by Elsa Kurt
Does anyone pay attention to No Trespassing signs anymore? I’ll teach her.
“No trespassing,” Katharine whipped around and yelled. “Didn’t I make it clear I’m not taking any questions? I’m going to give you until the count of three to get off my property, then I’m going to run you off it myself!”
“Oh! I—it’s me, Janie. Your neighbor? From…next door? You, um, invited us to a party at your house this weekend? I’m checking if you needed any help? Or, maybe I’ll just come back…”
“Janie!” Katharine palm smacked her forehead. “I’m sorry, no, please. I thought you were one of those reporters and… never mind. Uh, come in.”
Ugh, why did I invite her in? I have no idea what to say to this woman. ‘Hi, sorry I ate six years’ worth of cookies and never said thank you? Janie followed Katharine inside like a skittish kitten, her purse clutched to her chest. Once inside, her shoulders dropped, and her eyes grew round as she took in the interior of Katharine’s small house. Katharine looked around, too, trying to see it through Janie’s eyes. The front door opened onto a small, four by six-inch, vintage and slightly threadbare rug. Straight ahead, there was the staircase leading upstairs. It was walled on the left, with a white banister on the right. To the left of the foyer, a pale-yellow half wall. On it, a row of hooks fashioned from antique keys. A windbreaker hung on one, a floral print umbrella and a set of keys dangled from another. Her garden boots leaned against each other on a little blue rug. Over the ledge, a view of the small dining area. Rectangle farmhouse table, four mismatched chairs at each side, and a mason jar of blue hydrangeas. Beyond that lie her sunny kitchen. A butcher-block island took up the center of the wide room. Suspended above it, an antique looking wrought iron pot and pan rack with copper cookware gleaming from each hook. In the center of the island sat a milk pitcher with more of those deep blue hydrangea blooms. A lone chair was pulled out from underneath the lip of the island, a coffee mug set before it. Copper accents mingled with rustic wood throughout the tidy space.
To the right of the foyer, her living room. The fireplace was trimmed in flagstone and flanked by two built-in bookcases holding rows of books, framed photographs, and a few potted plants. Between the fireplace and a well-worn caramel colored leather sofa sat a hand-carved teakwood oriental blanket chest, made in the early 1800’s. It was one of Katharine’s few valued possessions, found at a steal in an antique store several years before. It was a warm, cozy room, inviting and charming with its earthy tones and plush area rug over the wide-plank floorboards. Katharine always smiled a little at the sight of it.
“Oh! Well, this isn’t what I expected.”
Katharine blinked at her, unsure how to react. When she’d bought the small house, it had been boxy and compartmentalized, outdated and drab. To Katharine, it was claustrophobic, but she could see the potential when she closed her eyes. So, with the help of a very patient and tolerant contractor, she set about knocking down walls, restoring the wood beams in the ceiling, and creating a space which embodied all the things she loved— old libraries, farmhouses, cottages, and cabins. She also knocked down the wall separating two of the three upstairs bedrooms. One large master bedroom and an office were all she foresaw herself ever needing. The end result was the cozy, warm, yet bright living space she’d hoped for. Katharine cocked her head at Janie.
“What were you expecting?”
“I—well, to be honest? I imagined you’d have, like, all white…everything. And famous art, like Picasso or something, on the walls. Sleek stainless-steel appliances and a ritzy fireplace, and…” Janie blushed, “Sorry, I guess I may have given it too much thought. I swear, I’m not, like, a stalker or anything!”
Katharine laughed, taking mercy on the woman. She had a pretty, all-American, girl-next-door look. Long strawberry blonde hair swept into a neat ponytail, big blue eyes, Barbie-esque height, and ultra-friendly air. She was literally the complete opposite of Katharine. The realization caused Katharine to smile at her.
“No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m afraid I’m a little on the reclusive side. It’s nothing personal at all, I’m just…”
“Anti-social?” Janie nodded and scrunched her nose, wincing a bit as she said the words. No doubt worried that Katharine still might bite her head off at any moment, but still wanting to be helpful.
“Yeah, something like that. Anyhow, can I offer you a drink? Coffee, tea…?”
“You got any wine?”
Katharine blinked in surprise.
“Uh, why yes, actually, I do. Red or white?”
“Oh, anything will do. Jim and the boys have been driving me crazy. It is the worst having them all home! Summer vacation cannot end soon enough, I tell you.”
Katharine poured them their wine and smirked. She remembered her and Nate’s summer vacations well. They drove their parents insane. Her smile faded as a darker memory seeped into her mind. Summer camp was not an option for Nate and Katharine, thanks to bullies. So, they spent their summers home with their parents, too. Suddenly, she remembered she had company. Small talk, must make small talk.
“No camp for the boys?”
“Ha! Have you met those two terrors? There isn’t a camp in the state that’ll take the McNamara boys. Not for lack of trying, mind you. Last year, they got kicked out of two camps. Two. This year, I told Jim, I said, ‘Babe, I am not having it. No way. You change your shift, I don’t care how you do it, but you are helping me with these two this summer.’ I won that battle, thank you very much.” She raised her wine glass and clinked it against Katharine’s.
I like this woman. Could I be making a second friend? In one day? Miracle, an absolute miracle.
“So, your husband does shift work? What exactly does he do?”
Now it was Janie’s turn to slow blink at Katharine. “He’s a… State Trooper. There’s a cruiser parked in our driveway, like, every single day.” She wagged her thumb in the direction of her house as she spoke. “It says, ‘K-9 UNIT on the side.”
These are statements, but each one ends with an upward inflection. Katharine perks up at the last statement-that-sounded-like-a-question.
“You have a dog?”
Janie set her hands on the table, with her fingers spread as if bracing for an earthquake. “Oh, my. You really don’t get out much at all, do you?” She smiled to lessen the harshness of her rhetorical question.
Katharine shrugged and put her hands out, skyward. “Arrest me, guilty as charged. Oh, wait! No pun intended.” She giggled at her own accidental joke and was surprised when Janie joined in. She shook her head and rolled her eyes as she did, but Janie laughed nonetheless. When she stopped, she answered Katharine’s question.
“Yes,” she sighed. “We have a German Shepherd named Dax. Jim and Dax jog past your house practically every day. Two summers ago, he got out and ended up on your front porch. Jim came up your driveway searching for him and found the two of you on your porch swing reading a book. Well, you were reading, Dax was sleeping. Does this ring any bells?”
Katharine’s brow drew together for a moment, then she thumped her forehead with her palm.
“That was your husband! Oh, wow, that was your dog? He was so sweet. I kind of hoped no one would come for him.”
“Dax, sweet? I wish the guys at the barracks could hear you say that! No one except for us can get close to Dax, he’s too aggressive. They almost retired him from the program for it, but they’re giving him one more year. Anyhow, I’m impressed that Little Miss Recluse here won the favor of big bad K-9 Dax.”
“Well, I guess one mean old dog can recognize a kindred spirit, right?”
“Oh, stop! You’re not old … or mean! In fact, you are way sweeter than you seemed on…”
Janie slapped her hand over her mouth, and her eyes went saucer-wide.
“You saw this morning’s show.” Katharine stated flatly, “Great, now the whole world thinks I’m horrible.” Then she dropped her head on the table with a groan. Janie tentatively
patted her shoulder.
“There, there, now. It—it’s not so bad, sweetie. As of this morning, only three networks picked up the story. Although I suppose by now, it’s spread like wildfire…”
“Not helping, Janie,” Katharine’s voice came out muffled against the crook of her arm.
“Right. Sorry. Well, it’ll all blow over. That gif will be replaced…”
“You saw that, too? Oh, man.”
“Darn me and my big mouth. Honestly, all the girls at the gym could talk about this morning was Mitch Ford’s blue eyes. And the way his jeans fit. The ones at the coffee shop? Same! All day long, it’s been ‘Mitch Ford this’ and ‘Mitch Ford that.’ It got so even Jim had enough of listening to me!”
Janie laughed at her attempted humor, Katharine did not. Although, she did start to feel a little bit better. Until she caught Janie avoiding eye contact. “You’re just sparing my feelings, aren’t you? Tell me the truth. What’s everyone saying?”
“Honey, are you sure you want to hear it? I mean, don’t they say it’s better for celebrities to not read stories about them?”
“Well, yes they do. But I’m not a celebrity. I’m a relatively small-time author no one would ever even recognize on the street.”
“Oh, honey. They will now. It’s not only the gif that’s gone viral, it’s the whole fireworks between you and Mitch Ford that’s got everyone talking. They’ve dubbed you two, ‘KatMitch.’ You know, like ‘Brangelina’ and KimYe. No? You’ve never heard of—never mind. Anyhow, what I’m saying, is that you two are a thing.”
“B—but, we’re not a thing. There is no ‘thing’ going on. He’s a jerk, hell-bent on making me look like the jerk.”
“Mhmm.”
“No. Not, ‘mhmm.’ Really!”
“Okay, well, if you say so. But, between me, you, and this bottle of wine, I know I’d—”
Janie’s cell phone buzzed. She pulled it from her purse with a heavy sigh and rolled her eyes as she read the message.
“Ah, well, there’s the ‘Ji’ to my ‘Jimne.’ Apparently, Jeremy has flushed Joey’s goldfish down the toilet, alive. Now, Joey has Jeremy’s Yugimon cards and my crème brule torch. So, on that note, I’m out. See you Saturday?”
“You’re so calm. How are you so calm right now?” Katharine was agitated for her, but Janie looked nonplussed.
“Please, honey, you think this was my first glass of wine today? Kidding, I’m kidding.” Then she put her hand up to the side of her mouth and stage-whispered, “I’m not kidding.”
They laughed, and Katharine walked her to the door with wishes of good luck. Janie, in her yoga pants and her form-fitting, racerback tank top, strolled down the driveway as if in absolutely no hurry at all. Her long ponytail swished with each step. She’d already pulled her phone out and was composedly telling whoever was on the other line that when she got home, there was going to be a reckoning and they all had better run. She used the same tone of voice one would use when saying, ‘I made you this nice apple pie, and there’s ice cream to go with it. Hope you like it’. Katharine was impressed. And exhausted.
A glance at the clock above the stove told her it was five o’clock. Too late for a nap, too early for bed. Too buzzed to write. What to do, what to do. Katharine had not looked at her phone since leaving the television studio that morning. Now she eyed her purse as if it held a ticking bomb instead of a cell phone. She went so far as to make a full arc around the chair on which it hung as if it were a venomous snake dangling over the backrest instead of an innocuous pocketbook.
You're ridiculous. Get the phone and see what’s going on in the internet world. The moment she reached inside and looked at her illuminated screen with all its icon notifications glaring at her in red circles, she would have to acknowledge the day's events indeed did transpire and weren’t just a bad dream. Ugh. Stop being such a chicken and read them already.
Her inner voice was right. Time to put on her big girl pants and face the music. Or backlash, in this case. Maybe she was exaggerating. The world had probably already moved on from… KatMitch, or whatever the heck Janie called it. Surely, there were more exciting things to focus in on than a woman who wrote books for teens and guy on a reality network television show. How well known was this show, anyhow? She realized she had no idea. Television was never really her thing, she was a book girl.
I guess there’s an easy way to find out. If I could stop being a coward and look him up. There were also nine missed calls. She groaned as she scrolled through the call log. Most were from Tori, and the rest from Nate. As much as she hoped to talk to Nate, her gut told her she’d better deal with whatever Tori had to throw her way. It would no doubt have something to do with all those red alerts on her phone since Tori was the one who’d installed and co-managed the accounts. Which in Katharine’s case, that meant fully managed on her behalf since she had no interest in social media. Or savvy. Just as Ari decided to place the call, the phone buzzed in her hand. It was Tori, for the seventh time. She took a deep breath and answered.
“Hello, Tori. Long time no talk,” she exhaled.
“Katharine! Where have you been? Did you turn your phone off again? Girl, it’s been crazy. Look at your social media!”
“Whoa, slow down, Tori. Um, hi, first of all. Let’s see, hmm. I’ve been home, drinking wine with my new friend and neighbor, Janie. No, my phone was not off… it was on vibrate. What was the last thing? Oh, stupid social media. No, I haven’t looked yet.”
“Oh, my God. I cannot even with you. Katharine, the world is infatuated with KatMitch! They want more, and they want it now. The Up All-Night Show has requested we move your appearance to next week. Actually, they were shooting for sooner, but Justin said Mitch was booked solid, so—”
“Wait, what? Did you say, Mitch? You mean they want us to appear together? No. Nope, absolutely not. I’m not doing it, Tori.”
“Kat—” Tori softened her sharp tone, “Katharine. Sweetheart. This is what we call momentum. Exposure. Opportunity. Success. Don’t you want to be a successful— and by successful— I mean paid author? What is wrong with you, girl?”
Katharine became petulant, knowing her argument was contrary to all Tori had spelled out for her. “He’s a jerk. I don’t want to be stuck on the same stage as him again. He’s going to embarrass me and make me look bad, again. And I do make money. So, there.”
“Do you even hear yourself right now? Are you twelve? Did we just go back to junior high school?” Under her breath, Tori muttered, “Honestly, I do not get paid enough for this nonsense.”
“I don’t—”
“Uh-uh,” Tori stopped her in her tracks, “First, I don’t know why you’re so hard on that fine-lookin' man. After all, he did only show the clip of him falling in the water. It’s not like you made him fall in, right?”
Katharine didn’t respond.
“Katharine Evans, please tell me you did not make the man fall into the pond.”
So, Katharine may have left out a few details about her encounters with Mitch over the past week.
“Well, I didn’t make him. And anyhow, he shouldn’t have been on my property.”
Tori heaved an exasperated sigh and muttered under her breath again. Katharine could pick out words like, ‘out of her mind’ and ‘so help me God.’ It made her smirk a little, the picture in her mind of Tori pacing back and forth. She envisioned Tori shaking her fist at the ceiling, a look of utter vexation contorting her normally placid face. After a pause, she composed herself enough to deal with ‘the talent.’
“Start from the beginning, Katharine. Something tells me you left out a few details over our lunch.
Now it was Katharine’s turn to sigh and behave put upon. “I told you…most of what happened. Fine, I may have left out the part where I threw a soccer ball at him. I mean, I was aiming for his leg, but, well, never mind. Oh, and I poured my drink over his head, but there was only a little bit left in the cup. And I got him thrown out of a bar, so he cla
imed. Oh, and I may have sort of, kind of threatened to beat him with my kayak paddle. But it was his own fault!”
“I’m sorry. Am I to understand you verbally and physically assaulted Mitch Ford, not once, but on several occasions?”
“Yeah, but—”
“Uh-uh. Hold up. Now, you are mad he might ‘make you look bad’? Katharine, you are making you look bad! Tell me this is not on tape.”
Katharine said nothing.
“Oh, my Lord. Of course, it’s on tape. Here’s what we are going to do. You, Miss Katharine who-can’t-control-her-temper, are going to stay off your social media accounts. I, Miss Tori who-is-going-to-try-and-fix-your-mess, am going to do a full social media takeover.”
“Well, technically, you already run my—”
“Shh. No talking. Here’s what else you are going to do. You are going to go over to that house and apologize to Mitch Ford for your inexcusable behavior. Then, you are going to invite him to your little party. Then, you are going to turn your little self right back around and get back to your house. Got it?”
“But I don’t want to apologize. You didn’t see his smug face—”
“Mhmm.”
“Or how he laughed when I fell—”
“Mhmm.”
“Or the way he—he just gives me that look of his—”
“You done yet?”
“Yes. I suppose.”
“Good, now prepare your apology. I am going to work out your new appearance schedule. Goodnight Katharine.”
Before Katharine could protest, the call disconnected. She looked at the receiver and stuck her tongue out at it. It was further proof that Mitch Ford had caused her to devolve into one of the pre-teens she wrote for and about.
Great.
ELEVEN
PUSHED TOO FAR
