Serenading Stanley (6 page)

Even feeling like an utter fool didn’t make him break the habit.

Nor did being called on it by Roger Jane himself.

It happened on Stanley’s first Saturday at the Belladonna Arms. Stanley had just tiptoed past the fifth floor and was approaching his landing when he heard a voice behind him.

“Hey, Little Mouse. How are you getting settled?”

Stanley recognized the voice immediately. Heart thudding away, more from the sexy timbre of the voice than from climbing those six flights of stairs, Stanley turned two steps from the top and looked down the way he’d come.

Roger Jane was leaning on the newel post, staring up. He wasn’t wearing scrubs. He was in faded blue jeans and a snow-white T-shirt that looked brand new. The whiteness of the shirt set off the tan of Roger’s face. The fact that Roger was barefoot somehow made the whole package absolutely mind-boggling. Stanley actually had to grab the railing to keep from toppling over.

“Hi” was all he could think to say.

And Roger smiled. “I never hear you, Little Mouse. My apartment is directly under yours and you never make a peep. No music, no TV, nothing. What you doing up there, kid? Meditating?”

Stanley forced himself to laugh. “Nah. Just reading. Getting a head start on my textbooks. Classes start in a few days.” He stammered to an awkward silence before remembering his manners. “How are you?”

Roger seemed amused by Stanley’s formality, and somewhat charmed by his shyness. He shrugged, leaning a little more heavily on the newel post and gazing up at Stanley with a gentle smile on his face. “Well, I’m finally off the night shift, so I thought I’d rejoin the world by asking you down for a drink some night. Maybe even tonight, if you’re not busy.”

“Oh.”

Roger’s assuredness faltered a bit at Stanley’s tepid reaction. “I mean, you know, if you want to. It’s nothing formal or anything. Just a ‘welcome to the building’ drink. I don’t want to take you away from your studying.”

Stanley felt his face burning. He could feel himself pulling away, and he was pretty sure Roger could sense it too. He seemed confused, and then finally just as embarrassed as Stanley. The next thing Stanley knew, it was Roger pulling away.

He stuffed one hand in his jeans pocket and rubbed his other hand across his buzz-cut hair. Suddenly, those beautiful green eyes were looking at everything but Stanley. “Well, I won’t keep you. Just wanted to, you know, say… hi.”

He lifted his hand by way of saying good-bye, and Stanley watched him walk away toward his apartment. Shortly after Roger disappeared, Stanley heard Roger’s door click quietly closed.

Stanley closed his eyes. Trying his damnedest not to think about what he’d just done, or why, he turned and entered his own apartment, closing the door behind him as quietly as Roger had done.

He stood just inside the doorway and looked down at his hands. Then he looked down at the floor, wondering what Roger was doing at that moment directly beneath him. Was he, too, standing inside his door wondering what the hell had just happened?

Stanley felt like kicking himself. What was wrong with him anyway? The guy was just being friendly. Or maybe he felt sorry for Stanley, having no friends and all. Somehow that possibility made Stanley feel even worse. He sure as hell didn’t want Roger’s sympathy. Stanley was doing just fine on his own. He was! So what was it about Roger Jane that made Stanley so goddamn paranoid? Was it really just the fact he was handsome? Was Stanley so insecure he couldn’t have a simple drink with a neighbor because the man was prettier than he was? Stanley knew he was shy. He had battled shyness his whole life. But it hadn’t held him back. Not really. He might not be comfortable functioning sometimes, but he did function. He was just beginning work on a master’s degree, so he must have
something
going for him.

And then, in a flash of clarity, Stanley knew
exactly
why he snuck up and down the stairs, why he had turned down an invitation for an innocent drink, and why he was tearing himself up inside because of it all.

It was himself Stanley didn’t trust. Not Roger. Stanley didn’t trust himself
not to fall in love with the guy.
That
was it in a nutshell. Roger Jane was simply too irresistible. Too perfect. The last thing Stanley needed right now was the distraction of a broken heart, and with this man in particular, Stanley’s poor innocent heart had no defenses whatsoever. None. With one gentle word from the man, Stanley would be lost.

Nope. The action he had just taken might not be the kindest thing Stanley had ever done, but as a matter of self-preservation, it was probably the wisest.

With that thought rattling around inside his head, he fought against the urge to run downstairs and apologize. It was better, better for Stanley at least, to just leave matters where they lay.

Roger Jane was the unattainable. Best to leave him unattained.

T
HERE
were other friendships in the building Stanley did
not
steer away from. Sylvia, for one. And it wasn’t because of her Toll House cookies, either. Although they did play a part.

He found her at the door one Thursday afternoon, a plate of cookies in hand. “I’ve come to fatten you up,” she said.

The cookies were obviously still warm from the oven. They smelled so heavenly Stanley didn’t even
consider
turning her away.

“Well, come on in and fatten me up, then,” he said with a grin.

Sylvia was petite and pretty and very, very feminine. Her voice was a delicate whisper filled with hope and innocence. She was also fearlessly friendly, which Stanley admired right off the bat since he was pretty much the polar opposite. Shy people are always in awe of fearlessly friendly people. It’s a trait they wish they could duplicate, but never can.

Sylvia stood maybe five four in her bare feet, which was exactly how she was standing at Stanley’s door. Her black hair was cut in a simple bob, her short nails shone neatly with colorless polish. There was not a trace of makeup on her sweetly open face. She wore shorts and a man’s dress shirt with the tails tied at her waist, exposing a couple of inches of very trim midriff beneath the swell of her recently attained breasts. And those breasts were lovely. If Arthur hadn’t squealed, Stanley would never have known Sylvia was not all she seemed to be. Stanley could see at a glance that decked out in full makeup and heels and a sexy little outfit, Sylvia would be a knockout indeed. Hell, she was a knockout now.

Her eyes were lavender. Stanley had never seen anyone with lavender eyes before. He could barely drag his own eyes away from them.

To Stanley’s surprise, once he had a chance to think about it, there were no hard masculine edges on her as one sees on many male-to-female gender reassignments. No hint of the boy she once was—and if what Arthur had told him was true, the boy she
still
was.

As far as Stanley was concerned, Sylvia was indeed already a woman. And a lovely one at that. And judging by her poise and self-confidence and the very pretty tilt to her head, she sure as hell didn’t belong in the Belladonna Arms. Christ, Sylvia was way too classy for the joint.

Stanley found himself hoping she knew that. But he wasn’t sure she did.

For under all the beautiful, feminine trappings, there was a little bit of hurt going on in Sylvia’s fabulous lavender eyes. A little bit of embarrassed humility. Of uncertainty. Of wariness.

It took Stanley only a moment to realize it was that humble uncertainty—that faintest touch of reserve—that made Sylvia truly stunning.

He waved her to the couch and went to fetch them something cold to drink.

“Isn’t it a little hot to be baking cookies?” he asked over his shoulder as he clunked ice cubes into two of the new glasses his mother had bought, then filled them to the top with cola.

Sylvia’s laugh was a tinkle of silver bells. Very pretty. She patted the cushion beside her and said, “It’s never too hot for cookies. Come sit with me. Let’s be friends.”

So Stanley did. He felt he was being charmed by a master, and oddly, it didn’t bother him at all. It became quickly apparent that Sylvia was one of those rare people Stanley felt comfortable with from the start. He thought it might be a very pleasant thing to become friends with her. And the occasional cookie would make a nice side benefit as well.

And speaking of cookies, Stanley took the opportunity to pluck one from the plate in front of him and pop it in his mouth. They
were
still warm from the oven, and my God, they were
good.

“Edible?” Sylvia asked, already knowing the answer to her question.

Stanley merely nodded, eyes squeezed shut, happily chewing away. Before the first cookie was gone, with his eyes still closed in bliss, Stanley blindly groped another cookie from the tray.

Sylvia giggled. “Guess that means yes.”

While Stanley attacked the cookies, Sylvia gratefully sipped at the soda Stanley had handed her, then placed it atop a coaster on the coffee table. A box fan was sitting on the floor blowing the hot air around. Since the fan was pretty much ignoring her, she pretty much ignored it. She turned to Stanley and smiled, wiping a drop of sweat from her neck. “I don’t suppose I need to tell you about myself. Arthur already did that, right?”

“Well, he might have mentioned you.”

Sylvia tilted her head back and laughed. Only the slightest protrusion of Adam’s apple showed itself in the graceful line of her throat. It was the very first hint Stanley had seen that things might not be what they seemed where the beautiful Sylvia was concerned.

“Arthur told you everything, I’m sure, right down to the minutest detail. Does it bother you that I’m… under construction?”

And with all honesty, Stanley said, “No. You look fully constructed to me. And a gorgeous edifice it is too.”

Sylvia reached out and touched Stanley’s cheek with cool fingers. “Thank you, Stanley. How sweet you are. He said you were.”

That pulled Stanley up short. “Who said?”

Sylvia had the good grace to blush. “Uh—Arthur
. Arthur
told me you were sweet.”

“Oh.”

“Have another cookie,” she said. “They’re all for you.” She blew a wisp of hair out of her eyes, looking for all the world like a woman who is desperately seeking a change of subject. Stanley, lost again in the wonders of her Toll House cookies, didn’t seem to notice. “You have the hottest apartment in the building, you know. I don’t imagine Arthur told you
that
. It’s because the roof is directly over your head. People move in and out of here on a regular basis. The rest of us have been in the building forever. Well, forever being a relative term. After all, I’m only twenty-four. How old are you?”

“Two,” Stanley mumbled around a mouthful of heaven.

Sylvia tinkled her little bells again. “I assume you mean
twenty-
two.”

Stanley nodded and swallowed hard. With the immediate feeding frenzy satisfied, he sipped at his cola and settled in for a nice chat. He was still a little astounded he didn’t feel shy at all. He wished he knew her secret, what made him feel so at ease in her presence. He supposed some people just had that gift.

“So who are you seeing, Stanley? Anybody? And if not, how come?”

Stanley shrugged, a little uncomfortable with the way the conversation was going. “Too busy studying, I guess. You have to set priorities. You have to—”

“You’re twenty-two, Stanley. It’s time to fall head over heels in love, don’t you think? Past time, actually. There’s probably somebody out there right now who’d love to get to know you. Maybe you should open your eyes and look around. Never know what you might find once you start looking.”

“Uh, thanks. I’ll take that under advisement. Still, studying is a full-time job and—”

“Student?” Sylvia asked, apparently unimpressed with his excuses.

Stanley nodded. “Beaumont. Working on my master’s in archaeology.”

Sylvia rested her hand on Stanley’s knee. “That’s wonderful. There are a couple of other students in the building mixed in among all the oddballs Arthur rented to. Myself not excluded from that assessment.”

“Tell me about the other oddballs.” Stanley laughed, glad to be off the subject of his love life—or lack of one. “I haven’t really met anybody. Except for ChiChi. The leather guy.”

Sylvia threw her head back and laughed again. This time Stanley didn’t notice the Adam’s apple. He was too engrossed with the lovely face above it.

“ChiChi’s a student too. He’s studying to become a physical therapist. To pay his tuition, he does a few massages in his apartment. Some are even legitimate.”

“And the other massages?” Stanley asked, a lascivious grin creeping across his face.

Sylvia folded her hands in her lap and tried to look demure. “Well, let’s just say the leather outfit pretty much explains it all. I will say this. If you hear strange noises—
happy masculine noises—
coming through the wall from next door, I wouldn’t go investigate if I were you. Some of his massages are a little more invasive than others, if you get my drift. And ChiChi loves his work. He loves it almost as much as his clients do. There. I’ve said enough.”

“So he’s a hustler, then.”

Sylvia gave a discreet little shrug. “Call it what you will.”

“So if he asks me if I’d like a massage, I should probably say no.”

Sylvia winked. “Well, that depends on you, doesn’t it?”

“Hmm. Who are some of the other tenants?”

Sylvia placed a delicate finger against the side of her cheek. “Well, let’s see now. There’s Ramon, of course. He’s a beauty student. Don’t let him cut your hair. He hasn’t been a beauty student very long, although he thinks he’s Vidal Sassoon. Ramon is fearless with a pair of scissors, and that’s reason enough to steer away from his haircuts right there.”

Stanley ran a hand over his strawberry-blond locks. They were so gooped up with gel, they hardly bent beneath his touch. “I don’t think he could do much damage to this mop.”

Sylvia cocked a perfectly arched eyebrow. “That’s what you think.” She took another sip of soda and again placed the glass carefully on the table in front of her before speaking further.