It was 4AM. How did I know? Because I yelled “It’s fucking 4AM! at the wall. And why was I yelling at the wall? Because the couple next door were having some type of winner-take-all grudge match, argument. At first, I thought it was rough sex or yet another party; they have lots of parties, like every weekend it seems. I would complain to the landlord but these people are paying like 3 times the rent for their apartment than I am. (thank you San Francisco for rent control!); bottom line is, if he wanted to get rid of someone, first it’ll be the last African American left in the entire block, paying the same rent as I am, downstairs and then it’ll be my unemployed, useless college degree ass. I had to find out what the fight was about so I put a glass against the wall and placed my ear on it: “Good job,” Hatchell I thought, you’ve turned into the nosey neighbor sitcom character. Thanks to my glass microphone I hear the word “fuck you!” and the word: “blow job!” Is she offering him a blow job? It was so weird. The door slams and I hear someone downstairs leave out the squeaky metal front door. I pray that they don’t come back because you can’t get in without someone buzzing you in and on more than one occasion, guess who’s apartment get’s randomly buzzed? I hear their window opens up and she yells at him: “Tim! Come back inside! We can work it out!”
“Fuck you! We're though!” He yelled back.
“It was just a blow job! I didn’t fuck him!” she yells. I’m like, holy shit, she did not just yell that out the window.
“I’ve had it…I’ve had it with you!” he yelled.
“Stop acting like a twat and come inside.” she yelled. (I love the word: ‘twat’)
I hear this clang, like he kicked over a garbage can. And then he calls for a taxi. Good luck getting a taxi in this neighborhood. But, a taxi actually stops! I guess this place really is gentrified. And off he went, giving me some peace and quiet. At least they broke up on the weekend, cause I needed to sleep in. I smelled cigarettes and I knew that once again, she was smoking out of the window. That’s actually, the only time I’ve seen her is when she’s leaning out the window, smoking. It’s like she doesn’t have a bottom half to her body. For some reason, I wanted to take a peek at her, you know, to see if she's beat up and maybe I should do something like call some abuse hot line or whatever. I take a quick peek out the window hoping she doesn’t see me—last thing I need is for someone to tell me to fuck off, or whatever British people say( piss off?) Actually, is she even British? I know he was. Kinda cute when we talked in the elevator, he made little comments on my groceries asking what I was making for dinner—blah, blah, blah. This time, instead of leaning out the window, she’s on the balcony which we really aren’t suppose to be on because I think it’s like decoration and I probably shouldn’t even put my plants out there, but, she’s full on standing on the balcony… smoking…and she’s topless! She looks over at me and I’m like: “Oh shit she saw me! Back inside! Back inside! Close the window! Maybe she didn’t see me—She saw me!” But then I thought, “wait, why am I freaking out? She was the one outside, naked! Why was she topless? Were they fucking before the fight? Maybe he came home and caught her; with who, though? Why would anyone cheat on that cute British guy? I hear some foot steps coming down the hall. “Oh shit! Should I call the cops? Is she coming to kill me? No, maybe she’s going after her boyfriend. It goes quiet. What is she doing? Is she outside my door or catching the elevator? Suddenly there’s knocking on my door. Oh crap! What do I do? Should I say I’ve got a gun? go away? She’s knocks again! I felt like yelling: “What do you want ,crazy naked lady?” But then I thought, wait, what if she was raped? That could be it? She got raped and had to give the guy a blow job to escape—yes, I actually thought that.
“Hello?” She said very quiet-like.
I open the door, but I kept the chain on: “Y-yes?”
She’s tall, like almost 6 feet, or I’m just short. She has dark curly hair. She looks like a Greek supermodel—sorta, a little overweight more like a plus-size. She’s wearing a white bath robe with a DKNY logo on it. I’m guessing it cost over $100. “Hi” She says, (no British accent). “Yes. I’m Margaret. I’m your neighbor in 2B, can I come in?”
I think she’s gonna murder me but I keep cool: “What do you want?”
“Don’t worry lovely, I’m not going to bite. See…” She does this little spin to show she’s not holding an ax behind her back. She called me Lovely. What the hell is that? “…Look ma, no arms. Can I come in?”
“Why?”
“I need your opinion on something?”
“You can ask me here.”
“I’d rather not. It’s not something I want the neighbors to see.”
Seriously? I think. She was naked outside for the world to see! “But… I am a neighbor.” I say.
“You’re also a woman, Lovely…I need a woman’s opinion.”
What the hell does she want? “You sure you can’t do it from the hall way?”
“Miss Hachell…”
“Hachell is my first name…” I said but then I thought wait one damn minute : “How did you know my name?”
“On the mail boxes down stairs…Anyway, Hachell. My name is Margret Simone Beauvoir Fitzgerald.…” Such a long name. She offered her hand through the door crack. We shook finger tips. “Nice to meet you Hachell…Where did that name come from?”
“It was my grandmother’s.”
“Oh, charming, and you took your dad’s last name…Which is, Moo, right?”
“Moon.”
“Nice to meet you Ms Moon…Wait a minute…Hachell Moon, Hachell Moon…Why does your name seem familiar?”
She’s left the doorway and went back to her apartment. I thought, does she recognize me from my blog? Impossible. No one reads my blog. I wait for at least 3 minutes thinking: Are we done? Should I close the door or wait for her to get back? I started to slowly close the door but she made it back and carrying…Dad’s book. Of course.
“Jacob Moon! He’s your dad, right? In the dedication…To my daughter Hachell, May you shine so bright. That’s you, right?”
Great. Another fan of dad’s book. “Yes, he’s my dad.”
“Brilliant! I loved his second's novel, it’s so clever.”
“Is that what you want to talk to me about?”
“No, of course not, I just learned your name a second ago…May I come in?”
“Okay, but I have to warn you, I have a big dog sleeping in the kitchen, so don’t wake him.”
I know she didn’t believe me—seriously Hachell? Large dog? I wondered if I should leave the door open in case I have to make a run for it? It was too late, she was already inside, looking at my stuff. Does she want to steal my stuff? Who would want to steal my empty goldfish bowl or my poster of Arthur Miller?
“I like your apartment…It’s so…” She pointed towards my end table made out of two milk crates. “…Is that a a dildo?”
Oh-my-god! I think, did I leave that out? But it wasn’t: “No, that’s a poorly designed flash light.”
“Poorly designed? Or genius marketing!”
“Did you want to come over to discuss my earthquake supplies?”
“Oh right, no…No. I just need your opinion.”
“Oooo-kay. I’ll do my best.”
“You saw me out on the balcony, right?”
“Yeah, sorry, I was just seeing what all of the noise was about.”
“What-ever. Anyway. You saw me out there, right?”
“Yes.”
“So…What did you think?”
“Of what? Your fight? That’s none of my business.” I lied. Totally wanted to find out what it was about.
“No, not the fight. My tits.”
“Excuse me?”
“My tits. You saw them, right?”
“Yes, I mean no. Why are you asking me that? Are you coming on to me?”
“Oh, god, no. I mean you’re…” She did this hand wave scan of my entire body. Why did she wave her hand up and down in my direction when she said that? “I’m what?”
“You’re…fine, you fine girl, you. I just…This is not a come on. I just need your opinion.”
“On your tits.”
“Yes.”
“What am I supposed to say?”
“Tell me what you thought of them?”
“Why?”
“Because. Were not friends so I know you’ll give me an honest opinion.”
“This sounds like a perfect question for your friends, perhaps you should call one of them up?”
“I can’t. They’ll just tell me; oh Margaret, you look fabulous and sexy— Bleh!”
“Bleh? Bleh? I wish my friends would tell me that.”
“That’s what I’m talking about. You and your friends are honest with each other. If you go out wearing…That…”
Again with the hand wave in my direction.
“…Your friends will tell you how green is so…2 years ago and those glasses…Yes, that’s what they’d say.”
“What’s wrong with my glasses? I got my glasses at this off the wall optometrist in the Mission District. How much hipper could I be?”
“Not about you right now. Please, your opinion.”
“What’s to keep me from lying to you and saying your boobs looked great.”
“Wait, you’d lie if you say they looked great?”
“Yes, No–I don’t know–why do you want to know, anyway?”
“I just do. Please just tell me.”
“I don’t even remember seeing your boobs. It all happened so fast.” I lied. Suddenly she opened her robe and–ker-plow! Oh-lee shit, she whipped them out. “What are you doing?” I yelled
“So you can have a look.”
“Please close your robe!” I pleaded shielding my eyes as if her tits were made out of kryptonite and I was gay Super Man.
“Not until you give me your opinion.”
“And what if I say they’re terrible–Please! Cover up!”
“Not until you tell me.”
“For Christ sake…They look fine.” I said staring at the floor.
“You’re looking at the floor. Look at my tits and tell me what you think.” Things you never expect someone to ever say to you.
“I can’t believe…Who are you? Are you a sex maniac…Is this your thing?”
“Still waiting.”
Ok, I thought, the sooner I look and tell her, the sooner I can get her out of here. I psyched myself up: Ok, Hachell, you’ve been to the women’s locker room, I’ll just take a quick peek and hope she doesn’t do something weird. Ok, there they are…whoa, is she like a D-cup? What does she want me to look for, scars, symmetry? They’re as even as any other pair, no tan lines, for their size, I’d expect them to sag. Final grade A plus, but If I tell her that, she’ll think I’m lying, I had to say something that she’ll believe that won’t lead to a debate or her doing something weirder. I can’t believe I’ve been starring at a woman’s tits for this long. I almost feel obligated to show her mine. “They look fine.” I say.
“Fine?”
“They look, good?”
“Good?”
“What do you want me to say? I’m not going to say fabulous, I’m not a tit person. I—like—men.” She didn’t respond. She closed her robe. It was like she was mad or something. She headed out but stopped at the doorway.”
“Thank you, Hachell.”
“You’re welcome?” And off she went. What the hell was that about? Did I insult her?
Posted by: Hachell Moon at 10:44: AM
Posted by: Hachell Moon at 10:44: AM
