Chapter Two
Nice and quiet.
Anna the landlord’s words taunted Doug as he hugged his pillow around his ears, struggling in vain to block out the party sounds coming from above. He sat up and grabbed his phone off the bedside table, checked the time, then slammed it back down. Falling back into the mattress, he glared up at the ceiling.
Five nights. He’d been in the apartment for five nights, and for five nights he’d barely slept. He was thankful he’d taken the week off to move and unpack, but dreaded what next week would bring when he had to return to work. Sleep, like his exercise and meditation, was crucial to maintaining his calm. But since moving into the apartment, he’d not had even close to a full night’s slumber.
It generally started around nine at night, sometimes a bit later: the trampling of feet going up the stairs to the second floor. The knocking as new people arrived. The music. Oh God, the music—usually played at an obscene volume.
The voices.
The laughter.
One laugh in particular, a shrill, male cackle, was becoming so familiarly annoying that Doug swore he’d punch the owner of it should they ever meet.
No. Control your anger. Count to ten. Breathe in. Breathe out.
Early in the evening he could handle it, his iPod ear buds wedged into his ears as he continued to clean and unpack. But he’d never been able to sleep with music playing, he needed silence. The noise was the worst in his bedroom, the ancient radiator acting as a conduit for sound, voices channeled down the pipes as though through a muffled megaphone. And the noises didn’t end once the party guests finally left at an ungodly hour. No, then came the sex.
Moans, groans, bedsprings squeaking. Terms of endearment, along with words not quite so sweet, bayed in guttural abandon at the moment of orgasm.
Sometimes the sex sounds came before the guests left, while the gathering still raged, as though someone had sneaked off for a quickie behind the bedroom’s locked door, their lust-filled grunts camouflaged by the music and drunken voices—camouflaged by everyone but Doug, lying in his bed one floor below.
He suddenly heard the door open at the top of the exit stairs and a muffle of goodnights and salutations, then the familiar trample of feet as they descended down to the foyer. The heavy front door opened and slammed shut as they left. Doug breathed a sigh of relief. He could still get a few hours in before his morning run. Turning onto his side, he pulled the sheet up and hugged his pillow, scowling as he willed unconsciousness to come.
He tried to ignore the voices he still heard, drifting through the radiator into his room. There were fewer of them now, though he couldn’t tell how many.
Oh please, please be too tired for sex, he thought, trying to mentally beam the idea up through the ceiling and into his neighbors’ minds.
He hadn’t even met his upstairs neighbors yet, but was already far too intimate with the bedroom habits of at least one of them, whoever occupied the room above his. Last night he’d been privy to one man asking another to suck his cock, which might have been easier to stomach had Doug not then heard the sounds of the act being performed.
Doug loved sex as much as the next guy, but being subjected to an audio track of someone else’s nightly intimacy was grating, especially in his sleep deprived state.
The voices above gained volume, and when he heard what sounded like the beginnings of an argument, he gave up, and with his pillow and blanket, retreated to the spare room.
His weight bench and punching bag took up most of the space, but he was now thankful he’d put the old sofa against the wall. It was coming in handy. There was no radiator in this room, and it was distanced far enough from the other side of the house to be virtually silent. Curling up on the couch, cocooned in his blanket, he drifted quickly off to sleep.
When he was awakened by the doorbell, sunshine was streaming through the windows. Doug sat up, groaning as he stretched his back, splinters of pain shooting through one arm. He climbed off the sofa and stumbled out of the spare room, bare feet padding the hardwood floor as he approached the door. He started to reach for the knob then stopped, looking down at himself. He wore boxer shorts and nothing else. He turned the knob and stepped hesitantly into the foyer, peering at the closed front door.
“Who is it?”
“Dougy, it’s me,” his brother’s familiar voice said.
Doug unlocked the door and opened it. His brother Wyatt held a large cardboard box in both arms. “Morning! I brought the last of your stuff.”
“Thanks,” Doug said, waving him in. He rubbed sleep out of his eyes, yawning as he led his brother into his apartment.
Wyatt stepped inside and set the box down, then looked around at the living room. “Wow! You’re all unpacked. It looks awesome.” He glanced at Doug, noting his attire. “Did I wake you up? I figured you’d already be back from your run.”
“What time is it?”
“Just after nine.”
“Shit,” Doug said, weaving over to sit on his puffy sofa.
His brother sat down on the other end. “You all right?”
“Haven’t been sleeping well.”
Wyatt raised his eyebrows. They both had the same light brown hair, though Doug noted that his big brother’s hairline was receding somewhat. While they had similar looks, Wyatt’s face was narrower, his body leaner. He was a runner like Doug, but had no interest in lifting weights or bulking up. He said picking up his baby daughter was enough of a workout for him. They also shared the same large, heavily lashed brown eyes, though Wyatt’s peered through the wire framed glasses he always wore, making them look larger still. “Why aren’t you sleeping?” he asked.
Doug gave him a drowsy account of the nightly parties upstairs, coming more awake as he went on, anger beginning to tap his temples with the retelling of it. “It’s insane,” he said. “I feel like I’m back in college. Every night, man. These pricks have no consideration. It’s making me nuts.”
Wyatt scowled, and Doug almost regretted telling him about the neighbors. His brother’s constant worry was both endearing and annoying. He knew it was only because Wyatt cared about him, and had therefore made it his mission to make sure Doug didn’t get stressed out again. But he was beginning to resent that look in his brother’s eyes, like Doug was a piece of delicate china, ready to shatter at any moment. “I’m fine, Wyatt, stop looking at me like that.”
“What? How am I looking at you?”
“Like you’re worried I’m gonna flip out and punch them or something.”
Wyatt laughed. “I wasn’t thinking that. I was thinking you should call Anna and tell her.”
Doug waved a hand at him. “I’m not calling the landlord on them.”
“Then go up there and talk to them, ask them to keep it down at night. You have to live here, Dougy, this is your home. You can’t deal with that every night.”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I’m hoping it will just stop so I don’t have to confront anyone.”
Wyatt shook his head. “I’m telling you, I think you should call Anna. Have her talk to them.”
Doug rubbed his eyes then stood, scratching one butt cheek. “Do you want coffee? I need coffee.”
“Actually, I have to go.” Wyatt stood. “I’m off work and we’re taking Mandy to the zoo today. I wanted to drop off the rest of your stuff and invite you to dinner tonight at the house.”
Doug grinned, raising his eyebrows. “Dinner? I figured you’d be so glad to have me out of your house I’d be banned for a while.”
Wyatt laughed. “Beth’s idea. She pointed out that you might not have had time to go shopping, and could probably use a nice meal. Unless you have plans. It is Friday, after all.”
“No, no plans. I haven’t quite gotten around to acquiring a life yet.”
“Good, you can make it then. Come on by around seven, I might invite a couple more people, make it an official dinner party.”
“Okay, sounds good. Sadly, I think I could use a night out of the house. Even though I just got here.”
“Well, the place looks great,” Wyatt said, giving him a quick hug and shoulder slap. “I’m glad you’re so close by, we’ll have to go for a run together one of these mornings.”
“Sounds good. I’ll see you later on. And thanks again. For finding me this place.”
“I’m just glad it worked out.” Wyatt paused as he opened the door. “I hope your neighbors shut up so you can get some sleep. I don’t like seeing you pissed off.”
“I’m fine, Wyatt. Really. I’ll deal with it.”
“You sure?”
“I’ll deal with it. Go on. Stop worrying about me.”
“Okay.” He laughed, raising his hands. “I’ll back off. See you tonight,” he said, then left, closing the door.
Doug made coffee, then moved to his bedroom to put on his running clothes. The dreaded radiator was now silent. Apparently the upstairs revelers slept late, or had already left for work. He peeked out the back window, pulling the shade aside. The vintage sports car was in the garage, and now a large blue van sat parked behind it. Sleeping in, then. He had a good mind to blast the stereo at peak volume to wake them.
Yeah, I really need a run. He desperately required endorphins to calm his nerves, and give him that warm, happy feeling.
He got dressed and left the house. It was a gorgeous spring morning, the air crisp and sweet. The houses along his street all had neatly manicured lawns with lots of flowering shrubs, making the walk down to the pond serene and calming, birds chattering in the trees. He had a beautiful apartment, lived on a beautiful street, and he didn’t want to give that up. He’d find a way to make it work with the neighbors, somehow.
Crossing the parkway, he made his way down to the pond. He started his jog, already feeling refreshed and less angry about his lack of sleep. It was difficult to stay irritated as he passed swans gliding across the water, fragrant blossom petals swirling like snow along the tree-lined path.
Though he was a bit irritated that he’d slept so late. At five in the morning there were few people down here, but at nine it was already crowded with other joggers and parents pushing strollers. A couple of times he fell into that awkward thing where some other jogger’s pace lined up exactly with his, and he had to either slow down or sprint to avoid running alongside a stranger.
He did his six miles and returned home, the cool breeze drying his sweaty skin, his mood considerably better. After taking a shower and dressing, he turned on some music and made breakfast in his new kitchen. He checked his phone messages as he chewed his egg sandwich, noting a new voice mail. As he listened to it, his teeth clenched.
“Hi Doug, it’s Anna, your landlord? Listen, your brother gave me a call, and he mentioned the problems you’re having with the noise. I’ll give a call to the guys upstairs and tell them to keep it down, and I’m sorry you had to deal with that. They’ve always been so courteous to me, I just don’t know, maybe they weren’t aware that someone moved in there yet. But don’t you worry about it, I’ll speak to them. Take care, hon.”
Doug put the phone down. “Fucking Wyatt. Damn it!”
He dropped the rest of the sandwich on his plate and wiped his hands, his appetite gone suddenly. Wyatt’s meddling had just crossed over into invasive land. Calling the landlord on his behalf! He’d have to have a little talk with Wyatt later when he went over for dinner.
Noises from above drew his attention, and he looked upward. The sound of feet shuffling around, voices raised. He winced, wondering if Anna had already called them.
He heard the creak of the upstairs door, then the sound of feet trampling down the stairs. Doug froze. Please don’t knock.
Someone knocked three times on his door, and from the force and volume, it didn’t sound like pleasantries were coming. Reluctantly, Doug climbed out of the kitchen chair and headed into the living room. He was halfway to the door when whoever was there knocked again, but this time it was a full fist slam, making the wooden door rattle.
Doug went still. Another pounding set of knocks came, even harder this time. His temples pulsed, anger boiling up inside him. Who the hell did this douche think he was, pounding on the door like that?
He decided then that he wouldn’t answer it. If the guys upstairs wanted to speak with him, they could do so politely or not at all. This was what he told himself, pushing aside the nagging truth that he was somewhat intimidated by that angry pounding. Not because he feared the neighbors. He was simply wary to further ignite his own anger if someone started shouting at him, ruining his hard earned, post-run bliss.
Eventually he heard the sound of the knocker retreat back up the stairs, slamming the door as he returned to his own apartment.
“Jesus Christ,” Doug muttered. “Chill the fuck out.” He’d have to deal with the situation eventually, but opted to put it off until he felt more mentally prepared for what was sure to be an awkward altercation.
For the rest of the day he busied himself with the last of his unpacking. As the afternoon edged toward evening, he heard the neighbors’ voices conversing as they went out the back door, then the welcome sound of car engines starting. Adios, assholes. He peeked out the front window and watched the blue sports car, which looked like an old Fiat Spider, leave the driveway and speed off down the road. He glimpsed two people inside as they drove off, but there was too much distance to get a good look at the occupants. He moved to his bedroom and peered out back, a strange paranoia urging him to check on his own car.
His car looked fine, still parked in the garage. The neighbors had moved the big blue van into the garage on the other side, having apparently left together in the sports car. With them gone, he began to feel more relaxed, aware now that a vague tension had plagued him all day, since those violent knocks on the door earlier.
Moving to the tiny alcove room at the other end of the house, he lit an incense cone. He’d transformed the small space into a meditation room, and now sat down on a cushion, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.
One...one...one...one...
He focused on the mantra, trying to catch and release the invading thoughts that did their best to creep into his mind. He was due at his brother’s house soon. He’d have to find a way to gently but firmly tell Wyatt he was bothered by his interference with the landlord, and to stop trying to wipe Doug’s ass for him. He was a grown man, and sure, he’d had some rough times, but it wasn’t like—
Stop! Stop thinking. Push it aside. Clear the mind. Okay. Here we go. One...one...one...
Of course there was still the problem with the neighbors. There was no doubt now that their first conversation would be an unpleasant one. But what the hell, was it such a big deal to ask for some consideration? They weren’t the only ones in the building, they could at least keep the music down and—
Shut. Up. Concentrate. One...one...one...
Doug tried to let the mantra take him down, but it just wasn’t working today, he had too much on his mind. He gave up after ten minutes and went into his bedroom to change into something suitable for Wyatt and Beth’s dinner. Digging through his drawers, he pulled out a pair of jeans and tossed them on the bed. He rifled through the closet for a nice button-down shirt, but then abandoned the idea and decided on a black tee. It was only dinner at Wyatt’s, and Doug was still technically on vacation, he didn’t want to be trapped in a stuffy shirt all night.
The arrival of spring had brought warm days, but the nights were still cool, so he grabbed a checkered flannel and put it on over his tee shirt, leaving it open in the front, then he pulled on his brown leather boots. A quick check in the mirror, and he decided it was good enough.
Grabbing his keys and wallet, he made his way around back and stepped outside. Standing on the back porch, he frowned as he locked up. Taped to his door was a sheet of white paper, folded in half. Slipping his keys into his pocket, Doug peeled the paper loose and opened it. It was a handwritten note, scrawled neatly in blue pen.
Dear new guy downstairs,
Truly sorry about the noise, we’ll try to keep it down in the future. However, we’d like to ask that in the future, you would be so kind as to come to us directly if you have a problem. You know, like a grownup. And we’d really appreciate it if you would not call the fucking landlord. There’s no need to go all Pussy McTattletale.
Much love,
The guys on top
Doug grimaced. “Pussy McTattletale?” He shook his head, crumpling the note into a ball. “Great. That’s just great.”
Tossing the note in the trash barrel, he got in his car and headed out on the road. Stopping on the way to Wyatt’s, he picked up a large bottle of wine to bring to dinner. He had the feeling he was going to need it.