Emily Uncensored Book 1: The Neighbors Page 7

  He cuts me off “ya, weed Emily, lots of weeeeeed!”

  “Yes, exactly. Well, I know this isn’t professional, but I am really going to need…” He cuts me off again.

  He pulls out a small bag from the center console. He hands it back to me. I smile and look up at his mirror.

  “You are a fucking wizard Mike. A wizard.” I fold the bag up and stuff it in my purse. He laughs.

  We turn onto my parent’s street. It’s now seven. “Man, Mike I kind of feel bad taking this.” He stops the car with a jolt and puts it in park. I take off my belt.

  “You owe me twenty-two dollars.” He says point blank.

  I look at the meter on his front dash.

  “Oh, right!” I shuffle through my purse realizing I only have a hundred dollar bill. He takes it and gives me a $50. I furrow my brow at him wondering if he knows how to do fucking math.

  “I give you the potion, you give me a large tip!”

  Well, I can’t argue with that I guess so I tap his seat and say thanks and fold my body out of the car.

  “Nice seeing you, and thanks for the hookup.” I shut the door as he gives a sort of salute with his one hand that’s not gripping the wheel and he drives off in his Prius cab. Odd guy. I like him.

  It is as foggy as Scotland in a Zombie Apocalypse. I stare up at the large, white house which I used to call home. Fuck. This was a bad idea. Everything is immaculate, as always. Except for me of course. I am a fucking wreck. I breathe deep and head for the large red door. The wreath hanging on it says ‘welcome’. Well, that’s comforting at least.

  12

  Dad

  The big burly man who I call father answers the front door. It takes about twenty seconds of me listening to him fumble with the locks until the damn thing opens. He is wearing a maroon robe and smoking a cigar.

  “For Christ sake dad, it’s only seven in the morning!”

  He laughs and pulls me in close to him. He gives these huge and embarrassing bear hugs which can either:

  A) Suffocate you or

  B) Tell you way too much about my father’s anatomy, depending on who you are of course.

  One time, I remember Becky Spencer (that same Becky who dated Mike) came over after school for some ice cream and to finish a project. My dad gave both of us hugs as we walked in the door, a sweet gesture it would seem (especially for a British man). Becky swore she could feel his boner from under his robe. My father is the kind of man who is absolutely oblivious. He is a genius of course, but when it comes to common sense and human understanding, he might as well be a fern in the corner. I didn’t disagree with her at all, I just shrugged my shoulders, because dad was strange back then, and still is. He is like Winston Churchill in his last years in office. A complete mad genius, with a bit of perverted bastard mixed in.

  “Emily, I am an old man and I can do as I please.” As he puffs on his large cigar. I am actually just jealous because I would love a cigarette right about now, but don’t want my mother’s ‘one hundred different ways cigarettes can kill’ you speech. We shut the door and enter the kitchen. The center of the Hawkins family universe. The kitchen is where we spend most of our time. Or did. I now spend most of my time on the couch in New York watching shows half naked, with Gertie perched in some odd position in front of me. I actually sort of miss that little bitch-cat.

  I put my purse down and start to dig into the fridge. Father sits and opens a paper, yesterdays. I whisper “When is mom getting up? Did you guys go out last night?” Trying not to stir the beast.

  Dad, instead of whispering, yells loudly “Oh, dear, we had a splendid time at the um, the… you know?” I finish my sip of milk from the carton from which I am drinking and stare.

  “No, father, I don’t know, that is why I am asking.” I say this in my sarcastic Emily tone because he is ridiculous.

  “Oh yes, well it was a Theater charity thing your mother signed us up for. The party isn’t until tonight sweet girl you know that!”

  Again I am clueless, and so is he, but for different reasons. This is interesting news. There is a party tonight. My worst nightmare. I decide not to give him a hard time about it. Instead, I plan to use this information to score an incredibly high amount of brownie points with mother.

  “Oh, yes the party tonight, of course father. That is why I’m here after all.” I put the milk back in the fridge and grab the grapes out that are in a bowl, covered with a wet paper towel. This is typical mother-fridge relationship lingo. If something is covered, she is saving it. Oh well.

  “Oh good darling, your mother will be so pleased to hear that. She is so fond of you.”

  Well I hope so, I am her fucking flesh and blood!

  I sit down on the stool next to my father and read what he is reading. I am tired, but I haven’t seen him in almost a year, and I notice he is not aging very well. He is overweight and over stimulated. His work is all he has ever done. Shipping, or exports or something for the government. I never knew if it was British government or United States government, but he was always very private about his work. He always used to say that ‘work is for work and home is for family’. So that is the way it is. He is always plane-hopping from San Francisco to Washington D.C., and sometimes even stops in New York for a quick dinner. His visits aren’t like the ones with mother.

  My mind slips into a state of wonder.

  About Jonathan and his incredible body.

  I think of his jaw and his tie and the shirts I like to unbutton. I am a crazy fool.

  I am not acting my age.

  I am a chicken-shit.

  I decide a shower is in order, before mother sees me down here like this: grubby and bag less. I will no doubt, make up some story for my mother about how my luggage got lost and how I have nothing to wear, and I will need clothes and maybe I will even have watery eyes in the process. Poor Emily! Yes, my evil genius is abundant.

  I sneak up the stairs to my old bedroom, second door on the left, just past the family photos and ugly wallpaper from 20 years ago. I open the door and it’s as if I have stepped back in time. Even Steve my old Teddy Bear is still waiting on the bed for me. Poor guy has been waiting there a long time. I close the door behind me and lock it. I forgot how large this room is. My apartment in New York is the size of a thumb tack. I resume my task. Clothes off, shower on.

  The shower feels amazing. I forgot for a second why I am here. Wait, why am I here? I imagine Jonathan’s hands and his eyes. I feel strange. Like somehow I am missing something. I am missing something. I have spent the last weeks emerged in his voice, skin, and his mother-fucking amazing body- if I can be blunt about it. Or, well, his body in mine (wink wink). I need a break, to think and to get away. It is too much. He is. Molly is. They are both crazy! Well, at least this weekend will be dull. I need dull right? No porn, no crazy neighbors, no soft fur ball to come home to. Not even a damn slutty novel to take up my time! Boring is good I guess.

  I hope this party tonight involves two things: lots of alcohol and a plethora of people watching. I should probably figure out what to wear. And it should probably have pockets to hold a flask.

  As I step out of the shower, that infamous mother-knock at my door occurs.

  Then she speaks: “David! You better not be doing what I think it is you’re doing!”

  - David is my father-

  I wonder: What the hell is my mom talking about first of all? And second of all… never mind I don’t want to know.

  “Mom, it’s me! I’ll be out in a second!”

  “Emily! Oh my, what a surprise. I was just kidding anyways. (Long pause) With the David thing.” Then complete silence. I stand still as if I am hiding in the bathroom from some supersonic alien who can detect body heat.

  After a few seconds of silence I figure she must have left so I continue to my bedroom, stepping out from the shelter of my bathroom. I start tossing clothes around from my drawers. There’s still tons in here. I look through my closet. I see my prom dresses, all bl
ack of course. My mom even has my christening dress from when I was a baby in here. And my Halloween costumes. Those are mostly vampire queens or witches. Jesus! Being an only child has some odd benefits I guess.

  For now I grab an old Care bear shirt which fits me snug, but, still fits! And the same jeans I wore on the plane. I’m not sure why there’s underwear in my drawers, but they are clean and folded, and my size, so I use the black ones with the red rose bud on the front. I don’t remember these at all but knowing mom she keeps my drawers stalked for this very occasion. I take one last deep breath before exiting my cave.

  Later in the kitchen, I give mother the rundown of how I wanted to surprise her and of course I was taking notes when she came to visit of her party and when it was. I also tell her my luggage has been lost in flight. Also that I forgot to book a flight back to New York before I came, and needed to be home my Monday afternoon. She smiles and hugs me and says that I shouldn’t worry about a thing, she will have Dorothy take care of it. Dorothy is our ‘house manager’ as mom always put it. But with only three people ever living in this house at one time, I am not sure why it needed to be managed. I wasn’t going to argue though, I had just been saved.

  Father looked up from his paper and cup of coffee and said “How do pigeons know when to fly home? I mean it really is amazing!”

  Mother and I stare at him and then she smiles awkwardly at me. “Your father is such an interesting man Emily, don’t you think?”

  “Oh, yes mother, he is.” We both sip on our drinks and stare down at our fingernails.

  I need to get the fuck out of here, I think.

  13

  Becky and Dustin

  The party starts at seven, and I’m in charge of helping set up. My dear mother Gwyneth, took it upon herself to buy me a “suitable outfit” for the occasion.

  “Mom, it’s just going to be the same stuffy people as always. Too concerned with what they look like to even care what I am wearing.” I told her as she handed me the bag from Neiman Marcus.

  “Don’t be silly Emily, there are going to be people here you know, like Dustin and Becky! Now don’t argue with me.” She turned and left the room while I stood there with my mouth open. It took me a couple seconds to register.

  Right then my phone rang and interrupted my train of thought. I ignore the call and go back to my “helping” mother.

  Great, now there are six voicemails from Jonathan. Fuck. I decide to listen to them. I cling on to my bag of clothing in anticipation.

  First voicemail: “Emily, look I know this is strange. Please call me to so we can talk. I’m sorry.”

  I delete it.

  Second Voicemail: “On second thought maybe you need some time. I respect that. You know how to get ahold of me if you need to. I miss you.”

  I delete it.

  Third voicemail: “Emily, you are driving me crazy. I went by your apartment and you didn’t answer. Where are you? I told you I’m sorry so can’t we just…just talk? It’s midnight on Friday, please call me.”

  Wow.

  I delete it.

  Fourth voicemail: “Hey baby. So after a good night’s rest I realize how crazy this must seem to you. I am sorry. Just call me.”

  Delete.

  Fifth voicemail: “Call me because I am going insane. Please, or I will find you.”

  Hmmm intriguing.

  Delete.

  Sixth voicemail: “Emily, this is the last voicemail I am leaving, and then you will have to deal with me face to face. I can’t be without you, so just know that.”

  Is that a threat Jonathan?

  I decide to save that one.

  It’s not that a girl doesn’t like to be stalked every once in awhile, but it’s been less than 48 hours. If I give in now, then I am weak. He scares the shit out of me. Loves me? Can’t be without me? What have I gotten myself into?

  Right then, a dog comes running in through the front door. The door is open as boxes and boxes of food, and decorations and who knows what else are being delivered. The dog comes into the living room and decides to lift his leg and pee on my mother’s couch! This is a sign! I of course start laughing, but Gwen is freaking out, yelling at the dog and kicking the air missing him by large margins and it’s all very entertaining. Finally, the dog runs back outside and returns to his owner, who is yelling in the street with ear plugs in.

  My mother and Dorothy are scrubbing the couch, which is obviously stained. I am watching, but not making eye contact, so I won’t have to be dragged into the conversation about what to do about the couch with so little notice. But I can’t help myself so I interject anyway.

  “Just throw a sheet over it and call it a day!” I yell this and then run upstairs, as if to escape some great exam I didn’t study for.

  My brain hurts, so I decide to take a shower and change. I have 30 minutes to prepare myself for two people I haven’t seen in a very long time, and who I’m not sure I want to face. I am rubbing my head trying to forget the threats from Jonathan. I haven’t told anyone about him. No one knows he exists except for me. That is sort of sexy in a way. I like having this little secret. This hot and amazingly charming and stressful, stalker-man who evidently can’t live without me. Jonathan, you have a wife! I scream in my head as I slam my bathroom door.

  I rush back out of the bathroom and snatch up my phone, which now has 22% battery.

  I text Jonathan: “If you really love me, you won’t try to find me.”

  He instantly replies: “I can do both, just watch me.” Wow. Fucking bastard. What to do with him? I do sort of miss his smell and the way he stares at me while I am ordering drinks. I just can’t do this love shit. I bet Molly is hating me right about now, but what is new?

  I reply and then shut off my phone: “You can’t always get what you want.” I bet that sent him through the roof!

  I am satisfied and so I relish in the hot shower. I touch myself and it feels good. Of course I am thinking about him while I am doing it! Just because he scares the shit out of me doesn’t mean he isn’t the most beautiful creature I have ever encountered. It’s like a desire that makes me wet at all of the wrong times.

  I can hear people arriving downstairs. I can hear my father’s loud voice over all of them. He is chuckling, following the chuckle with a deep cough. I am naked waiting to look in the bag of clothes. I open the package and see a black dress. Oh, well at least she got my color down. It’s not so bad. It’s short with lace and long sleeves. Go mom, for once in your fucking life you actually know your daughter! I slip it on and stand in front of the mirror. It’s not doing tons for my figure but it will have to do. I let my black hair down and although it looks like an untamed male lion’s mane, I decide I don’t care. I slip into my Converse and search through the bathroom drawers for any make up. What do you know? Mom has all sorts of shit in here! Hmmmm I search and find lipstick. Red. Perfect. Done. I need a drink.

  More than that I need a smoke.

  And then I remember: Mike! His “potion”!

  I search deep into my bag and pull out some beautiful greenery. I have nothing to smoke it with. Fuck, and nothing to roll it with. I decide I will come back up later when I can properly manage to get high. Down the stairs I go. I run past a few overly decorated women discussing the recent split between Angelina and Brad, and head straight for the kitchen which stores the alcohol. I have to say, my parents’ house is fucking gorgeous. It is classically Victorian, large, and elegant and they have the tallest Christmas tree I’ve ever seen in a home, which fits perfectly by the grand staircase in the living room. It’s fake of course, but still.

  I dive into the fridge before my mom finds me and I pour myself a full glass of Champagne. Nothing harder than that unfortunately. I chug the first glass and then pour more. As I am putting the bottle back into the fridge and close the door, there stands Dorothy with her eyes wide.

  “Oh, hey, I was just helping myself.” She squints at me and then returns to her duties.

  I have
never been close to Dorothy. She has always been a little cunt-burger and I just don’t like those. I am starting to feel better. Alcohol is amazing like that. The little courage encourager as I call it. There are people flooding the great room in the front of the house, and the living room to the side, and some are even trickling outside to stand under the twinkling lights. My parent’s backyard is unusually large for San Francisco. I loved playing in it as a child. I stare out at the people.

  My first kiss in fact was right under those strands of lights hanging over the Jacuzzi (You can fill in the gaps there). I think back to it. To Dustin. To being young and free but not feeling free. That was almost fifteen years ago. And just then, as I am thinking of him I hear him.

  “Hey you.” A soft and deep voice comes from behind me. I turn around, glass in tow.

  “Hey you.” I say back, smiling. We stare for a moment and then give those weird, polite hugs that no one really wants to give. I smile though because every memory about Dustin is a fond memory, even leaving him. Then I hear a less soft voice. Becky “fast-walks” up to us with her black sparkling clutch and a glass in her hand.

  “My, God, if I would have known you would be here, well I would have shit my pants in the car is what I would have done!”

  Gotta give it to her, she’s a crass bitch that one. I smile and we embrace. Quickly after she snatches up Dustin’s free hand. This is the Universal symbol of “He’s mine!” in the language of Woman. Becky Spencer was glued to me for most of Junior High and High School. She took over our relationship, but I didn’t mind, it took all of the guess work out of planning weekends and class projects. We haven’t spoken in two years, and I haven’t seen her in three. No fault of hers, and every fault of mine.