I wanted my neighbor's 65 Chevelle Malibu. I coveted it. I had to have it. I knew it was a sin but I was willing to do almost anything, and I did.
My husband wasn't into muscle cars. Oh sure, he liked them. But not like I did. The first time the neighbor pulled into his driveway with that car was like the first day I came alive. I was watering the Geraniums when he called me over to "check out his new baby." I couldn't even speak. I was overwhelmed with emotion.
That was when it started. I wasn't interested in the neighbor in any way other than being "neighborly," but because of The Malibu, everything changed. I started wearing a two piece bikini to water the lawn. When my husband went away on business trips, I sat outside in the swing and smoke Virginia slims in mini-skirts. The neighbor was always out there of course, loving on his new baby, taking pictures of the two of them together to post on Facebook. I started asking him about the car, innocently at first. His eyes filled with a frenzied passion and he eagerly answered each question, while hungering for more.
He asked me if I wanted to tag along with him to run a few errands. I said "awesome," and he opened the passenger side door for me. I stuck my head out the window and he apologized that there was no stereo. We drove around for a while and he seemed happy to have someone sharing his passion. We pulled through a drive thru and he bought us drinks but insisted that we wrap napkins around them to prevent them from leaking on the seat. I understood his concern. I understood his obsession.
I started getting up in the middle of the night when I knew my husband was asleep and walking across the street to his house. The car was locked up tight in the garage of course. I was started to spend more time with him. I had been inside to use the bathroom and had memorized the layout of the house. I knew he didn't have an alarm system. I knew which bedroom was his. And of course, I made sure I knew how to get to the garage once I was in the house. There had been no hank-panky but he had pinched my butt a couple of times. His wife had moved out last year and you could tell. His house was a disaster.
I crawled through a window in the kitchen and nearly fell on my ass but he had no dogs or animals of any kind. Nothing. I walked to the garage and unlocked it and crawled on the hood of the car just like Tawney Kitaen in a Whitesnake video. I didn't wear heels though, because of his new paint job. It was so luxurious. It was so naughty. I knew it was wrong. I was already planning to do it again.
My husband had business trips for the next few months. I still snuck into my neighbor's garage every night. I just knew I was going to get caught red-handed. It was part of the thrill. I wondered why it was so easy to get it night after night. I started thinking it was too easy. The next time I was more careful. I brought a towel to put underneath me when I crawled around on top of him. He was a beauty. The daydreams I had. In them, Tom Jones and I were driving the backroads. He was singing "she's a lady." We would even have picnics on cliffs overlooking the ocean. He fed me chicken salad sandwiches. We even made out a little.
After awhile it started to take more to get the same thrills. I was like a heroin addict. It took more to get the same amount of pleasure. I started to wear fewer and fewer clothes while I was writhing on the Malibu. I also started to add some verbal sound effects. In the daydreams, Tom and I were taking our relationship to the next level. I decided to give the car a pet name. I named him Tom of course.
"TOM!"
"Show me I'm your lady!"
The next day I went out to get the mail and noticed the neighbor staring at me. He had a big smile plastered on his face and had blushed a deep shade of pink. He quickly looked away and I began to think he knew a bit more about my nightly romps with Tom than I knew about.
I waved but he had already snuck back inside the house.
The next few nights were a misery for me. I felt hot all over. To say I had chills would be an exaggeration but I swear it felt like I did. I knew I had to stay away from Tom. I paced the floor.
"Hon?" my husband called to me from the bedroom.
"What ya doin?"
"Having trouble sleeping?"
"I'm fine, honey, just getting a drink of water." I yelled back.
I was totally miserable.
When the sun finally came up I made some coffee and looked out the window. I had survived a night without Tom.
Gradually I was able to do things without getting drunk to kill the emotional pain. I took up new hobbies, I developed new obsessions.
My neighbor took up with a new woman. I caught her pulling Tom out of the driveway a few times by herself. I noticed she was the one washing Tom on the weekends. She was also wearing a bikini.
She was lying by the pool's edge, in a blue one-piece bathing suit. A woman in her 30's he would have guessed. She was so still it puzzled him. Her skin will be spoiled by the sun, he thought. Her hair was dyed blonde but the roots were dark, and it was all gathered up into a ponytail at the back of her head. He got out of the deck chair to be closer to her and dipped a toe into the water but it was still really cold. It wouldn't be much fun. Lingering near her svelte figure he decided to say something to her.
"Water's cold eh?"
She said nothing and he noticed the unnatural posture of her arm.
"Ma'am?"
He knelt closer to the beauty and tried speaking to her again. She must have fallen asleep In the sun, she might have a hell of a sunburn later.
He reached out to her shoulder and shook her. She didn't respond and so he turned her from her side on to her back. He could see her breath was shallow.
He had been waiting for someone to take his drink order poolside but no one ever came.
It was just him and the woman.
**
He bent his knees and picked the blonde woman up off the beach towel. His back hurt a little. Not that she was so heavy but more from the pinched nerve in his neck that traveled south when he exerted himself lately. He hadn't thought through where to take her. To the lobby? As the strain of holding her was getting worse, he decided to take her to his room on the first floor. She would be comfortable and then he could figure out who to call. It would arouse suspicion, that was certain. He shifted her legs around his waist and positioned her arms around his neck and he felt her lips brush his chest. Surely they would just assume she was drunk. The blonde woman, the strumpet, getting into the spirit of the weekend practically prostituting herself poolside. He began to convince himself this was the case as well. He walked slowly and the hotel was not crowded and one or two people glanced his direction but they continued to work their crossword puzzles, they sipped their Mimosas. It really was a fine day.
He dug the room card from his back pocket and the little green and red lights on the lock lit up. He opened the door and it was clean and the bar was stocked, the little shampoos and bars of soap were in the bathroom, the coffee-maker was stocked, the towels were stacked on the shelf. The air-conditioner was running.
He laid her down on the bed. Her toe-nails were painted lime green and now he could see the scar On the top of her foot, about two inches long, something had cut it.
He still didn't call anyone. He had gone through the mini-bar and was now more than a bit drunk.
He knew he must be a monster. I mean, for Christ-sakes, he read about men like him in the newspapers.
He began to stroke her arm, He watched the light hair move back into place after he touched it. He stroked her breast. He moved the swimsuit down and stroked the nipple. Her nipples were pink.
He knew he was in deep trouble now. How could he call an ambulance and not be locked up as a pervert. He put his face close to her mouth. The breathing was the same as before.
Still shallow.He traced in the air the curve of her lips, her nose, her eyes. Transfixed and unable to move he lay next to her for the next forty five minutes. Then, no longer able to withstand his desire, he walked into the bathroom to satisfy himself. After, he stepped into the bathtub and showered away his stickiness. He walked back into the room fully naked but still filled with desire and again curled up on to the bed with the stranger. unsure of himself, in his perverted desire and the fear that she might die, that he might end up going to prison, that his fiancée would never come to visit him when he was locked up for good.
Why did he want to throw everything away? He unlocked the patio and stepped outside. He looked at his cell phone and began to dial the front desk.
"Front desk, how can I be of service?"
"I need emergency personnel." He told her.
"Oh, yes sir, what room?"
"Room 130."
"Are you the one the ambulance is for?" she asked.
"No, ma'am, a woman I am with is having trouble breathing."
He hung up and walked over to her and kissed her on the mouth. He let his tongue linger on her cheek. He gathered his clothes and zipped his duffle bag and hurried from the room.
Melanie Browne's work can be seen at various places online including Word Riot, Yellow Mama, 34th Parallel, Pulp Metal Magazine, and Madswirl. Work forthcoming in The Legendary, Writer's Bloc (Rutger's), and Mad Hatters Review (The Mad Bunkers issue). She lives in Texas with her husband and three children.
Comments (closed)
David Backer
2011-01-27 09:03:29
Dig this. We're featuring it at fictiondaily.org today under "Genre." Thanks!