The Girl Next Door (22 page)

Che was in here with her. Che. Was. In. Here. With. Her. He was delivering pizza to the penthouse. Ordinarily, he’d ride up with the delivery guy, and there’d be three of them in here, but the guy must have been in a rush. Maybe the Stewarts didn’t tip. It wouldn’t surprise her. They didn’t smile, or say thank you much, that she’d observed, and tips were the same sort of thing, weren’t they? Her heart had almost stopped when he stepped into the elevator with her. This had never happened.

She was just back from work. She’d let two subways go at the station – the cars had been really crowded, and she couldn’t face squeezing in. Then she’d stopped for Tasti Delite, the zero fat ‘frozen treat’ that she’d read somewhere was really just gas and chemicals, but who cared when it had seventy calories and cooled you down? New York, New York. And eaten it in, for the air conditioning in the store. It was humid as hell. She marvelled at how those tiny decisions (taste chocolate cookie dough; wait for sprinkles; eat at the bar) had led to this. A minute earlier or a minute later, and she wouldn’t be here, now. Thank God she’d been to the bathroom before she left work. She’d followed Arthur Anderson up the block, overtaking him at the lights. Thank God he was so slow, and so mean that she’d felt no compulsion to walk with him, pass the time of day. He’d be sitting in the foyer, no doubt swearing and muttering. But he wasn’t in here with them.

Che shifted nervously from foot to foot. Both of them studied the wood panelling and tiled floor of the small space. When he inadvertently caught Charlotte’s eye, he nodded towards the pizza box with a slight smile. ‘At least we won’t be hungry, if we’re stuck too long in here.’

She smiled. ‘That’s true.’

Now he nodded towards the book bag she was carrying. ‘A lot of books.’

Charlotte nodded. ‘I work at the library. You know the big library?’

‘Midtown? With the steps, and the skating rink in the winter. The one in the movie?’

‘That one.’ She nodded. Everyone said that. The beautiful, historic library had stood and functioned since 1911, but the world at large had no idea it was there until Hollywood filmed
The Day After Tomorrow
there.

‘They burned all the books in that movie, right?’ He raised one eyebrow at her.

Charlotte made a face of mock horror. ‘Yeah.’

‘What do you do? At that library?’

‘I work in the main area. With the public.’

Che nodded. ‘You like to read a lot, hey?’

‘I love to read.’ It’s the only thing I have in my life, she thought. Silence. ‘And you, Che?’ It was the first time that she’d ever used his name. ‘Do you like to read?’

‘In English, not so much. My English, it isn’t so good. For speaking, it’s okay. For reading, not so much.’

‘But in Spanish?’ Charlotte panicked as soon as she said it. God, it was Spanish, right?

Che shrugged. The reading conversation was clearly exhausted. Charlotte wondered what to say next. ‘You’re Cuban, is that right?’

‘Yes, Cuban. All the doormen in this building are Cuban. The super is Cuban, the doormen are Cuban, the porter is Cuban. The staff of the whole building is Cuban. Little Havana, right here, on the Upper East Side.’ He smiled broadly at his own joke.

‘Have you lived in America always?’

Che smiled broadly. ‘No, no. Fifteen years. Citizen since 2003.’

‘And have you family… back in Cuba?’

‘My mother, my sisters.’

‘And do you get home, back to Cuba, to see them often.’

‘I was there in 2005. Before that 2001.’

‘And here… do you have family here?’

‘No. No one.’

Charlotte searched his face, for signs of the heartbreak she’d invented for him, but saw only embarrassment. This was more conversation than was normal for a doorman and a resident, she supposed. She worried that she’d been too nosy – invasive. They fell silent for a moment. Charlotte realized it was very hot in the elevator. She leant back against the wood of its interior, and hoped she wasn’t getting too shiny. Or, God forbid, that she smelt.

When she leant, Che did, too. They smiled awkwardly at each other.

‘It’s hot.’

She nodded agreement.

‘And you? You are not from New York?’

‘Not originally, no.’

‘Where, then?’

‘From Seattle.’

‘All the way across on the other side.’ He cocked his head westward.

‘Exactly.’

‘Is that why you came to New York? To get far away?’

She supposed it was, although no one had ever put it to her that way before. Trouble was, she’d come with her, so to speak. She was the same Charlotte Murphy she’d been in Seattle. It was funny how a language barrier made some things crystal clear.

‘But Murphy. It’s an Irish name, isn’t it?’

‘Yes. We’re all from somewhere else, aren’t we, really? My great‐grandparents came over from Cork, right at the beginning of the last century, to make a new life – a better life.’

‘And me, too. From Cuba.’

‘Will you ever go back, do you think, to Cuba? To live?’

‘Not to live. I’m American now. To see family. But not for good.’

He had the loveliest face. Charlotte supposed most people might not swoon over him – he wasn’t matinee idol material. His dark hair was thinning, and he was a little skinny – slight, almost. He always had a heavy five o’clock shadow, the line of his beard sharp against his skin, like a cartoon character. But he had the biggest, darkest almond‐shaped eyes, with long, black eyelashes. She loved his eyes.

‘We should sit down. We could be in here a while.’ Charlotte sat, tucking her voluminous skirt decorously under her. She looked up at him. ‘Sit. Please.’

He did, drawing his knees in to his chest, laying the pizza box on the floor between them. She made herself look into those eyes and smile, and the eyes smiled back.

Jackson

In 5A, Trip wasn’t expecting the knock on the door. He knew Todd and Greg weren’t home next door – he’d knocked, himself, when the power had first gone out, to see if they had a spare flashlight. Resigned to a dull evening without his Xbox or pay‐per‐view, he’d smoked a joint, and, until the knock on the door, he was thinking that sleeping was the ideal way to pass the blackout. He thought about checking on Emily, but she was probably with Charlotte. Besides, he wasn’t sure he could take much more rejection.

‘Want some company?’ Madison was leaning against the doorframe, waving a bottle of wine, a little breathless from the three flights of stairs. ‘I get scared, you see.’

She didn’t look like much scared her. She was wearing the very shortest of denim shorts, and a white vest top with thin spaghetti straps. The white cotton really showed off the tan he just bet she’d gotten in May and June at a Southampton house share full of good‐looking young people. He’d seen her once or twice, waiting for the Jitney. There was a sexy sheen of sweat on her brown skin. Funny how some people could sweat sexily. Her blonde hair was twisted into a knot on her head, but strands had escaped, and they curled damply around her long, slender neck. Madison Cavanagh was hot, in every sense of the word. Trip stood back without saying a word, and let the door open wide. Madison sloped in, smiling slyly, and kicked it shut behind her. Trip had found a couple of candles in a kitchen drawer, and set them next to the sofa, but it was pretty dark. It was surreal to look out of the window and see… nothing. The sounds were different, too. Lots of sirens, and sporadic shouting. Not riot level scary shouting, but an alien sound nonetheless. And underneath it all, an almost eerie quiet rolled through. The buzz of the city had been stilled.

‘Have you got glasses?’

He found two, and Madison poured, and drank.

‘Cheers. Here’s to energy.’ She made everything sound dirty.

She threw herself down on the sofa, tossing one long leg across its arm, and patted the cushion next to her. ‘Come sit by me, Jackson Grayling the Third.’

‘That’s pretty formal, don’t you think?’ But he sat down.

‘Isn’t it strange? We’ve been neighbours for, what is it, two years now, and we’ve never really done this.’

‘Sat in the dark together?’

‘Spent time together. That’s New York for you, isn’t it? We all live on top of each other, but we never really get close.’ He had a flashback to something Emily had said on their first date. She was moving closer right now. He guessed she might get on top next. She wasn’t exactly disguising her intentions for the evening. Madison was stepping things up a notch or two. She’d always been flirty but, to be honest, their schedules weren’t all that compatible, and he rarely saw her around.

‘New York’s a crazy place.’

‘I know some stuff about you, though. By osmosis.’

‘What do you know, Madison?’

‘Enough.’ She emptied her glass. ‘Candles are sexy, aren’t they? Everyone looks gorgeous in candlelight.’ The way she said it implied that she looked gorgeous in everything from fluorescent down, and that it was kind of candlelight to bestow the same favour on the rest of the population just for the evening.

Trip knew what was on her mind, and it amused him. It also, he had to admit, revved him up a little, though his responses were a little dulled by the grass. And it was going to be a long night…

He wasn’t going to make it too easy for her, though. He wasn’t going to tell her she was gorgeous, which was clearly exactly what she wanted. She was – in a kind of obvious, very Manhattan way. He knew enough about women to know she worked at it, and that, to look that good all the time, she had to be a bit obsessed. He bet she went to the gym almost every day. He knew without looking that she’d be waxed and plucked and trimmed and painted in all the right places. She was the kind of girl who’d get up straight after sex to rush to the bathroom, and the kind of girl who liked to do it in front of mirrors. Not entirely his type, except, loosely, by virtue of gender.

‘Did you know that there is always a spike in the birthrate nine months after a power cut?’

He laughed. ‘I read that somewhere, too. What else are you going to do without
Deal or No Deal
, right? Although I never figured out why people can’t find a condom with a flashlight.’

‘I don’t think it’s just boredom. I think the darkness brings something out in people. Something sort of primitive.’

‘Is that right?’ This was bullshit, but he was, by now, mildly interested in where he thought it might be going.

‘Don’t you feel it, Trip?’ She put her hand on his thigh, brazenly.

He laughed. ‘You’re a real piece of work, you know that?’

‘I do know that, as a matter of fact.’ She shook her hair out, pushed her chest forward. Of course she did. She’d been hearing it for years. Trip didn’t know why him, why tonight. Maybe it didn’t matter. He didn’t put a lot of thought into much about his life – why overthink this? Just go with the flow.

‘You never heard of the subtle art of seduction, Madison?’

‘Hey – I can do subtle. I can practically do tantric, thanks very much. You just seemed like more of an obvious kind of a guy to me.’

‘You mean I’m too lazy for the more elaborate stuff?’

Madison didn’t answer. She smiled. A little cat that got the cream smile. ‘Am I right?’

Once maybe. Definitely. Jackson was a little confused by his own reaction. This was the stuff of male magazine fantasy. Christ, this was the stuff of his own fantasies. Good‐looking girl – great‐looking girl, actually, power cut, sex on a plate, without even leaving the apartment, or having to spin a line. He should be peeling the straps down on that top right now. Unwrapping the package that had been delivered right into his lap.

But he was still sitting here. The grass slowed him down, for sure, but there was something else, too. He was a bit too gone to know what it was.

Madison put her glass down on the coffee table, and, in one stealthy movement, swung her leg around so that she was sitting across him. She took his glass from him, and, leaning back, set it down next to hers. She did everything slowly and deliberately. She took his hands, and put them on her tiny bum, grinding herself into his groin. ‘Question is, are you
so
lazy that you’re going to make me do
all
the work myself?’ She nipped at his bottom lip with her perfect white teeth, daring him, and arched her back so that her breasts brushed against his chest.

Okay, so he was only human. Trip thrust his hips upwards, groaning softly, and pulled her into him, kissing her mouth, her face, her neck. He pulled the front of her vest down with both of his hands. She wore no bra, and her rosy pink nipples grazed his cheeks. He sucked first one, then the other, into his mouth greedily. Madison pulled her vest off, and he grabbed for her small round breasts as she fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, moaning lustfully as her fingers felt the soft hairs on his chest.

The weirdest thing happened. It had to be the weed. Trip was suddenly watching himself, from somewhere in the corner. He was minutes away, seconds away, from entering the babe who was Madison Cavanagh, thrusting himself into her wet, willing body. It would be fantastic, he knew. Madison knew what she was doing. She wasn’t the first girl to throw herself at him, and she probably wouldn’t be the last. He was good‐looking, he was rich, he was easy‐going. It had never been tough for him.

His first lover had been a counsellor at summer camp in Montana. He’d been fifteen and she’d been twenty‐two. She’d led him into the seventh grade bunk while everyone else was rehearsing the team cheer, and given him something to really cheer about, and for the longest time afterwards the smell of mildew and sunscreen gave him a hard‐on. There had been an indecently long parade of willing partners ever since. Girls, at college, of course. He never got a bad reputation among the sororities, despite the roll‐call he notched up, because he always treated women kindly. He liked women, and that was the key. He was always pretty honest, and he was good. He knew he was because they told him. And they told each other. The girls weren’t his favourites, though. Over the years there’d been a piano teacher, a professor, and, once, because he could, his mother’s shrink. Those older women had been the best. They were fantastic lovers, grateful and experienced. And they didn’t want to hang out with him afterwards – they never wanted to go to the movies, or to dinner. They didn’t want to tame him, hook him, or change him. They just wanted to fuck him.