Chapter 6
6
M ACKENZIE
A few days before Christmas
I nudge the door open with my boot and step inside when my phone rings in my pocket.
“Oh, damn it. Now you’re ringing.”
Panting and leaving a trail of melted snow on the floor, I make a beeline for the kitchen, where I drop the bags of groceries on the counter and reach inside my pocket.
Mumbling nasty words under my breath, I tip my gaze down. My eyes go wide at the name flashing across the screen.
I answer the call in a shaky voice.
“Mackenzie Prince speaking.”
“Good afternoon,” a female voice says at the other end of the line.
Oh… I remember her.
She was a friendly woman in her late fifties with a penchant for bright colors.
She said I’d get a second interview for sure, and I wanted to believe her.
She seemed the kind of person who could make things happen, yet I still had my doubts.
Considering we were talking about getting a second interview for a secretary position, which isn’t exactly a significant career move, I shouldn’t be so nervous about it.
But I still am.
This job comes with better pay than my other gigs, with the exception of maybe the errands I’m running for that stunning stranger, and that makes a huge difference.
Aside from that, it’s a huge corporation, and who knows?
I might land a marketing job with them in the future.
Getting a call from her a few days before Christmas gives me hope but also comes as a surprise.
“Oh. Miss Goodman. Hello. How are you?” I say in a jovial tone. “How are things?”
“Things are good. How is your job search going?”
Shit. That’s not a good sign.
Is she managing my expectations now?
Why would she ask me that if she had good news for me?
I sag against the kitchen counter, wrestling with persistent dots of sweat on my forehead.
“It’s fantastic,” I say, removing my hat and scarf and unzipping my winter jacket. “I’m waiting for several companies to call me back,” I lie before waiting for her to tell me why she’s calling me.
“Good. I’m not surprised to hear that. You’ve had some great work experience, and honestly, you’re overqualified for this job. But I still think you’d make a great secretary if you happened to nail the second interview with us, which I think you would. You can become our boss’ right hand if you’re as smart and industrious as I think you are. That will open up a whole new world of opportunities for you.”
“What exactly are you saying?”
“I have you down for a second and final interview on January 4th, if that’s okay with you. I will email you the exact time and place and call you to confirm the date the day before. If things go all right with our hiring manager, you’ll probably meet your new boss as well. I have no doubt they will. What say you?”
My lips are carved in stone for a few good seconds, and I don’t know why.
This is the best news I’ve heard in weeks. I have some cash left from my side gig, my refrigerator is stocked, and now, I’m getting a new job?
Hooray for that.
I can use these days to finally relax and enjoy myself.
It will feel like a vacation with delicious wine and food, daily walks in the park, and binge watching my favorite movies in the evenings.
It will be phenomenal.
“I think it’s great. I look forward to seeing you that day. Will I be seeing you?” I ask, concerned.
“Yes. Of course you will.”
She laughs at the other end of the line before we exchange seasonal greetings and end the call.
It takes me a few moments to let it all sink in beforeI do a happy dance with my hands in the air and my hips swaying from side to side.
I need to call Kayla.
But first, I have to unpack my things and wipe the water from the floor.
My jacket slides onto the polished counter, and my boots meet the floor.
“What a mess,” I murmur, grabbing the mop.
Moments later, my boots are wiped clean and dry next to the heater while I retrieve the food from the bags.
A loaf of bread, cheese, salami, tomatoes, olives, grapes, lettuce, fish, and eggs.
Pasta, canned tomatoes, beans, and quinoa.
A bottle of wine.
I set the pecan pie and a box of cookiesnext to them, my mouth watering at the thought of digging into that later.
Kayla returns my call within moments.
“Don’t you fucking tell me,” she says, laughing. “You’ll get a new job. Woohoo.”
“It’s not a sure thing,” I say, smiling and uncorking the bottle of wine.
“It is a sure thing. No one calls people to schedule a second job interview three days before Christmas. I’m surprised people are still working. Everybody is on vacation.”
Smiling, I pour myself a glass of wine and speak.
“I hope this is not one of those situations when they’re desperate to fill that position because no one wants the job.”
“Why wouldn’t they want the job?” she says while I take a sip. “You said the pay was good,” she goes on.
“She said that.”
“Then why do you have to fret about it? You’ll handle it. There’s nothing you can’t handle, Kenzie Girl.”
“Sure,” I toss at her, smiling before moving to the living room, sliding onto the couch, and sipping more wine with my phone in hand.
Leaning back, I sigh.
“Things are good,” I say, the angst that has taken up residence in my body these past few weeks finally gone. “This is my much awaited vacation,” I add before taking another drink. “I’ll take it easy until January 4th.”
“You do that, girl. You deserve it. I’ll be doing the same thing,” Kayla says, and we chat a little more before the topic of my neighbor comes up.
“Any news about your upstairs neighbor?”
“Nope. Oh… Yeah. There is something. The woman is married. And that guy? The one boinking her? He’s never showed up again. Truthfully, her husband is a jerk. She threw him out, and then they got back together. And then…” I sigh again. “Whatever they’re doing is not as loud and passionate as it was with the other man.”
Honestly, thinking about this twisted story, I start to believe I won’t be getting much else from Callan.
I haven’t heard from him since that night.
Overall, the bedroom activities upstairs have been sparse, which is why I haven’t mentioned anything to Kayla.
Right now, she’s in New Jersey, spending the holidays with her family, and up until now, my neighbor’s situation has never come up in our conversations.
A couple of days ago, I overheard the superintendent talking about the apartment above me.
I think he called the woman Carmen, which is the exact same name I spotted on Callan’s fake phone.
Carmen.
I still wonder if his name is truly Callan.
Who cares, anyway?
I put the cash he gave me to good use, buying food and paying my bills.
Honestly, I wish something meaningful happened upstairs so I could give him the information and earn more money.
What can I say? That’s life.When one door closes, another one opens.
And here I am, with food and a second job interview.
We chat a little more when I push out of my seat and casually move to the patio door.
The evening swirls around the block with gleaming lights and frozen snow over the old trees.
Once in a while, a car glides by. Most are not slowing down since all the parking spots are taken.
A car does slow down before coming to a full stop in front of the building, piquing my interest.
My pulse races, and tension lodges in my throat.
Could that be him? Callan?
Or is it whoever drops him off?
They might await him in the parking lot around the corner, where a few spots are available this time of night since the employees of a beauty salon leave work and head home early.
The passenger side door opens, and a short, burly man wearing a dark cap and matching athletic gear looks up.
Instinctively, I pull back.
“What the…?” I murmur, interrupting Kayla, who’s talking about a dress she’s bought for the New Year's Eve party.
“What happened?” she asks.
“Nothing.”
I lean forward and peer downstairs.
The man has his eyes up while inching closer to the building door, yet he doesn’t look at me.
Besides, I’m hidden in the dark, so he can’t see me. I don’t think so.To confirm my suspicions, I push to the side and look at my neighbor’s windows upstairs.
They’re lit, so she must be home.
Although I’ve rarely seen her these past few days.
And for sure, I haven’t seen her husband.
“I don’t know what kind of business this woman runs…” I let out.
“What are you talking about?”
“My neighbor. Carmen. She has a new guest.”
“New as in… A different man?”
“Apparently.”
“What happened to that guy?”
“I wish I knew. He’s probably laying low. Or maybe they ended their arrangement.”
“Arrangement?”
I laugh.
“Their fucking arrangement. I don’t know.”
I go back to the door and look down out of habit.
“Oops,” I murmur.
“What now?”
“She has two guests.”
No fucking way.
Another man––the one who drove the car––walks from around the corner, his gaze tilted up.
What’s up with these men?
And why do they have to check her apartment before going in? What kind of clues are they after?
I step to the side again and peer up.
I spot nothing out of the ordinary. The woman has adorned her balcony with Christmas lights, and that’s about it.
“Two?”
“Yeah. Two men,” I say quietly while slipping back inside. “Maybe they’re discussing some business matters. Or they’re family.”
“Did they look like they were family?”
“No, not really,” I say, sliding the door closed behind me.
It smells like cinnamon and cloves inside.
“They looked like they were dealing,” I joke, and she laughs, but that’s not far from the truth.
They looked sketchy.
And this whole story is weird.
I thought things got settled between them.
The husband came back. The lover moved out.
If that’s the case, my chances of making money again with Callan have vanished.
Not so fast, baby doll.
I’m not a fan of terms of endearment, but I do like him calling me that.
I was a fan, to be more precise. I don’t know if I’ll ever hear him call me that again.
Silly me.
A quiet thud makes the wall shudder.
“Um, what?”
“What?” Kayla mirrors me.
“There was a noise,“ I say quietly, as if my upstairs neighbor could actually hear me.
“Noise as in… A happy noise? Or a ‘do you need to call the cops’ noise?”
“I don’t know. It’s hard to tell with this woman. I do hope the cops won’t be needed in this situation, though.”
“She’s not in danger, is she?”
“I hope not,” I say, a bad feeling zipping through me.
It didn’t sound like people having sex.
I inch closer to the wall and press my ear to it. Silence comes from upstairs.
I wish I knew what they were doing.
“I hope they’re having sex,” I say.
“The three of them?”
“Yeah. Why not?”
She chuckles.
“Why not? I’d be sore for days.”
“I’d be sore for days after having one man, but I’d forget about the pain if I got that kind of raw passion from him.”
“Mmm… Tell me about it.”
Another thud shakes the wall against my ear.I pull back as if bitten by a snake.
“I don’t know about this,” I say, baffled. “It’s a combination of muffled noises and a weird pace. What about the other guy? What is he doing? Is he a voyeur?”
Kayla goes silent.
“Kayla?”
“I’m lost for words. I know nothing about this. No one has fucked me up against the wall or with someone watching like they’re doing it to this poor woman.”
I laugh.
“Poor woman? It must be nice,” I murmur, sunk in thought.
“If you don’t mind the cold hard wall against your back and the dips and bruises on your thighs.”
I smile to myself.
“I think we’re overthinking the whole thing,” I say.
She breathes a soft laugh.
“I think we are,” she admits when her mother’s voice rings in the background.
“Hey,” Kayla quickly says to me. “I need to go now. We’re having guests for dinner.”
“Cool. We’ll talk.”
We end our call, and I slide my phone into my pocket before leaning into the wall again.
No more sounds drift from upstairs, and their place is quiet, as if they’ve left the building.
Rattled by this new possibility, I dash to the window as the weirdest and darkest scenarios spin in my head.
This story no longer feels like a joke. It’s no longer a silly story about some woman having fun.
Why would Callan be concerned with her seeing other men?
He wasn’t jealous when he talked about it. I didn’t notice a hint of jealousy in his voice.
He didn’t care about her husband.
So why would he be interested in whether she’s seeing other men?
Did he know that men like the ones upstairs might show up?
It looked that way.
The street seems frozen in time.
There are no people, and the area is as quiet as Carmen’s place.
With nothing better to do, I stroll to the kitchen, pull a notepad out of a drawer, and tear off a sheet of paper.
With my favorite pink pen in hand, I sit at the table and write down a summary of all the things I’ve noticed upstairs these past few days.
The husband getting thrown out.
The husband returning like nothing happened.
The silence.
Their silence.
Or maybe the quiet sex they had.
The husband’s absence… recently.
And today, the two strangers’ unexpected visit.
I describe all the events to the best of my abilities when laughter breaks out upstairs.
Wow.
I’m not gonna lie. I feel relieved to hear that. So much relieved. And then the usual shuffling and stomping happen.
Whatever they’re doing, it’s not sex, but what do I know?
Maybe it is.
Maybe they’re dancing.
Maybe this is some sort of foreplay I’m not familiar with.
I don’t know.
Trying not to get too distracted, I finish my essay on what my neighbor has done these past few days and feel like I’ve accomplished something that’s meaningful enough to earn more money.
Now that she has guests again, I can be of help to my boss.
The room goes quiet upstairs, and I stand up and listen. It’s like her apartment is suddenly empty.
I spin around, move to the window, open it, and scan the street.
It’s much darker than before, so I’ll need to walk out and look up and down the street to get more clues about what might be going on.
A shiver sweeps my back as the humidity in the air feels like icicles against my skin.
A few moments pass, and no one walks in or out of the building.Maybe they left already. Or they’re watching TV and eating popcorn inside the woman’s place.
Perhaps they’re waiting for her husband.
Ready to go back inside, I pivot to the door when the headlights of a car catch my eye.
The vehicle is indistinguishable from every other car parked on the street, but somehow, my heart races as if knowing the vehicle is not just any other car, and that might mean something to me.
My chest gets tight.
Is that Callan?
Have I been looking for him everywhere lately?
It could be anyone, yet I wait, turned to stone.
The car comes to a stop north of the building’s entrance before a man smoothly pushes out of the passenger’s seat.
It’s him.
Even without wearing a Santa costume, his silhouette is so familiar to me that his broad shoulders are hard to be mistaken for someone else’s.
He shuts the door, and the car sets itself in motion.
As curious as I am about the driver, the car rolls past the building way too fast, and with the dark windshield and the glaring light, it's impossible to see who that person is.
My eyes move to Callan, who makes a beeline for the building.
He is still far from the entrance when the door opens, and the men I’ve noticed before walk out and cross paths with him.
None of them react.
Not Callan.
Not my neighbor’s guests.
Apparently, they don’t know each other.
Huh.
The two men head south while Callan strides in, wearing dark boots, jeans, and a winter jacket.
I quickly return inside and dash to the table, where I pick up my written report.
Anxiously, I dart to the door and open it, hoping to see him come my way.
The moments zip away, and my wait turns fruitless.
He either took the service staircase.Or he avoids me.
Hmm.
Why would he do that?
I stroll back inside and barely make it to the kitchen when I hear a soft knock on my door.
Beyond myself, with my heart climbing up my chest, I spin around and move that way, my tense fingers sliding through my hair.
It’s not like I’m dressed for the occasion, although I sport my cutest sweatsuit set.
The caramel tone and bedazzled pockets make it fancy enough to meet Santa.
A random thought pops into my head at the last moment.
What if it’s the superintendent?
Nah.
I don’t think so.
No one else can be at the door.
I pull to a sudden halt, suck in a short breath, peek through the peephole––it’s him––and open the door.
His eyes meet mine, a resolute expression on his face.
He’s here for business.
So, no smile, no wandering gaze, and no intrusive comments.
“Anything for me?” he asks quietly.
I reach inside my pocket and hand him the sheet of paper.
“You just missed her last two guests. They walked out as you got in. They were short and beefy.”
“I noticed them.”
“Good,” I say in a similarly abrupt voice.
“How much time did they spend inside?”
“It’s all in there,” I say, pointing to the paper in his hand before lifting my gaze. “About twenty minutes,” I say in response to his stern look. “It’s hard to tell whether they had sex or not. If they did, it must’ve been a threesome. Or one of the guys likes to watch.”
He flicks his hand in displeasure, cutting me off while making me aware of how little importance that detail has for him.
He puts the piece of paper inside his jacket without looking at it.
His hair looks nice, and so does his face.
Clean shaven, with a whiff of aftershave drifting off his skin.
His eyes glint as he delicately puts me on notice that I'm gawking at him.
“Right,” I murmur. “Well, good luck upstairs. You might need to use a condom,” I say dryly. “There was some shuffling, and the woman laughed. Maybe they showed her their dicks. What do I know?” I say, already weighed down by the unintended dread created by my new side hustle.
I pull at the doorknob to close it when he wedges his boot in, forcing me to stop.
My eyes drift back to him.
“Thank you,” he says.
“Sure. I hope there’s more to this job than me keeping track of all the sex she’s having upstairs.”
His eyes glint with a barely concealed smile before he pulls his boot back and, without a word, walks away, making me question my last words.
I need the money. And it’s not my business what they're doing upstairs. Why would I care about their lives?
I need to focus on mine.
The problem is that all our lives seem to be enmeshed together, so sighing, I return to the kitchen, pour myself another glass of wine, and retrieve the pecan pie from the fridge to drown my sorrows.