s a laughing hyena in the apartment next door. Twenty’s harrumphs echo through the wall. My blood races at a quickened pace. It’s then that Six’s headboard knocks against my wall.
They must be trying to annoy me.
I bolt upright, about to fist my hand on the wall and shout at them to shuddup! But instead, I sit on my hands. I can’t do that. They would know that I could hear them. That I’m listening. I’m too embarrassed; I wouldn’t be able to look either of them in the eye ever again. They would make jokes to each other that I am a jealous prude.
My mouth falls open.
I have sex envy.
It’s been too long.
I sigh, grab my phone, duvet, and pillow and get up to go into the lounge. I’ll sleep on the sofa tonight.
I lay back and try to get comfortable. Even though I can’t be certain they are having sex, it’s suddenly gone quiet over there and my mind races, imaging what Six is like in bed.
I imagine myself under his heavy weight. His sizeable expanse pressing down on me, delicious friction creating a frenzy. A low ache forms in my belly and heat pools in long frozen-over places. I’m so tempted to bring myself some light relief, but I can’t allow myself to. Not with her next door with him, it would feel voyeuristic and tainted.
I fetch my headphones and put them on, switching the volume up loud on my playlist.
I can’t get Nelly’s song out of my head.
AFTER THE WORST NIGHT’S sleep, I wake before my alarm detonates, with a crook in my neck and an aching deep in my belly. I stand up and stretch out my thoroughly aching, and not in a good way, muscles. When it all went quiet over at Six’
s apartment, my hands once again wandered of their own accord, aiming to get some much needed relief. I was embarrassingly turned on. The noises from the apartment next door had me crossing my legs and singing the alphabet for distraction.
Knowing the length and girth of his instrument only made matters worse. The images were too vivid. But, no matter how much I wanted relief, it wouldn’t come! I was my own worst enemy. Needing but not getting, wanting but not having.
A thought terrified me. How could I satisfy a new partner if I couldn’t even satisfy myself?
In the end, I angrily log onto the shopping sites and search some reviews on equipment to aide my dilemma. Finally, I settle on the aptly named Come-Hard-6000. It was sleek and black and came with a six-year warranty and a pleasure guarantee—or your money back.
The alarm on my smart phone starts to tinkle, so I switch it off and walk into the kitchen. I begin my normal morning routine by taking out some bread to toast and switch on the kettle to boil.
It’s still dark outside, but I can hear the wind beating against the tall oaks in the expansive garden of our building. I catch sight of my reflection in the window and notice the Christmas excess is taking its toll on my usually thinner physique. I pinch at the start of a muffin top and, already feeling tired and unattractive, I pop the bread out of the machine and fling it in the bin. I’ll start a January health kick. I’ll take up jogging, or yoga. I’ll learn the downward dog and get all bendy and flexible. Maybe Twenty will see me all lithe and bendy and she’ll be jealous of my B cups and demand that her G cups be removed at once.
I unpeel a brown, limp banana and hear the creak of a door opening. I run to my peephole to spy.
I recognise Twenty’s gnarly hushed voice echoing in the hallway, even though she’s not in my eye line. Maybe I need to shop for a more comprehensive peephole, for added security. Something that better scopes out the whole hallway. Perhaps we should have CCTV. I could get one of those apps so I can view it from anywhere. Crime is on the up, after all.
After an age of whispering, Twenty walks past my door on her way to the foyer, probably to take the stairs up to her apartment. She fluffs her yellow hair as she walks past, like she just walked out of a salon. She blazingly does the walk of shame in only a shirt. His shirt. Her feet are bare.
I think back to last week and Two’s incontinent dog as she walks over a dark patch on the carpet. My grin high-fives my ears.
I back away from the door and start the shower, deciding that today I’ll switch on some music while I ready myself for work. It should be loud on a thundery day like today, rock music is probably best.
My phone beeps a new tone, one I don’t recognise. Melinda’s voice, “Warning, dating emergency; dating emergency. You have two minutes to respond to this message or you will die a lonely spinster.” I then hear Mikey in the background call out, “With one hundred cats!”
I remember them, the last time I was at Melinda’s house, creasing up after I left the bathroom to head home, not getting their private joke. Now I know. They changed my text message alert.
When I open the message, it simply reads—Date tonight. 5 p.m. at the Brit. He’ll be wearing a hat.
I instantly dial her back.
“Hello, Joanie, your dating fairy godmother here,” Melinda, sings into my ear.
“Hi.” I keep my voice level and compose my thoughts. “So, I saw your message.” I wait with baited breath for her to spin me some yarn about how wonderful Mr. X is.
“Good. You’ll see from the report I emailed you that he is a four out of five in suitability, three out of five in sustainability but he might surprise us on that front. The jury’s out until you actually go on the date. No, Teeg, don’t put sugar on the Chocó pops; they’re full of the stuff as it is... Look Joanie, I’m sorry, I’ve got to get the kids to school, and I’m meeting with a lawyer, and... call me later, promise?”
I think back to my earlier conversation with Mikey. A lawyer must mean that the split is serious. My throat closes in on itself. She hasn’t talked this through with me. She’ll be in turmoil. It’s a big blow to all of us. She’s got the shit storm of how to manage four kids, a house, and a massive donkey-sized dog they call Pipsqueak. I’m in awe that she even managed to get out of bed this morning.
“Melinda, you know you don’t have to be my dating guru? I’m grateful and all, but you know, some quality time with my favourite girl is probably all I need, yeah?”
“Oh honey, you know I love doing this stuff. Besides, I was all fired up for a wedding, but then you finally went and dumped Incompetent Chris. So, we’re finding you a plan B. What the hell is that loud music?”
“Oh, that? It’s just payback for my noisy neighbour. Are you sure you’re okay?” I turn the music down.
“Yes, yes. I’m fine. Are you okay? Not missing Callous Chris I hope?”
“I’m fine,” I automatically say, but realise it’s true. “To be honest, apart from seeing crap-head on Facebook with a new chick, I’m A-okay.” I grimace. How dare he meet someone else first!
“Listen, I really do have to go. Ed’s trying to feed Pip Chocó pops and you know what his constitution is like. We’ll have turds the size of turkeys if I’m not quick. Call me tonight, but Joanie?”
“Yeah?”
“You will be just fine. You’re gorgeous, you don’t realise how much so, and when I put out the word you were single, I had guys biting my arm off to take you out. You’re quite the catch.”
“You did what-”
“Got to go, speak to you later...”
The line goes dead.
I flip the music to angry loud rock and continue to get ready for work. When I’m showered, I put on my cute little pixie boots, some red tights, and a short-ish black skirt. My white blouse is semi translucent and hugs my breasts in just the right way and my dark hair hangs loose just past my breasts. I push my geeky specs up my nose and smile at myself in the mirror. Despite being under-slept and under-sexed, I decide I look good enough and after switching the music off, I head for the door. My note serves as a convenient reminder and I check the peephole.
All clear.
I step out and take a big sniff of the air.
Two stands opposite me, his poodle in hand. “Hi Bruce, nice morning for a walk?” I ask.
“Ah Joanie, it’s blowing a Hooley out there. Bit frosty too. Be careful you don’t slip and break a hip.” He winks and opens his standard edition red door and escapes inside. I wave him off, despite my offense that he thinks I’m of an age that I could break a hip.
I shake the thought and am ready to stomp off when my foot tangles in a dark grey T-shirt. Six’s T-shirt.
I consider my options. I could fold it neatly and leave it outside his door as a reminder of his cheeky little display last night—it plays on repeat in my mind. My brain heats to a simmer and my thoughts darken.
I could throw it in the dumpster at the side of our building, or even roll it around in Two’s poodles lasting essence, or...
I pick up the shirt and balance it on the end of my index finger, careful not to inhale it, and walk the ten paces to the door beside mine. A door so closely imitated but dirtier. He hasn’t cleaned it since he moved in.
I tap the steel knocker hard, six times and wait. I stare into the peephole, keeping my smugness inside and practice my best I know what you did last night pose.
Even though I’m waiting for it, I’m taken aback when the door finally opens.
Six stands in front of me, leaning against the jar of the door. He’s wearing just a tight pair of cotton boxer briefs. His body is tanned. Not holiday tanned, but an even olive tone that I’m sure continues under his boxers. The gaps between his abs are only slightly lighter and emphasise the curve and dip of the hard peaks.
I want to touch them to see if they are as hard and smooth as they look, but Six coughs to remind me that he is indeed inside this mountain of man. My head blinks up to meet his.
His hair is all dishevel
led. There’s a pillow crease on the right side of his face. I remember the feral sounds that kept me from sleep last night and my jaw tightens.
“Four, you here for a night cap?”
“It’s eight a.m.” My voice is hard and I narrow my eyes to emphasise my annoyance.
I hold out his T-shirt and pin him with my most disgusted look. “You left this outside my door.”
I raise my eyebrows, expecting his embarrassed look, his admission of guilt.
“Shit, Four, it’s eight a.m.? I could have stopped by to grab it later.”
Indignation fills me up from my feet all the way to the top of my head. Steam gushes out from my ears as I firmly tell him, “Six! Some of us work around here. Some of us need to sleep at night. Some of us do not want to hear bad corridor Karaoke, and some of us do not want to trip over—surplus to requirements—T-shirts! Don’t make me bring this up at the owners’ meeting. We ALL lived here in harmony before you arrived. You have to be more respectful; more responsive to the needs of all your neighbours!”
Even I’m impressed by my businesslike stance. I hike my laptop bag up onto my shoulder to emphasise my reasonable and civilised manner.
“Four, I can be as responsive to your needs as you want me to be. In fact, I think you already felt just how responsive I could be. But shit, it’s eight a.m... a man needs sleep...”
Two opens his door to see what all the commotion is about. “Can you two keep it down? I’ve got a date later and I want to be well-rested for it!” Two adjusts his trousers and pushes his slippery toupee back into place.
Six waggles his eyebrows and grins. “Sure, Two—just a lovers tiff, you go rest your jets.” He winks and I watch Two wink back as if high fiving across the hall.
