Live Fast Die Hot (20 page)

“He's cute,” Veronica whispered, checking out one of the workers' butts as he walked past.

Jason peeked his head out of the bedroom to notify me that all the open airways in our walls had been sealed, and unless I was knocked up, I wasn't going to smell anything. The ventilation expert showed me the Styrofoam-like substance he used to fill in the gaps. I wasn't dissatisfied with the work. Part of me felt hopeful. But the other part of me still felt like confronting Esther. If she could see things from my point of view, perhaps she'd be compelled to quit smoking altogether. The expert left an extra can of foam in case I found any forgotten spots before following Jason out.

Once Jason was gone, I ran back over to the window to check on Esther. She was watching the news and drinking coffee. I held Teets's front paws like a puppeteer, forcing him to use only his hind legs to parade back and forth along the windowsill like he was the dog from
Frasier.
I knew I couldn't reach out to Esther directly, but if she were, for instance, convinced that the dog from
Frasier
lived nearby and found herself compelled to wave to him from across the courtyard, I'd have no choice but to crawl out onto my fire escape and start a conversation.

Unnerved by the puppet show happening next to her head, Veronica pulled a blanket up to her chin and closed her eyes.

I dropped Teets and glared at Veronica. “Are you going back to bed? It's the middle of the day!”

“I ate seven pancakes. You know I can't stay awake after I eat. I should have asked for that worker's number…It's like on one hand, I'm ready to move on and start dating someone new. But on the other hand—”

“There is no other hand!” I said, finally losing my cool.

“That worker only had one hand?” Veronica's eyes flashed with excitement.

“What? No! Oh my God, you really might be a stubby chaser!”

Veronica looked up at me, suddenly concerned that she had a problem.

To my surprise and slight disappointment, the Styrofoam spray worked. “Thank God you didn't send a crazy letter to the board.” Jason sighed every night before bed. Curiously, the board never returned my letter, which I assumed meant they'd read my first book and mutually decided that I was unwell. Days went by and I didn't smell anything. Then late one Saturday night I woke up choking on what smelled like stale smoke. I sprang out of bed and ran to the window to see Esther sucking down a pack of her signature Marlboro reds. With her window shut! I crept out of the bedroom so as not to wake Jason and stormed off to find Veronica and Naomi.

“Guys! It's back! Her window isn't even open and I can smell it!” Veronica's head slowly emerged from a ball of blankets on the couch like a lethargic turtle's.

Naomi opened the door to her bedroom groggily.

Slowly, the three of us made our way toward the window.

“Yup, that's smoke.” Veronica yawned. “Maybe I should start smoking again so I at least have a filter to my face when I come over for visits.”

I pressed my cheek against the window and noticed several small gaps in the mortar binding her brick unit together.

“This can't go on. I have to do something,” I whined, desperate.

Naomi tore her hair out of a gigantic ponytail on the top of her head. The strap on her mildly inappropriate leopard nightgown slunk off her left shoulder as she whipped her long mane of black braids off to one side, ready for a fight.

“Tonight, this ends.”

Naomi disappeared into the darkness, then reappeared with the extra can of Styrofoam sealant. She placed the can in my hands without saying a word. I knew what had to be done. Though I was certain this would fall under the umbrella of “Things Jason wouldn't want me doing,” I'd run out of options. I'd tried being patient. But patient was giving Sid cancer. It was time to protect my family—and ever so slightly break the law. The Styrofoam sealant had drastically decreased the amount of smoke getting into my bedroom. I saw no real harm in using my spare bottle of foam to do a little touch-up work on the exterior of Esther's unit. The way I saw it, Esther loved smoking, so I was doing her a favor.

“Cigarettes are expensive these days,” I reassured myself, as I slipped into one of Jason's ski masks and a pair of flip-flops. “Why should she want to share any of them with me?”

Veronica applied more eyeliner in the event that a mug shot was in her future and followed Naomi and me into the bathroom. Stealthily, I cracked open the window and crawled out onto the fire escape.

“I hope this works,” I whispered, my heart racing with adrenaline.

Using the ladder, I wiggled down one flight of stairs to Esther and Yosi's balcony.

Naomi and Veronica hung out the window, watching. Once I was down, Naomi handed me the can of sealant and started pointing out possible cracks. I carefully filled in the holes along Esther's wall.

“Did I ever tell you how he lost his leg?” Veronica called out in a hushed voice.

“How?” I asked, for once appreciating the distraction.

“His neighbor shot him.”

“What?” I looked up, nearly tripping on the fire-escape grate.

“I'm just kidding. I think he was born with it.”

“Shh!” Naomi smacked Veronica on the head.

“But seriously, do you think we are ever getting back together?”

“No! It's over!” I whispered firmly. “There, I said it. You need to move on.” I continued working. “Look at everything Naomi has been through in her life. And do you hear her whining? Until you escape South America—”

Naomi stopped me.

“I'm not from South America.”

“You aren't?” I glanced up, confused. “Where are you from?”

“Guatemala.”

“That's not South America?”

“No, it's right under Mexico.”

“Huh. So you only had to cross two borders to enter the States.”

“Sí,”
she said.

Somehow the idea of Naomi making her way up from Central America was less impressive than picturing her journey from the depths of the Amazon. Even my housekeeper Lita had made it all the way from Bolivia. Maybe I was giving Naomi too much credit. Maybe she wasn't such an authority on guerrilla warfare. Maybe I shouldn't have been hanging off a fire escape with only her and my obsessive sister-in-law supervising. Maybe I needed to work on my geography.

Before I could inquire if Naomi had ever impaled anyone with a machete like she had in my fantasies, a shadow appeared to my right. As I turned, I saw one of Esther's wrinkled hands lift open her window and ash her dying Marlboro into the abyss below. Trying to be still, I sucked in my stomach and held my breath. If she happened to peer over the ledge, our faces would meet. I closed my eyes tightly, trying to think of how I'd explain what I was doing on her fire escape. Could I be doing some neighborly window washing at two in the morning? Or maybe I was trying to make it to ten thousand steps on my Fitbit. Naomi put her hand up, cautioning me to stop moving. Then, as quickly as Esther appeared, she was gone.

I rushed back up the stairs and climbed back in the window, hoping I'd finally solved the issue.

The next day was Sunday. Naomi took off to visit her sister in Brooklyn and Veronica headed back to Jersey. Jason and I spent the day drinking cold-brewed coffee and strolling Sid around the city. I'd felt so accomplished and at peace as I went back to bed the night before, but this morning as we were getting ready to leave the house, I found myself riddled with doubt.
Was I smelling smoke again?
I'd become so obsessed that I couldn't even say for sure anymore.

I was sitting on a park bench watching Jason swing Sid and replaying last night's events when an e-mail popped up on my phone. It was from our co-op board, and they'd cc'd Jason.

Dear Jenny, we got your e-mail about the smoke problem and didn't want to write back until we checked with our lawyers about whether or not we had any jurisdiction over the communal corridor. Sadly, there's not much we can do about someone else's building. The only thing we might suggest is reaching out and asking them to stop.

I quickly waved at Jason to solidify our marriage before scouring the area for his phone. I needed to delete the e-mail from the co-op before Jason yelled at me for reaching out. But it was no use, Jason's phone glared at me from his back pocket. The e-mail from the co-op was waiting patiently in his in-box.

If Jason learned that I'd acted against his wishes and written to the co-op board, he'd know that I hadn't let the whole thing go—that I was still plagued by the neighbors' smoke. He'd never let me anywhere near their building. I had to do something quick. It was like I'd already ruined my diet for the day by eating a loaf of bread, so I might as well build myself an ice-cream sundae out of everything else in my pantry.

I'll start abstaining from neighbors tomorrow,
I assured myself.

“Baby, I have to go home, I'm bleeding!” I called out to Jason, using the oldest excuse in the book.

Jason looked at me from across the playground, mortified.

I delicately sauntered out of the park, explaining that I'd meet him back at the apartment. Instead of heading home, however, I ran directly to Esther and Yosi's. If I was going to talk to Esther I had to act fast, before Jason had a chance to read his e-mail and guess where I was headed. After all, it wasn't my idea anymore. I was merely following my co-op board's suggestion.

Beep, beep, beep.

The buzzer rang three times before a woman answered.

“Hello, I'm from next door. I was hoping I could talk to you,” I stuttered nervously.

The door opened and I headed inside, unprepared for what was to come.

When I reached the third floor, Esther was waiting for me.

Her face was older than I expected, a stark contrast to the spiky gray Mohawk and wooden tribal earplugs I'd noticed from my window. She wore platform Doc Martens, a flowing purple skirt, and a colorful cotton shirt emblazoned with a screen print of Ganesh, the Indian elephant god of transitions. Her look was half punk rock, half yoga studio gift shop. She seemed like the type of person who'd shared needles with Basquiat in the eighties and had tantric sex with Sting in the nineties.