He had not long moved into the neighbourhood, moving on
from... well, life moves on.
As he was taking in the last of his things he saw her pull
up to the house across the way. Gold Vitz, small and cute, like her. She
stepped out, 4-inch heels, smart business suit, legs dimpling the air as they
pressed up against the soft skirt with every step.
Tiny gold anklet sparkling. Discreet.
Must be just popping home for lunch, at this time of day.
A man opens the door, with the type of grin a snowcone man
gets on the last evening of school when the children get out. Ah; lunch indeed.
As the door closes he turns back to his boxes, a tearing
twist in his chest as bitter memories batter at his will, trying to break
through, break in.
“Hold yourself together Dennison man, what is to is must
is.”
He talks to himself a great deal these days.
2 garbage bags of clothes, box of shoes, manhandling the
plasma in; engines start up outside and cars pull off, with just enough space
between that a passer-by might think they aren’t together.
A $20 food then. Proper.
...
Around 5:30 he goes out to check if his security light came
on; landlord said they were recently installed and he should let her know.
Glances up to see a car pull up to the house again.
Pearl -white Kia.
She steps out, heels, smart chartreuse grey pant suit, LAND
bag, legs that make the world stop.
Diamond and gold wedding band sparkling. No anklet.
As she turns away from locking the door he catches a glimpse
of her face.
Kind, full lips, flawless caramel skin, clear, deep brown
eyes, small nose, a mouth made for smiling, but has known too many sighs.
Not as young as Miss Vitz from lunch; not as fresh in the
face, but there is something else. A sense of seasoning, of a beauty brought
out by endurance and tears, by the slight kiss of heartbreak and the ripening
of time.
Vitz and Kia. Gold and white.
Both were beautiful. One was gorgeous.
He gulped hard and stuffed her down into that nook in his
mind under the stairs leading down to his never-aging heartache.
“What would this woman think if she saw you staring across
the road at her like some ogle-eyed youngster? You are a real moojin D. A man
shouldn’t fill his eyes with what his hands could never hold.”
...
A few days later, a Saturday made for cricket and a few with
the boys, he was alone, outside trying to find the main for the water on the
border to the property. A maroon Mazda swings into that driveway across the
street and a man hops out. It’s Guy With A Grin from earlier in the week.
He looks up and sees Dennison and gives a wave.
“Hey man, didn’t realise someone had moved into the house.”
He walked across the street like he owned it, looking
neither left nor right, and stuck out a manicured hand.
“I’m Brad, welcome to the Crescent. I’m sure you’ll come to
love it here.”
...
Brad was a show-er. One of those guys who, from the moment
he met you, started to display his case full of trophies. In that one afternoon
Dennison heard about his star days as an athlete in school and university, how
he was the youngest sales manager in the region at his company, how he was the
best batsman at Empire club and the captain of the community domino team.
After telling Dennison that he’d ask the guy that cut the
grass about the main, Brad invited him over for a cold one.
“Corona’s my thing; Banks is a little too, well, you know.”
Brad laughs.
Dennison stops himself from raising an eyebrow.
On to the grand tour, with the obligatory lounging moment by
the 52” flatscreen plasma, the kitchen that “could feed about 3 full football
teams”, the original signed Pele international Brazil jersey framed and hung in
the home office.
To the master bedroom suite; every king must have his
greatroom in the castle keep. Side tables from Bali, hand-woven rug from
Turkey, headboard custom-made from selected Suriname woods and made by a Dutch
craftsman now residing in Mustique, bathroom fittings “picked up on my frequent
passes through Miami”.
Dennison keeps quiet, but Brad evidently barely notices.
“If my wife were home I’d get her to fix us something.”
Conspicuously turns his Baume et Mercier timepiece.
“I wonder where she could be.”
Dennison gulps the last swallow of beer past a sudden
boulder-sized blockage in his throat. The image of those ever-long legs and just-right
rump surges past all his self-control and mental defences.
“Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour’s wife.”
Coveting was the least sinful thing he did to her in his
thoughts.
Making some quick excuse about having to get back to something
on the stove Dennison makes his break for fresh air and blue, blue sky.
As he steps onto his veranda he hears Brad shout over after
him.
“Oh, here she is now.”
The sound of his door pulling shut doesn’t quite block out
the sound of the Kia pulling up.
