Authors: Misty Provencher
"You should, but I guess Aidan's admiration only goes in one direction. He's told us all about you." Punk Rock laughs and his brunette cracks a bitchy little smile. Ah yes, she hates me. I'm just a little floored that Aidan's been talking about me enough that they'd want to meet me. I'm not sure what to think of that. Flattered? Embarrassed? Stalked?
Punk Rock puts out his hand. "I'm Shane."
All I can do is blink like the village idiot.
"Shane?" I say. Oh no.
My-belly-button-tastes-like-a-Mojito
Shane? That Shane? Oh crap. He's seen my
Who.
The
Whoberry.
The tropical
Whoflower
in my pants.
I glance at the brunette girlfriend. She catches it and I watch as my shock and hesitation disintegrates her smile like dandelion fluff in a breeze. She steps away from him.
"You know each other?" The dimples in her smile tighten down like bolts in her cheeks. "How?"
"It seems like it, from all of Aidan's stories," Shane says, still sporting the dopey grin. He's looking at me, not her. He should be looking at her.
Jeezus
. And he should wipe the stupid smile off, before we both kill him. Instead, he just takes in my attire with politely raised eyebrows. "Do you bartend, Lydia?"
"No," I say, "I just tend to hang at the bar."
"Ohhh, you're on your way to the
bar
," Ila says, her tone cresting as if it was a mystery I just solved instead of a simple answer. Her eyes cut to Aidan.
I don't know why--except that Aidan's
my
neighbor--but I get this sudden burst of possessiveness, like the proximity of our apartments makes him more mine than any of theirs. Holy shit. I've got to shake that off. He's just a dude that lives next door to me.
That I kind of want to bang.
But won't.
Maybe.
"You're not hanging at the bar, are you, Aidan?" the guy next to her says. My ears perk. The mood in the room suddenly slants toward something like an intervention. What the hell? I don't care what they think of me, but I am a little offended that everyone in the room is throwing their parental controls on my neighbor.
Who belongs to me.
Who I will not bang.
Probably.
Aidan ignores the guy's question, taking me in from head to toe instead. "I like your shoes."
I slant my foot to show off the gunmetal-gray pumps, but mostly the
translucent spike of the heel.
"I usually hate gray, but..."
"They look good on you."
"I used to have a pair like those. Bar shoes," Shane's girlfriend says. She air-quotes
bar shoes
separately.
Whoa. Whatever they think they're looking at, it's definitely not me.
I turn back to Aidan. "You can come along if you like."
I hope he'll say yes just to piss them all off. I try to keep it casual and friendly, even though now I really, really want him to come. I want him to choose me over his pack of bossy friends.
But, it's not like I own him.
I don't.
Yet.
He looks at me and it's like everyone else has cleared out of the room. Aidan smiles.
"I probably shouldn't," he says and even though my smile lags, I hang onto it.
"That's fine," I say. "I'm going to get moving then. Nice meeting all of you."
"Why don't you stay with us instead? We're more entertaining than Mojitos," the guy on the couch says. Doubtful, but the reference to the Mojitos sends my eyes to Shane. Aidan told them about my belly button, but Shane is still acting like he doesn't have a clue of who I am. Miss Air Quotes still looks like she'd like to incinerate me. Shane steps forward.
"You're welcome to stick around," he says.
"I can't. I'm meeting friends," I say. It's not a lie. I meet friends at Modo's every night. "Have a good night."
Aidan rises off the arm of the chair.
"You sure you can't stay?" he asks. His gaze reaches for me, instead of his hands, and it's stronger than if I was trapped in his arms. I can see that he wants to make me stay, like he wants to beg me or tie to me to a chair, but I just smile.
He's got to be
just
a neighbor.
No matter how much I would love to have him begging me, or tying me to his furniture.
We're just not going there. We can't.
And I've got to get out the door.
"I'll see you around, Aidan," I say.
"Absolutely." His eyes drop, along with his smile, as I turn away.
<<<<>>>>
And then there are the drinks. They all taste flat and pissy. Every single one stirs thoughts of Aidan's next-door-soiree that seemed like a full-blown, intervention of strangers. I should've knocked Miss Air Quotes in the head and called out Shane, the one-night-wonder. I should've let her know that her boyfriend's tongue once had an intimate
conversation with my belly button.
"I thought you'd be here," a man's voice says from my elbow and the voice is unmistakable. I turn to him with a frown.
"What the hell are you doing here, Des?"
"Checking up on you."
"Three times in two weeks? You're starting to act like you're my husband or something."
"You can always look at your ring finger, if you forget."
"Don't get me started," I grumble.
"You look lovely..."
"Seriously, why are you here?" I snap. "You know we shouldn't be seen together in public like this."
"Change of rules." He shrugs. Like it's that simple to just reconfigure the whole game. He steers me away from the bar, to a corner table where I can hear what he's saying. Grabbing a waitress, he orders me a Slippery Nipple and himself a Hole In One, twerking his eyebrows at me as he does it. He tips the waitress a twenty, dumping it on her tray without even looking at her, once the drinks are on the table.
He takes a slow sip, watching me over the top of his glass. I can smell the warmth of the booze clinging to his words. "I see you all the time, right beneath Claudia's nose at the house, so I thought, why
not
here?"
Yeah right. What I think really happened is that he just got a good look at Aidan and it's just like dangling a carrot in front of an ass.
"I can tell you why not here. Because Modo's is hardly a 'professional meeting' kind of a bar. You're going to blow your cushy ride if you're not careful," I say, chewing on the straw in my drink. "Maybe end up in jail. Besides, I don't want you here. This is too confusing as it is."
"There's nothing confusing about it. You are my designer. It's not like we can't meet for drinks to discuss a project. Christmas is coming. I'm meeting you to discuss plans for an upcoming party."
"That I can never attend."
"It's a conflict of interest." His eyes flash. He knows it's a veiled threat. Des doesn't do threats well. "And you are a loyal wife. Your husband's firm always schedules their party two
Fridays before Christmas, just like we do. Don't forget, Lyddle, you've been part of this deal from the start. If I go down, you're coming with me." He reaches across the edge of the table and twirls the skinny tip of one of my dreads around his fingertip. "I wish I'd never gotten you involved in any of this, Lydia, but my only alternative was to divorce. You know I can't live without you. I'm not the one being selfish here. All I've ever wanted to do was give you everything. If it means a little creative license here and there, well, I guess we've proved that we can both live with that."
What can I say? He's right. I don't have any money without him. I have no skills to get a job and I can't go back home to be a burden on my mother. I gave up everything to be with Desmond and that means accepting whatever he can give me, even if it's not
him
.
My buzz mercifully kicks in, from sucking my drinks through the stirrer straws, and I don't want to kill it with this conversation. Better yet, I'd like Des to go on home to his fake wife so I can get my groove on and find a new face to focus on for the night. I set down my drink.
"Alright, I got it. You can go home now."
"I think I'll stay for a while. Claudia's visiting a retreat."
"Come on, Des. I know why you're really here," I say with a grin. He perks an interested eyebrow. "You don't have to be jealous--he's not coming. My neighbor really got you nuts, didn't he?"
"Not at all." He leans back in his chair, arm loosely extended on the table as if he's the king of this domain. I almost laugh. I like that he's a little jealous. It's a nice switch.
"The only time I see this much of you in one week is when you think there's another man around. So let me just put you at ease. Aidan's
only
my neighbor. You don't have to scout out my apartment complex anymore. I'm not fucking him."
"So crass, Lyddle" he chuckles. "You think that he's why I'm coming around?"
He reaches under the table, the tips of his fingers sliding over my leg and then under, to the tender back of my knee. It melts me more than I'd like to admit, but I manage to croak out a throaty, "Yes."
His touch is expert and soft, as if his fingers slide up into a more intimate place then just the crook of my knee. The delicate pressure he applies makes my head spin. He catches my gaze and his eyelashes flutter like the nimble legs of a seductive spider, enchanting me with their lazy dance.
His voice is deeper than the bass beat on the dance floor. "He is not the only reason, Lyddle."
CHAPTER SIX
My tongue tastes like an old shoe that has spent the night walking through a sewer. And the rest of me--my arms, my legs, the tips of my hair--is a pitiful collection of limp socks. I wake, face-down on the pillow like I was trying to smother myself. With my first breath, I suck my pillowcase into my nostrils. Jerking up my head sends atomic throbs through my skull and makes me think I should've let myself finish the job with the pillow. I lay back and try to breathe between the hyper,
Richter ripples of my hangover.
On mornings like this, I have to lie very still until the throbbing ebbs and my memory can kick in again. But, today, I should've just enjoyed the pain and left it at that.
Des was here. I remember draping myself over him so he could drag me down the hall to my apartment. He felt me up for the door key. Mrs. Lowt opened her door and shut it again once she saw Des. She doesn't want anything to do with grabbing his butt.
I almost threw up in the kitchen sink. Des told me I was a mess and put me to bed. He slipped between the sheets shortly after. I scour my memories for sex and feel around, looking for clues, but I think Des only took off his shoes.
One of my nightmares woke me at dusk. I reached for him and felt the soft fabric of his pants, the tight knit of his shirt, the ribbing of his socks beneath my toes.
"I'm not going to stick around if all you're going to do is cry and make me feel like shit," he grumbled. The memories drift in and out--I remember opening my eyes and seeing Des there, looking at his phone. Then, opening my eyes again, I remember him lying on his side, looking at me.
I push my leg over the sheets now, checking to be sure he's gone. Of course he is, but he left at dawn. It's bright outside now and Des usually turns to ash any time past three in the morning. I don't know why he stayed so long. Even if Claudia's out of town, the help might report back that Desmond wasn't home, tucked in bed, after the bars closed. I'm surprised he'd chance staying the night, but then it occurs to me. I was right after all.
Des was waiting for Aidan to go out in the morning, so he could leave at the same time.
<<<<>>>>
Standing in my mirror, I smash a black baseball hat on my head and put on my sunglasses. The knee-high boots are a necessity and I spend thirty-five, excruciating minutes adjusting the hat and smoothing out my trench. There's no way I can make myself acceptable enough, so I need to make myself invisible instead; just any other shadow of a person moving down the sidewalk.
But, of course, it's not that easy. Aidan crashes into me as I walk out the lobby door.
"Hey, stranger." He once-overs my black
ensemb
and smirks. "Invisible is the new black, huh?"
I kind of hate that he sees right through it, but the sensual little tug of his lips, as they drift toward his right cheek, makes it
forgivable.
"Shhh, you never saw me." I brush past him.
"It's hard to do that," he says, falling into step beside me. "Where are you off to?"
"Grocery store."
"That's amazing. It's exactly where I was headed."
"That
is
amazing, since you were walking into the lobby."
"I just got turned around. It happens when you're new to a place."
"Which store were you going to? There's two."
"Probably the same one you were. You know--that one with all the food."
"Oh yeah, that one," I say. I consider turning him back toward the lobby with a biting comment, but the size of him, walking beside me, does the opposite of what it usually would. Usually, the fact that I'm not dressed properly would make my skin crawl until I was alone again, but he doesn't have that effect on me. It could be the breadth of his shoulders, spreading out like a wide canopy just a little higher than my eye level, or--
damn
--his body, his face, his work boots, the scent of his cologne all over his jacket...who knows. Aidan's combinations pick my lock. I let him walk along with me.
"Thanksgiving is next week," he says. I laugh.
"There's a conversation opener," I say. "Is that what inspired you to come along with me?"
"Maybe. I've got to grab a turkey."
"Aren't you going home for the holidays?" I say it the way a gooey, holiday commercial would.
"No," he says. "Too far. What about you? Where's home?"
"You've seen it. 2B."
"Kind of tight for your whole family."
"Har har. You really are nosey," I tell him, but there's no bite to it. "They're in Oregon."
He whistles. "That's a hike from here. How did you land in Michigan?"
"My husband."
"Oh yeah, him." A blast of cold air rushes up the sidewalk after a passing car and Aidan stuffs his hands in his pockets. "He seems like a real interesting guy."
"
Interesting
. I've never heard Des called that, but it fits."
"It seems like you have a different kind of a relationship."
My instinct should be to defend what I've got with Des, but I don't even know what I have with Des anymore. The best I can do is a stiff little shrug. "You could say that."
"Does he live with you?"
I consider the question and what my answer should be for a few steps. We take the corner and head down Elm, toward Main, and I decide to opt out of answering with a subject change.
"So you're cooking for Thanksgiving. Are you inviting all your friends from the other night? They seem like a real good time."
He turns his upper lip under and chews on it a second before answering. "About that..."
"I don't think your friend Shane remembered me."
"No, I'm pretty sure he didn't."
"Well, that's good. I think his girlfriend gave him amnesia."
"Wife. Natalie." He shifts uncomfortably.
"They don't seem like they'd be your crowd. It felt more like an church meeting." I say with a little laugh. Aidan pulls a hand from his pocket and coughs into his fist.
"Actually, they are friends, and it was a gathering of recovering addicts," he says. Oh shit.
"Oh."
"I'm a recovering alcoholic. I have eighteen months."
"Well, at least that makes more sense. I was wondering why your friends got so squirrely when I invited you to the bar. I guess meetings like that don't just pop up like flash mobs." I try to laugh, but my arms are suddenly warm and a little itchy inside my coat. We turn onto Main and I can see the grocery store only a block ahead. Oh great. What's he going to think when I load my grocery cart with bottles of booze? I just want him to leave, so I can get in, get out, and get back home. Aidan touches the sleeve of my coat.
"Does it bother you?"
"Yes. I hate recovering alcoholics. They're traitors to the bottle," I say with a smirk. "No, Aidan, I don't care at all."
Except that he's probably going to be judging me now. And preaching.
"You really don't, do you?" he says and his expression is a little too sincere.
"It's not my business what you do with your liver, as long as you don't get all judgmental about what I do with mine."
"I've got no room to judge you."
"Good." We reach the doors of the Stop -N- Shop and he stands aside so I can go in first.
"I want to invite you," he says, "for Thanksgiving dinner."
"Oh, uh..." I make a big job of untangling a grocery cart from the line of them inside the door. "I don't know. I think we have plans already."
"We?"
"Yes," I say with another little frown. "My husband and I."
<<<<>>>>
I call for emergency backup the second I get home from the grocery store.
Aidan has rattled me. He carried home my bag of bottles with a few groceries thrown in, to make it look like I eat, after he decided he didn't need anything from the store after all. The whole walk back to our apartment building, he didn't push for big answers, but just asked me little things- like if black was my favorite clothing color, if I like watching movies, if I ever had any animals. He spent most of Elm Street telling me stories of his childhood-he's got an autistic brother, a mom who likes to make soap, and Ila, the sister who was at his apartment party. Although he never asks me to reveal any of my secrets, when I get back inside my apartment, with the door locked behind me, I have this weird sinking feeling, as if I just told him everything.
I leave the bag on the counter, pour a shot and down it like medicine, and then I call Jan. He's the only person in my world, besides Des, that knows what's going on in my marriage. Jan is my hair stylist and confidant.
He's at my house that night with a bottle of wine, a rolling bag full of cosmetics, and a camera slung around his neck.
"New gig," he says as he rolls through my door. "I'm trying to get my faces into Voyeur magazine. So you're guinea pigging for me tonight."
"Alright," I say. "Do me up."
He starts setting up as I dump a jar of pasta sauce in a pan to heat on the stove top. I pour noodles into a colander in the sink as Jan joins me in the kitchen.
"Oh honey, you're cooking?" He takes the glass of wine I offer him and pokes at the gelatinous noodles with a cautious finger. They move in a clump and he winces. "What have I ever done to you to deserve this?"
"We can order take out," I say. Jan takes a gulp of the wine.
"No, no, you went to all that effort to open a jar. I'll eat it," he giggles. "But let's just do faces first, in case your dinner is already plotting our deaths."
"Good plan," I say. I put a lid on the sauce and turn it down on low. Jan returns to the living room and opens up his enormous make-up suitcase. I sit on the couch as he applies layers of moisturizer and primer and foundation to my face.
"So what's the emergency?" Jan asks. "I was just thinking the other day that I haven't seen you since I put in your
dreads. They still look stunning, by the way. Something new with you and Des?"
"Nothing with Des. He's still with Claudia. I'm still here."
"Sad, isn't it? Everybody wants a bad boy, until they have one," Jan sighs. I know the sigh--it's the one Jan assigned to his own bad boy, Robert.
"How's it going with you and Robert?"
He groans. "He's still cheating, still coming and going whenever he feels like it. That's the real tragedy--one day you realize that he can't turn it off and it no longer turns you on."
I nod in depressing agreement.
"Des is still paying your expenses though, isn't he?"
"Yeah."
"So lucky," he clucks.
"My husband's married to another woman. That's luck alright--bad luck."
"No, it's pure skill is what it is, honey." Jan reaches for another bottle of something that he applies with his ring finger, in light dabs across my face. "I miss being a kept woman. Robert's never going to be that man. I'm the one that keeps us afloat."
"At least you can."
"I've said this before, and I'll say it again. If you hate being tied to Des's leash, you could always come and work at my salon."
"You know I appreciate the offer, but I can't afford to live on that."
"Not like you do now, no. But you could survive. Why don't you try going back to night school again? Get yourself ready to get on your feet."
"It's pointless. It's still only a high school diploma. I can't get a decent job without a college degree."
"So, get a GED and go on to college."
I swallow a laugh with some of the wine. "Yeah, right."
"The academic mumbo jumbo isn't really you, is it? You're right. You should make a bee-line into modeling, like I told you from the start."
"Right." I roll my eyes, but I wonder if he really thinks I'm not smart.
Jan steps back to assess the make-up while simultaneously duck-facing me. "Yes, right...look at the shape of your eyes, Lydia. I don't have to tell you you're exquisite. You're like an edgy, punk rock Cleopatra."
"Des would never go for it," I say. Jan sighs.
"You are really sour tonight. What else is going on?"
I take a sip of wine to buy myself a moment of thought. I called Jan so I could talk to him about Aidan, but now that I'm about to, it feels wrong to do it. Like I'm going against Des. Or how it's a stupid idea to keep playing around with, since Aidan's my neighbor. I know I can't
have
Aidan, so there really isn't much use in even talking about him. Then again, just thinking about him gets me off and it's a lot better than thinking of how I'm stuck in a marriage with a criminal who's banging a widow for her cash flow.