There's Something in the Walls Page 4

  Tommy snapped. David watched him turn into a man who suddenly thought a midnight swim in the LA River sounded delightful.

  “Sterner stuff?” Tommy shouted. “Lady, I bet you never took a cold shower in your life. A bigtime actress, turned trophy wife, turned widow with her dead husband’s empire in her pocket and you’re gonna’ sit here and tell me to suck it up? I don’t think so. I tell you what… You go make your calls and get your quotes, but if I’m not standing in a hot shower with solid, un-cracked walls all around me a week from today, I’ll be placing my own call to the housing authority and reporting this place. See how many raggedy fur coats you can buy when they condemn this building and knock it down.”

  Mrs. Perkins face twisted while Tommy spoke, making her abundant wrinkles all the more evident, but at the mention of the housing authority her expression softened a little.

  “Do that and you’ll be out of a home,” she said. “Good luck trying to find a place to live with rent as affordable as what I ask.”

  “Lady, I don’t give a shit anymore. I’d be better off on Skid Row than breathing the foul air in this place. I bet this cold would clear up right away once I was out of here.”

  Mrs. Perkins pointed at David, her hand like a skeleton hand wearing a loose, wrinkled leather glove. “And what about the others? Your friend here, do you think he’d rather be on Skid Row? What about the woman and her infant son on the bottom floor? You’ll make this decision for her as well?”

  Tommy stepped back into his apartment and held up a single finer. “One week, lady.” He slammed the door.

  Mrs. Perkins stood silently for a moment shaking her head, then said, “That man has been nothing but a nuisance ever since he moved in. Every week it’s some new complaint. I should have him evicted.”

  David felt a little anger flare in his belly. “I wouldn’t do that, Mrs. Perkins. He may be difficult, but his rent is never late and he’s quiet, which is more than I can say for most of the other residents in this building. You throw him out and you’ll likely find yourself being sued in addition to having the building reported.”

  Mrs. Perkins glared at him as if he’d betrayed her by standing up for his friend. Then she turned and strode down the hall, presumably to continue her “inspection” of the earthquake damage. David considered for a moment knocking on Tommy’s door, but then his stomach growled and he decided against it. He’d check on Tommy later. First…breakfast!

  . . .

  David sat in his apartment’s lone chair the next evening editing the story he’d written the after his date on Saturday night. He wanted to go see Alice, but knew she’d gone straight from school to work, where she had to stay until close. This depressed him a little. He’d enjoyed her company so much, and after that kiss at her door, he’d found himself longing for her whenever his mind wasn’t otherwise occupied. David shook his head and laughed at himself for this train of thought. “Longing” for Alice… Next thing he knew he’d be writing romance novels, with words like that knocking around in his head.

  He’d tried to go see Tommy earlier in the day, but when he’d knocked there’d been no answer. So he’d gone back to his apartment and gotten to work on cleaning up his kitchenette. The job had taken even longer than he’d thought, and he now had several shallow slices—along with a few somewhat deep ones—in his hands. But, he’d gotten it all done, and had even found a few unbroken pieces of his dish set and four coffee cups that were still usable. He no longer had any cabinetry to put them in, so he’d just stacked them neatly on the small bit of counter space by his sink.

  When he’d finished the kitchenette, David had gotten to work on the rest of his apartment. It was a rare thing for him. He wasn’t a slob by any measure of the word, but he wasn’t necessarily a neat freak either. The occasional tidying up was about the most he ever did to keep the place from becoming—what had Mrs. Perkins called it? —a pigsty. But he’d never really needed to keep the place clean before either. The only other person besides himself to have been inside since he moved in was Tommy, and Tommy didn’t give a shit what the place looked like, so long as there was beer and a pair of ears to listen to his drunken ramblings.

  A light knock pattered on David’s door. He looked at it for a moment, trying to figure out who could possibly be on the other side. Tommy always seemed to be trying to break the damned thing down when he knocked. The rapping came again, a little louder this time. David set his laptop on the floor beside the chair, then got up and went to his door. He opened it, and there stood Alice in the hall, holding a six pack of some sort of microbrewery beer he didn’t recognize.

  “Alice!” David said.

  “They wouldn’t let me stay at work because my nose kept running,” Alice said, rolling her eyes. She seemed to be in a sour mood. “I thought since I had the night free now I’d take you up on that Netflix and chill idea you had the other night.”

  David smiled. “The idea I allegedly had.”

  “Whatever,” Alice said. She stood there for a moment saying nothing, and David stood smiling at her. She blew out a breath. “I know I’m not a character in one of your vampire stories, so I can come in without being invited, but I’d rather you invite me anyway so I don’t feel like I’m barging in on you.”

  “Oh, sorry.” David moved out of the way. “Would you like to come in?”

  “Would you like me to?”

  “Definitely.”

  She thrust the six pack of beer at his chest. “Good, you can help me drink these. I don’t know why they don’t sell them in three packs for people my size.”

  David took the beer and went to his tiny fridge to put it inside.

  “Uh, let me fix my futon so we can both sit down,” David said, coming back into the main room of his apartment.

  “You don’t have to do that on my account,” Alice said. “Let’s just throw some blankets on the floor and do this picnic style.” She looked around. “Wait, where’s your TV?”

  “Uh,” David said, drawing the sound out.

  “Seriously? You don’t have a TV? You’re not one of those hipsters who just listens to vinyl records all day and types on a typewriter and stuff like that are you?”

  “Says the girl who brought over some obscure craft beer!”

  “Touché.” She looked around again and her gaze landed on David’s open laptop, the screen still aglow. She pointed to it. “Okay, that’s a good sign, if that was an old typewriter I’d storm right out of here.”

  “I’m not a hipster! I don’t have a TV because I can’t keep a good writing schedule when I have one. Kinda’ puts a damper on the Netflix side of this plan, huh?”

  Alice shrugged. “I guess we can just chill then.” She poked a finger at his chest. “But I mean the literal definition of that word.”

  David grinned. “The literal definition? I don’t have air conditioning. I guess we could open the freezer and huddle in real close.”

  “You know what I mean,” Alice said, placing her fists on her hips and glowering.

  “I know, I know, don’t worry. I’ll keep my hands to myself. A perfect gentleman.”

  David went to the large trunk by his futon where he kept all the bedclothes. “You sure you want to just sit on the floor?”

  “Yes! I prefer it. Don’t ask me why, I’ve been that way since I was a kid. That’s why I have that thick carpet on the floor in my apartment. Hardwood just doesn’t work for me.”

  She went to the fridge and took out two of the beers, then brought out her keys from the pocket of her jeans and opened both with a bottle opener on her keychain. David pushed his chair up against the wall and started to cover the blank space in the center of the floor with blankets and pillows. Alice walked over, kicked her shoes off, then handed David a beer. He took it and drank. His mouth was suddenly filled with the tastes of coffee and dark chocolate. It was delicious.

  “Holy shit,” David said, looking at the bottle.

  “Right?” Alice said, smiling. “I didn’t
even like beer before I discovered stuff like this.”

  She sat down, crossed her legs, and sipped at her own beer. David sat beside her, awkwardly trying to find a comfortable position.

  Alice tilted her head toward his laptop. “Were you writing a story?”

  “I was editing a story I finished Saturday night.”

  “After our date?”

  David nodded.

  “Aww, am I like totally your muse?” she teased, batting her eyes.

  David smiled but didn’t answer. How could he? He’d sound like an idiot explaining that she did seem to have a very positive effect on his writing. Or at least his outlook on writing. And after only one date…

  “Is it another vampire one?”

  David laughed. “No, I only write those once a month. Already sent this month’s story off. This was a new one. An idea I haven’t devoted to any publication yet. I don’t even know what I’m going to do with it when I’m finished. If I feel like it’s good enough I might submit it to a few upper echelon titles. Hugo and Nebula Award winners. It’s hard to get a story accepted at places like that but they pay really well and it’s great for exposure. Put a sale like that on your cover sheet and you won’t have near as much trouble getting accepted by a lot of other mags.

  Alice listened with what looked like an expression of genuine interest on her face. This wasn’t all that new a concept to David, women seemed to find his profession interesting, but he still found it no less odd. Actors, models, people like that getting attention from the opposite sex made complete sense to him, but writers? David had always thought of writers as just the nerds who liked making up stories more than experiencing the stories someone else made up. Sure, there had been swarthy, adventurous writers throughout history like Jack London or Ernest Hemingway, and it made a certain sense to David why women would want men like them, but most writers… well most writers were more like Woody Allen. And yet Woody Allen had been involved with Mia Farrow, the very actress who Alice bore such a striking resemblance to. David smiled, amused by this realization and the little circle his thoughts had just led him in.

  “What’s the story about?” Alice asked.

  “Oh…well…I haven’t finished it yet.”

  “I thought you said you were editing it.”

  “I am. But I haven’t finished working on it. I do a second and third draft before it’s really finished. And I have a sort of rule that I don’t talk about a story before then.”

  “Ooh, so mysterious.”

  David laughed. “No, it’s not like that, it’s just a habit I picked up over the years. When you tell someone about a story, even if they aren’t the type to offer suggestions or criticisms, even a positive reaction can throw you off your game simply by making you self-conscious about what you’re doing. Maybe they like a certain part a whole lot, but other parts not so much, and then you find yourself adjusting the story around that single solitary person’s tastes. Next thing you know; the story isn’t even yours anymore. Or at least that’s my experience.”

  Alice giggled. “David’s rules for writing,” she said. “No TV, no talking about your stories…”

  “Yeah, I know it sounds like I’m being obsessive or dramatic, but trust me, it’s necessary. Some people can sit down once every few years and just spin gold out of their keyboards. Not me. For me writing is more like jogging. If I don’t stick to it, I’ll end up sucking balls. Figuratively, I mean. Or maybe even literally, this is how I earn my living, after all. I’d have to make money somehow if the stories stopped selling.”

  Alice laughed. “Well, better stick to your routine then.”

  “Exactly. I mean, as it is, I still only make enough to live in this building, and that’s writing full time.”

  “You’ve only been here a year though, right? Tommy told me that it’s a big deal that you can support yourself with just writing when you’ve only been here a year.”

  “Tommy says a lot of things.”

  “True, but I bet he’s right when it comes to this. I bet you’ll end up making it.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome, but I’m just being selfish. If I can hook you before you’re famous I can land myself a sweet trophy wife gig.”

  “Hate to break it to you, but Mia Farrow is still alive. I’m still holding out for her.”

  Alice snapped her fingers and cussed.

  “Besides, you’re not fooling anyone,” David said. “Nobody becomes a nurse for the money. You’re probably one of those ‘save the world’ types deep down, aren’t you?”

  “Nope. Not even close. I just wanted to be where all the rich doctors were.”

  David laughed. “Whatever. Still not buying it.”

  They were soon both holding empty bottles, and Alice took them to the garbage and brought back two more. She handed one to David.

  “What’s the alcohol content in this stuff,” David asked, shaking his head a little. “I already feel buzzed. Or maybe I’m just catching this flu that’s going around.”

  Alice grinned. “It’s twelve percent.”

  “Seriously?” That’s like…almost three regular beers.”

  “I know, that’s why it actually makes sense to buy the good stuff. Tastes better and gets you snuckered faster.”

  David took another drink. He held the bottle up to the light and looked at it. The beer was so dark it was basically black, like coffee. He took still another drink, really enjoying the brew.

  “Better slow down there, cowboy,” Alice said. “If you’re already feeling buzzed.”

  “I’ll be fine.” David laid down on his back and looked up at the ceiling. The giant crack that had turned into a hole up there looked like it had gotten bigger. And then as he looked closer he noticed something. He raised up a little.

  Alice followed his gaze and looked up. “What’s the matter?”

  “I told you about that giant hole up there, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I just noticed that it’s got some of that slime like in Tommy’s apartment around it now.”

  Alice slapped him on the shoulder. “I totally forgot to tell you, I found some in my apartment today too!”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, coming out of the plaster in the wall above my sink. But that’s not the worst part. I tried to wipe it off the wall with a rag and accidently got some on my hand. I smelled it, and it stank, but it didn’t have like a really strong odor, but as soon as I got up close and got a whiff it reminded me of a strange smell in my shower the morning after the earthquake. So I went in there and looked around and I found a crack in the tile with a little bit of the black stuff coming out of it. Gross! I’ve been taking a shower ever day with that stuff and had no idea.”

  “I hope Tommy’s not right about it making everyone sick. Like if it really is black mold.”

  “Me too. If the building gets condemned I don’t know where I’ll go. I can’t afford anything else. Plus, there’s the whole black mold poisoning thing too, or whatever, that’s also bad.”

  David laughed. They finished their beers. Alice again took the bottles and threw them away, but she came back without bringing the remaining two. She sat down next to where David was still lying on his back.

  “Sorry if I end up getting you sick,” Alice said. She was looking at him with a sort of doe-eyed expression.

  “Oh, it’s no big deal if you do. Not like I have a real job I have to go to. And my agent still hasn’t called about the screenplay meeting, so I doubt that will happen any time soon either.”

  “So…you’re fine with getting sick?”

  “Sure.”

  “Good.”

  She leaned over then and kissed him. David was a little surprised at first, but he returned the kiss immediately. He reached up and ran his hand through Alice’s hair, and she moved her body closer, nearly positioning herself on top of him. She made a soft sound of pleasure as the kiss became more intense, and then she really did lay on top
of him. With the alcohol in his system, David found himself becoming aroused sooner than he might usually have. Alice was straddling him now and David felt like he was in high school again, the excitement in his chest almost too much to bear. When was the last time a woman had made him feel anything like this? He had no idea. Maybe never. David placed his hands on Alice’s hips, then slid them back, caressing her bottom. Alice started to rock gently on him grinding herself against his erection. She began to moan a little.

  All at once, something crashed against the wall David’s apartment shared with Tommy’s, followed by a shrill scream. Both David and Alice bolted upright, and Alice’s cheeks, which had flushed from the kissing, lost their color. She placed a hand over her mouth and looked at David with wide eyes when Tommy’s screams continued, growing louder. Together, they came to their feet, and David sprinted out his door and into the hall, Alice following close behind. David rushed to Tommy’s door and tried to open it. It wouldn’t budge.

  “Locked,” he said.

  “Did he give you a spare key?” Alice asked, frantically.

  Inside, Tommy wailed on and on.

  “No. I’m gonna’ try and kick it in.”

  David backed up to do just that.

  “Ooh, use your good foot,” Alice said, pointing.

  David was glad she had remembered, as he had not. He came forward as hard as he could, slamming the heel of his shoe onto the door just to the left of the knob, like he’d learned from all the old detective novels he’d read during a phase in high school. The information in those books must’ve come from a reliable source, because the door cracked and flung open on the first attempt. David rushed in. Tommy’s room was dark, and he felt himself kicking over stacks of magazines as he made his way toward Tommy’s strained voice. He finally reached his friend, and grabbed hold of him. Tommy was slick with sweat. David could see nothing but the light from the hall, made rectangular by the shape of the doorway. Tommy fought against him when he tried to pull him out of the room.