Not My Neighbor by Flora Ferrari

Chapter Fourteen

Blake

It was bound to happen sooner or later. Someone would come knocking looking for the editor of Chord magazine.

Who gives interviews or appointments at their house though?

What’s wrong with the office?

If he has one.

Maybe he works from home, nothing unusual about that. I work from home every day.

Stepping out, I can feel Krystal’s eyes on me and sense she’s unhappy for some reason.

There’s a young woman on the doorstep of Nate Macy’s house. A thin, sickly looking type.

I ask if I can help her, planning on getting rid of her without her having to go inside or anywhere near me so I can get back to Krystal, but there’s a problem.

“You’re not Mr. Macy,” she says loudly, sounding more surprised than disappointed.

“And you are?” I ask, glancing behind me, seeing Krystal move back from the kitchen window.

“I’m Dee. I made an appointment to see Mr. Macy last week, he wanted me to stop by with my portfolio,” she says, flaring her eyes and shoving her hand into her hair.

I lower my voice and move closer to her only so Krystal won’t overhear what I’m telling her.

“Well, Mr. Macy’s not here right now. I can take your information and pass it on to him,” I clip, eager to be free of her and this whole charade.

I can’t take another day of pretending to be this guy, and it’ll only get worse the longer I leave it.

“I don’t mind if he’s not home,” she drawls, twirling a strand of her hair now, giving me a look that makes my skin crawl.

“Maybe we could go inside and I could show you my portfolio?” she says huskily and I feel myself about to lose the coffee I just drank.

“I really don’t think so,” I tell her factually. “I’m a busy man myself, so like I said if you just leave the—”

She murmurs something, looking like she’ll cry if I don’t do what she wants, but plastic people who waste my time and talk garbage never have been my thing.

Turning on my heel I snatch her folder as she trots after me, but with a dismissive wave of my hand I remind her I’m busy and if her appointment was with Macy then she’ll have to contact him to rearrange it, not me.

“I tried calling,” she whines after me. Stopping when her heels get caught in the yard, sinking into the freshly mowed grass.

“He hasn’t answered his phone in two days,” she says, cursing under her breathe about the heels before showing her true colors.

“Asshole,” she growls loud enough for the whole street to hear, but I’ve already forgotten about her, making my way back inside to find Krystal.

And really start to wonder if something serious has happened to her real neighbor after all.

My coffee’s still warm but my Krystal feels a little cold when I ask her what’s wrong.

“Do a lot of interviewing at home?” she asks, not hiding her emotions at all.

I think I get what she means, but I can’t be sure.

After the morning we’ve shared so far I’m a little surprised Krystal would or even could think I’d have eyes for anyone but her.

“She told me she’s gonna be the next cover girl of your magazine,” she adds, scanning my face for a response.

But I’m still lost in thought about her missing neighbor.

“Oh. Her. Pfft.” I finally say. “Dime a dozen wannabes. Told her to post it to the office next time,” I add, realizing I’m still holding the folder which Krystal relieves me of, and starts to study.

“Not bad,” she remarks, which surprises me.

“The photography, I mean. Not the subject,” she confirms, setting the folder aside with a frown and I laugh to myself.

“Why don’t we get away?” I suggest. “Just the two of us. Away from this house. This street,” I tell her, feeling boxed in as well as at risk of the next lunatic that’s gonna ambush me in my quest to claim Krystal.

“Where did you have in mind?” she asks. “Didn’t you just get back from an overseas trip? You must have itchy feet,” she observes but seems interested in getting away.

“Wherever you want,” I tell her.

As long as it’s not my real house or the offices of Chord magazine. Or any place your dad’s lurking. Houston, wasn’t it?

I can’t take Krystal home. Not yet. I’ll have to tell her everything while we’re away. Then we can go home. Our real home.

Start fresh.

“Wasn’t there a hotel on top of that restaurant from last night?” she asks, her eyes filling with excitement again.

“A hotel,” I almost groan, until she quickly explains that like the restaurant, she’s never been to a fancy hotel.

“Only travel inns and campsite’s as a kid. The college dorm room. My own room here…” she drones, painting a picture for me and making up my mind.

A first-class hotel room doesn’t do much for me.

But the thought of a locked door with a ‘do not disturb’ sign on it and her naked in a king size bed?

That I could handle.

“Well, we could stay a night or two, maybe make some other plans while we’re there,” I suggest, noting the look of pleased anticipation returning to her eyes.

See? Getting us both out of here is the best idea. It’ll all work out for the best once we’re someplace else.

“Before we go anywhere though,” I tell her firmly, and her eyes meet mine, going wide and innocent as she nods her head, already agreeing to anything I ask.

“I want to see your photos. Your portfolio. You must have a ton of photos from college, all your projects?” I ask, feeling my heart sink a little when she makes a face.

“Oh that stuff’s terrible,” she exclaims.

“Just because I majored in it and even enjoy it, doesn’t mean I’m any good,” she says.

“Show me, please?” I ask, really wanting to see her work now and kind of annoyed at myself for not bringing it up earlier.

I wouldn’t know how to take a good photo as much as I know how to make the clothes I’m wearing, but I just know that anything Krystal’s had a hand in will be perfect.

She asks me if I really mean it if I want to see her work.

“Of course,” I tell her, encouraging her with a look to go get something I can look at.

“What about going away, the hotel?” she asks with hesitation.

“We can go soon, but I want to see your work first,” I say, pushing Barbie’s folder to one side of the table to prove my point.

“Okay,” she squeals, with more excitement, and I smile to myself.

I’m happy when she’s happy, plus watching her move like that from behind is something I’ll never grow tired of.

I finish my coffee and wait for her, eager to see how talented she is as well as being such a pretty face.

Beauty and talent are rare.

Krystal returns a minute later clutching some thick folders and twists her face as she decides which one or ones to show me first.

I make her mind up for her, plucking one from the stack in her arms and letting her know I plan to go through all of them, so there’s no big deal which one I pick first.

Opening the folder to the center first, I expect maybe some portraits or headshots like Barbie dropped off.

Instead, I see a selection of black and whites. Images of sections of everyday objects.

There’s the grate of a downtown drain. A weed growing out of the sidewalk. The corner of an old and weathered park bench.

A rose with what could be a bug or is it a drop of blood.

I realize pretty quickly that I’m way out of my depth here. This is more art than what I expected as photography, which shows how much I know.

But Krystal still thinks I’m the editor of Chord magazine, and I know secretly she wants a foot in the door. A career path doing what she loves.

They’re high-quality images, and even though I don’t understand or ‘get’ the deeper meaning in a lot of them, they’re very well done.

“You should be proud,” I tell her. “I hope you got top of the class with work like this,” I tell her truthfully.

She blushes, looking at her feet.

“I nearly flunked,” she confides in me. “My technical stuff saved me, but all my teachers hated my subject matter. Said it was too…”

“Artsy?” I hear myself ask, not meaning to say it out loud, but hey. If she wants to work in photography she has to learn to accept not everyone is gonna appreciate what she does.

“That’s exactly what they said,” she groans, trying to take the folder back, but I keep it in front of me, asking to see the rest.

“You’re just being kind now,” she murmurs.

“No. I’m interested in what you do, Krystal.” I explain to her. “I might not see the real essence of what you’re getting at here, but these really are terrific images,” I tell her again.

I wish I was the editor of some magazine. I’d hire her on the spot.

“Good enough for ‘Chord’ magazine,” she challenges me, giving me a ‘thanks for trying to make me feel better’ look.

“There’s more than just magazines,” I remind her. Remembering what I had to learn myself when I was her age, right up until about ten years ago.

“What counts is finding your passion, then looking for a space out there in the world where it fits,” I tell her.

“And then what?” she asks, looking beaten before she’s even started.

“Then charge like hell when people wanna see it or use it,” I explain.

“Who’d pay to see these?” she complains and I shrug.

“Who’d pay to use them, or have them taken for them?” I counter and I see a light come back into her eyes before she leaps into my arms and kisses me.

“You’ve just given me a great idea,” she whispers. “Thank you, Blake. It means a lot.”

“You mean a lot,” I tell her, making her blush again, but this time not out of embarrassment.

“I think you’d better get me to that fancy hotel,” she grins, almost warning me how close she is to being ready for me again.

I don’t think I’ve ever gotten ready or left to go to a hotel quicker in my life.