Chapter 3
3
Chris
T anya thinks we don’t know, but trust me: we know . In fact, it’s the only thing we’re here to discuss tonight. The pretty blonde believes Carl, James and I want to talk about boring shit at the Homeowners Association meeting tonight. She thinks we want to discuss things like utilities, property taxes, and our shared laundry facilities. But fuck that shit because we want to know more about her .
After all, it’s not every day that you have a pretty neighbor who goes upstairs to fuck fruit on the reg. Not only that, but Tanya thinks that she’s doing it on the downlow. She thinks she’s being discreet, seeing that we have no high-rises around us, looking down on the rooftop terrace. She believes that her cries are soft and gentle, when actually, she’s yowling like a cat. She thinks that she doesn’t leave trails of pussy come on the floor, when actually, we’re able to smell the viscous fluid the next morning.
I can see why Tanya thinks no one knows, however, because she goes to enjoy herself late at night, when the city is asleep. But therein lies the problem: this particular city never sleeps, and she has no idea that we sometimes sneak up to watch her during her little “worship sessions.” To be honest, I have no idea why the fuck she even conducts these moonlight sessions. Is Tanya Wiccan? Or some kind of pagan? Or maybe she worships that woman who tried to seduce Adam, Lilith. It really doesn’t matter to me, James, and Carl. We just like seeing the veggies slide in and out of those tight holes as Tanya grunts and groans with pleasure.
So yeah, we have a nasty girl living on the top floor of our building. Sure, she might come off as funky and interesting with her purple-rimmed glasses and vintage outfits, but James, Carl and I know the truth: Tanya’s a super-slut and we want a piece of the action.
At the moment, Tanya has no inkling as to our true intent, however. The pretty blonde’s sitting at the table on our rooftop with a plant between her hands. She looks beautiful in a colorful patchwork dress that comes down to mid-thigh, with her blonde hair tied up in a messy knot at the top of her head. Stray tendrils escape, showing off her elegant neck as they curl about her throat.
“Thanks for coming to the HOA meeting,” she says with a sweet smile our way. “Should we get started? By the way, I hope you don’t mind if I prune this cactus while we talk. It’s just something to keep my hands busy.”
I squint because holy shit, that plant looks spiny and dangerous. But Tanya reaches for a pair of needle-nosed pliers, and then plucks a spine out of the cactus before putting it on the table. Then, she does it again, and again, effectively de-nuding the cactus.
“Why are you doing that?” Carl growls, looking just as perplexed as us.
“Because I have a cat, and I don’t want Misty to get hurt. She sometimes likes to fight my plants, and obviously, Mr. Cactus here wins.”
I shake my head.
“Maybe you should get a smarter cat,” I grunt.
“Hey, Misty is plenty smart!” Tanya protests with a smile. “Okay, maybe she’s not the smartest cat out there, but she’s plenty smart for a Siamese purebred.”
I shake my head.
“You’re not afraid of becoming the crazy old cat lady who lives with ten cats and a bunch of plastic bags?”
Tanya giggles, her fingers nimble as she continues de-needling the cactus.
“No, not at all. I only have one cat, and I have no plans to get more. Misty won’t get pregnant because she never leaves my apartment. She’s an indoor feline.”
Carl nods, his blue eyes flashing.
“I’ve seen her from the window outside, stalking along the windowsill. Black face with a white coat, right?”
“Uh huh,” Tanya says with a smile, her fingers flying as she tends to her plant. “Misty’s a modern Siamese. The old school ones are less elongated, although I’m sure you guys aren’t here for a history lesson on the breeding and development of Siamese cats. Come on, let’s get this HOA meeting started because there are important matters to be discussed. For example, I think I saw some mice in the basement last week, and it freaked me out,” Tanya shudders. “It was so gross.”
Carl nods.
“We have mice,” he agrees with a frown. “The exterminator put out traps the last time he was here, but I took one or two out because there were mouse corpses inside. It also meant that the remaining mice have been running rampant for two weeks because I disposed of the old traps ages ago. Maybe we should get some new ones as back-up from the hardware store.”
Tanya looks ill.
“Oh gross. I’m going to be sick.”
“Do you need some water?” I ask quickly, alarmed at the greenish tinge to her face. “Here, I’ll pour you a cup,” I say, reaching for a glass jug filled with agua .
“No, I’ll be fine,” Tanya says in a small voice. “Thanks for bearing with me. Just the thought of any rodent makes me … ugh, gross.”
“Maybe we could get Misty to go down there,” James suggests with a twinkle to his eye. “Catching mice should come naturally to your cat, right?”
Tanya’s face goes an even deeper green.
“Oh eew,” she says. “No, definitely not. Misty is refined. She eats premium cat chow and has never hunted in her life. She gets vitamins, cholesterol pills, and I’m even thinking of taking her to the vet for an ADHD diagnosis.”
“Sweetheart, your cat sounds practically human at this point,” I say in a dry tone. Tanya nods, her expression serious.
“Misty is my family,” she says. “It’s a big world out there, so I take care of her, and she takes care of me. In the meantime, absolutely not. Misty’s not hunting down vermin for us. We’ll have to find another solution.”
“Okay, okay,” Carl says, holding up one big hand as he tries to stifle a smile. “We’ll figure it out, no problem. The next time the exterminator’s here, I’ll have a talk with him about alternate methods of attack. I’m sure we’ll be able to think of something, seeing that rodents are common in this city.”
“Thanks,” Tanya smiles, looking obviously relieved. “I appreciate it, gentlemen. Yeah, my cat isn’t much of a huntress. She’s more of a pampered pet.”
“No worries,” I drawl in a casual tone while exchanging glances with Carl and James. “Should we move to the next item on the agenda?”
“Oh, does it have to do with the church next door?” Tanya asks, her fingers flashing at the cactus again. “They’re so freakin’ pushy, I swear! I stopped by for a service three months ago, and they keep calling me non-stop. It’s really annoying. Sometimes I try to sneak into our building without them seeing me because it inevitably means a twenty minute conversation about why I haven’t come around recently.”
The three of us share another look.
“No, it’s not the church,” I say in a slow tone before fixing the pretty blonde with a look. “But it does have to do with religion, actually. Your religion, Tanya.”
The curvy girl looks mystified.
“My religion? I’m not really religious. I’m more spiritual. I only popped into the church next door once, and that was ages ago, so I wouldn’t say that organized religion is really a part of my life.”
“Right,” Carl says in a smooth tone, his handsome features giving nothing away. “We’re talking more of a pagan religion, actually. Wiccan perhaps? Or a personal practice that you follow late at night?”
Tanya’s fingers go still as she stares at us. Her face goes sheet white, and her pretty pout drops open a bit.
“You know,” she whispers.
Carl grins, his blue eyes flashing.
“We know,” he confirms. “And we’d love to discuss it with you, sweetheart. Now tell us—what exactly are you doing with the fruits and vegetables you grow on our roof?”
Tanya’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out … and yet we’re going to get an answer, come hell or high water.