Next To You

by Sandra Antonelli

‘Who?’

  ‘Reg’s niece, the neighbor you’re thinking about.’ Quincy let in the clutch and stopped at the lights.

  ‘She’s pretty, I guess.’

  ‘You guess?’

  ‘Okay, she’s very attractive and probably a good twelve, maybe fifteen years younger. She’s a personal shopper. Turns out she’s my personal shopper.’

  ‘What’s a personal shopper?’

  Will half turned in his seat. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve never used a personal shopper. Wait a minute. What am I saying? I’ve been your personal shopper for several decades.’

  Quincy looked at him and shrugged. ‘What’s a personal shopper?’

  ‘Like a personal assistant and a fashion stylist who picks out your clothes, and gets gifts for you to give to other people because you’re too pressed for time to shop for yourself. Sound familiar?’

  ‘You’ve never assisted me with choosing my clothes.’ The lights changed. Quincy accelerated. ‘What does your personal shopper look like … and does she have a name?’

  ‘Caroline. She’s a little taller than your daughter-in-law, Sara—hazel eyes, sort of honey blonde, but without too much red. Very slim, too skinny really, but she’s quite attractive.’

  ‘Does this mean you’re interested?’

  ‘How could I be interested? I just met her.’

  ‘You’ve got to start at square one, don’t you? You’ve got to be friendly and get to know her, you can’t just skip ahead.’

  ‘Well, where’s the fun in that?’

  ‘From what I remember before Erika, there’s a lot of fun in that.’ Quincy nudged his shoulder.

  ‘Even if I was interested, there’s a huge obstacle to overcome.’

  ‘What, you mean like Yvonne finally coming back to you for good?’

  Will raised an eye. ‘I was not aware you and my sister shared the same misguided theory.’

  ‘Come on, man, Rebecca knows—hell, we all know—you’ve lived the last thirty years thinking your ex-wife will come back to you for good.’

  ‘This isn’t about Vonnie.’ Will laughed.

  ‘Did I just piss you off?’

  ‘I laughed. Does that sound pissed off to you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘No.’

  Quincy made a right turn. ‘Okay. What is it then, that she’s younger? So what.’

  ‘What makes you think her age is the obstruction?’

  ‘So it is Yvonne, then?’ Quincy pulled into the muddy construction site and switched off the Jag’s engine.

  This time Will snorted.

  They got out of the car at the same time. A moment later, Will handed Quincy a blue hard hat. The man put it on and said, ‘I know you’re so accustomed to your appearance drawing attention you don’t even think about it, but maybe inside you’re worried how a younger, little blonde number on your arm might magnify that attention.’

  ‘Her age doesn’t matter. Her life baggage and the fact she’s my neighbor does. If we got involved and things went south, one of us would have to move, and I don’t do move. I like where I live. I’m comfortable where I live.’ Will donned his hard hat, which looked more like a blue pith helmet with a wide brim to shade his face. He slipped on dark sunglasses identical to the blue-tinted spectacles he’d removed and dropped those into his inside jacket pocket. ‘Besides, I’m surprised you think I’d worry about how it would look when you and I both know I exude nothing but confidence. I convey coolness. I epitomize quiet elegance.’

  They walked towards a group of men in work clothes standing outside the beige, graffiti-sprayed trailer.

  ‘Is that what your personal shopper told you?’ Quincy said.

  ‘I exemplify self-confidence.’

  ‘She did, didn’t she?’

  ‘I radiate …’

  ‘No Murphy, you reflect.’

  ‘Hey, isn’t your wife ten years younger than you, you old fart?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah. Why don’t you bring Carolyn sailing?’

  ‘It’s Caroline.’

  ‘Fine, bring Caroline sometime before you and the In-As-Free are dry-docked for the season.’ Quincy turned to the workmen. ‘Gentlemen …’ he began.

  ***

  Caroline sifted through a pile of scarves, trying to find one to accessorize the blouse for her new client.

  Rosemary’s daughter had sent her for a makeover. The woman was a welcome change from the previous client, a self-important blonde who had been a trial of patience. Personal Shopping was Rosemary’s first stop before she headed off to have her hair done. She grumbled to her daughter from the fitting room, ‘I like green. What’s the matter with me wearing green?’

  ‘Caroline, will you tell her what’s wrong with green?’ the daughter grumbled back.

  Scarves in hand, Caroline turned. ‘Nothing’s wrong with you wearing green. Trust me, it’s all about the shade of green you wear and where you put it.’

  ‘Well I don’t know about this one.’

  Her daughter rolled her eyes, as she’d been doing for the last hour and a half. ‘Moth-er!’

  Built like an Olympic swimmer who barely hit the five-foot mark, Rosemary had wide shoulders, firm arms, and C cup breasts. Plus she had a short waist, slight tummy, rounded hips, and short, slender legs. When she’d arrived, she’d been wearing an olive green outfit. The scoop-necked top was two sizes too small and stretched across her bosom. Her capri pants were too large at the waist and floppy at her buttocks. The worst of it was how the shade of green had combined with her swirl of over-dyed tomato-red hair. She looked like a slightly squashed pimento-stuffed olive.

  Caroline liked a fashion challenge.

  Rosemary was unsure about the outfits Caroline had chosen, and complained. She moaned about the height of the kick pleat on the navy skirt, whined that her boobs were going to be squashed by the cut of the pink corduroy jacket, protested about a pair of forest-green cigarette pants and a brown blouse because brown only looked good when it was dirt.

  The moment Rosemary stepped out of the little room, her grousing ended. She took in her reflection in the three-way mirror. ‘I like this! How did you know it would look so good? I keep thinking you’re going to be so wrong and I end up looking wonderful!’ A colossal smile lit up her face.

  Score! Caroline smiled back. ‘You only need to know your shape and ignore what the number on tag says. Don’t get caught up in the idea that you’re one size. A size six in one label is a size eight in another. All that really matters is how it looks on you.’

  ‘Listen to her, Mother.’

  ‘Everything she picked out for me looks great. So how do I do this myself? How do I do this after today?’

  ‘It’s simple,’ Caroline said. ‘Think tall. Think: elongate your frame. Skip pants with cuffs and anything that ends mid-calf because they’ll cut you off. Straight cigarette pants, like the ones you’re wearing will make you look taller because the line is longer. Wide necklines accentuate your broad shoulders, making you look like you’re all boobs with no waist. If you want to show off your cleavage wear a V-neck or an open neckline. If you’re unsure about a color, stick with the classics like black, white and navy, keep the other colors for your pants or skirts, and avoid large prints of anything.’ She handed Rosemary a sheet of paper. ‘Don’t worry. I have these tips printed for you, as well as color swatches that suit you best.’

  Rosemary threw her arms around Caroline. ‘You are a treasure! A treasure!’

  Once the women departed, Caroline sat at her desk and dialed her uncle. She put her cell on speaker when he answered after one ring.

  ‘Jello?’

  ‘Why’d you do it?’ she asked.

  ‘Is someone speaking? Jello? Is anyone there?’

  ‘Don’t pretend to be deaf all of a sudden. Tell me why you voided the contract.’

  ‘Because you need the money, Puddin’.’

  ‘I’m doing all right now. I’m standing on my own two feet. I’ve got a little squirreled aw
ay from working with the rabbi.’

  He sniffed. ‘Well, now you have a little more.’

  ‘The sofa and bed you bought me weren’t enough? You could have used it to pay your club membership.’

  ‘I already did that.’ He huffed.

  ‘Okay, so then you could have joined another golf club or country club.’

  ‘I could have done a lot of things with it, but I don’t need it. Don’t you know I’m just trying to use it all up now anyway?’

  ‘Uncle John …’

  ‘Uncle John? Oh, you’re serious,’ he said, and made a tut-tut sound.

  Caroline pictured him making a floppy gesture with his hand, like he always did whenever he made that I’m-changing-the-subject noise.

  ‘You’ve been sleeping, haven’t you?’ he said. ‘I knew you would. I knew you’d sleep all night long, so did Julie. It’s better you don’t have to clean up after that rabbi anymore either. What a disaster he was. The man smelled like tuna, and that rinky-dink little apartment you had in his attic smelled like tuna. Hey, did you meet Murphy yet? Have you heard him singing yet? Did he scare you at all?’

  ‘Why would your former next-door neighbor scare me?’

  ‘You’ll see.’

  ‘What’s there to be afraid of? He’s just a big, well-dressed goofy guy. He’s nice. I had dinner with him yesterday, just after I ran into Alex, for the second time in a week.’

  Her uncle spoke like he had a cigar clenched between his teeth. ‘Bonnie Chesterman on the ground floor is terrified of him, but don’t tell Will that. She gets so nervous when he talks to her. All she does is clam up, which is hard to believe since she has a motormouth.’

  There was a puff-puff-puff as he lit his cigar.

  Caroline waved away imaginary smoke. ‘How can Mrs. Chesterman find William scary? He’s funny and very polite. He’s so polite I bet you never knew your kitties used to pee all over his terrace.’

  ‘My girls did no such thing.’

  ‘They did too.’

  ‘Well, he never …’ He coughed all at once. ‘Did you say you ran into Alex?

  ‘Maybe you better put that thing out. I can smell it from here.’

  ‘You saw Alex?’

  Caroline picked up a pencil and twirled it between her fingers. ‘Yes, at the Wellington Diner on Saturday, and he popped up on the street yesterday. You’d hardly recognize him. His hair is down to his shoulders and he has a full beard.’ She dropped the pencil and gave a little resigned laugh. ‘He thought I’d been living with you. You know, I bet he’s been coming around here for a while, just waiting for me. I hate that seeing him made me think moving back was a mistake. I hate that it made me think I should have stayed put with the rabbi. You and Julie were right. It was time for me to start over, make friends, get back to a real job. Grab life by the balls.’

  ‘Damn straight we were right. She’s a smart cookie, that Julie.’

  Caroline twisted the earring in her left ear. ‘Knowing I’m going to have to deal with Alex and his mother all over again pisses me off, and I don’t want to be pissed off. I want to be happy. I want to have an ordinary life and do ordinary things. I knew I’d see him again. I just didn’t think it would be on my first day back, or so close to where I’m living. It put me in such a shitty mood Saturday.’

  ‘Watch your mouth, missy,’ he said. Then he laughed.

  ‘You think it’s funny that I said “shitty?”’

  ‘Yeah. That’s my Puddin’. That’s the potty-mouthed Caroline I remember. Nice to see her again. Smart mouth and all.’ Her uncle puff-puff-puffed again. ‘You still mad at me?’

  ‘No. Will you come to dinner this Saturday? I’ll make pasta alla Norma and we can watch Barbara Stanwyck in No Man of Her Own.’

  He exhaled. ‘You’re not making some kind of statement about your life by choosing that title, are you? No, of course you’re not. Well, as much as I’d love to come and watch my old friend the lovely Miss. Barbara Stanwyck with you, I can’t. I’m going …’

  ‘Golfing.’

  ‘No, little Miss. Know-It-All, I’ve entered a snooker tournament here at the village. Why don’t you ask one of your neighbors and get to know the …’ He snorted suddenly. ‘Yeah. Forget I even said that. Bonnie would bore you stupid. Arch and Dennis will be out clubbing—see, I know what that means. Spiro and Helen will be in bed. Schultz will still be rewriting another crime novel and … Aw, heck! Ask Will Murphy over for dinner again.’

  ‘Um.’ Caroline rolled her eyes like Rosemary’s daughter had. ‘I don’t want a boyfriend, Uncle John.’

  ‘And who said anything about a boyfriend? I mean friends. Where are all your friends, Caroline? What happened to all your old friends?’

  ‘I pushed them all away, or scared them off. I did sort of drop off the face of the planet, you know.’

  ‘Well, now you’re back, and you’re the new kid in town, so make some new friends, and grab life by the balls with them. Make new friends because your dog, an eighty-two-year-old uncle, and someone you have to pay don’t count.’

  Chapter 4

  Will stuffed his house keys into his pocket, pulled out the domestic violence information sheets he’d picked up from the church on Madison, and stuffed them into Caroline’s mailbox. After he’d gathered his own mail, he climbed the stairs and sorted through an assortment of bills, birthday cards, and a postcard from his ex-wife.

  He laughed at his mother’s card, smiled at the one from Tim and Rebecca, and snorted at Yvonne’s scribbled birthday quip about conquering ‘Viagra Falls,’ which wasn’t very different to Quincy’s morning remark about being dry-docked.

  Up in his apartment he rummaged around the hallway closet, dragged a sturdy, red metal box out from behind the upright vacuum cleaner, and took it across the landing to Caroline’s. He knocked and waited for her to answer. His stomach let out a seemingly bottomless rumble.

  He rapped again. When there was no response, he crossed back to his place and set the box beside the front door. When his stomach made another protest, he decided to eat a sensible dinner, despite the hedonistic and lazy attraction of sitting in front of the TV with a container of mocha ice cream. As satisfying as ice cream would be to his taste buds, it would ruin the hour’s worth of swimming laps this afternoon.

  His slim Bose stereo had tiny wireless speakers that ensured big digital surround sound throughout his house and on the terrace. Everything was linked to the wireless system—stereo, computers, and satellite TV—and tuned to a Canadian radio station that broadcast on both web and satellite. Will went to the kitchen to prepare dinner. He opened the freezer and looked at the tub of ice cream, decided again to be sensible, and perused the contents of his refrigerator, singing ‘Treat Her Like a Lady’ with the Cornelius Brothers and Sister Rose.

  With a sideways shuffle move, a head of lettuce in one hand, a carrot and cucumber in the other, he shut the fridge door with his hip, and did a spin on his heels, his jacket flaring open. ‘Woman! Feeel! Reeeal!’ he sang the backing vocals while he ripped and rinsed lettuce leaves.

  He liked evenings like this. Some nights he was out socializing, some nights he was traveling for work, while some nights, like tonight, he’d listen to music, read the paper, and watch a lot of television. With his salad lightly dressed, he grabbed a fork, tucked the newspaper under one arm, went outside into the warm autumn evening air, and had a seat at his outdoor table.

  The radio churned out the classic music he loved. Will crunched carrot chunks, read an article about a proposed city bypass tunnel under the Chicago River, and sang along to Bad Company’s ‘Can’t Get Enough of Your Love.’ He made his way to the financial section to see how CollinsBuilt stock closed singing Grand Funk’s ‘Some Kind of Wonderful.’

  ***

  Early that morning, Caroline took an armload of flattened packing boxes down to the recycling dumpster at the rear of the building. A man with dark brows, a square mustache beneath his nose, held open the dumpster lid for h
er, and introduced himself.

  Wolfgang Schultz, the crime writer, wore a perpetual scowl. He did sort of resemble Hitler—if Hitler had been ten years older, and fifteen pounds lighter, but Wolf was cordial and soft-spoken as he welcomed her to the building.

  On her way back upstairs, she ran into two men in their early thirties. The dead ringer for Tom Cruise said, ‘Hi. I’m Arch, and this is my husband Dennis. You must be Caroline. Reg told us you’d be moving in.’

  Dennis said, ‘We want to have you over for welcome drinks. Are you free Sunday afternoon?’ Dennis had a head of hair that was nearly the same red as Drew and Alex, while Arch’s short hair was waxed into meringue-like fawn peaks. The pair didn’t give her a chance to get a word in, doing most of the talking, chattering away for a good ten minutes, keeping her laughing until they had to run for the bus.

  In the evening, when she came in from walking Batman, Caroline grabbed her mail from the foyer, and met Bonnie Chesterman.

  Bonnie’s velour tracksuit was a blinding shade of orange, but not as blinding as the diamond and sapphire necklace she wore. ‘You must be the C. Jones upstairs,’ she said, flapping the wad of junk mail she’d collected. ‘I’m Bonnie. I never met anyone really named Jones before. A Smith yes, but never a Jones. You’re nice and quiet. Mr. Reginaldi said you’d be. You’re his niece, right? It’s good your dog doesn’t bark too much. I’ve only heard him that first weekend and it’s good he shut up so I didn’t have to come and complain to you. What’s its name?’

  ‘Batman.’ Caroline reached back for the interior door, leading Batman toward the stairs.

  Batman sniffed Bonnie’s foot and headed for the steps.

  Bonnie pursed her mouth. ‘Well, that’s nice. He has nice dog manners. I’m glad he didn’t try to stick his nose in my crotch. I suppose he’s too small to try, but I’m sure he would if he could because that’s what dogs do, you know. You’ll pick up his business, won’t you? I won’t stand for shit on the cement in front of the building stinking up my front room if I leave the windows open. Fresh air is healthy, and I like to leave my windows open. I had them open this morning and I heard you and the boys from upstairs. I’m not saying anything bad about those two because they’re good boys, and I’m all for marriage equality—I mean why should I care, as far as that kind of thing goes, you know, they don’t flaunt it, and they’re not,’ she leaned toward Caroline and whispered, ‘theatrical. Not that it’s any of my concern if they were; it’s just nice they’re so normal instead of being queens. Not that queens aren’t nice, but who wants to live next door to double diva drama when Helen Dimitrios gives us all the Greek diva drama already?’