Next To You

by Sandra Antonelli

  She looked down to the wooden deck for some relief. While she didn’t find relief, the dark, aged wood beneath her shoes gave her courage to speak up. ‘William,’ she said. ‘I like being your neighbor. I needed a friend, and it’s been such a fast friendship with you. It’s amazing how comfortable I am around you in such a short period of time. I like having you drop by unannounced; I like watching movies with you. I like having coffee, I like how my dog likes you, and the fact you wind up finishing whatever I order in a restaurant. I like how I can talk to you about anything, and if I had an argument or falling out with my neighbor that would be easy enough to deal with, but if I had one with my friend … it wouldn’t be so simple. I don’t have many friends and I don’t want things to turn from this to awkward, phony chitchat about the movies by the mailboxes downstairs because we … if you and I … well you have your life and … I like you very much Will …’

  She wasn’t simply nauseous, she was woozy: her face had been sucked into the back of her head, the vacuum pressure forcing her eyes to bug out in a way that felt as if she’d spent an afternoon sitting doing shots of tequila instead of an afternoon gliding across gently bobbing waves for ninety minutes. Dizzy, she took a deep breath.

  ‘I like you too.’ William’s fingers brushed down her cheek and under her chin.

  ‘My head’s spinning, William.’

  ‘So’s mine.’

  ‘Erika’s bringing the chicken and I’ve got this.’ Quincy appeared on deck, a bottle under his arm. He held out champagne flutes.

  Caroline’s hand shook as she took a glass. She squinted against the glare reflecting off the crystal and tried to keep the dizziness at bay.

  As Quincy began removing the cork from the bottle, Will stepped forward. ‘Let me help you with that.’ He slipped the bottle from his friend’s grasp and leaned in, turning slightly, saying very quietly, ‘Hey, Skipper, I was having a discussion that might have been leading to an uncharted desert isle for two. Can you make like you forgot something?’

  ‘You mean to say, Gilligan, you two are only getting to that stage now?’ Quincy murmured. ‘What have you been doing all this time? Hell, you better hurry up.’

  ‘I know you’ve got the munchies, but is it too much to ask for a minute?’

  ‘You may not have a minute. Look at her.’

  ‘I’ve been looking at her.’

  ‘Well, you better look again.’

  Will glanced over at Caroline. ‘Aw, shit.’

  Quincy said it loudly, ‘I didn’t think it was possible, but you are actually whiter than Murph, Caroline.’

  ‘I feel awful,’ she said.

  ‘Clearly. Was it the grass?’

  Erika stepped up on deck with the platter of chicken and vegetables, and Caroline’s eyes widened. She looked at the platter of food, at Quincy, then at Will, and back again to Quincy. She swallowed convulsively. ‘Is it all right? Can I … can I … just … over the side?’

  Quincy smiled. ‘By all means. Make some fish very happy.’

  Caroline handed Will her champagne flute, sagged over the port side, and threw up.

  ***

  The Dramamine Erika had mother-henned Caroline with had kicked in. She was asleep.

  Will peered down at her as she lay in the bunk below deck, curled on her side. He set the glass of water on the built-in table and sat on the edge of the mattress, trying to think of a movie where Tom Hanks had crawled into bed and snuggled up with his female co-star.

  Tom’s image was inched out by James Bond—the Timothy Dalton James Bond, the Bond who had been something of a gentleman with the ladies, unlike Connery, Lazenby, Moore, Brosnan, and Craig. Will figured he could act like the more gentlemanly version of the spy, but then he laughed at himself for thinking he could be like Tom, Tim or fictitious 007.

  There was a part of him that wished he wasn’t always such a gentleman, and a part of him that was impressed he’d always maintained a courteousness when it came to women.

  His mother had taught him well, perhaps a little too well, because his good manners often seemed to be mistaken for an unadventurous nature, which was hardly the case. His thoughts were just as impure, as laden with healthy lust, as nudity-filled as the next guy, yet he didn’t ever want to be sleazy. Sleaziness did not sit well with him and given his albinism, if he could eliminate myths or avoid the characteristics Hollywood and pulp fiction always got so flagrantly wrong, he did. He wanted people to see beyond first surprised glances and stares, and he’d taken great pride in setting people at ease, at being affable, polite and chivalrous so people came away with a picture of more than Easter lily skin and a snow-capped head.

  In relationships with women, Will was monogamous. He’d been faithful to Yvonne when they were married. He only ever dated one woman at a time because it was a hell of a lot easier than juggling three at once. He’d been told he was a wonderfully attentive boyfriend, a considerate, ardent lover, and a loyal, valiant friend. All this time he’d displayed valor and a steadfast friendliness with her, but Caroline had piqued his curiosity and aroused his interest in exploring the attraction that was suddenly staring them both in the face.

  He wanted to brazenly waken her with a kiss.

  He wanted her soft fingers to weave into his hair.

  He wanted her multicolored eyes to open and gaze into his as they had earlier when he’d dabbed her nose with sun block, and he began to lean over her, but suddenly he sat back.

  Then Will stood, went up on deck, and had another gin and tonic instead of the shaken not stirred martini so favored by Mr. Bond.

  ***

  Erika had been the only one to remain unaffected by alcohol, pot, or seasickness. She took the boat back to port and drove them home. When Will and Caroline climbed out of the car, Quincy leaned across his wife, poked his hand out the window, and waggled a hang ten surf sign with his pinkie and thumb. ‘Man,’ he yelled out, ‘I’m sooooo wasted! My old lady won’t let me drive!’

  Feeling much better after a sleep and a return to solid ground, Caroline burst out laughing. ‘Are you Cheech or Bong?’

  ‘That’s a good one, Care-o-line!’

  ‘Please sdon’t encourage my hussband.’

  ‘I don’t need encouragement, honey, I just need Pringles!’

  Will chuckled. ‘Are you going to be all right to pick me up in the morning, you old stoner?’

  ‘I’ll be here at six on the dot, William Terrance Damien Patrick Murphy. Home Erika, the Chee-tos await.’

  Erika leaned out the window and looked at Will and Caroline. ‘Why didn’t you ever tell me he wass sixty-five going on sixteen?’ With a wave, she made a U-turn and drove up the street.

  Will unlocked the downstairs door, holding it open as Caroline stepped into the foyer. He said, ‘I’m glad you’re feeling better because now I’m the one a bit unsteady on my feet. You might just have to carry me up a flight or two.’

  They began to climb the stairs. ‘You don’t think I put them off, do you? I mean the barfing and all?’ she said.

  ‘Well, let’s see; they’re not put off by my periodic intoxication or Quincy’s dope smoking, so hmm, I’d have to say … no.’

  ‘Is Quincy a regular weed smoker?’

  ‘No, he’s an occasional recreational doobie smoker.’

  ‘How about you?’

  ‘Okay, here’s a charming factoid, I’ve never smoked pot. What?’ He clutched a string of imagined pearls at his throat. ‘A child of the seventies who doesn’t smoke pot? I prefer a mellower substance like gin to give me a laid-back, slightly less intelligent buzz instead of being maniacally pumped up, paranoid, and craving potato chips. What about you? I know you don’t drink much, but do you ever fire one up?’

  They reached the top floor and stood on the landing outside her apartment. Caroline unlocked and opened her door. Batman came out to give them a welcoming sniff, tail wagging. ‘I have,’ she said. ‘I just don’t now.’

  ‘Somehow, I can’t picture you
smoking grass.’

  ‘I can’t picture you choosing gin. Brandy or cognac, yes, but gin … no.’

  ‘Why brandy and cognac?’

  ‘It’s more sophisticated, quietly elegant, like you are.’

  Will’s smile was wide and it crinkled his eyes. ‘I have to admit, I like when you say that.’ His grin creased into a slight squint. ‘I could be wrong, but I think you’ve got a feather or hair or something caught in your earring.’

  Her fingers went to the pear-shaped ruby at her left ear.

  ‘No, the other side.’ He moved toward her, reaching out to pull whatever it was from the gold claw setting. And then his fingers combed through her hair along her neck. ‘You have hair like Veronica Lake, but you’re always pushing it out of your face. Maybe you should just wear it clipped back like you did today.’

  ‘Well, where’s the mystery in that? She undid the barrette she wore. Her hair fell over her eye. ‘Look what happened to Veronica Lake when she changed her hair.’

  ‘What happened to her?’

  She cocked her head. ‘Because of the war, and all those ladies in the forties who copied her hairstyle, the US government asked her to change it, so the new female work force wouldn’t get their hair tangled in the heavy bomb-making machinery. That’s why Rosie the Riveter had her hair safely tucked under a scarf. The end of Veronica’s peekaboo hair was the demise of her career. She went from mysterious screen goddess to barmaid in some New York City pub. Or maybe it was bar owner. I can’t remember. Whatever she was, it killed her at the box office.’

  ‘Well, we can’t have that happen to you.’ William Murphy the gentleman had conducted himself with decorum all day, but now he slipped both hands into her hair, bowed forward and kissed her.

  Graceful, gentle, his mouth moved with languid ease on hers. She made a small sound, unsure hands fluttering aimlessly. He drew away, taking his fingers from her head as he stepped back. Her chin followed his direction until her hair spilled over her eyes again. ‘Goodnight, Miss. Lake,’ he said. He left her in the doorway, her fingers touching her mouth as she watched him shut the door to his place.

  Pleased with his leading man performance, Will leaned against the other side of his door. He was sure she’d knock. When she did, he opened up and said, ‘Hello. Did you bring popcorn for the second feature?’

  Caroline frowned. ‘William,’ she said. ‘William, we need to be clear about this … it’s not that easy. I know we goof around, but I’m not looking for … we’re friends, I can’t just … it’s not that simple … it’s … uh-oh,’ she said, looking up into his eyes, suddenly out of breath as his arm went around her to pull her onto her toes.

  ‘Actually, it’s pretty straightforward,’ he said, and kissed her again.

  She hesitated, trembling. Tentative fingers touched the back of his head, and he turned slightly, drawing her closer, propping her against the doorframe as her breasts met his chest. His hands slid down to her waist. She felt wonderful. Within seconds, she hummed, her fingers laced into his hair and she sank into him.

  William’s delightful mouth, his gentle touch, was a revelation of what had been absent for too long. Caroline tumbled into the moment and held on to him tightly. She was helpless to stop the sounds that rose in her throat when he deepened the kiss, helpless to keep her hands from running up his broad back or pressing into him to feel the heat of his solid body. The warmth of his blunt fingers caressing her cheek hinted at a change of season. Her body responded, telling her a new season was what she needed. Her brain had other ideas. Her brain alleged that making out with a tipsy buddy was not meant to be so enjoyable.

  Undeniably, the attraction had made itself known, prowling and peeping into her mind for some time. It was perfectly natural to have stirrings of desire—all normal people did, but this was supposed to be chummy and—oh, could William kiss. William was kissing the living shit out of her. William was kissing her, agitating things in a way made her want to find out exactly what his rinse and spin cycle was like.

  Regardless if he kissed like Rhett Butler showing Scarlett O’Hara how it was done, this was precisely the point she’d tried to make to her uncle. It was the case she attempted to present to William on the boat. Having a friend next door was more valuable, hassle-free, and painless, even if the sensual part of her delighted in the present activity. Her body insisted that exploring more of the good looking man living across the landing would be so … lovely, so normal. Normal people did this sort of lovely thing all the time, and she desperately wanted to keep the feeling of normal. She kept kissing him with a welcome, eager mouth.

  When he teased open her lips with the tip of his tongue she matched his move, and wondered if he’d be amenable to simply being her lover.

  Then she remembered this was exactly how she and Alex started. They had been best friends too. They had tumbled and groped their way into their relationship out of need. If the two of them had left boundaries of friendship firmly in place, everything wouldn’t have become so screwed, this moment wouldn’t be so fraught with indecision, and she wouldn’t be here listing the pros and cons of getting it on with William.

  Jesus Christ, She was about to ruin everything she’d won back in her life.

  She made a sound between a groan and burp, and murmured, ‘Stop. Please, William, stop.’ She pushed away, stepping backward, a hand flitting to her cheek.

  Will let her go, not ready for the director to call cut. The scene had been going along magnificently. He was hitting his marks had all the cues down pat. ‘Caroline. Did I hurt you? Did the doorjamb gouge you in the back?’

  She said, ‘I have to brush my teeth.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ve been seasick half the day and I don’t want you to kiss me when I haven’t brushed my teeth since this morning.’

  ‘I don’t care about that.’ He reached out to pull her back.

  She ducked under his arm. ‘I wouldn’t kiss you if you were the one who puked all afternoon.’

  ‘Well, go brush your teeth then and come back here.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not, Caroline?’

  ‘Because I can’t.’

  And all at once Will knew why she couldn’t. She was stumbling over the hump of her wedding vow, even if the hump had already disintegrated beneath her feet. Only Will wasn’t going to bring up that hump unless she did because the only thing he was interested in was kissing her again. ‘I understand,’ he said, but it occurred to him that her apprehension was for another reason.

  Although Will didn’t give a damn if he looked ridiculous with a younger, still-married woman on his arm, maybe Caroline didn’t like the idea of an older man offering a slightly more than half-century old arm. Only if age had really been a factor she wouldn’t have been spirited enough to cross the landing and kiss him back with such enthusiasm. I’m not too old, he thought, she just needs more time.

  Caroline stood in the open doorway to her apartment where Batman sat in the threshold, looking up at them both. ‘I tried to explain this afternoon,’ she said, ‘before I hung my head over the edge of the boat like a mother seagull feeding her chicks. You kiss really well and I haven’t … been kissed for a while. I got carried away. You know, the thing where we stop talking because it’s all so awkward? I really like you, but … what if … this is a bizarre situation.’ She stammered and her face was red, but she looked at him evenly.

  ‘I know we have some unusual circumstances and I’m fine with that.’ He meant it. It was fine because this kissing left a lingering scent of promise drifting in the air between them. Eventually she’d divorce her repugnant husband, and that left the door wide open to possibility. Possibility was exciting, possibility trounced whatever was left of his laziness and not-so-lazy-anymore Will grinned. ‘I’ll see you when I get back from India.’

  ‘Have a safe trip.’ She smiled and shooed Batman inside.

  A few minutes later, Will stepped out onto the terrace with the trace of her on h
is mouth. He had a seat at the table and opened the newspaper he hadn’t read. The song that came out of his hidden speakers was the Main Ingredient’s ‘Everybody Plays the Fool’ and Will laughed because knew he could, he would, for this married woman.

  And he didn’t care how foolish he looked.

  Chapter 10

  While he liked India, Mumbai was not one of Will’s favorite places to visit for CollinsBuilt. Mumbai always left him feeling as if a thin layer of charcoal grime had electroplated to his skin and seeped through his epidermis to settle at the bottom of his lungs. The more time he spent in the tightly packed, smoggy town that felt like something from the Industrial Age, the more he coughed up globs of gray-tinged mucus, the longer he had to stand in the hotel shower to wash the embedded pollution from his skin.

  Here, he stood out more. Not simply because he was so fair, but because he was so tall. He was an arctic skyscraper high above the people of Mumbai. Wherever he went, from the bazaars of Kalbadevi to Horniman Circle, he was followed, pointed at, gawked at. Will tolerated the time he spent in this Indian city. With aplomb, he put up with the stares and the followers and spending twenty minutes twice a day, in the shower turning into a temporary obsessive-compulsive body scrubber, knowing the unpleasant nose clearing and need to hawk globs of snot would pass. But this time, this time he felt impatience layered over the typical grunge.

  He wanted to take care of this meeting with developer Rudyard ‘call me Rud’ Puri as swiftly as possible. He wanted to get back to where he last saw Caroline, in her sweat-drenched gray running clothes, waving to him out her front bay window before Quincy had taken him to the airport. He wanted to get back to that precise moment, to rush back inside, up four flights of stairs to her apartment, and give her a proper kiss goodbye.