Rough [02] - Roughhousing (13 page)

"Macy. Macy Love.” Instead of offering her hand, Macy clasped her own hands together and jiggled in place, apparently excited by her next admission. “I'm an exotic dancer. You know, like in that movie
Flashdance
? I dance at the Tipster Club.” She widened her eyes to accentuate the importance of the club's name. “Part-time, anyway. I have classes in the mornings."

Without missing a beat Macy batted her false eyelashes at James and cooed, “I just got a new outfit for the club and I need a man's opinion on it.” She pirouetted on the toes of her Lucite stacks.

James had to give her credit. She twirled in place on those stiletto heels with the grace of an experienced, confident dancer. She was a shapely, toned woman. After one full turn, she twisted sideways and presented him with a view of her shapely, exposed rump, a thin line of black lace straining between her cheeks.

"So, does it make my butt look big?"

"What? Ah ... yes, no! I mean no. It looks ... fine. I guess."

"Oh, good! Say, you really are cute! It's been so
boring
living here without any good looking guys around, you know?” Macy shimmied again and ran one pointed nail down James’ chest.

"I mean, I'm between boyfriends right now. Vince broke up with me again and five times is the limit with me. I'm through with him.” She paused and a slight frown marred her perfectly tanned, unlined, make-up-laden face. “Anyway, I think he might be married."

Macy shrugged, patted at her bouncy Marilyn Monroe hair-do, and brightened. “The last guy that lived here only stayed a couple of months. Tenants don't usually stay long in this apartment. That's why I had to run over here quick and meet you before you decided to leave, too.” She tugged at the thin string holding the scrap of thong in place and winked at James. “He wasn't as cute as you are. What's your name, handsome?"

As casually as possible, James yanked open the front door and leaned against it, suddenly feeling trapped. “Ah, hi. I'm James. Nice to meet you. Do you think you could get dressed and leave, please?"

The last thing he needed on top of a fight with Bram was a strange woman stripping in his apartment. He quickly crouched down and retrieved the discarded kimono off the floor. He tried to drape the robe over Macy's front, but she just giggled and pushed the robe away.

"Aren't you just the forward one?” Macy batted at James’ hands, then grabbed one and pulled it to rest over her heart on the swell of her left breast.

James yanked his arm back like he had been set on fire. “Actually no, I'm not. But I think I'll have to be.” He grabbed Macy's arm, her robe, and the doorknob and pushed the woman toward the door. “I'm on my way out. It's been really nice to meet you, but I can't talk right now. Maybe another time."

"Well, gee, okay. I just thought maybe we could be, you know,
friends
.” Her innocent expression contrasted with her body language, sending mixed, confusing messages. “You know, like neighborly.” Macy stumbled over the threshold, grabbed the kimono James shoved in her hands, and gave him a crushed pout that almost stopped him cold.

Blocking the doorway, James paused, then sighed. “Listen, Macy. It was really sweet of you to stop by and say hello."

Macy grinned and jiggled her breasts at him.

James closed his eyes for a moment before adding, “I appreciate the ... warm welcome to the building, but ... I'm gay."

Frowning, Macy nibbled on one perfect, pink fingernail and asked, “Like in ... you don't like girls?"

"I like girls. I just don't date girls."

"Do you have sex with them?” Macy sounded hopeful. “Ever?"

James choked a little, but solemnly shook his head no.

"What about the other cute guy? The big one?"

"My boyfriend. Sorry, Macy.” James crossed his fingers behind the door and hoped the truth would send her running in the other direction.

Macy seemed to think about it for second, then her frown disappeared and a bright, toothy smile split her face. “That's okay. We can be friends anyway, Jimmy. Maybe you'll change your mind."

"It's James."

"Okay."

Suddenly the same muffled baby's cry as earlier wailed from behind the door across from Macy's. Both of them turned to look at the battling couple's apartment. The cry sounded again, long and mournful, a wail that raised the hair on James’ arms. Before he could comment about it, Macy sighed, turning big, sad eyes toward him.

"That's Kitty. She cries a lot.” She shook her head and stared at the apartment door. “They don't pay near enough attention to her."

"Is it like that all the time?"

She nodded, clutching the robe to her breasts and managing not to cover them at the same time. “That's why no one stays in your place long. The crying gets to them after a few weeks."

As if on cue, the wail broke out again, but went instantly silent when a heavy thud hit the wall.

Taking a step toward the apartment, James clenched his fists at his sides and stopped, unpleasant childhood memories flooding his mind. “Why doesn't anyone do something about it? Call the police or something?"

"Oh, the police are here all the time. Nick, that's Sheila's husband, he gets drunk a lot and they're always fighting about something. Shelia goes off to her sister's for a day or so and then comes right back.” She shrugged then brightened. “I get to babysit for Kitty then."

"They let
you
, ah ... ask you to babysit?” James didn't know why he was startled these people would trust this nice but ditsy woman with their child. The dancer might actually be the more stable of the group. Not surprisingly, Macy didn't seem to notice his implied criticism. She smiled and her eyes sparkled at the mention of babysitting.

"Oh, yeah. I just love Kitty and she loves me. We have a great time together. I wish she was mine.” She sniffed dramatically and looked longingly at Nick and Sheila's door. “I wouldn't let her cry like that."

James studied Macy, seeing the sincerity and determination in her painted face. When she wasn't batting her eyelashes and flirting with him, he could suddenly see she had a very pretty face under all the pancake and eyeliner. “I bet you would take good care of her, Macy."

"Yeah.” She leaned closer to James and whispered, “You're sweet.” Another heavy noise echoed from Sheila's place, making Macy wince. “Stay away from Nick. He's the landlord's nephew. He'll give you trouble if you complain."

The strong scent of lilies and baby lotion tickled James’ nose as Macy's body heat touched him. She really had no idea what personal space meant. James shifted a little to widen the tiny gap between them so he could grab a breathe of unscented air. “Ah, thanks for the tip, Macy, but I think I can handle myself."

"Okay, Jimmy, but don't say I didn't warn you."

"James."

"Okay."

Macy nodded vigorously and flounced off, turning back when she reached her own door to flutter her overly long nails in James’ direction again before disappearing into her apartment.

Bram long gone, Macy's perfume still clinging to the air, and a dull ache pulsing behind his eyes, James wearily closed the door to his own apartment and leaned against it, defeated, confused, and frustrated. What was it about him that attracted every nut case in every apartment building he lived in?

* * * *

Skipping dinner, James downed two Motrin and wandered back into the living room. He shoved aside a stack of books on the floor and threw himself down on the couch. A small animal statue on the coffee table drew his attention and he stretched to scoop it up off the table. It had been a gift to him from Bram and it held a special place in his affections, a symbol of the other man's sensitivity and caring.

Resting the small figure on his t-shirt clad stomach, he wiggled his jeans-covered hips deeper into the cushions of the sofa. He closed his eyes and fingered the edges and curves of the animals, the resin cool to the touch. The animals had been meant to represent Bram and him, symbols of the roles each took in their relationship. It was a kind of declaration of their love for each other. It showed just how much one completed the other. James loved it. It was his most prized possession next to his grandfather's old, broken pocketknife he always carried in his pants pocket.

James was lonely, but a new kind of emptiness began to gnaw at him. His stomach churned and his head pounded despite the Motrin. It had been his decision to be alone, to live alone. He knew it was a sensible decision that would save him time, money, and pain later, but it didn't seem like that now. He should have been honest about his misgivings, but he didn't really want to hear placating promises that would eventually change as Bram's feeling for him tired and faded as he knew they would. They always did. But it sure didn't feel like the right decision now.

He debated calling Bram and explaining, but he couldn't find a way to put his feeling into words. Nothing seemed adequate to describe the pain and rejection he was trying to avoid.

Putting the statue back on the table where he could look at it, James turned on his side and used his arm for a pillow. Eyelids heavy and body exhausted, he fell asleep with thoughts of crying babies, blond-haired breasts, and rough, manly touches dominating his dreams.

* * * *

They were shouts this time, not wailing cries. Though still muffled, they were also closer. They had a higher pitch and it took James several sleepy blinks before he realized they weren't part of his restless dreams that had been populated by his parents and sisters, Macy and Bram, and an unseen child huddled in a broom closet, crying.

The shouts died away, followed by low sobbing. Several thumping noises dotted the odd silences between sobs.

Startled and confused, James lay very still in the darkness of the strange apartment and tried to make out the gray shapes around him. The layout was different, but the shapes slowly took on the features of familiar furniture and remembered stacks of unorganized belongings.

Marginally more awake, James sat up on the edge of the couch, blinking hard to push back the darkness. He fumbled for the knob on the nearest lamp-shaped item only to discover it hadn't been plugged in.

The muffled sobbing suddenly was lost in a barrage of rough, raspy shouts that pulled James right out of his seat. A child-like, mournful wail joined the chaos and James was at his door, yanking it open, before coherent thought had a chance to form in his sleep-blurred mind.

He rocketed into the hall just in time to see a man and woman tussle in the open doorway to the apartment Macy had said belonged to the argumentative couple, Nick and Sheila. Keys hung from the partially open front door and a woman's handbag lay on the floor by the threshold.

The man was only a couple of inches taller than James with neatly trimmed brown hair. James guessed the guy was in his late thirties. He wore some type of designer jeans and a pale blue polo shirt.

The woman was dressed in low-heels and a green halter dress that clung to her too-thin frame. Her face was hidden, locks of dark red hair obscuring all of her features. James had the fleeting thought that she must be freezing if she had worn only that dress out for the evening. James couldn't see enough of her to guess her age.

Unaware of or unaffected by James’ presence, the couple continued battling. The man held the woman by her upper arm. He punched the wall between words with his free hand. He shook her hard, his voice low and rough, a deep, raspy sound that showed the effects of too much booze and too many cigarettes over the years. It grated on James’ nerves, faintly reminding him of his own father's voice.

"God damnit! I saw you flirting with him, Sheila! Don't tell me I didn't!” His voice was unsteady and slurred.

"I wasn't, Nicky. I swear! I just smiled at him. That's all!” Sheila raised an arm to push the hair out of her face and James could see it was tear-stained and puffy. Large, sad, brown eyes were rimmed with a pool of fresh tears.

"Don't lie to me! I saw the
way
you smiled, bitch!"

As James moved closer, the reek of alcohol assaulted his senses. Before James could speak, Nick slapped Sheila, releasing her arm and sending her stumbling against the doorframe.

James dove to catch her, but he was too far away. “Christ! What's your problem, asshole?” Crouching low at her side, he tried to help her to her feet. “Are you all right, miss?"

Sheila huddled on the floor, legs tucked close and head protected by one arm while she used the other to brace her upper body up off the worn carpet of the hallway. When she darted a panicked glance at James, a trickle of blood oozed from the corner of her mouth.

"Jesus.” James searched unsuccessfully through his jeans pockets for something to press to the wound.

"Who the fuck are you, buddy? Get away from my wife.” Nick stumbled back and bounced off the wall, but remained on his feet.

Shooting a glare up at a swaying, still swearing Nick, James grabbed the handbag off the floor and offered it to Sheila.

"Got a Kleenex in there? Something for your lip?” He motioned at Sheila's mouth. “It's bleeding."

Sheila didn't answer, but she nodded and accepted the bag, huddling into a tighter ball while she pulled a small tissue out and dabbed at her face.

Offering comfort, James patted her shoulder and again tried to help her stand. Sheila cringed and shook her head, glancing in Nick's direction without actually looking up to face him.

A low, menacing growl came from behind James. “Get your hands off my property!"

James sighed and began to stand, but he was suddenly shoved to the floor, a solid weight on his back. Air swooshed from his lungs and his chin brushed along the coarse carpet. He could feel a sudden, sharp burn as layers of skin were rubbed off. Somewhere to one side he heard a door open and just as quickly slam shut.

"Fucker!"

The smell of Scotch puffed over his shoulder and hot breath blasted against the back of his neck. A heavy, bare-knuckled punch hit him just above his right kidney and James instantly retaliated.

Slamming an elbow back, James connected with soft flesh. He was rewarded by a grunt and a sudden lessening of the weight on his back. Rolling out from under Nick, James shoved the man away and regained his feet. One hand pressed to his bruised flank, James panted through the blinding pain and leaned against the nearest wall.