Authors: Misty Provencher
Jan stops rooting in his make-up case. "Wait a minute. You haven't broken your three date rule, have you? Is that what this is about? A new
man?
"
"No," I say, but a grin seeps out of me. Jan isn't fooled. He squeals, scooting in close as he waves a fan brush in my face.
"It is a man, isn't it!" he says. "You have man troubles! I can see it in your eyes. Spill, Lydia. You must. Immediately."
It doesn't take much more than that for me to give in, since Aidan's name is bubbling on my lips to be said. I smile. "I have a new neighbor."
"I thought so. Tell me everything. Start with his name."
"Aidan."
"Ohhh, that's sexy."
"Wait 'til you hear his last name," I say, sipping my wine as Jan pulls out an
eye shadow palette. "It's
Badeau
."
Jan gives an appreciative groan and motions for me to close my eyes. A brush taps against my eyelid as he speaks.
"A sexy French man? Honey, you cannot ask for more than that. Tell me he looks like he sounds."
"Better," I say and Jan does a happy sigh. "He's tall, dark hair, and he's got a body that you would fight me for."
"You're killing me. Face? Don't tell me that's the problem."
I open my eyes.
"Not at all," I turn my head away to whisper against the edge of my wine glass. "He's incredible."
Jan lowers the palette and brush. "Then what's the problem? Has Des made you crazy? You should be over there right now, knocking on Mr. Incredible's door."
"If it was that easy, I probably would."
"Ohhh, I see," Jan says. "He's a more-than-three-dates risk, because he lives next door."
I nod. Jan swabs the brush in taupe eye shadow. I close my eyes again.
"Honey, have you ever thought that maybe there are exceptions to the three-date thing? Maybe you should just go down to the courthouse, file the divorce papers on Des yourself, and let it all play out."
"I could go to jail too," I say, pulling my head back from Jan's brush so I can take a sip of wine. "Just for letting it happen."
"Do you really think so? Have you asked anybody?"
"Who am I going to ask?"
"I don't know...the police?"
"What if it is and they traced the phone call back to me?"
"You really think they'd do that?" Jan asks. "I don't think you'd be in trouble. Not the way he treats you."
I look at him dully. "He gives me everything I want."
"He gives you money, honey. That's not everything."
"We both know I can't make it on my own."
"Do we?" Jan asks. "
Do
we know that?"
I just take a long drink, swirling the wine over my tongue. I don't want Jan to launch into an inspirational, pity speech. That makes everything ten times worse and no matter how drunk I get, I always remember it the next morning. Pity has a way of hanging around with the same aftertaste as vomit.
<<<<>>>>
"You should use the chain," he says. "You didn't even ask who's out here."
"I should have," I grumble as I step away, muddling around the mess from last night's little party with Jan. The coffee table is still crowded with our dishes of unfinished, congealed spaghetti, empty wine glasses, empty wine bottles, and cosmetics that Jan decided he didn't want anymore, scattered amongst it all like odd confetti.
"I came to get your final answer about Thanksgiving," Aidan says, stepping in and quickly closing my door as Mrs. Lowt's opens hers across the hall. "I'd love for you to come."
A smile flutters over my lips at the innuendo as I walk into the little cube of my kitchen. He had to know how he said that. I wish I could take him up on it.
Instead, I root in the cupboard for coffee filters. Of course, I'm out. I tear off a sheet of paper towel and try to shape it into the filter basket, aware that Aidan's behind me, watching. Waiting for an answer. I pour water into the machine and dump spoonfuls
of coffee into the center of the paper-towel. I close it up and hope for the best.
"So?" he says.
"I appreciate the offer, but..."
"You're married," he finishes for me.
"I don't do Thanksgiving," I say instead. He smirks.
"We'll just call it dinner, then."
"I've got plans, remember?"
"Do you?" he asks and his gaze is like Superman's see-through stare, illuminating my lie as it sits on my tongue. But, I carry through with it anyway.
"I think you should have a good time with your AA friends. I can already tell, we don't mix."
He chuckles. "Very punny."
I smile, bow beside the perking coffee pot.
"How about if I promise to keep them under control?"
"No impromptu interventions?"
"Not one." He crosses his heart with one finger.
"How else would we pass the time?"
"No one would be there to judge you, Lydia. Believe it or not, even addicts in recovery have other things going on in their lives to talk about."
"I wouldn't feel right bringing wine."
"Then why bring it?" he asks casually. It still irks me.
"This is the problem, Aidan. I don't have to defend myself to you, just because I like a glass of wine with my dinner
on a holiday
." Even as I say it, my eyes travel over his shoulder to the carnage of bottles and glasses on my coffee table. Wine ended up being the main course last night. Looking at the glasses, I want some now.
"Bringing along some wine would convince you to come?" he asks. My hips hit the counter. I didn't even realize I'd been backing away from him.
"Why are you trying so hard?" I ask.
"I'm against anyone spending Thanksgiving alone."
"I won't be alone."
"No? The husband really does drop in for holidays?"
"The point
is
: I won't be alone," I say, dodging the question. I'm not big on turkey anyway. Modo's is open, so I'll be down there celebrating.
"I'd really like you to come," he says. He moves closer and his stare is so intense, it seems like there's nothing else in the world to look at. He's close enough that I can smell his cologne. I have this crazy desire to rub the sandpaper stubble of his jaw between my breasts. For a second, I nearly lose my train of thought and agree to going to his little soiree. The way he gets into my head is familiar. It's the way Des used to monopolize my thoughts. I should be running away screaming.
Instead, I do the next best thing, "I appreciate the invite. I'll try to make it."
I know damn well it's the last thing I'll be trying to do on Thanksgiving, but it gets him off my back. Aidan nods with a slow smile like he knows it too.
"I'll be looking forward to it," he says. "Dinner is at five."
CHAPTER SEVEN
I wake up Thanksgiving day to the smell of turkey. It's that rich, dark smell and doesn't mix well with a hangover. I roll over on my pillow with a moan and knock into someone's face.
Crap. A cuddler. Now I've got to deal with that too.
The clock says it's one in the afternoon and I lie here, sorting out last night's memories and trying to glue it all together. I was at Modo's. The bathroom. That's right--this guy followed me into the bathroom. We were in the stall, it was cramped, and the girls waiting in line to pee began to bitch. But the guy's tongue was a soaked lime and with my foot on the toilet, I whispered to him,
don't stop
. He didn't, until one of the girls started kicking the stall door and the guy's teeth cracked against mine. We were laughing, but I thought I swallowed a piece of his tooth.
I don't know why I invited him back to my place. Or if this is even the same guy.
I lean across my pillow and lift his lip. Yep, chipped. It's him.
He's still out cold, but I need him to get out of here, so I can get out of here before five. I can't mosey out at 4:30 without Aidan giving me a hassle. I figure I'll go catch a movie and head to Modo's early.
I press my palm to his shoulder and give the mystery man a shake. He coughs and rolls over. I do it again.
"Hey," I whisper, "time to get up."
The guy rolls onto his back.
"Hey," he says with a smile. His junk is standing on end, as if it has static cling. His grin gets wider too. He can't be serious.
"I've got to get going," I tell him. Usually, the guys clear out fast, but this one grips himself under the covers and does a slow pump. It doesn't do a thing for me.
Dumb
doesn't turn me on in the least.
I slide out of bed and follow the horny Hansel-and-Gretel clothing path we left from the door of my room to my bed. I dump the wad of his attire on the mattress beside him.
"Time to go," I say with a smile. He grabs my wrist.
"
C’mon now," he says. I twist out of his grip, but he's fast. He grabs the other and pulls me down beside him. He smells like B.O. and sticky booze. I wrinkle my nose.
"It's Thanksgiving and you've probably got someplace to be."
"Nope."
"Well, I do," I say.
"Right this second?"
"Actually, yes."
He hasn't let go of my wrist. I pull away, but he tugs me closer. God, does he stink.
"Just one more," he says. I can tell what this guy is now. I've had a couple like him. He's the kind that won't care about his chipped tooth, because he'll show it around like a hillbilly trophy. He's probably going to need more than one square kick to the nuts to get him out of here. Maybe even a solid crack from that wrench under my sink.
"Alright," I purr to him. "But let me get a little something first."
He drags me a little closer and his stink fans up my nose. "You don't need anything else than what I've got right here...baby."
At least I did one thing right and never gave him my name.
"Let me get some whip cream," I say, pulling away. It doesn't sound so sexy when I'm trying to fight back a gag.
"Oh." His eyebrows hike up and he lets go. "Breakfast. Where do you want to put it? On me or on you?"
"Both of us," I say as I sneak to the front door, instead of the kitchen, and grab my trench coat. I slip into the hall, but before I can knock twice on Aidan's door, mine swings open. Mystery Man steps out into the hall in his boxers, looking a little confused.
"Where you going, darlin'?" he asks. His excitement makes the fabric of his shorts dance. It's obscene, even for me. Mrs. Lowt's door flings open. She steps into the hall, her face wrinkled as she shoves her coke-bottles further up on the bridge of her nose.
"It's Thanksgiving, Lydia! It's not the time for your sex games all over the halls!"
"Hey," Mystery Man barks, "This ain't your business, lady. Go on and get back into your apartment."
"Both these ladies live here," Aidan says from behind me. "It's you that needs to leave."
"I don't think I asked for your input," Mystery Man says. He turns to me, his lip lifting in a sneer. "You sneaking away on me,
Lydia
?"
My name, on his stale tongue, makes my stomach turn. Aidan steps to my side.
"If a girl is sneaking away, then it's a pretty sure sign that you overstayed your welcome," he says. "How about you grab your clothes and get moving?"
"I don't need your help, Mr. America. This is between me and her."
"Last chance to grab your stuff." Aidan says, stepping in front of me.
"Fuck you, buddy," Mystery Man says and in a blink, Aidan twists the guy into a full nelson and walks Mystery Man down the hall like a body puppet. He knocks the elevator button with his elbow, struggling to hang onto the guy as he bucks and shouts threats. The doors roll open and Aidan steps inside, still hanging onto the guy.
As the doors roll closed, Aidan shouts to me, "Toss his clothes out your window. It's going to be cold out there!"
The elevator doors finally seal on Mystery Man's cursing. Mrs. Lowt turns to me, shaking her head.
"You see that the men are a problem, Lydia. You need to pick
one.
And not the one I don't like either, and not these men you bring home, but never see again. You've got a good looking man that lives right next door and you see what he just did.
That's
a man, Lydia. That's what you need."
"I think you've got a crush on our neighbor, Mrs. Lowt."
"I know a good one when I see him," she says. I laugh as I stride into my apartment and close the door. I've got some clothing to toss out my window.
<<<<>>>>
"You owe me," he says. He's got a split lip.
"Holy shit, he got you," I say. Aidan wipes away some blood with the side of his hand.
"I let him. I figured if he got in a shot, he could leave with some dignity and wouldn't come back."
"You didn't have to do that."
"He looks worse."
"Good."
"Come on, then. Time to pay up." He jerks his head toward his apartment. I've never wanted to repay a debt so much. I follow him as if he's playing a flute.
Once inside his apartment, I think he's going to turn to me, flatten my spine against the door, and rake kisses down my neck. He doesn't. I follow him into the kitchen and when he turns to me, he hands me a knife. I take it, confused.
"You're going to help me get ready for dinner," he says. He pulls lettuce from the fridge and hands it to me, along with a bowl. "Everyone will be here in a couple hours, so I can use the help."
To cover the shock, I take the lettuce and shove past him to the sink. "You have to wash lettuce. You can't just chop it up and toss it in a bowl."
"That's why I wanted you here," he says. He chops vegetables and sticks them on a tray with room for dip in the center. The running water is the biggest sound in the room until he says, "You ever going to tell me who that guy was?"
"No," I say. How am I supposed to tell him when I don't know myself? I'm sure Mystery Man's wallet went out the window with the rest of his clothes and that was probably my only chance at ever knowing his name. Unless he pops up at Modo's or at my apartment door again.
"Alright," Aidan says. I shake the water off the lettuce and come around the counter, so I'm standing opposite him. He waits until I pick up the knife and start cutting, before he says, "Doesn't it bother you?"
"What?"
"Not knowing their names."
"Nope," I say. The silence hangs there, separating the chopping sound of the knife blade as it hacks through the head of lettuce.
"I've never met anyone like you, you know," Aidan says.
"No?"
"Most women want relationships. They want marriage, a house, kids. But not you. You're running as fast as you can in the other direction." He pops a cherry tomato into his mouth. I wait for him to ask why, but instead, he says, "You sure you're not a dude?"
"Maybe I am." From my peripheral, I watch his eyes slide over me.
"You sure don't look like one, but you do act like one."
I shrug. "Yeah, well." Then, to change the subject, "This is going to be a great salad."
"You can tell everyone you made it."
"About that," I drawl, "I don't think I can make dinner tonight."
"How come?"
I hold up one finger.
"I'll show you," I say, walking backward toward the door.
"Where are you going? Don't think I won't bust down your door if you go into hiding. I need serious help here." He waves a carrot stick over the counter.
"I'll be right back, I promise." I slip out of his apartment and into mine, grab one of the two bottles of wine I bought in case I went to his party, and return with it. I plunk it down on his counter.
"This is why," I say.
His eyes are on the bottle's label as I watch him swallow. He steps backward and goes to his cupboard. He takes down a juice glass and sets it down, like he's placing a bet, on the counter beside the bottle. His eyes are caught on the label.
"You're right," he says, "it would probably be a bad idea, since they're struggling with it."
"What about you? Are you struggling with it?" I ask. I watch him swallow again. Then he looks away and wipes his nose on the back edge of his hand.
"Nope," he says.
"Then you don't mind if I have a drink?"
"Nope."
I crack it open, even though neither of those
nopes
sounded very convincing. I'm not trying to test him or be cruel; the truth is, I need the drink. I'm all tensed up. I need to mellow out and get into the driver's seat during this conversation. Wine can usually take my edge off. Aidan's eyes flit around the room, back to the bottle, to me and then back to the bottle, to the vegetable tray in front of him. He frowns.
"I could hide it in a travel mug, if you want," I say.
"If you have to have it, do whatever it takes to make you comfortable coming," Aidan says, but the tiny muscles in his jaw flinch.
"It wasn't for me. It was to make your friends comfortable with me being there."
"
You
aren't the problem, Lydia. The alcohol is what would make them uncomfortable, not you."
I swirl the glass and take a good, long drink. Aidan watches my throat and studies my lips like a jealous lover after I lower the glass.
"Why is it so important to you that I show up?" I ask.
"I don't want anyone spending Thanksgiving alone."
"I'm not..."
"Or with guys that I have to throw out of the apartment building," he amends. He frowns when I salute him with the wine glass.
"I guess that's fair," I say.
<<<<>>>>
"It might be a good idea after all--to put your drink in a travel mug."
"Yeah, I don't know. Wine in a travel mug? Maybe not my best idea."
"Haven't you ever been addicted to anything?" he asks. His tone is a little desperate, his misery begging for a little company, I think.
"Sure," I tell him. "Good 'N Plenty candy. But I learned to handle myself."
He winces. "What I'm getting at is that my other guests haven't."
"And you want me to be considerate," I say. He smiles.
"I'll make it worth your while."
"Oh yeah?" My body goes on pilot, dropping my eyelids and lowering the timbre of my voice. "And how are you going to do that?"
He glances at me and grabs a towel. He dries a bowl sitting beside the sink before he slides it across the counter to me with some tomatoes and cucumbers to cut for the salad. "Get chopping and if you're good, I'll tell you stories of everyone coming tonight, so you can get an idea of who they are."
"Oh, I'm never good," I say with a leopard's gaze. It's my body's natural chain reaction to any flirtatious line that comes out of my mouth. My chin dips down while my eyes simultaneously look up at him. I know exactly what this does to a man, since I've done it a hundred times before. My predatory stare hits Aidan and he pauses with his chewable lower lip dropping open. His expression is so enchanting, the spell I was trying to cast seems to ricochet, and I'm no longer 100% sure of who is hypnotizing who.