The Neighbors Are Watching (8 page)

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped. “That girl is there. I can’t do it. Come on, Dot.” He sighed and with reluctance lifted himself from the couch. “Goddamn Joe and his goddamned mess,” he muttered. “Is the grill ready?”

“I thought you were going to—”

“Yes, yes, fine, I’m going to.” He swept past her, leaving the scent of beer-soaked corn chips in his wake. “Go see what your son is doing, Dorothy.”

My
son, Dorothy thought. Not
our
son. Not Kevin. Dorothy hated when Dick got into this I’m-disappointed-in-everything mood because it made him particularly irritable and difficult to please. Her head had started a slow throb and she could tell it was only the beginning of what would become a major headache. It was going to be chicken salad after all, she thought. Too bad, but she no longer had the time or energy to get creative. Maybe she’d put pickles in it to spice it up. Or some of those olives from Barron’s.

She thought about the olives—the red color of the label, the difficulty she always had opening the jar—as she headed up the stairs to Kevin’s
room. When did children reach the point when they no longer needed to be watched over, she wondered. She stood in the upstairs hallway, at Kevin’s closed door, listening. She heard giggling and then a muffled, “Kevin, stop,” and then more laughing. Dorothy’s head pounded with every beat of her heart. She knocked and waited. Heard whispering, more laughing, the sound of being ignored. She knocked again.

“Kevin?”

This was ridiculous. She turned the door handle and found it locked. When had Kevin managed to put a lock on his bedroom door?

“Kevin!” Dorothy heard the slight note of hysteria in her voice and cleared her throat. The headache raged in full force. She was going to have to attend to it. “Open the door, Kevin.”

The door opened suddenly, sucking the air out of the hallway, and Dorothy found herself facing a smiling Diana.

“What’s up, Mrs. Werner? Sorry we didn’t hear you.”

Dorothy could feel Dick’s hostility to this girl creeping into her own skin. What must it be like for Allison to have to live with her every day? No wonder she was drinking.

“Don’t you need to go home?” Dorothy asked. “I mean, isn’t there—”

“Jesus, Mom!” Kevin’s voice boomed from behind the door. It was a man’s voice—deeper than Dick’s. When had that happened? Kevin yanked the door open all the way and sidled up next to Diana. His face was flushed and angry.

“That’s so fucking rude,” he growled.

“Kevin!”

“What? God, Mom, forget it! I can’t even believe you just said that to her!”

“It’s okay, I can go,” Diana said, unmoving, every bit of body language implying she was staying right where she was.

“No, you don’t need to go anywhere,” Kevin said. “
You
need to go.” He stabbed his finger in Dorothy’s direction and then slammed the door
shut. Dorothy heard the click of the new lock, which, of course, she was going to have to remove as soon as Kevin left his room. She thought about knocking again, about apologizing, about threatening, even, for a second, about getting Dick and making a huge scene that they’d all live to regret. But in the end Dorothy did none of these things. She opted instead to go to her bedroom, shutting the door behind her, and then to the bathroom with that door shut and locked too, and then to the linen closet inside the bathroom, to the very back, behind the hand towels and never-used washcloths, to a box of tampons, inside the box, between the supers and the light days, to a bottle, and inside the bottle to some pills. Dorothy opened the bottle, took a pill, swallowed it, and chased it with water from the bathroom sink. She breathed in and out exactly six times. And then she took another pill.

It was, after all, a very bad headache.

A
t 3:00
PM
, Fuller Court was drowsy. Two crows swooped, cawing halfheartedly, and a skinny gray cat slunk through the hedges looking for trouble. A sprinkler hissed then sputtered out. Faint cheers from a televised baseball game rose and fell from one open window, strident piano chords came through another. It was warm enough for the beach, but nobody on the block had gone. The beach was full of tourists having their last hurrah before they had to go home to their cold dark places.
Let them have it
, the locals thought.
Come tomorrow, the coastline is ours again
.

At 4:30
PM
, the neighborhood stirred to life bit by bit, a chick emerging from its shell. Dick Werner rolled his new state-of-the-art grill to the end of his driveway and busied himself with charcoal and butane. Dorothy was right behind him with a folding picnic table and its red-checked plastic covering. It took her another three trips to bring out the cooler, bags of ice, and twelve-packs of beer.

“Let’s hope somebody else brings some this time,” Dick told her as she tucked the cans into the ice. “Last year we supplied the whole neighborhood. Nobody brought even a single can of their own beer. Remember that? You put it on the flyer, right?”

“Sure did,” Dorothy said, crouching down to get better leverage. “BYOB, just like I did last year and the year before. We’ll see, I guess.”

“Where’s Kevin?” Dick asked. “I could use some help with these patties.”

“Let me just get the chicken salad and the buns,” Dorothy said, “and then I’ll come help you.”

“Just get Kevin,” Dick said. “You’re doing more than enough. Hand me one of those beers, will you?”

At 5:15
PM
, the smell and smoke of grilled burgers was thick in the air and seeping through screens, as clear a signal as church bells. Garage doors opened and people drifted out onto the street carrying plastic containers.

Dorothy had changed her clothes and was now wearing a pair of generously cut beige cropped pants and a fitted light blue button-down shirt. She’d put some lipstick on too, a neutral not-quite-pink shade that didn’t make her fair skin look washed out. She stacked paper plates and napkins on the table and loaded plastic forks into an oversized cup. She’d ladled the chicken salad on top of lettuce leaves to give it a bit of color and put it in a nice red bowl next to a loaf of white bread in case anyone wanted to make their own sandwiches.

Dick attended to his burgers with great care. He’d made his own barbecue sauce this year—a combination of ketchup, Worcestershire sauce, and mustard—and was basting each burger liberally. He’d donned his “Don’t Mess with the Chef” apron, but not before he managed to spatter his green polo shirt with grease.

The first people out were Sam and Gloria, who walked close together—almost touching—toward Dorothy’s table. Dorothy smiled and waved, even though they were only a few feet away. Sam was wearing a festive skirt, long, full, and decorated with bright yellow and orange geometric patterns that contrasted nicely with the turquoise necklace and bracelet
she’d designed and created. The skirt and jewelry were set off by a plain white T-shirt, which was simple but of good quality and which flattered Sam’s olive skin and slim figure.

Gloria wasn’t as dressed up as Sam but had traded her usual yoga pants for a pair of painted-on jeans and a purple halter top. Her short gold hair was still damp from the shower. Sunlight bounced off the large silver hoops in her ears and her breasts swayed slightly against the thin fabric of her top. Dick turned his head as she passed him, his eyes quickly taking a full inventory of her hips and thighs.

“That looks good,” Sam said, pointing at Dorothy’s chicken salad.

“Please try some,” Dorothy said. “I made it with these special olives I got down at … you know, that store.… I’m totally drawing a blank right now! But help yourself.”

“I made a fruit salad,” Sam said. “It’s kind of my take on ambrosia, but without all the things that are bad for you.”

Dorothy tipped her head, smiling politely. “Oh?”

Dick scraped the grill. Flames rose up and he slapped on another patty.

“Don’t worry, Dick, we also brought beer,” Gloria said and put the two six-packs of Dos Equis she’d been carrying on the table. “
Good
beer,” she said.

Dick turned to her, grinning.

“Great,” he said. “Burgers are just about there. Time to grab some buns.” His eyes flickered quickly to her ass and then back up to his grill.

Gloria rolled her eyes and Sam reached out with her hand, grabbed hold of Gloria’s arm, and squeezed lightly. Gloria understood and patted Sam on the back.
Don’t worry about it, I’m fine
.

“Okay if I just leave it here for now?” Sam said, placing her fruit salad on the table.

“Sure, of course,” Dorothy said, brightness lifting her words. “Oh, look, there’s Joe!” She smiled, quickly rubbing a finger across her teeth in case there was any smeared lipstick there.

• • •

At 6:00
PM
, Kevin joined his father at the grill. He held a bag of corn chips and dipped into it frequently, chewing as he spoke.

“Need help, Dad?”

“I needed help an hour ago, Kevin. Not much to do now, is there?”

Kevin shrugged and looked over at Diana who was standing off to the side, giggling. Kevin smiled at her, sharing the joke.

“What’s she laughing about?” Dick said. “What’s so funny?”

“You know, Dad, whatever.”

Dick looked at the girl, watched her laugh harder, her hands resting on top of her swollen belly. “Is she going to eat something?” Dick asked Kevin.

Diana waved away a puff of grill smoke that had blown in her direction. “I don’t eat the flesh of animals,” she said, “but thanks anyway.” She started laughing afresh and Kevin joined in.

“Oh, for god’s sake,” Dick said, turning away from both of them, his lips compressed into a thin line.

Kevin offered his chips to Diana and she took the whole bag. “Now these …” she said. The two of them drifted away from the grill, across the street where Sun was bouncing a basketball in his driveway.

“Hey,” Diana said by way of greeting.

“Hey.” Sun checked her from the corner of his eye, his face flushing. He could see her legs and breasts through her thin dress. Her navel had popped out from the pressure of the baby, making a tiny bump in the fabric.

“What’s up?” Kevin said.

“Nothing.”

Diana handed the chips back to Kevin and slapped the basketball from Sun’s hand. She bounced it on the driveway, awkwardly at first, but then easier, thunking it hard. “Can I have a try?”

“You sure?” Sun laughed a little. She was standing right next to him
now, smelling of sweat and weed and flowery perfume. Diana bounced the ball three times, then lifted it, pointed, and shot. It hit the rim and bounded back to them. Kevin caught it, leaning over and spilling corn chips on Sun’s driveway.

“Let me try again,” she said. Perspiration shone on her upper lip.

“Maybe you shouldn’t,” Sun said.

The door of Sun’s house opened and Mrs. Sun appeared in the doorway, shaking her head. She barked out a command to Sun in Chinese and he answered her in the same language, his tone deferential. She shut the door.

“Dude, what’s up with your mom?” Kevin giggled.

“I gotta go,” Sun said and took back his ball. “Not bad for a girl,” he called over his shoulder to Diana before he disappeared inside his house.

It was 6:30
PM
and the neighbors thronged on their street, eating and drinking. There was still plenty of light—the sun wouldn’t set until just after seven. It was warm and didn’t feel like fall was anywhere near. Joe stood in front of Sam and Gloria’s house, drinking a beer and talking to Jessalyn, who was holding a paper plate of Sam’s fruit salad but making no move to eat it.

“Is Allison going to come out for a bit?” Jessalyn said. “It’s pretty nice outside right now.”

“Maybe,” Joe said, taking a long pull from the bottle, “but she’s not feeling well so I don’t know.”

“That’s too bad.” Jessalyn smiled, her teeth shining. She was wearing white shorts and a tiny black top made out of synthetic fabric. Her skin was perfectly tan and glowing from the minuscule flecks of glitter in her body lotion.

“Well, at least
you
get to enjoy it,” she said, tucking a stray wisp of hair behind her ear. “You don’t have to work tonight?”

“Nice thing about being the boss,” Joe answered, “is once in a while you get to set your own schedule.”

“Do they do pretty well there at Luna Piena?” Jessalyn asked. “The servers, I mean.”

“Why?” Joe smiled wide. “You looking for a job?”

“Well, you never know.” She laughed, high and sparkling.

“You should come by sometime,” he said. “Sit at the bar and check it out. I’ll take care of you. Least I can do after slamming into your car like that.”

“Oh,” she said, “that would be
great.
”

At 7:30
PM
, Dorothy placed the empty beer containers in a large garbage bag and started cleaning up. It was just about dark and the party was winding down. Her chicken salad remained virtually untouched and would now have to be thrown away. Bottles and cans clinked against one another as she settled them in the bag.

“Well, people certainly brought their own this year,” she told Dick, who was busy cleaning his grill before rolling it back behind the house.

“They did,” he said. “Can’t complain about that.”

“Your burgers seemed to be a hit,” she said.

“I think so,” he said and gave her a grin. “Not bad, that sauce.”

Dorothy patted him on the shoulder. “Not bad at all.”

It was 9:00
PM
and Fuller Court was quiet. Light made glowing squares of drawn windows and a faint breeze shifted dying eucalyptus leaves off the trees. In the honeysuckle behind Sam and Gloria’s house there was a disturbance—the sound of small branches crackling underfoot. Diana slipped home alone, the faint light of a last quarter moon at her back.

I
t was 11:00
AM
and warm. Allison couldn’t sleep. Her back ached from spending too many hours prone and the sheets felt grainy. Over the summer, it had been easier to avoid getting out of bed. Some days she’d even managed to hibernate there until close to dusk. Some nights she went to bed at eight o’clock and slept twelve hours without stirring. Other times she roamed the house at night, drinking and muttering, like a cut-rate version of Lady Macbeth, moving from couch to kitchen, clinking ice cubes and staring at the flickering light of the muted television, marking the difference between late night and wee hours by which shows were on.