The New Neighbor Read online

  A car door slammed and there was a mild clatter outside, but it could have been across town as far as he was concerned. He stroked himself a little faster as he watched the brunette – no more than nineteen, probably making the video for a boyfriend.

  Outside, the sounds continued and Robby's curiosity stirred in a distracted sort of way as his hand moved faster.

  A few long minutes passed unnoticed.

  There were only the girl on the screen, the sensation of his hand -

  – and the noise outside.

  After a while, something crashed.

  Robby did not stop, but he turned from the monitor to the shaded window. To satisfy his curiosity so he could continue uninterrupted, he rolled his chair over to the window, pulled the shade aside and looked out into the night.

  There were lights on in the house across the street. It had been empty and for sale for nearly six months, since the Huitts had moved to the east coast, but now there was a car in the drive with a U-Haul trailer behind it and a few boxes on the ground. The trailer's doors had just been slammed – he realized that was the crash he'd heard – and a woman stood by the trailer now, slapping her hands together to brush them off. Then she bent forward slightly to dust off her thighs.

  Robby's hand continued to stroke and he knew he was close. He was about to drop the shade and go back to the monitor because he wanted to see the girl in the video squirm and wince as she reached orgasm, but -

  – the woman across the street stood and turned, one hand on her hip, the other brushing aside a long strand of hair and -

  – she looked at him.

  Through the darkness of the clear, cold night, from across the street, she looked into his window and directly into his eyes.

  Embarrassed and ashamed, Robby flinched, already trembling and grasping on the very edge of his orgasm. He jerked the vinyl shade back into place with his free hand, but his movement was too sudden, too strong, and the shade slipped from his hand and shot upward, rolling up above the window and -

  – she was still watching him, staring, not absently, but with interest, as if perhaps she were watching some suspicious goings on at the house across the street, like a break-in or a domestic squabble in the yard, and -

  – Robby wanted to duck below the window, feeling certain she could tell what he was doing even though he knew better, but he couldn't take his eyes from her, even as his hand moved faster and faster and his chest heaved and a small moan rose up in his throat. He couldn't take his eyes from her pale face, from her eyes, because it seemed odd that he could see them so clearly from that distance, and -

  – in the glow of the streetlight, he saw her eyes narrow and crinkle slightly as her interest turned to amusement, and she smirked, then her narrow face opened in a smile directed at him and -

  – that was when Robby came.

  * * * *

  "That's right," George Pritchard said encouragingly to his sixteen-year-old daughter, looking at the math problem she'd worked out in her notebook. "I think you've got it, Jen."

  She bit her lower lip, frowning at the numbers. "It's hard," she muttered.

  "I know, but you're catching on. It's going to get easier, I promise."

  "Then I'll graduate and never use this information again, right?" she asked with a smirk.

  "Something like that," he said as he stood from the dining room table and went into the kitchen, where the dishwasher was rumbling and harrumphing and his wife Karen was seated at the small desk in the corner licking envelopes. "What're you doing, hon?"

  "Getting the bills ready to send tomorrow," she said.

  He got a beer from the refrigerator, popped the can open and took a drink, leaning against the counter and watching his wife.

  She looked tired as she addressed another envelope, sealed it, and put it on the stack, then started on another. Her shoulders sagged and her blonde hair was mussed; her movements were mechanical and her mind seemed to be on other things.

  Karen was his second wife. His first – Robby's mother – had been run down by a drunk driver while crossing the street fifteen years ago and he'd vowed then never to remarry. It had been a wonderful marriage in every way. Of course, it had only lasted four years and might very well have soured with time, but those four years with Laura had been happy ones, with never a fight or a harsh word exchanged, with an openness that George had never experienced before, and a sex life that did not fade a fraction during their marriage but instead grew more exciting and creative. He talked about his first marriage little, if at all, because he found that no one believed that a marriage, even one so brief, could be so good.

  But after three years of raising Robby on his own and having no social life whatsoever, outside of his work as general manager of a local FM radio station, George began to grow lonely. He hadn't slept well since Laura's death. For a while, it was because he missed having her beside him in bed, but as time passed, it was simply because he was alone in bed. Then, when Robby had to have his tonsils removed, George met Karen.

  She was a nurse in the pediatrics ward at Redding Medical Center and seemed to sense that, although the tonsillectomy was a minor and routine operation, George was worried. One loss had been almost more than he could bear and he feared any possible complications. Karen was friendly and reassuring, but she seemed reluctant when George tried to engage her in more personal conversation, especially when he asked her out to dinner. He was not discouraged, though.

  After Robby was discharged, George could not stop thinking about her. She was physically attractive – a soft face with a slightly upturned nose and lovely blue eyes that were at once warm and vulnerable, cautious, as if they had seen their share of pain and disappointment, perhaps more. But she also had about her a soothing calm, an assuredness and strength that seemed to outweigh the shadows of pain in her eyes, and that attracted George as much as her physical beauty.

  He dropped by the hospital to visit with her during her lunch break and tried to get her telephone number. When that failed, he sent flowers with another invitation to dinner and his telephone number. Four days later, she called and, with obvious reluctance, agreed to go out with him.

  On their first date, Karen told him about Jen, then six-years-old, and said she'd been reluctant to date because she wanted to give all the time she could to her daughter; raising a child alone was difficult and Karen wanted to make sure she had plenty of time available to make up for any mistakes she might make before it was too late. George said he understood perfectly and had no intention of coming between Karen and her daughter.

  Their relationship proceeded slowly. There were no fireworks, but George enjoyed her company, warmed up to her easily, and with time, came to care for her a great deal, even love her. Jen seemed to like him and, when she met Rob, they hit it off nicely.

  It was some time before George and Karen made love, but when they did, it was tender and loving, although not especially passionate.

  Karen’s first marriage had not been a good one and she was reluctant to marry again. She feared she would not be able to fill Laura's shoes, neither as George's wife nor Robby's mother. But George reassured her in his calming way that she had nothing to worry about.

  After they were married, George frequently had to remind himself not to compare his relationship with Karen to his previous marriage. Sexually, Laura had been playful, imaginative, eager to please, and always ready to try something new. She often met him at the front door after work in a new piece of lingerie and they made love in every room in the house before having Rob. They’d viewed sex the way a child viewed recess at school – a time to play, to have fun.

  Karen seemed to need no variety. She was always willing, but never enthused.

  They usually stuck to one position and had sex on a regular, although not too frequent, basis. She always wrinkled her brow at the mention of sex toys and the one time he'd bought her some lingerie – he'd spent the afternoon shopping for just the right pieces – she'd declined to wear
them. "It's too cold to wear that skimpy stuff," she said. "I don't have the kind of body you need to wear those things," she said, and each time he brought up the subject after that, she had a new reason for not wearing them.

  But she was a good woman, intelligent and fair, warm and giving, and George decided he could live with that.

  They had been married ten years. George was not unhappy. He was not ecstatic, either. But he tried hard not to think about Laura very much. Instead, he told himself that, for four years, he'd had something that most people never experience in a lifetime. He was content. And he loved Karen; in ten years, that love had become worn and soft, like an old recliner that had patches and lumps but was still the most comfortable seat in the house.

  George put his beer on the counter and went to Karen's side, put a hand on the back of her neck and squeezed gently as he bent down and nuzzled her hair, kissed the top of her head.

  She looked up at him and smiled weakly.

  "You look tired," he said.

  "Bad day. We lost a little girl this morning."

  In the past, George would have asked why she hadn't told him sooner, why she hadn't talked about it if it bothered her, but that had become tiresome. He'd learned to live with the fact that Karen was not very open about things that bothered her – even things that made her happy – and that if something was on her mind, she would tell him in her own time, if at all.

  "AIDS," she went on. "We knew it was coming, but… she was a sweet kid. It hit everybody hard."

  "Sorry," he said, leaning down to kiss her on the mouth.

  She gave him another smile, warmer than the last, then handed him the stack of envelopes. "You want to put these by the door? They have to go out in the morning."

  As George started out of the kitchen with the envelopes, the doorbell rang. Figuring it was probably Al or Lynda Crane, their neighbors, he put the envelopes down on the small table in the entry way, opened the door.

  He froze halfway into his smile, giving his face an odd look of surprise. Then he blinked, cleared his throat, and returned the smile to his face intact. "Yes?"

  "I'm sorry to bother you," she said, her breath appearing in a small cloud of mist before her face, "but I'm moving into the house across the street and I have no heat. Yours was the closest house with a chimney and I was wondering if I could borrow some firewood. Just for tonight. I'll replace it first thing tomorrow."

  George blinked again, several rapid blinks in succession, because an unexpected and unbidden – even unwanted – image of Laura materialized in his mind suddenly.

  She is above him, straddling his legs as he lies in bed on his back, both of them naked and she smiles as she holds up a white plastic Hitachi Magic Wand vibrator and says, "Surprise! I bought this today," turns it on, and places the head against the bottom side of his cock and his head rolls back as he moans with pleasure.

  George coughed again, turning his head away from the woman at the door, mostly to hide the red warmth he felt flooding into his cheeks. He felt embarrassed by the wildly inappropriate thought, but he also felt guilty, as if he'd betrayed someone – Laura or Karen, he wasn't sure – because the voice of the beautiful woman at the door made him feel exactly the same way that vibrator had when Laura pressed it against his cock.

  "Sure, we've got plenty of firewood," he said with a forced smile. "How much do you need?"

  "Oh, just enough for tonight, that's all."

  She wore tight jeans and a heavy red and black plaid shirt and she stood with shoulders slightly hunched and her arms folded just beneath her breasts, as if to ward off the cold.

  "Come on in," George said. He stepped back to let her pass, then closed the door behind her. "You know, if you like, we've got an electric heater you could use."

  "Thanks a lot, but I don't have any electricity yet. I came earlier than I'd expected and didn't have the power turned on."

  "Ah, I see. Well." George slipped his fingers into the back pockets of his tan slacks, feeling an awkwardness he hadn't experienced since high school. "Urn, my name's George Pritchard."

  She smiled and held out a hand. "Lorelle Dupree."

  George took her hand and she squeezed firmly; in spite of the cold outside, her hand felt warm – probably, he decided, from being tucked beneath her arm.

  Her hair, which fell over her shoulders in thick waves, was a deep red, the color of redwood, and her almond-shaped eyes were a brown so dark they were almost black. In spite of the healthy fullness of her hair, her face seemed drawn, pale, as if she were ill. Perhaps it was because she wore no makeup, but the skin beneath her eyes seemed to sag in dark half-moons and her cheekbones hung over darkened hollows. But despite the appearance of illness, she was beautiful, with lips that looked smooth as rose petals and a long elegant neck that sloped gracefully into her sweatshirt.

  George realized he had been holding her hand looking at her for too long – several slow seconds too long – and he pulled his hand back rather abruptly.

  "Well," he said, "the firewood's out in the garage. I can get a basketful for you." He was about to suggest that he carry it over for her, but thought better of it. She seemed friendly enough, but he did not enjoy the discomfort she stirred in him, the awkwardness -

  – The wanting, he thought suddenly, surprising himself, I don't like the wanting -

  – and, instead, he said, "I'll have my son carry it over for you."

  He heard Karen's footsteps behind him and turned to see her smiling at the woman.

  "Hi," she said, then turned to George with a subtle questioning look in her eyes.

  "This is our new neighbor," he said, "Lorelle Dupree. She doesn't have any electricity and needs some firewood for the night."

  Karen shook Lorelle's hand and said, "You must've bought the Huitt place across the street."

  "Not exactly. I'm renting. I wasn't planning to move in until next week, but my plans changed, so now I'm over there in the cold and dark."

  Karen turned to George. "Well, why don't you get Robby to take some wood over for her." Then to Lorelle: "And we have some kerosene lanterns, if you need them."

  "Oh, that would be great."

  There was a moment then in which Lorelle and Karen smiled silently at one another-it lasted long enough for George to look from one to the other twice-as if they had met before and were trying to remember where and when.

  George turned to go to Robby's bedroom and said, "I'll go get Rob-" but stopped when he saw Robby peering sheepishly around the corner of the hallway entrance. "Oh, here he is," George said. "Robby, this is Lorelle Dupree. She moved into the Huitt place."

  Robby did not move; he remained hidden, with only a fraction of his face leaning past the corner.

  George cocked a brow. "Robby?"

  Stepping out of the hall, the tall, lanky boy bowed his head and looked at their guest as if peering over bifocals, and folded his hands before him.

  George frowned. Robby looked as if he were being punished.

  "Nice to meet you, Robby," Lorelle said, offering her hand again.

  It took a moment, but Robby finally returned the gesture and nodded silently.

  There was a tension in the room that made George want to squirm, to leave. He glanced at Karen, then Robby, feeling guilty for his surprisingly strong attraction to Lorelle and wondering if they sensed it, if it was showing on his face. He slapped Robby on the back and said, "C'mon, Rob, let's go out in the garage and get some wood for Miss Dupree. She needs heat."

  As he and Robby headed for the kitchen and the entrance to the garage, and as Karen said to Lorelle, "I'll get the lanterns," George thought about his words and silently told himself with a smirk, What am I saying? She's got plenty of heat.

  George was relieved to enter the cold garage with Robby and sighed as he closed the door behind them.

  * * * *

  "Are you in high school, Robby?" Lorelle asked.

  "Yeah."

  "What year?"

  "Senior."
r />   "Ah. So how's it going? Are you doing okay?"

  "Yeah."

  Robby hugged the basket of wood to his chest as they crossed the street; kerosene sloshed in the two lanterns Miss Dupree carried, one in each hand. He felt like a walking raisin, shriveled with humiliation. He'd wanted to scream at his dad for sending him on this errand with the woman who had watched him through his bedroom window as he came into his hand, and he wanted nothing more than to do as he'd been asked as quickly as possible and go back home.

  No… no, that wasn't entirely true. As his arm brushed the woman beside him, he realized there was something else he wanted even more. But that was about as likely as lying naked on a bear rug in front of a fire with Miss Weiss. Besides, Miss Dupree did not look well, so even if, by some wild act of God, she would want to do something with him, she probably wouldn't feel like it.

  His undershorts were moist from his session only minutes ago. His cock felt limp, but not sated. It was still extremely sensitive from the attention it had received and threatened to grow hard again, in need of more. Although at least a foot of space separated them, Robby could feel Miss Dupree, as if he were standing within the heat of a blazing fire in the fireplace, and as the house across the street grew closer, Robby became more uncomfortable.

  When they reached the house, she went in first and closed the door behind him, then led him into the blackness toward a glow that came from the living room. Although Robby had been in the house before and was well acquainted with its layout, he felt he had entered unfamiliar surroundings.

  "Did you know the people who lived here before?" she asked.

  "Uh-huh."

  "Then you've probably been in here before."