Intoxicated (3 page)

I continued driving. Once I drove through the
next light, the landscape quickly changed from retail to
residential. Housing additions surrounded me. As I drove further,
the houses on either side appeared to me to get even more spacious
and impressive. I wondered what the house that I was going to view
looked like. I realized I had no idea.

I had committed the remainder of the driving
directions to heart. I quickly found the street that I was to turn
on and continued in the path that the mapping program had spelled
out. The addition that I turned into was marked by two large brick
signs on either side of the entrance, proudly displaying the
community name. I let out a sigh of relief as I realized that
though the neighborhood was decidedly middle to upper-middle class,
I doubted that anyone would look down their nose at my car and tell
me I didn’t belong. No gates or security guards here. Just lot
after lot of homes that practically screamed pride of
ownership.

Once I pulled in, I slowed the car to a stop
and consulted my map for the exact address. The home wasn’t on the
main street that led into the addition, and I had to make a series
of turns that I would have problems remembering later. I would
probably get turned around and hopelessly lost on my way back out
of here. I wasn’t used to living in the suburbs, that was for
sure.

The home was nestled on a cul-de-sac lot
toward the back of the addition. It, like all the others, was
well-maintained on the outside and impeccably landscaped. It
appeared from a quick onceover to be a one and a half story,
probably with a loft on the second floor. The siding was a soft
yellow, the trim a crisp white. I smiled just looking at it.

I parked the Honda in the driveway, wondering
briefly if I would be allowed one of the spots in the two car
garage. Nothing like getting ahead of myself. I grabbed my purse,
my list of references and my confidence and exited the vehicle. I
was about ten minutes early. Hopefully not a problem.

I strode up the winding sidewalk to the front
porch, then rang the doorbell. I heard the happy melody of the
chimes inside the home announce my presence. Seconds later, the
deadbolt lock clicked open. The lock on the actual doorknob
followed suit, and the front door opened.

“Damn it,” the blonde on the other side of
the door whispered under her breath.

“Excuse me?” My voice came out hesitantly. I
checked the house number on the front of the home one more time.
Maybe I had knocked on the wrong door. “I was here about renting
the room listed on the internet. Have I made a mistake?”

The blonde raised her gaze from the tile
foyer to my face. Her expression was contorted in an uncomfortable
position. It appeared she was possibly squinting. It was hard to
tell.

“No, no mistake,” she said louder this time,
more cheerfully, “you must be Lauren.”

I nodded.

“I’m Blake. Nice to meet you.”

She extended her hand and I shook it
politely. Once my hand returned to my side, I waited expectantly
for her to invite me in. Instead, Blake returned to scanning the
floor.

“Nice to meet you, too.” My inflection made
it sound more like a question than a statement.

“I just lost my contact lens,” she offered in
explanation, “right as I answered the door. It has to be around
here somewhere.”

“Oh,” I responded with relief, “let me help
you look for it.”

We spent the next couple minutes crouched
down, searching for the missing contact. Blake was inside the home;
I remained on the porch, craning my neck and attempting to look
just over the threshold. Triumphantly, Blake announced its
discovery and scooped it into her hand.

“I’m so sorry,” she apologized. She rose to
her feet and invited me in. “If you’ll just excuse me for a moment,
I’m as blind as a bat without these things.”

“Sure, no problem.”

“Make yourself at home. I’ll be right
back.”

Blake disappeared down the hallway,
presumably to the bathroom.

I took a moment to gather my bearings. I had
been correct about the loft; when I fixed my attention upwards, I
saw a comfortable looking sitting area and two doorways, probably
entrances to bedrooms. I stood in an expansive great room; to my
right was a sectional sofa with recliners on both ends. A large
flat screen television hung on the wall above an impressive
fireplace. To the left was the hallway where Blake had disappeared
– my guess was it led to the master bedroom and a half bath. Beside
the stairs to the loft was the doorway to the kitchen. I set my
purse and sheet of references on top of the glass coffee table.

Upon first glance, this home was a veritable
showpiece. The walls were painted a muted gray. Somehow this
worked. Instead of making the interior feel gloomy, it added an air
of elegance to the surroundings, and even worked to coordinate with
the exterior yellow. Sunlight poured through the windows. As I spun
around, I took in the skylights above.

The furnishings were decidedly high end as
well. In fact, it looked as though they were almost custom made for
the space. I wondered who Blake was, how she could afford all this,
and if she wasn’t living on handouts from a rich relative, why was
she looking for a roommate?

I was drawn to the fireplace. Candid
photographs lined the mantle, encased in brushed nickel frames. The
first picture was Blake standing in front of a storefront, a wide
smile upon her face. The next was a picture of two children, a boy
and a girl. The photo was faded, as if it were from several years
ago. The boy, probably no more than two or three, was standing over
a baby girl, his lips pressed to the top of her head. The infant
was so tiny, the only clue to its gender was the silly looking
headband strapped to her bald head. The third picture was of Blake
again, presumably at her college graduation. It was the fourth and
final picture that really caught my eye.

Impulsively, I picked it up. An image of
Blake grinned back at me. Her eyes were shrouded by a pair of dark
sunglasses. Her arms were wrapped tightly around a blonde male,
also wearing shades. His smile was just as radiant, and I doubted
that he would be any less attractive had I seen his eyes. Two
impressively beautiful people, so happy and full of life.

A twinge of jealousy hit me as I realized
that no such picture of myself and Eric existed.

Blake cleared her throat, and I realized that
she was standing right behind me. How long she had been there I
didn’t know. I set the picture down, spinning around as heat filled
my cheeks.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude,” I
stammered, embarrassed at my rudeness.

She gave me an easy shrug. “No bother.”

“Your boyfriend?” I asked, pointing to the
picture I had just set down.

She giggled, a sweet melodic sound. Was
everything about her perfect? “Or my brother.”

If possible, my face turned even redder,
prompting her to nearly convulse with laughter. “Don’t worry, we
get that all the time. The baby picture is us, too. I’m single. How
about you?”

“I’ve got a boyfriend,” I said hesitantly.
Hell, I didn’t even know if that was true anymore. “Eric. We’ve
dated for about ten years.”

Her eyes widened and I could see her brain
working as she attempted to calculate my age. She had a point. Not
many people my age could say they had been involved with someone
for that length of time, especially not without some sort of vows
exchanged or a diamond on their finger. Leave it to me to be the
exception to that rule. Marriage hadn’t even been a real discussion
yet; the thought of committing myself to him for the rest of my
life at the moment did nothing for me but make my stomach queasy.
We had our issues to work through before making it legal.

“High school sweethearts.” I smiled, hoping
it was convincing.

She nodded. “Can I get you something to
drink? If you have time, maybe we could talk a little before
looking around. Get to know each other a bit?”

“Sounds good. I’ll just take a water,
thanks.”

Blake led me through the door to the eat-in
kitchen. The space was bigger than my entire apartment. The dining
area was situated in front of a set of sliding glass doors which
looked out onto a sizable deck. On the deck stood a hot tub. I
imagined myself relaxing in the warm, pulsing jetted water,
surveying the spacious backyard. If that didn’t sound like
paradise, I didn’t know what did.

She opened the refrigerator and pulled out
two bottles of water. She handed me one, then sat down at the
breakfast bar with her own. I followed suit, perching on the
barstool and setting my water on the granite countertop.

“I apologize for earlier,” she said with a
smile, “I’m kind of surprised that you didn’t turn around and run
screaming the other way.”

“I don’t scare easily. You should see where I
live now.”

Blake’s eyes filled with amusement. She
grabbed her water, taking a long sip. The pause in conversation
allowed me to take a good look at the real her, not the squinting,
awkward lady that had greeted me initially.

She was classically beautiful, like a
porcelain doll. She wore just the right amount of makeup to
accentuate her delicate features, though I was sure she would turn
heads bare-faced. Thick, platinum blond hair fell in soft waves
over her shoulders and down her back. A section of hair
approximately an inch wide matched the deep aqua color of her eyes.
Whether the blue streak was a dye job or an extension I couldn’t
tell. A tiny diamond stud sparkled from its place in her left
nostril. Her lean, athletic frame draped effortlessly across the
stool.

She was everything I wasn’t. Instead of being
jealous, I liked her immediately.

“So where is that exactly? Your current
place?”

“I live in Indianapolis now. I got promoted
so I have to relocate.”

“Cool. What do you do?”

“I’m a mortgage underwriter.”

“That sounds…interesting.”

“No it doesn’t.” We both laughed. “What do
you do?”

“I own my own business. I’m an interior
decorator.”

Well, that made a lot of sense. The other
photo on the mantel was probably of Blake standing in front of her
own business. That explained the obvious professional touch and the
uniqueness of the furnishings. Maybe she wasn’t rich; just
talented.

“Your home is beautiful,” I said
sincerely.

Color flushed her cheeks. “Thank you. Ready
to take the tour?”

I nodded. We left our half full water bottles
on the counter and started with the kitchen. A door led to the
garage; she opened it up and we stepped out. Her red Mazda Miata
occupied the left hand side. Even though I thought a convertible
was highly impractical for Indiana weather, the vehicle suited her
perfectly. She explained that she also owned an SUV, but that was
kept at her store and she rarely brought it home. If I rented the
room, I would be able to park in the right hand space.

Like a realtor, she pointed out the main
features of both the home and the community. She gestured to the
hot tub on the deck. “The addition also has a pool, but I prefer to
go over to my brother’s house to use his. Matthew lives maybe
fifteen minutes away. I’m over there quite a bit in the summer; he
uses the hot tub in the fall. A pretty even trade off if you ask
me. Of course, our invitation would extend to you.”

My mind flashed back to the picture of her
brother over her fireplace. For whatever reason, the thought of
being included in their plans filled me with excitement. A reason
that I was sure had nothing to do with seeing his attractive male
form in a swimsuit. I pushed any impure thoughts deep down in my
mind, telling myself that any guy who looked that good must be an
extreme prick. Besides, I was in a serious relationship. I was here
to find a roommate, not a new man.

We breezed through the great room, walking
past the half bath and an exercise room. Like the rest of the home,
both were well appointed and pristine. When we reached the doorway
to what I assumed was her bedroom, she paused. Her fingers lingered
on the doorknob, creating anticipation as if she were about to
reveal a work of art.

“This,” she breathed, “is fondly referred to
as The Bubble Room.”

She threw open the door and stepped inside. I
followed behind her, my eyes growing large with awe. The expansive
room was obviously the master bedroom, though it wasn’t the square
footage that was most impressive. The walls were coated with a rich
lavender, the accents either black, white or silver.

Everything was circular, even the bed.

“Wow,” I whispered.

“I know, right?”

I had never seen a circular bed before. Blake
explained that the mattress had been custom ordered. She had
constructed the bed frame herself, as well as the bedding. The
pride in her eyes was evident as she described the process. Instead
of coming off as self-absorbed, she seemed like an artist engrossed
in her craft.

Our last stop on the tour was the loft. We
backtracked through the lower level of the house and up the
stairway to where my room would be located. There were actually two
bedrooms on the second level. One Blake used as her home office,
and it was filled with the trappings of her trade: a couple of
sewing machines, an ironing board, a desk and piles and piles of
fabric. This room was connected to the second bedroom by a
Jack-and-Jill style bathroom.

“The bathroom will be all yours,” she stated
as we passed through, “so there won’t be any problems getting ready
in the morning.”

Her selection of words was promising.

“And here it is. The room for rent.”

Again, Blake swung open the door. She waved
her arm around like a cross between an air traffic controller and a
game show host. I attempted to hide my disappointment, but failed
miserably.