Anna

 

That’s it. I’m going to go over there and tell him to shut it down. This is crazy. Who has a party on a Monday night? Dumb question Anna, this guy clearly doesn’t discriminate when it comes to having company. Loud company. For two weeks, I have been enduring the thumping of music and the herd of people who apparently share my new neighbour’s disregard for peace and quiet. This has been an ongoing annoyance several nights a week since he moved in. I’m beyond exhausted and knowing that tomorrow morning I’ll be faced with seventeen five year olds who will yet again show no mercy to my sleep deprivation, is the last straw.

I flip the covers back and glance at the clock. It’s just past midnight, a perfectly reasonable time for me to request he shut it down for the night. Really, he’s lucky that it’s just me he has to deal with. If Mrs. Mercer was still in 2B she would have called the cops on him by now. I pull on a pair of soft grey yoga pants and a loose fitting black hoodie over top of my plain cotton nightgown to hide the fact that I’m not wearing a bra. Not that anyone would notice with my less than impressive cup size, but I’d rather be safe than sorry. I pull my long auburn hair into a messy knot as I make my way through the living room. I open my door and cross the hallway to the only other occupied apartment on my floor. I take a deep breath and straighten my spine before knocking firmly.

I’ve only caught a passing glance of the guy that moved in and I don’t even know his name. Hopefully he’s genuinely clueless to his behaviour and not a complete jerk. I knock again, harder. This is pointless, there’s no way anyone can hear me above the music. One more knock and then I’m going to have to just open the door and let myself in. I raise both my fists and reel my arms back, connecting briefly with the door as it swings open and I fall into a hard, broad chest.

“Woah, easy there,” he says, his deep voice vibrating against my ear as I remain momentarily plastered to his body.

I push myself from him and stumble back slightly as I stand on my own feet and bring my gaze up the length of his body. I’m eventually met with a playful smirk and a pair of cobalt eyes dancing with humour. Obviously at my expense. I crane my neck back as my eyes continue to wander over his thick, short, dirty blond hair and the light dusting of matching stubble along his defined jaw, when I suddenly remember why I’m here.

“Hi, I’m Anna. I live across the hall,” I explain. “I really don’t want to be a pain, but could you please turn down your music and maybe call it a night?”

He begins down at my bare feet and trails his eyes over my hips, briefly pausing at the concealed outline of my chest before meeting my expectant stare. I’m anticipating an acknowledgement or perhaps even an apology. Words of some kind, at the very least. What I am not expecting is his door to slowly close in my face without so much as a hint of human decency. What the hell? I raise my hand to knock again before chickening out. Picking my jaw up off the floor, I stomp back to my apartment, closing my own door as hard as I can before flipping the lock. I head straight for the kitchen and dig through my junk drawer until I find a pad of paper and a pen. I jot down a quick note for myself.

Seriously inquire murder for hire. Cost? Craigslist?

I stick the yellow note to the coffee maker and head back to bed. I grab my iPod and earbuds from the nightstand and pray that The Lumineers can lull me to sleep while I ponder the likelihood of being able to hire an assassin on a teacher’s salary.

 

*

 

I stifle yet another yawn as I sit at my desk and refill several small plastic shakers with various colours of glitter. My students have all gone home, as well as my assistant Melinda. The classroom is pleasantly silent as I continue the tedious yet calming task of topping up the craft supplies. After my one and only unsuccessful attempt at conversing with my primate of a neighbour, I tossed and turned until the noise finally ended, and I was able to get four solid hours of sleep before I had to get up and ready for school. That was a week ago. I thought about calling one of my sisters and camping out with them, but they’d want to interfere and handle the situation for me. I love them and I appreciate their concern, but we aren’t kids anymore and I need to handle this ape on my own. My phone buzzes just as I set the final shaker back in the box.

Melinda: My cousin Lou says he’ll kill your neighbour for two hundred dollars and a carton of Marlboros. Personally,I’d decline since he’s unreliable, but I thought you’d want to know in case you get desperate 

I smile as I type my response.

Me: Aw, tell Lou I said thank you but I’d hate to see him get in trouble while he’s out on parole.

Melinda: Good call. See you tomorrow. My couch is free if you need it xo

I slip my phone into my bag and pack away the last of the supplies littered across my desk. I glance around the room as I pull on my jacket and feel a sense of pride. I always knew that I wanted to be a teacher. When I was a kid I would force my younger brother to play ‘school’ with me for hours on end. The memory flashes across my mind and like it always is, it’s tinged with sadness. I pick up my bag and sling it over my shoulder before I flip the lights off and head for the front door. I only live a couple blocks away from the school and parking is always a nightmare in this part of the city, so I usually walk to and from work.

The beginning stages of spring offer me a pleasantly warm breeze as I approach the edge of the city centre park. I reach into my bag for the Styrofoam container holding the leftovers from today’s hot lunch. It isn’t much, but two slices of pepperoni pizza are better than nothing. I spot Jack sitting on his usual bench and when he glances up at me, I return his smile and head toward him. He’s wearing his usual thread bare, long sleeved flannel shirt and faded jeans, his guitar case by his side as it always is along with a small duffel bag. His shaggy salt and pepper coloured hair is pulled back in a low ponytail and his beard looks freshly trimmed. He must have gotten a spot at one of the shelters last night.

“Hi Jack, how are you today?”

“Can’t complain Miss. B, and yourself?”

His eyes flicker briefly to the container in my hand but I know he won’t ask for it. Jack might be homeless, but he’s got more pride and dignity than any man I’ve ever met. I’ve been walking past him every day on my way home for the last six months and he’s never asked me for anything.

“I’m good, thanks. I brought you some leftover pizza,” I add, holding the container out for him to take. “It’s pepperoni, not a big seller with five year olds apparently.”

“My favourite,” he approves, opening the lid and inhaling.

“That worked out well,” I say, sitting down beside him. “See anything worth mentioning today?”

“Just the usual,” he replies, removing one slice of pizza and tucking the other away for later. “Busy people, busy lives and a whole lotta traffic.”

We continue to chat casually as he eats. Before I leave, I phone two of the nearest shelters to see if they have room tonight, it’ll save him the task of hauling his things there in person for nothing if they are full. Which they are.

“I’m sorry Jack, do you want me to try St. Mary’s on fifth?”

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for Miss B, you’ve been the highlight of my day,” he says. “I’ll be just fine tonight, don’t you worry.”

I don’t press the matter because I don’t want to make him uncomfortable. We say our goodbyes and before I rise from the bench, I place the twenty dollar bill that I had hidden in my palm between the slates of metal beside me, folding it across the top so it doesn’t slip out.

I continue on and turn off down the sidewalk, away from the busy street and into a more suburban area. Well, as suburban as you can get in the middle of a city I suppose. I lucked out when I found my apartment during college, not only is it central in location but the building is fairly new. Between my parent’s life insurance policy and my foster mother’s ingrained advice on how to live frugally, I’ve thankfully been able to afford it on my teacher’s salary.

I love my building. It’s not as large as most of the surrounding complexes and has only two floors with a total of five suites. As opposed to the typically generic housing you’d find in a crowded city, the building is more like a wide brownstone. Quaint with a touch of class, a single entranceway leads into a tidy foyer. A section of brushed gold mailboxes line up along a portion of the right wall and in the far back centre of the massive space is a large stair case with dark cherry steps and an intricately carved thick bannister of the same colour.

I climb the last step to the second floor with visions of a hot bath and a good book in my near future when my thoughts are interrupted by a loud thud followed by a growl of a curse. I hesitate at my door and dig deep for even the slightest dose of courage before I turn around and confidently step toward his door instead. I knock crisply and maintain my posture as I wait. Fake it til you make it Anna. You don’t really want to resort to murder.

“Yeah?”

I shake my head and look up at the same blue eyes I saw last week only now they aren’t filled with humour, they’re filled with annoyance.

“Hi, me again,” I say, smoothing down my pale pink cardigan and my yellow dress beneath it. I look my adversary in the eye and use my best no-nonsense tone. “I wanted to let you know that if you don’t start shutting down your gatherings by eleven p.m. I am going to have to call the cops and issue a noise complaint. I’d rather not but you’ve left me little choice in the matter.”

“Is that right?”

“Ye-yes. It is,” I stammer. “It’s a completely reasonable request.”

He crosses his arms in front of his chest, leaning casually against the doorframe as he continues to watch me. If he weren’t such a thorn in my side, I might be inclined to notice that he has very nice, very muscular arms. If, being the operative word.

“Annie, is it?”

“Anna.”

“Right. So, I have a request of my own,” he proposes, grinning.

“Ohhkay, I’m not sure how we’ve gotten there, but I’ll bite I guess,” I say reluctantly. I mimic his stance and cross my arms over my chest.

“Why don’t you come over tonight? Maybe take that stick out of your ass and have some fun,” he offers. “Plenty of single guys for you to choose from, maybe get some of that pent-up energy taken care of.”

“Hey, I don-.”

“Just a suggestion freckles,” he interrupts. “The invitation doesn’t expire.”

I find myself yet again, standing in front of a closed door. Speechless. Hours later, I don’t follow through with my threat which I’m sure he knew I wouldn’t. I don’t bother calling my sister Dru before I head out the door with an overnight bag and the resolve that I need to form a new and improved plan of attack.

 

*

 

By the time Thursday comes, I’m so cranky I can hardly stand myself. But I’m committed. Obviously Sebastian Miller, which is apparently this Neanderthal’s name, according to the discarded power bill I found on the floor of the foyer yesterday, doesn’t appreciate honest confrontation. Or the fact that some people have actual jobs. I need to approach him differently and I think I’ve got somewhere to start.

Cinnamon rolls.

Everyone loves homemade baking. Everyone. I’m going to whip some up and pray that bribery and guilt are a language my new neighbour understands. My foster mother Esme gave me the recipe for this particular dish of bribery which means it will of course be amazing. There is no way that Esme Dixon would stamp her name on a recipe if it were simply adequate.

I push open the front door and step into the foyer, pausing to readjust the heavy grocery bags in my arms as I make my way to the stairs. Out of habit, to not disturb anyone, I lighten my steps just slightly as I enter the hallway and set my bags down in front of my door while I search in my purse for my keys. I hear the door behind me creak open and expect to see Sebastian standing there when I slowly turn. Instead, I see a tall blonde wearing a tight red dress, carrying a pair of matching heels in her hand. She doesn’t say anything, but her smirk speaks volumes. She’s obviously marking her territory. I offer a genuine smile regardless and can tell that I’ve instantly made her uncomfortable as she walks by.

“Good morning,” I say happily.

She smiles tightly and continues on without giving me a second glance. Kindness always makes people stop and think. I replay the words Esme used to tell me when I was in high school and dealing with a never-ending parade of mean girls. She always used to tell me to fight with kindness.

I push open my door and haul my bags inside, setting everything on the kitchen counter. I place my iPod on the dock station and swipe at the small screen until I get to Janet Jackson’s greatest hits. Rhythm Nation drifts from the small speaker as I gather the rest of my supplies and sing along.

Less than two hours later, I’m pulling a tray of thick, syrupy cinnamon rolls from the oven. My entire apartment smells delicious and I am certain that Sebastian and I are about to take a step in the right direction toward an understanding. I set the tray on a wire rack to cool and duck into my bedroom to swap my flour stained T-shirt for something clean. I’m not even sure if he’s home or awake but I want to get these treats delivered so that I can get on with the rest of my day. Thursday’s are the only day during the week that I don’t have class and I like to take the free time to make up my lesson plans for the following week. Also…I have a date tonight.

I head back into the kitchen and transfer the cinnamon rolls onto a heavy glass plate and wrap them loosely with foil. I tape the power bill, along with a quick note to the top just in case he doesn’t answer, so he’ll know who they’re from. My phone buzzes and I glance down at the screen and smile. I set the plate back down on the counter and read the message from my sister.

Dru: Girls night is officially on for Saturday. Wear something sexy and meet me at my place, we’ll share a cab.

Me: And by sexy you mean…?

She replies immediately.

Dru: I love you Anna, but if you show up wearing that yellow dress I am going to pry it from your body and you’ll go naked.

Me: Surely you don’t mean that.

Dru: Naked, Anna. Your choice XO.

I reassure my sister that my unsexy yellow dress will remain in my closet. I’m excited to finally have a girls’ night with my sisters. We used to go out together often but when Elle got married, she gradually started bailing and it became more of a date night for Dru and I. Not that I’m not happy to spend time just with Dru, her and I have always been close. But I miss the three of us spending time together and there’s been a noticeable distance between Dru and Elle lately. I’m hoping that a traditional girls’ night will fix that.

 I pick the plate back up and take a mental inventory of my closet as I walk to the front door. Of course Dru never has to second guess any of her fashion choices. She’s a talented artist and a feature dancer at The Nightingale, an intimate burlesque club downtown. She’s got curves and mystique and the kind of beauty that poets write about. I make a second mental note to get the details on this mystery man she’s been seeing recently. I knew something was going on when I showed up over there and borrowed her sofa for the night. She didn’t want to talk so I didn’t push, but something is definitely up.

 My other sister Elle is just as beautiful, inside and out. The three of us couldn’t be more different physically, which is obviously the case when you’re not related by blood. But we are sisters through and through.

I reach Sebastian’s door and take a calming breath before I raise my hand and knock. When the door opens I’m surprised to see someone who is not Sebastian, eyeing up the plate in my hands. He’s tall and muscular, his dark hair buzzed short. I can see the beginnings or endings of a couple tattoos peeking out from the sleeves of his black T-shirt. He looks up at me and smiles, which makes him seem almost boyish in comparison to his size.

“Can I help you?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I was looking for Sebastian,” I say.

“Ah, he’s still sleeping it off I’m afraid,” he says. “You want me to wake his ass up?”

“No, that’s okay,” I smile. “I just wanted to drop these off, could you pass them along for me?”

“Sure thing,” he says, taking the plate from me and examining it carefully.

“Thanks. I’m Anna by the way. I live across the hall.”

“Mason,” he replies with a nod.

“Okay, well, have a nice day Mason.”

His eyebrows draw together slightly as he tilts his head, as if he’s not quite sure if there’s a catch.

“You too, thanks,” he replies eventually.

I turn and head back to my apartment, feeling his eyes on me. I assume whoever he is, he’s a regular guest of Sebastian’s and therefore one of the people responsible for the bags under my eyes.

Kindness always makes people stop and think, I remind myself.

I brew half a pot of coffee and settle on the couch with my planner and my iPod. I try to ignore the nerves that begin to flutter in my stomach as I glance at the clock and calculate how much time I’ll need to get ready for my date tonight.

 I am admittedly, a hopeless romantic. Ever since I was a kid I’ve been dreaming of a fairy tale tailored just for me. A valiant hero who’s smart, kind, generous, fun and charming to sweep me off my feet would be a great start to that fairy tale. Unfortunately, I haven’t had much luck. Not for lack of searching, but the city is big and busy and meeting people can be difficult. Dru always tells me to be patient, I’m only twenty-four, blah blah, but I can’t help the way that I am. I want love and marriage, good times and bad times and everything in between. I want what my parents had.

 In high school, I never had a boyfriend and I only kissed one boy, my biology lab partner Clifford. I saved the rest of my firsts for college. I’d been giving online dating a serious consideration the other day when I met Robert at the coffee shop on the way to work. We both reached for the milk at the same time and shared a smile. We chatted for a few minutes and when he asked if he could have my number I decided to give it one more shot before I officially started paying a website to find me a date. When he phoned yesterday and asked if I was free for dinner tonight, I remembered his kind smile and his deep brown eyes and instantly said yes. Not that looks are everything, of course, but Robert is incredibly handsome. I’m just hoping that the attraction runs deeper than the superficial aspect of appearances. I pop in my ear buds as Bruno Mars begins to play and switch my focus to next week’s lesson plans.

Before I know it, most of the day has passed and I have less than two hours before I have to meet Robert. I take my time getting ready, applying just a touch of makeup and twisting my hair up into a strategically messy ponytail. I pull on my favourite yellow dress and ignore Dru’s voice as she pops into my head and tells me this dress is not sexy. I know it’s not sexy, but I sew a lot of my own clothes and this dress is my favourite. The soft buttery shade compliments my hair and adds some pigment to my naturally pale complexion. The cut of the dress is modest but the flare of the skirt swishes when I walk, making me feel feminine and pretty. I don’t bother putting on a sweater right away, leaving my heavily freckled shoulders on display.

 It shouldn’t be too chilly tonight and the place we are meeting is only a block away from my apartment, but I snag a soft green cardigan from my closet for good measure and bring it along just in case. I toss a few items into a small purse and take one last look in the mirror, smoothing down my dress and taking a deep breath before I head for the door.

This could be it…he could be the one.

 

*

 

I check the time before I walk through the doors of the restaurant, knowing that out of habit I’m probably a few minutes early. I’m surprised when I look up and see Robert sitting on one of the leather benches near the hostess station. He smiles when he spots me and immediately stands, making his way over to me.

“Hi,” I say.

“You look beautiful,” he says, surprising me by leaning in close and kissing my cheek.

“Thanks, shall we sit?”

He places his hand on the small of my back, a bit too far down for my liking and I instantly get the feeling that this date may not be a winner after all. We are led to a small table for two in the far corner of the trendy restaurant and Robert immediately orders us a bottle of Merlot.

“I hope you like halibut,” he says.

“Oh? Is it good here?” I ask.

“Delicious,” he says with a smile. “I’ll go ahead and order for us.”

“Actually, I thought I might get pasta,” I say. “It’s my weakness,” I add with a grin, hoping that he won’t be put out.

“Suit yourself,” he shrugs.

Silence settles between us and I desperately wish it wasn’t uncomfortable, but unfortunately it is. I’m beginning to think that I may have misjudged our chemistry the other day at the coffee shop. A waitress eventually shows up with the wine and takes our orders, killing some of the awkwardness. I try to remind myself that first dates can sometimes be rough, but they still deserve a chance and I shouldn’t be ready to throw in the towel just yet.

“So, what do you do for a living?” I ask, taking a sip of my freshly poured wine.

“I work in sales,” he says.

“Oh! That’s exciting, I teach kinderg-.”

“It is actually,” he interrupts. “There’s big money in Pharmaceuticals when you know how to play the game. Plus, the travel is always a bonus.”

“Hm, that sounds great,” I say.

He continues to tell me about his career and how he’s managed to climb his way up in the company while I do my best to listen and nod at the appropriate times. Robert seems awfully full of himself and I’m sure some women would be more than impressed with his resume, but I don’t think there will be a second date. I’m relieved when the food finally arrives, my pasta looks delicious and I might as well get a nice meal out of this whole thing. I’m about to ask Robert how his halibut is when I glance up and see a very angry woman stalking across the restaurant. It takes me a minute to realize that she’s coming toward us and before I can register what’s going on, my pasta is dumped into my lap and my wine is splashed over my head. I sputter and wipe the Merlot from my eyes.

“You son of a bitch!” The woman shouts. “So, this is your new tart I assume. How lovely!”

“Sandra, calm down,” Robert says.

“I will not, you lying, cheating bastard. I knew it! I knew what you were up to!” she shouts.

I can feel every single eye on us as Sandra continues to berate Robert without a single concern for her audience. Through the distraction of trying to clean myself up with a small fabric napkin, I catch enough of the conversation to learn that my date is married and apparently a perpetual cheater. Fantastic. The restaurant manager and several waiters come to our table, trying to silence the erupted argument between Robert and his wife. I accept a towel from one of them and wipe off as much wine and pasta from myself as I can before I quietly escape.

The hostess offers me a sympathetic smile as I approach. I pull out my credit card, but she waves me away and says not to worry about it. I’m grateful for her discretion as she continues to seat people and distracts the crowd from my current state.

I wrap my sweater around myself tightly and begin the walk home, the scent of garlic and wine already giving me a headache.

How could this night get any worse?