The New Neighbor (9 page)

Robby moved to slap his hand over one of the scribbled pictures, but knew he was too late when he saw Miss Weiss looking at his crude drawing of Lorelle's sculpture.
 

She turned to him slowly and he wasn't sure if she was going to smirk or frown.
 

"You don't look well, Robby," she said. She was leaning close and he could see the light sprinkle of freckles on her chest, but that – even combined with the smell of her perfume – did not elicit the usual blushing response. He just didn't have the energy to find her attractive.

"I guess I ... haven't been ... feeling too well today. But I didn't want to miss the test."
 

"Well, it didn't do you much good to come to school, did it?" She took the paper and stepped back from his desk. "Go on home and get some rest."
 

"I've got two more classes," he said.
 

"They'll still be there next week. Go see the school nurse and I'll let you make up the test on Monday."
 

He quickly gathered his things. "Thanks, Miss Weiss."
 

"But next time you're sick, stay home. Okay?"
 

He didn't look back as he hurried out of the room.
 

Dylan was waiting for him in the hall.
 

"What the hell's the matter with you man? You look like you fell out of the back of a hearse."
 

"Flu, maybe," Robby said without slowing his pace as he went to his locker.
 

"So how'd you do on the test?"
 

He said nothing.
 

"You do okay? I'm not sure if I got that question about – “
 

"I don't want to talk about the test, okay?" He didn't want to talk at
all
.
 

"Maybe you’ve got the swine flu, 'cause you've been a real pig's ass all day, you know that? What're you, on your period?"

“Sorry, Dylan. I just don't feel well." Actually, he didn't feel sick, just exhausted, and he only wanted to go home and sleep. He'd slept as if in a coma the night before, but still felt as if he would never get enough sleep again.

* * * *

After about half an hour of conversation over wine in Lorelle's kitchen, Lorelle went to her bedroom to get her jewelry. Karen seated herself on the sofa and gasped softly when she saw the sculpture. She gawked at it for a few moments, then turned away when she heard Lorelle coming, acting as if she hadn't even noticed it. But each time Lorelle turned away to open a new box of jewelry, Karen stole a look at the sculpture and wondered if it was Lorelle's work. If Lorelle
had
done it, she hadn’t given herself the credit she deserved when she'd said earlier, "Oh, my art is nothing more than a hobby, really. I just happen to make a living at it." Still, there was something about the sculpture that made Karen squirm. It was not the deliciously sinister look on the woman's face or the look of anguish on the man's, and neither was it the leathery wings sprouting from the woman's back. It was ...

... the
penis
. It looked so real, black as coal, but shiny as if it were wet, generously leaking the clear viscous fluids that penises seemed to produce in abundance. Each time Karen looked at the sculpture, it was the man's stiff penis to which her eyes were drawn.
 

She was admiring a pair of sterling crescent moon earrings when Lorelle turned away to open the fourth box. Karen looked at the sculpture again, at the fat penis clutched in the winged woman's fist.

"Does it bother you?"
 

Karen jerked around toward Lorelle. "Pardon?"
 

"My sculpture. Does it bother you?"
 

"Oh, no. It's ... beautiful. I was wondering if you'd done it. I think it's ... wonderful."
 

"Ah. Well, some people are offended by it. And you
were
looking at it with a sort of distasteful grimace."

"Was I? I'm sorry. It has nothing to do with ... I mean, I really do think it's beautiful. I just ... well ... " She laughed, embarrassed that she'd even
considered
telling Lorelle what was bothering her, and finished off her wine.
 

Watch it
, she thought.
You've had more than a few of those.
 

"I'll get you another." Lorelle took the cup and was gone before Karen could protest.
 

So she looked at the sculpture again.
 

Coming back into the living room with another cup of wine, Lorelle asked, "What were you about to say?"
 

"Oh, nothing."
 

"Come on. No fair teasing. You were about to say something about the sculpture."

Karen laughed again. "No, it's nothing. Really, I guess I'm just not used to drinking this much wine."
 

"Is it the woman? I know she doesn't exactly meet the current standards of beauty."
 

"No."
 

"Her wings?"
 

"No, really, I'm just – “

"The man?"
 

"No, no, it's just, um ... his
penis
," she whispered suddenly with a wince, surprising herself.

Lorelle lifted a brow, "His penis?"
 

"God, that sounds awful, doesn't it?"
 

"Not at all. What about his penis?"
 

"Well, it looks so
real
."
 

"Does that bother you?"

"Well, um, it's very well done and ... I just ... well, I know this sounds crazy and you'll probably think there's something wrong with me, but ... I think they're so
ugly
."

Lorelle slapped her thigh, threw back her head and laughed. "I don't think there's anything wrong with you, Karen. I know a
lot
of women who think they're ugly. And – “ She turned to her sculpture, “ – in a way, I have to agree. Aesthetically, there's not a great deal to recommend them, is there?"

Snickering into her palm, Karen shook her head.
 

"How does your husband feel about your opinion of the male organ?"
 

"He doesn't know," she laughed.
 

"You haven't told him?"
 

"Do you think I
should
? Seems like most men would be crushed. They all seem so – “ she snickered again, “ – emotionally attached to that part of their body, so sensitive about it."

"Yeah. If you speak anything less than words of praise about it in their presence, they get a sort of hurt look in their eyes, like ... like a child does when he shows you his latest finger-painting and you ask, 'What's it supposed to be?'"
 

"Yes, exactly!"

They roared with laughter, nodding and slapping the sofa cushions. When their laughter began to die, Lorelle said, "But they do sort of make up for their unsavory physical attributes, don't you think? Penises, I mean."
 

Karen squirmed; her smile fell away and she sipped her wine, staring into the cup. "Yeah, I ... I suppose so."
 

"You don't sound too sure."
 

"Well, I ... yeah. Yeah, they do."
 

Lorelle frowned and touched Karen's arm with affectionate concern. "Is something wrong? Are you having problems at home?"
 

"Oh, no, it's nothing like that. George is great. He's different than any other man I've ever been with, or I wouldn't have married him. I mean, we don't talk about it much, but he ... well, I guess we've
never
talked about it. But he seems to understand."
 

"Understand what?"
 

"That I ... that I don't really ... " She sighed and scrubbed her face with her hand. "I don't know. Sometimes I think there really
is
something wrong with me. That I'm crazy, or something. I'd see a therapist if I thought it'd do any good. But I'm one of those people who believes that psychotherapy was invented by someone who saw a chance to make some major bucks without getting a
real
job." She laughed, but there was no humor in her voice.
 

"What is it, Karen?" Lorelle leaned toward her, eyes narrowing with concern. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. But if you
do
, I'm willing to listen."
 

She thought for several long moments. She'd never shared her thoughts on the subject with anyone, not even Lynda. After taking a deep breath, she spoke very slowly.

“I don't just think they're unattractive. You know ... penises. I think they're ... well ...
repulsive
. All of them. I've never seen one that I wanted to touch. I mean really
wanted
to touch. Even with George ... I love him, I really do. He's been so good to me. He's understanding and accepting, he doesn't make a lot of demands ... hardly
any
, really. And the ones he does make are reasonable. I know that sex is something he enjoys and ... he's so different from the other men I've been with. He's a very good lover, very giving. And I love him, I really do, but ... even so, I'm ... I can't ... well, it's hard for me to
... do
it. I thought I would feel differently with time, but still ... it's just like all the others. A stubby, wrinkly, one-eyed worm. And he wants to put it in ...
side
me. I let him, of course, because I love him and want him to be happy. I don't want to lose him. But ... I don't enjoy it. Even now, after all these years. I can't get excited about it. And I know that, although he doesn't say anything about it, that bothers him. I know he'd like me to be very ... sexual. Like his first wife. But I just can't. Because – “ Karen looked at the onyx erection across the room. " – of that. It has nothing to do with
him
, with the kind of person he is. It's just that ... thing." Smiling at Lorelle, she said, "I guess that's what bothered me about your sculpture. It's very beautiful, but – “ She laughed again. " – it's got a dick."

Lorelle laughed too, then took Karen's hand and squeezed it.
 

"There's nothing wrong with you, honey," she whispered. "You don't need a therapist. That's just the way you
feel
, that's all.”

"Well, if I don't need a therapist, what
do
I need?"
 

"You need a nice piece of jewelry." She began emptying the contents of the box onto the table. "And if you can't find one here, I'll
make
you one."

They went on sipping their wine as they sifted through the many pieces of jewelry Lorelle produced from the boxes she'd stacked on the floor by the sofa; and each time Karen found one she was especially fond of, she set it aside, until she found something she could not resist and
had
to try on. It was a pair of pyramid-shaped onyx earrings with an eye-shaped sapphire set into all four sides of each one.

"You like those?" Lorelle asked, smiling.
 

"I
love
them!" She put them on and ran her fingers over them as they dangled from her earlobes.
 

"You know, I have a necklace somewhere around here that goes perfectly with those earrings. Let me get you some more wine and we'll go find it."
 

A moment later, she returned with a filled cup for Karen, then led her down the hall into the bedroom, where a few unpacked boxes were stacked against the walls. She fished through one of them until she found a smaller box, and removed from it a necklace of onyx cubes – each of which sparkled with a speck of sapphire – joined by beads of sterling silver. She seated Karen at the dresser facing the mirror and rested the cubes on her chest, fastening the necklace in the back.
 

Karen pulled back the collar of her plaid shirt, but it wouldn't stay, so she unfastened the top two buttons and let the necklace rest against her bare skin. Lorelle reached over Karen's shoulders and gently patted the necklace, then placed both palms flat on her chest. They were warm against Karen's skin, smooth.
 

"What do you think?" Lorelle asked, resting her chin on Karen's shoulder.
 

"I love it."

"You have good skin," she said, gently stroking Karen's chest. "Perfect for necklaces, because you don't have any freckles or blemishes to draw attention to."

Karen closed her eyes a moment and told herself it was probably the wine that was making her feel lightheaded – she'd had too much, that was all.

"Let's try another." Lorelle removed the necklace and took another from the box, this one of sterling, with bits of onyx and opal.
 

In spite of the possibility that she'd had too much, Karen took another drink of her wine – a good-sized swallow. Lorelle put the second necklace on her, fingernails brushing her flesh, fingers carefully arranging her blond hair on her shoulders.
 

Karen's hands itched to pull her shirt closed and button it because she felt her nipples hardening against the material, and wondered if Lorelle could see them from where she stood.
 

Lorelle removed the pyramid earrings from Karen's ears and fished through the box for another pair.

"Ah," she said, holding up one earring, "this would go with the— oh, no, that won't work. There's only one of these." She set it down and continued looking.
 

Karen stared at the tiny delicate piece of silver Lorelle had set on the dresser and tried to take her mind off the lingering sensation of tightness in her breasts. She picked it up by its little hoop between thumb and forefinger and held it dangling before her.

"
Here
they are." Lorelle stepped behind Karen, carefully hung a pair of teardrop opals from her lobes and smiled into the mirror. "They go together perfectly," she said, tracing the edge of the necklace with her fingertips all the way up to Karen's neck, where her hands stopped, fingers squirming ever so slightly against her skin.