by Tiana Laveen
“He was butt naked!” the woman stated with huge eyes as she pointed towards the man’s house.
“Winnie, it was snowing. There is no way you would have been able to tell from way down here. He may have been shirtless but I’m sure he had on some bottoms.” Bailey stole a glance at Chancellor’s third floor windows, not certain which was his bedroom. His house wasn’t close enough to pinpoint the exact whereabouts, but she could tell he was probably home for two of his first-floor lights were on.
“He most certainly was naked. I know what I saw. My eyesight is 20/20. We have children here!” The woman bunched the fabric of her thick white coat against her neck as if catching a chill, but made sure to glimpse as much as possible behind Bailey, trying to get a sneak peek into her home. Wild, blond curls swirled in the wind around her round face as she strained, her nosiness blatantly obvious. Bailey now regretted asking Winnie about the notification on the online flyer regarding the man’s birthday. As soon as she’d brought it up, the little demon of a woman went in on the guy, talking about how cheap he was, arrogant, a playboy, crass, and then, this latest incident—roaming about in his birthday suit in the wee hours of the morning.
“Well, thank you for the donation, Bailey,” the woman finally stated, her eyes still searching inside the home like a bloodhound. Bailey shifted her body and stood in her way, blocking her view, and folded her arms over her chest.
“You’re welcome, Winnie. Have a good night,” she stated dryly, then turned and closed the door, locking it. “Some help you are, Bernie!” Bailey huffed as she made her way back inside. “You jump all over nice people, practically knock them down, but sleep when the maniacs come for a visit. I guess it’s my fault… I saw her walking and thought I’d ask about Chancellor’s birthday. Lesson learned.”
Entering her kitchen pantry, she picked up a box of this, a packet of that. Her counter was soon covered with stuff—box cake mix, canisters of icing, rainbow sprinkles, nuts, the works. Bernie walked up to her, brushing her leg with his broad body and pressing his weight into her knee.
“Oh, so now you want to come over since you see that food is being made.” She beat a few eggs in a bowl. “Well, this isn’t for you… It’s for Chancellor, but you have to call him Mr. Hartmann, because you are a child and need to be respectful to your elders.” She chuckled. “Now, let’s make him some cupcakes, okay? Yesterday was his birthday, and today he shoveled our snow. I wouldn’t have known it was him had the footprints not led back to his house.”
It’s strange though; he should’ve been at work… I never see him out and about during the day, yet his lights were on when I got home. Hmmm, maybe he wasn’t feeling well or had a vacation day.
She shrugged her shoulders and poured in some oil and milk.
“I know we’re a day late for his special day, Bernie, but better late than never, right?”
Fox Point Run was beautiful on cool, starry nights. Of course, Chancellor had to be biased due to his affinity for the Midwest. He was born and bred in Wisconsin, but he’d travelled many places, and his heart always clung close to home. He sat in the dark, the living room illuminated by the glow of the big screen television. His lap had grown cold after his bowl of store-bought clam chowder had turned to ice in his hands. The soup had been decent, but a home cooked meal would have been much better. He didn’t have the energy to cook, despite the fact he had nothing much to do. If he stood in front of a stove, that would be a solemn reminder of what had happened—no job to go to, time on his hands.
He leaned back on the couch and jammed his hand in his pajama pants. A commercial came on featuring a lady singing about spaghetti. He sighed. His fingers found their way around his cock as he stared at her. It was never too late or too early to rub one out. Besides, he hadn’t had sex in over six months, and casual dating was rather time consuming, so he’d given all of that up.
Mmmm, yeah baby, talk about working that spaghetti in the pot … get that long, stiff uncooked noodle ready for your hot wetness…
Just as it was getting good, the doorbell rang, snatching him out of his silly, wayward thoughts and thrusting him into instant sexual frustration.
“Damn it!”
Popping up from the couch, a bit dazed, he hoped and prayed it wasn’t Winnie, or some salesman selling frozen meats in the middle of the night. It wasn’t beyond the realm of possibilities; stranger things had happened. Especially after he’d witnessed a man peddling old Halloween candy door-to-door for a dollar a piece last December.
But it was no creepy candy salesman at all… When he looked through the peephole, he was surprised to see his neighbor dressed in an ankle-length blue coat, with her faithful companion by her side. Slowly opening the door in his long black robe, white T-shirt and loose striped pajama pants, he tried to smile, but soon realized his hair fell wild all over his head and he hadn’t shaved in two days.
I look like shit.
“Oh, hi! What a pleasant surprise, Bailey. And you too, Bernie!” He looked down at the dog, plastered on a fake smile, and waved.
“Hello, Chancellor. I brought something for you.” He looked down at the red plastic domed container she held.
“Oh, really? Well, you’re the new neighbor. Seems I should’ve brought you something instead.”
“True, but it wasn’t my birthday yesterday, now was it?” she stated with a wink. He couldn’t help but smile as she handed it to him. He slid off the lid and took note of the eight gorgeous cupcakes, baked to perfection. The icing was smoothed out just so, and a couple had tiny colorful sprinkles on them.
“Oh wow! Thank you, Bailey. You really didn’t have to. And these are far too many for one person. Would you like to take half home?”
“No, no, no!” She waved him off. “Give them to guests or co-workers.” At those words, his smile immediately vanished. He couldn’t even pretend, fake the funk as he often did in the face of adversity. The tall glass of reality had been presented, and he was forced to drink.
“What? Did I say something wrong?” The woman raised a questioning brow.
“I was fired.” He grimaced, feeling a mixture of shame and anger, all balled up into one big glop of something he could no longer stomach.
That was a bit dramatic I suppose, but I may as well have been…
“What? Oh no! Shit … I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” Bernie began to bark and hop about like one of those balls tethered to a paddle with a string of rubber. Before anyone could form another thought, the testicle violator made a mad dash into his house, practically knocking him over. “Bernie! No!” Bailey brushed past him, chasing the mutt inside. He stood there at his doorway, watching the snow fall for a second or two before turning back to look at his uninvited guests. The woman chased the dog in one direction, and the dog went in the other. He heard a crash, and then another. Slowly closing and locking the door, he took a deep breath and headed into the kitchen.
“Bernie! Damn you! Get back here!”
More loud barking ensued, but he didn’t have the strength to care. He set the cupcakes gently down on the counter and leisurely grabbed a bottle of wine from the refrigerator. Removing the cork, he stood there with the refrigerator door open, shining light upon him. He held the bottle tight like some wino who’d found a twenty-dollar bill on his way to the liquor store. The scampering of paws and feet continued for quite some time until Bailey joined him, huffing and puffing, fresh out of oxygen. He took his time setting the wine back in the refrigerator.
“I’m sorry.” She barely got the words out as she struggled to catch her breath. “I don’t … know what got into him. He broke your lamp. Tell me how much it’s worth and I’ll … I’ll write you out a check.”
“It was ugly anyway,” he mumbled. “Don’t worry about it.” He took her coat and hung it up. He appreciated her apology on behalf of the dog, although he didn’t really care. What more could be done?
He plopped his ass down on a dining room chair.
“No, I have t
o repay you.” She walked towards him. “I came over here to give you cupcakes for your birthday and as a thank you for shoveling my snow, and end up destroying your house. I bet you wish I would’ve kept my behind at home.” She smiled sadly. “And sorry about your job.”
On a deep sigh, he looked down at his table and began to scoot one of the burgundy placemats to and fro. He’d purchased a set of eight, but had only set out two. “I better clarify what I said earlier. I’ve just been feeling sorry for myself so sometimes I speak from emotion versus the actual facts. Well…” He smirked. “Actually, I haven’t been speaking to anyone about it at all—just thinking to myself I suppose. Anyway, I wasn’t fired. It just feels like it.”
“Oh?” She pulled out a chair next to him and sat down, Bernie at her feet. Two pairs of eyes settled upon him. “Do you want to talk about it?”
He shrugged and looked over at the television in the living area. The kitchen and dining room were separated from the massive living room by a pair of Roman type pillars. The television was on, but he couldn’t decipher what was playing. Perhaps a shampoo commercial. Spaghetti lady was long gone. She’d slipped away from his randy grip…
“Apparently, I am unable to keep my cool at work,” he mused with a smirk. “I have brought in more money for that company than it’s made its entire time in existence. My record speaks for itself, but it’s me.” He pointed to himself. “I’m the problem; not my performance, but me. Or that’s at least what they say.”
“Well, are they right?”
Taken aback by her forwardness, he could only offer a tilted smile as he deliberated her question.
“I think I have a strong work ethic, Bailey. I’ll admit I’m not the sweet, cuddly type, but I wouldn’t say I’m unapproachable and evil, either. I just expect people to do what they’re hired to do, whatever it is that may be.” He threw up his hands. “But I guess I have been having a tough time of it. Maybe I have been taking my frustrations out on other people. It’s possible, I suppose.” He shrugged.
“Well, they say admitting the truth means you’re halfway to a solution.”
“Yeah, that’s what they say.” He got up from his seat, went around his kitchen island, and grabbed two small dessert plates out of one of his cabinets. He then took out a plastic bowl from his pantry and set the matching lid aside. He approached his guests, placing one plate with a cupcake in front of Bailey, one on the floor for Bernie, and one for him. The dog began to lick the vanilla icing clean. Bailey delicately unwrapped the thing and took little nibbles of her chocolaty dessert, then licked the frosting as though it were ice-cream. He shifted in his seat as his cock went hard at the sight of her eating, but was soon snatched out of his deliberations when he heard Bernie slurping and shoving his nozzle into the empty bowl, turning it topsy-turvy and scattering crumbs all along the floor.
“You said maybe you’ve been taking your frustrations out on others. I don’t know you well enough to be aware what those frustrations are, Chancellor, but based on your body language and somber mood, you seem stressed out. When was the last time you did something fun?” She placed the empty cupcake wrapper onto the plate and rubbed the crumbs off her hands. She crossed her legs, her eyes on him.
“Two days ago.”
“What was it?”
“I told someone just what I thought of them. It was the final straw for me, but all that I’d been holding in, year after year after year, about this person finally came out. It was a huge weight off my shoulders.”
The woman smirked at him and shook her head. “Chancellor, that’s not fun, unless you’re Ebenezer Scrooge.”
“I prefer the moniker of ‘The Grinch.’” She shook her head at the man. “For me it was great fun, a jolly good time!” He snickered. “Nah, I’m just kidding.” He glanced lazily over at the television once again; this time the weather forecast was on. Snowy, with a chance of bullshit. “I honestly don’t know. I wouldn’t classify myself as depressed. Sounds like it, but I’m not.” He offered a gentle smile to place a red satin tie across the lie, making it as pretty as it could be. “I just stayed so busy. I like being busy, though. I like working. I like making money because I like security—and knowing that I can purchase almost anything I want, regardless of whether I actually go and get it or not, gives me comfort.” And that was the truth.
“And where do you think you got that from?”
“What do you mean?” He glanced at Bernie running his tongue along the floor, then sniffing about to see if there were any last morsels he’d missed. He found the dog’s greediness repulsive, then recalled him slurping on Bailey’s soup. He tucked his judgments away.
“The need to have full control like that? You see financial security as the key to happiness, right? Don’t get me wrong, it definitely plays a part in it. I wouldn’t have gone to college and studied as hard as I did if it didn’t make a difference. But it doesn’t make you smile; it just helps to keep you from crying.”
He pondered her words for a moment and tapped the table. “I’m not a crier, so even if it did, no one would see it.” He held his head high, but felt foolish nevertheless.
“I figured you weren’t. But just because someone isn’t crying on the outside, Chancellor, doesn’t mean they aren’t on the inside.” They sat there silently for quite some time, checking each other out, smiling, then disappearing within themselves. “Well, I guess me and Bernie will get going.” She got to her feet and he followed suit. “Thanks again for shoveling the snow. I knew it was you from the footprints in the middle of the street connecting your house and mine.” She grinned as she made her way to his front door.
“I was wondering about how you figured out it was me. I didn’t leave a note or anything because I didn’t do it for recognition, just to help out. In any case, you’re welcome.” He opened the front door for her, but he wanted to ask her to stay…
“Bailey—”
“Chancellor—”
They both laughed as they began to talk over one another.
“You go first,” she offered as she reached down and gave Bernie a scratch on the head.
“I’m guessing you’re about thirty-five, thirty-six. I’m forty-five now.” He crossed his arms over his chest and rocked back on his heels. “Don’t know if that would be an issue or anything, but I wanted to know if, uh, you would like to go out on a date with me sometime.”
The woman’s lips curved upward.
“Well, first of all, I’m forty-one, but thank you for the compliment. Secondly, I would love that.” She leaned in close to the man, ran her thumb along his lower lip then sucked her thumb before turning and walking out, her dog in tow. “You had some icing on your mouth,” she called out.
“Oh.” He put a finger along where she’d touched him. “All right, well, uh, thank you. So, I’ll give you a call. Wait a minute, I don’t have your number though.” Panic seized him as she headed across the street.
“I have yours. I’ll text my info to you.” He watched her and the hyper collie by her side. Snow drifted up and down under the street lights around their forms until they were safe inside, the door closed behind them. Locking his front door, he went to pick up the broken pieces of his lamp and tossed them into the trash. Each piece made a loud thud as it hit the bottom of the can. That lamp was the only thing left in his house that his ex-wife had purchased.
After their divorce six years prior, she’d headed back to Tennessee but kept the damn thing in storage. Soon thereafter, he’d purchased his house, wanting a fresh start, especially since their son stated he wanted to live with him. Chancellor kept telling himself he was going to get rid of the thing he hated, but for some reason, he never did. He was relieved a remedy came and it was finally removed, even if not on his own terms.
Once he completed the chore, he looked around his place, taking note of what else needed to be done. When the television was off and the dishes cleaned and dried, he made his way upstairs to brush his teeth, take a shower, and lie down in
his big, comfy bed. Perhaps he’d read one of the many murder mystery books he’d collected over the years but had never had time to read.
After a nice warm shower with some contemporary jazz playing in the background, he poured himself a glass of wine, then crawled into his king-sized bed, fluffed his pillow, and grabbed, “The Name of the Rose,” by Umberto Eco. After reading the preface, he delved into the first chapter. He began to feel warm all over, a sense of relaxation that had eluded him not for hours, or even days, but perhaps years. He paused, unable to recall the last time he’d been in bed, listening to music with a glass of wine on the nightstand. Even lovemaking in the past year had become a chore—simply something he’d done to achieve the end goal of a climax, with a woman he wished would leave as soon as possible. Attachments were worrisome, hobbies were time wasters, love and devotion were taxing.
He placed the book down and reached for his dresser drawer, opening up the pile of paperwork that had been given to him relating to his forced leave. He’d initially brought them home to have an attorney look them over, while debating on filing a lawsuit, then thought better of it.
He loved his job and deep down, he really knew the complaints rallied against him were true, at least in part. He was in fact correct that the company was being suckled by parasitic slackers, but that didn’t negate the allegations about his roguish behavior. He flipped through the papers until he landed on a few references for counselors that specialized in anger management. Grabbing a ballpoint pen, he circled around one name and laid the paper out to call the contact in the morning, then placed the rest of the documents back in the drawer. Plucking the hardbound book back up, he resumed reading, and he kept on, soon hooked on the words and disappearing into the tale set in a Northern Italian monastery, beginning in the year 1327…
