Going Down? (Traveler & Charlotte)

[Charlotte]

Another day, another session with Vanessa. For Olive, that meant another session of keeping her jaw locked, teeth ground together and her brows tensed in an attempt to keep them somewhat relaxed-looking. It proved incredibly difficult to do.

The blonde had her fair share of picky clients. Clients that didn’t know what they wanted until they saw it, clients that didn’t know what looked best on them, clients that knew what looked bad on them and insisted on it anyway. Clients that blabbered on about their personal lives, clients that bragged and nitpicked about Olive’s own appearance. Clients that didn’t sit still and made it hard to apply said makeup. Clients that made her change up the look after she’d already set the first one. Vanessa was all of the above. And often times, all in one session.

This was her sixth week applying Vanessa’s TV-face and it had not gotten any easier. By now Olive knew that Vanessa just hated the way that Olive’s hair was unnaturally blonde and that her look was ‘dated’ and ‘expired’. She ‘knew’ that Vanessa only used the highest quality of hair products and she’d never do too much damage to it, despite the fact that Olive knew otherwise. She knew Vanessa’s boyfriend had a well-paying job, was utterly handsome and was the stud-iest stud to ever have studded. Every time, the woman one-upped Olive without reason.

And Olive knew that she desperately wanted to deposit that sweet, sweet paycheck and get the hell home. So she waited while Vanessa scribbled on the tiny rectangular notepad, lazily putting her tools away and sparing idle, apologetic glances towards the hairstylist that got Vanessa next. All he had to do was get the pins and curlers out of her hair, but even that simple task was made draining with Vanessa in the chair. If she didn’t pay so well, Olive would skip out on the next time she called her up.. But, money was money and this would look good for future references.

Olive waited patiently, slipping the large black bag over her shoulder and decent-sized case clutched in one of her hands. She chewed slightly on her top lip, pausing when Vanessa ripped the paper from its holder and handed it lazily out to her. Like it was nothing. And Olive took it, trying to appear casual about it, too. And then Vanessa did that thing Olive hated above all other things. She held onto the check for a fraction longer than necessary. After Olive’s well-manicured fingers had taken hold and tugged slightly. A twitch in the blonde’s brow, a nasty smirk from the other woman and the paper finally gave.

“A pleasure, as always.” Olive sighed softly, ignoring her instinct to say ‘thank you’ and the fact she didn’t even sound sincere to her own ears. She used to say thanks, but found the fact that Vanessa never did entirely too annoying. Vanessa waved her away. Olive tucked the check into her pocket and turned around, giving the hairstylist a grim expression that was supposed to border along ‘good luck!’ and 'she's all yours', but they both knew better. There would be no gossiping today. Rent was due, and Olive didn’t have the time to stay and ramble.

She went on her way, hurrying out of the studio and leaving the in-house makeup artist to do any touch-ups Vanessa would undoubtedly need. Olive slid into her less-than-expensive car, shut the door a few times to get the damn ‘open door’ light to turn off on her dash, stopped by her bank to deposit her check, quickly sent the money over via convenient phone-app, waited for the confirmation e-mail in her car and drove home, feeling loads better.

The woman lugged her things out of her car after having parked it in the building’s basement garage. Carried them into the elevator, pressed a button to her floor and leaned against the back of the tiny moving room as to keep out of the way of any incoming passengers.

Maybe she’d see him today.

Every once in a while, when the stars and planets aligned. When that shiny too-new car was in the garage (and yes, she’d checked, though pretended not to be conscious of it). When the universe decided to cut the girl some slack; she’d see him. He lived one floor above her. She didn’t know his name, or his apartment number. Only that he lived one floor up, he had a fancy car, an even fancier girlfriend, and got home around the same time she did. Which was partly why she drove home with a lead-foot. She knew these things because he once commented that he liked Olive’s dress, and hoped someday to see his girlfriend wearing something akin to it.

But that it was far too ‘fun’ for her. It was a bittersweet compliment, but one none the less. If she was lucky, he’d be in the lobby, getting his mail. If she was lucky.

 

[Traveler]

There were definite benefits to having her on the evening edition of Downtown Weather Report on Channel Two. Sure, it meant that she got home late and wanted to talk, talk, talk, just as he was sliding into bed, but the evenings home without her were priceless. He'd only been living with her for seven months, two weeks, and a day (but who was counting?) and already he was wondering if that had been a mistake.

Fuck... if he was thinking about it then it was already a mistake. He just wasn't ready to pull the cord yet, and it probably had something to do with that other, much more pleasant, thing that she did with her mouth. Just thinking about the morning they had when she was half-asleep made him ache all over again. Her sleepy sex was almost as good as her drunk sex, with the exception being that she didn't stink of mixed drinks and too much booze when she was taking care of his needs. When she wasn't talking, her mouth was his favorite feature.

He shuffled through the stack of mail as he stood in the ground floor lobby. To his right were the large, glass doors that faced the busy urban street. People and cars passed, the city pulsed, and life poured into the glossy room every time someone came in or left, like breaths from the building feeding the vibrant community it existed in. He loved the way the leaves sent speckled light into the lobby floor like water reflections. The lighting in his own apartment on the third floor was part of the reason he chose this building; it appealed to his sense of design and placement, and as an urban planner and land developer, those kinds of things mattered.

Vanessa, on the other hand, liked that it was within easy heel-walking distance to her favorite manicurist. She rarely went anywhere without her three-plus inch heels to compensate for her height. Even though she was a five six, she felt too short in front of the camera, and she always insisted that he not stand too near her in photographs. His six foot stature made her uncomfortable. He wasn't extremely tall by any means. Most would call him 'average', but his physique and the confident way he held himself made him seem to command any room he entered.

He narrowed his grey-blue eyes as he noted an envelope in his stack addressed to Vanessa. He'd told her to get her own box; he liked his privacy and he didn't want to see her plethora of fashion magazines and her bills for all the pricey clothing she went through in her career. His firm jaw framed an irritated frown, one that looked stern through the short, evening bristle of his beard. He wrote 'not at this address' across the envelope and slid it into the out-going slot, then thumbed through a few more until he got to the last one, addressed to Olive-Something. This one had another box number on it, so he simply slid it into the dark hole with Vanessa's and then closed the metal door to his box.

As he turned to walk to the elevator the doors opened, revealing the cute neighbor he had seen several times before. She had a definite style to her, a kind of rockabilly sexiness that was both playful and mysterious, and she had seemed friendly enough every time they ran into each other. Jacob Galloway's frown instantly vanished and he reached out with one strong, masculine hand, to keep the doors from sliding shut. He was still in the suit he wore earlier, a light grey jacket over a tan pin-striped shirt. His tie had been loosened and he looked like a magazine model, perfect all the way down to his Italian shoes.

"Hello gorgeous," he flirted, his smile turning cocky. "You look like you were ready for five o'clock about eight hours ago. Are you coming... or going?" As he stood there, holding the door open, his eyes roamed over her sweet, flirty dress and the flawlessness of her decolletage. Her makeup and hair were always picture-perfect. She was like some WWII pilot's fighter come to life; a dream that somehow walked separately from the world, yet made it a better place simply because she was in it.

To make it even more sweet, he had never heard a word out of her mouth that did anything but make him smile. In his world of conflict-filled town meetings, lawyer negotiations, and demanding girlfriends, a sweet word and a shy glance went a long way to making his day more pleasurable.

 

[Charlotte]

Well, would you look at that. It was apparently one of those days. Olive hoped there would be something pleasant to balance out the scales of her day. In truth, Vanessa wasn’t a terrible person. Not that Olive knew her personally or really by any means – the blonde just wasn’t interested in associating with people who drained her. Not unless she got paid for doing so. But that was a point better brushed on later, right then she’d spotted her dashing upstairs neighbor and her heart went a pitter-patter all over the place. It wasn’t a crush.

Olive Dallas did not have crushes. Not since the tenth grade. Not since Eric Palmer thought it would be cute to pluck on her bra strap persistently from the seat he held behind her during world history. Not since she’d had enough of it, turned around and smacked him. Not since she got called to the deans office to explain, her father having thrown so many obscenities – at the boy in question and the dean – that her mother had to glare him into a silent submission while Olive laughed at the absurdity. Not since her father said that he was proud of her for having the patience, and then defended herself when that hadn't worked. Not since he told her that boys weren’t worth it. And not since she agreed.

This wasn’t a crush.

Men ordinarily just looked like that when they walked towards her. The sun was streaming into the building, it was backlighting the familiar form. There was nothing magical about this. All regular things. That smile, the devilish charm and the way she could’ve sworn he looked visibly happy to see her. Not a crush.


“Hi,” the woman greeted with a warm, already slightly flustered smile. She fussed with her hair with her free hand, smoothing and curling it with her fingers until it was back in place in response to his comment. The laugh that accompanied the gesture proved she hadn’t been offended, just mildly embarrassed. “Coming – I’m coming.” The woman fumbled, her grip on her case tightening as she mentally slapped herself for the poor phrasing. “I’m going up, I mean.” She tried to salvage, unable to keep her eyes from rolling exasperatedly up into the ceiling of the elevator. Olive never had this much trouble just fucking talking to another person. Once more; for those in back. Not a crush.

Olive shook her head briefly and tried to laugh away her sudden discomfort, stepping to the side a bit in order to offer him space. Like she was somehow taking up all the goddamned space in one elevator. But her laugh, at least, was genuinely easy. She knew she was a mess, and knew in all likelihood that it brightened her neighbors’ brief journey to his apartment. Or so she hoped, anyway. So she told herself. To ease the crushing shame that’d otherwise drown her later on.

She waited and watched as the man stepped into the elevator, careful not to let her eyes stray too long on his suit or get caught admiring the form underneath. Didn’t Olive have to get her mail? Yes. But it made total sense to go up, drop her things off, then return to the lobby than it did just to get the mail right then, didn’t it? No? Well, fuck it. Because handsome-neighbor was in play and he changed the priorities and rules of ease.

The door shut closed and she sighed softly, allowing herself a moment of tranquility with good-looking company. When she opened her eyes, she found the reflection of her riding buddy looking at her through the shiny surface of the elevator doors. She chuckled as their eyes met, the corner of her lips pulling into a pleasant half-smile. “It’s been a long day, again..” she spilled, admiring the two of them quietly in the parallel-world of elevator land. Where both of them rode up to the same apartment and the distance wasn’t so far away.

She probably didn’t match, though. He likely saw a better suited reflection all the time. One with his high-end, lavish girlfriend tucked into his side. Not Olive, standing a few feet away. Standing at a striking 5’4, too-pale skin and almost silver hair. The seam of the doors separated their images. Olive, with her shitty car, check-by-check lifestyle, who only splurged a couple times a month and rarely enough to cause a real dent in her bank account. Standing next to nameless-overly-hunky neighbor.

He probably sat by fireplace, read a book with his money-bunny in his lap. Sipping idly at expensive alcoholic drinks. Talked about stocks and bonds with his pals from some country club or something. Was that still a thing? It was under a year ago that she was finding walk-of-shamer’s in that very elevator, so that probably didn’t help dismiss the image of swanky playboy in her head. Plus, it was fun. She’d never really know what his story was. This would do.

“How about you?” the blonde nodded after a moment, still talking to him via-reflection rather than in person. Lord knew the kind of fucking mess she’d make if she attempted to speak directly to him. Luckily for her, her expertly-applied makeup hid any trace of the blush that’d flooded her face. All she had to do was keep her voice from cracking. She just had to keep it together for two floors.

Two floors. Riding along with her crush. God help her.

 

[Traveler]

Enough time had passed between her admission that she had experienced a long day, and the gentle whine and lift of the elevator, that Jacob's mind had wandered. Well... his eyes had wandered too, but it was natural to look, wasn't it? He had a habit of imagining pretty girls with their eyes half-lidded and their lips parted, as that magical moment took over their body and sent them gasping for air. He'd seen plenty with that look on their face to almost predict the way they would sound, and as he gazed at his neighbor's reflection it was natural for him to picture her in his bed with that same expression on her face.

Her ruby lips parted and moved. She asked him a question that bounced off his fantasy vision and brought him back to the moment. What was she asking him? Certainly she hadn't guessed at what was going through his mind... He'd ridden this elevator with a multitude of skirts, usually hanging onto him or standing next to him, nervously trying not to appear too excited at going to his 'place' to fuck. They were always fucks or lays who meant nothing to him, though he'd invited a few back for repeat performances if they weren't too annoying. He tended to remember their names and their sounds, but sometimes he forgot exactly what their eyes looked like. At this moment he was gazing at his neighbor's eyes, at the dark makeup around her lids and the crystal-blue clearness of her soul as she asked him, quite simply, how his day had been. At least, that's what he assumed she had asked.

"Profitable." He nodded slightly, his right eyebrow arching as if to consider the statement further. He was about to explain when he felt his phone vibrate. With a slight frown he reached into his coat's inner pocket as he apologized briefly to her about the interruption. It was a call from Vanessa. The girlfriend who stuck around for more than a night, and became a habit. She was probably on another of her tirades about her shitty co-workers and how she wasn't appreciated by the riff-raff. Nessa was high maintenance and usually a pain in the ass, but she paid her own bills an the things she did with her tongue...

Jacob declined the call and slid the sleek new phone into his pocket as if putting to bed an corrigible child. He cleared his throat as the image of his girlfriend and her tongue was shoved down to the bottom of his brain as he dealt with the here and now.

"My apologies," he leaned over and pushed the button for the forth floor, causing his arm to come incredibly close to the stranger's masterfully curved bosom. "My girlfriend... she has a habit of calling to tell me about her asinine co-workers." He gave the elevator beauty a smile, as if he to share a small secret. "I'm certain that we all have difficult people we work with, don't we?"

He knew that she was going to get off on the floor below his. A few times he had gazed down that hallway and wondered which door was hers, but he knew from experience that you didn't fuck around in your own backyard. You don't sleep with co-workers or bosses. You don't sleep with your girlfriend's sister or best friend, or even with her cousin. You don't fuck anyone from your neighborhood. Especially if you have a girlfriend. Especially if your girlfriend was Vannessa Puchetti, half-Italian half-Irish and all spit and fire, nails and teeth. She probably had a few mobster second cousins on both sides of her family too - not someone a smart man would cheat on with a neighbor.

Jacob tended to think of himself as a smart man, so... nothing more than the idle fantasy was allowed. He didn't even want to know her name. That would make the fantasy too close to reality, and the last thing he needed right now was to have his name smeared all over the local papers because his crazy girlfriend had murdered some little kitty he had taken a moment to pet. No... that wouldn't be smart at all.

 

[Charlotte]

Profitable. Profitable?


“Profitable?” came the soft chime of Olive’s question, her head tilting some as she considered just what the hell that could possibly mean. She had no context. No clue where he worked, what he did, or just how ‘profitable’ his day had been on account of it. She caught her reflection in the mirrored surface of the elevator – looking all too much like a curious kitten upon listening to the jingle of a bell.

Her mouth puckered slightly and she straightened up, determined not to lose more face than she already had. Honestly, this woman was a bundle of stomach-butterflies and jumbled words around handsome-upstairs-neighbor-guy. She’d worked on and dated plenty of men before.. why was this one any different? Because this social interaction was that which didn’t require both sides to be mutually polite? Because he was willingly doing so? Because he had nothing to gain by being nice to her?

He was smart. He had to be. Knew not to shit where he ate. She was of no interest to him. She knew he likely toyed with her just for kicks. To see the blush flutter across her cheeks and every-day words tumble clumsily out of her mouth. And she still couldn’t stop herself. God damn him.

And just as the woman was starting to form a backbone, the vibration of a phone distracted and derailed. She sighed softly and shook her head, offering an apologetic sort of smile of her own when he apologized for the interruption. She shouldn’t have been distracting him. He was a busy man. Probably.

Her crystal blues wandered across the ceiling, across the reflection of alternate-universe couple across from them and almost squeaked when she thought that maybe for a moment there, he was going to reach for her bottom. But.. nope, just the button. The fucking elevator button. She rolled her eyes at herself and tried to force herself to relax.

A nod at his verbal apology, a quiet laugh at the mention of his girlfriend and her apparent habit of gossiping about her coworkers. “Ah, yes.. unfortunately.” Olive laughed again, easily. Vanessa immediately came to mind. “I have the rather unlucky position of being directly in front of one who has quite a mouth on her..” she sighed yet again, this one somehow expressing the day’s tiresome interaction with the self-proclaimed tv-star.


“Pretty, though.” Olive tacked on quickly, instantly regretting complaining over her one stable client. It wasn’t in her nature to badmouth. For the most part, Olive Dallas was an all-around goody-two-shoes. She kept her nose out of other peoples’ business, kept her own private and safely tucked away, miraculously managed to pay her bills on time, watched her elderly neighbor’s cats when she was away and put the mail wrongfully delivered to her into the right slot.

Aside from that, she lived a fairly ordinary life. Not that the man would ever care to know, or know about it. This elevator ride was just a small, happy little pocket of make-believe before she got out into the real-world of her hallway. Which was coming up fairly quickly. At least he almost touched her butt today.. so that was pretty neat.

The elevator stopped and dinged, Olive gripped her things and tossed a pleasant smile towards the stranger’s direction. “I’ll see you later,” she said by way of good-bye. It was better than a ‘have a good weekend!’ or a ‘nice talking to you!’.

Plus, it gave her something to look forward to.

With that said, Olive bounced out of the elevator, down the hallway and into her apartment. Hopefully ‘later’ would come sooner than.. well, later.

 

[Traveler]

'Quite a mouth on her... pretty, though...'

Jacob smirked to himself. So, that was how it was, was it? She had a crush on her co-worker? His mind went directly to college lesbo porn, the kind he and his frat members used play constantly in the background in their frat house. It figured; a girl as polished as his downstairs neighbor had to be much too sweet and girly to want to be around men. Especially for that. She'd probably faint at the sight of a fully erect man.

All too soon the elevator dinged and the girl smiled and spoke, and like her reflection she was gone. "Certainly hope so," he quipped as the doors shut behind her perfect rump. Flirting came naturally, and now that he thought that she wasn't interested in his type, Jacob found himself more at ease around her. Not that he would have pounced on his neighbor, but to think that he was 'safe' from her developing a crush on him... well, that made him feel all the more comfortable about flirting. She was safe. Safe was fun. She was a lesbian, so it was obvious that she'd be more interested in Vanessa than in him.

Which, as he exited the elevator on his own floor, would be fun to watch. Not that Nessa was the type, but a man could entertain his fantasies, could he not?

- - - - -

"Oh gawd, Jacob! If you had seen the monster eyes she tried to put on me! What did she think? That I was Cleo-fucking-patra?" Vanessa's New Jersey accent came through too clearly when she was mad, and even through the phone speaker, he could tell that she was mad. "Some people just don't understand that camera's distort your pores! She used powder, for crying out loud!"

He held the phone at a distance from his face. Sometimes his lover's voice was too shrill. Today was one of those days.

Jacob had taken an early out on his workday and was on his way down to the street level to go for a run. Maybe he'd hit the gym as well, cut down on the time he had to spend with Vanessa. Lately she had been getting more catty and full of complaints. There was a kind of high maintenance negativity that she seemed to carry with her, and if that wasn't enough, she had brought a cat into his apartment without his permission. That pissed him off; pussy didn't come into his space without his say so.

"Babe." He flinched at the phone as she continued to prattle on. "Babe! Let's talk about this later; I'm about to step into an important meeting." What he was really about to step into was one of the last truly warm days of the season. Autumn was fast approaching, and with it's arrival was the fast departures of days when he could go for runs shirtless. There was something wonderfully free and erotic about the sun on his skin as he broke a hard sweat. He found it almost as energizing as good sex.

On the other end of the line Vanessa gave one of her trademark sighs. "Whatever. I'm about to go on the air anyway. You set the dvr, right? I have to have copies of all my-"

"It's set. It's done." He glared at the phone. "Gotta go."

"Kiss-kiss, baby. Don't forget to-"

But Jacob had turned off the phone and tucked it away on an armband just as the silver doors slid open and the lobby sunlight streamed in. Already he was feeling better. The gym was only a few miles away; a good distance to get warmed up and then he could really put the stresses of the day behind him. It didn't look like the day could get any better.

But then, it did.

 

[Charlotte]

“I was like, really shiny last time – I don’t know what you did, but it was bad." A click of her tongue. That infamous mouth. "Don’t do it again,” Vanessa had ordered. Olive bit her tongue, shared an exasperated look with the hairstylist who was putting the woman’s trademark bob into perfectly placed appropriately-lazy bits and pieces and gave the woman a curt nod.

“I’ve used this setting powder before, but –“ Olive began, holding up the little jar of loose powder and a brush she was about to dip into it. Vanessa complained no matter what she did, and swore up and down that the blonde had no idea what she was doing. But she still paid her and called her back. “If it works, use it. I’m not here to tell you how to do your job,” she’d answered before Olive could even get the rest of her phrase out. For a second, a flash of irritation crossed her normal doe-eyed demeanor.

She chewed on the inside of her lip, dipped the brush into the pot and began dusting.

x x x x x​

No handsome neighbor in the elevator today. She’d hauled her things into the little box, pressed the button and the doors opened up in the lobby for no one but Olive. It’d been a while since she last saw him. Maybe it was for the best. The breezes were starting to chill up rather quickly and with too much force to comfortably wear skirts and dresses. Nothing to impress him with. Her wardrobe had been replaced with snug jeans and a faux-leather jacket that caused Vanessa to call her ‘Sandy’ for an entire fucking day.

Olive would’ve been more annoyed by it had she not just stolen the joke from her and the stylist. Olive had even playfully begun quoting that ‘Tell me about it, stud’ dialogue from Grease when Vanessa caught them and seized the opportunity. But in the end, she just ruined it for everyone involved.

So the blonde meandered down to the mail slots, setting down her cases and rummaging into her purse for the key before she’d managed to put it in. She pulled out her mail and closed the slot, locking the miniature door and beginning to page through the envelopes when she caught two that weren’t hers. The first belonged to someone in the same building, the other to her neighbor to the left she often got mistaken for.. She put the envelope addressed to the stranger in her mouth for safe-keeping as she dropped the other one in the right slot.

And then looked up to find handsome neighbor, completely shirtless and looking right at her. Her eyes grew big, caught in the headlights, and she quickly took the envelope out of her mouth to hide it in the other letters. “Hi,” she greeted through a laugh at being caught.

“Going out for a jog?” she asked, then fought the cringe. Of course he was going out for a jog. He was dressed for it, what the hell else would he do? He was shirtless! She was distracted! “Aren’t you cold?” Jesus, fuck, this woman was just full of well thought-out questions, wasn’t she?

 

[Traveler]

How did she do that? She had the envelope in perfectly painted mouth, her magazine-white teeth clamping the edge, and when she removed the paper he could swear that there was not a smudge of lipstick on it. There was something about a woman who knew exactly where she was in the universe; the kind of girl who never left smudges of foundation on her phone or lipstick on his collar. It was the sign of a lady, and that was rare. He'd had his fair share of lipstick smudges on his clothing and other portions of his body to know.

Jacob paused as she stood in the hall, partially blocking his path and partially the reason he stopped. "Yes, and no." He answered. His lips curved up slightly in amusement at her questions. "Would you believe me had my answers been reversed?"

She looked cozy. Her jeans hugged her thighs and hips just so, and the jacket was adorable and innocent. A throwback look that perfectly matched her personal style. "That jacket's cute on you." He gave her a little wink as he edged pass, wondering if she was a vegan averse to leather, or if it was simply a jacket that was within her means. Would she be appalled at all the hides in his closet? That thought made him raise a brow as he came near her. For a moment he stood, looking down into her face, before he decided to leave her with a little tease and get on his way, lest his phone buzz and ruin the moment.

"Are you going for a swim?" He tilted his head slightly and then looked at her totes, surmising that she must have been some kind of an artist. "Are you warm?" He reached out and tugged the zipper at her throat down a few inches. Why the hell not? She wasn't going to go ga-ga over him; he could comfortably tease her like he might a little sister. "There, that should help cool you down."

The lobby door opened and a few other tenants came in, letting the breeze and a few errant leaves enter. Jacob nodded once at his neighbor, feeling the tightness from his conversation with Vanessa ease, and then stepped out into the open. The day had gotten brighter with the reminder that not every woman in the world had a voice that was a mix of Fran Dresher and Sofía Vergara. Some women had voices that were pleasant to the ear.


- - - - -

"Fuck, Nessa! That damned cat of yours is purposely shitting with me." He was about to grab the feline and hurl it out of the apartment, but Vanessa swooped in and plucked the cat from the soiled bed and clutched it to her chest.

"Don't you dare hurt my baby!"

"It's a fucking animal and it pissed on my Sterns and Foster!"

"What in the world is a Sterns and-"

"It's the bed!" He pointed at the wet spot on his silk sheets. "It's the bed that I sleep on, that your fucking cat decided was a good substitute for litter box!"

"A little vinegar will get that out," she protested. "Besides, it's nothing. Just... a little wet."

"Really..." He put his hands on his hips and glared at her. "Just a 'little' wet."

"Baby..." Vanessa pouted and put the cat down. It promptly began to rub on her legs. "I'll make it up to you. It's just that this stupid little bitch I work with, she's so incompetent. I would have been home but I had to redo my make up, and that made the shoot late, and you know, baby... the weather has to go on! People need to know if it's going to rain or not."

Jacob ran a hand though his hair, exasperated at the entire situation. He paced along the foot of the bed as he thought about the frustrations and the disgust he felt over what had just happened. "I'm going out."

"Out? Where are you going?" Her fake lashes seemed to widen at her question.

"Out. I'm going out." He waved a hand at the bed and the cat. "You take care of this. I need some air."

"But..."

Jacob shook his head. He picked up his car keys and wallet as he left the room, slamming the door to his apartment behind him. Thankfully he still had on the double breasted, hooded trench coat he had worn home. It was cold that day and promised to be colder as the evening progressed. He'd bypassed the mailbox on is way in, and idly thought about checking the mail before he went down to the garage. He supposed he had better; he'd let Vanessa distract him enough from the routine of his life. She was causing him to make changes that he didn't want to make yet. He wasn't married, for fuck's sake. Why did he feel like he was?

Maybe she was right; maybe it was the people she worked with who were making things awkward, but his perfect utopia didn't involve cat piss on the bed, and a little vinegar wasn't going to fix it.

He stepped into the elevator and jabbed the '1' button. He needed a break from the craziness of his girlfriend, but there wasn't anyone at his office he could really call a 'friend'. He didn't dare go out with a woman; that would be beyond crazy. It looked like he was on his own for the evening. The elevator light went from his floor to the third.

 

[Charlotte]

Well, at least he didn’t make her feel like a total imbecile. Just a little one. A small one.

Olive scrunched her nose up a bit, as if she found his answer distasteful, though the smirk on her lips contradicted her apparent disapproval. When he asked if she’d believed him if his answers had been reversed, her eyes searched lazily upwards in faux-deliberation, that smile still happily placed along her ruby-stained mouth.

And before she could answer that with something she’d likely slap herself over the minute it left her mouth, he complimented her. Her head tilted, and instinctively the little ‘thank you’ tumbled out between her smile, accompanied with the tiniest of chuckle and blush he’d never see.

Olive turned to get out of his way, pausing as he did to look down at her. She responded to his perked brow with an expression that said ‘hm?’, both her own raising for a short moment. They lowered and one sunk, that ‘hm?’ turning into a ‘…yes?’ and just on the border of ‘oh my god is there something on my face?’

And then he asked if she was going for a swim. Olive, already having forgotten what she’d asked him, puckered her lips. The plush flesh wrinkling considerably, ready to part to question him when he asked the second one of his. It finally clicked. He was teasing her. Her mouth opened, but nothing came. Instead her eyes followed his hand, seemingly too thrown off her mental train of thought to protest. When his fingers touched her zipper, her eyes slunk back up to his, following the leisurely momentum he’d used on her jacket.

The woman’s mouth was still open, though it had curved considerably along the edges. And rather than saying something potentially flirty that, let’s face it, we knew Olive had no clue over, she just stayed quiet. Her mouth closed, her top row of teeth coming down to bite at happily at her lip.

When he nodded at her, she returned it and laughed gently. The door opened, the handsome-neighbor-now-turned-handsome-and-flirty neighbor making his way out. It’d be a story to tell her coworkers. Even Vanessa would envy this one.

Olive returned to the mail in her hands, looked through it and plucked the mail that wasn’t hers out again. A Jacob something or other. Not Olive Dallas, but still the same building. She glanced at the numbers, found the matching one in the boxes and quickly dropped it in.

x x x x x​

“Oh, you got.. a tan?” Olive asked the brunette sitting in front of her. Already the stylist in her hair was looking at her from behind Vanessa’s head, praying for her safety. Olive knew damn well she’d gotten a tan. She’d been slowly mixing Vanessa’s foundation colors and getting them down gradually for the oncoming colder seasons. But she was at least three shades darker, and had not prepared for this. Sounding stupid and naïve was better than snapping at her for not giving her a warning.

Olive was a professional, she had the equipment and the know-how. But it was shit like,
“Well, duh. Just because the sun is scarce doesn’t mean I’m gonna let myself get all pale,” Vanessa snickered, glancing obviously over the blonde’s complexion, “It’s not a good look.”
That made Olive really hate coming in to work. And it was during this exceptionally long session, where Olive had to find the right color palette and matching shades, when she dished to the stylist about the encounter with her neighbor. Vanessa seemed incredibly interested.. so much so that she kept her fucking mouth shut for once.

x x x x​

“I got it, I’m on my way.” Olive spilled quickly into her phone, “It’s just a couple blocks away, I’ll hoof it.” She continued, nodding and ‘mhm’ing before she said her goodbyes, shoved her phone into her purse, slung the purse over her torso and slid into her jacket again. That same jacket her handsome-flirty-neighbor had commented on. It’d been a while since she’d seen him, though.. and considering the fact it was so late in the day, she probably wouldn’t today either.

So it was that when she picked up the several garment bags in her arms and skipped the mirror-check before she bolted outside, locked her door and ran for the elevator, she was not expecting to see him. Her hair was up in a comically-vintage-esque ponytail, a pink chiffon scarf tied in a bow around her head, bangs had been cut and styled short in true Betty Page style to add on to her ‘Vanessa-dubbed-dated’ look.

The elevator opened. And to her horror and simultaneous joy, handsome man was there. Scowling and jaw-locked, but still very much handsome, and very much there. Olive sighed at her misfortune and smiled warmly anyway, shuffling into the box and fumbling slightly with the bags in her hands in order to reach the buttons. She pressed, shimmied her legs and things in her arms into a comfortable enough position and sighed lightly, as if that was a rather long journey in itself.

“Hey,” she said, a little winded from the rush. “Everything okay? You look a little down.” Olive asked, casually, not meaning to really invite him into a conversation about his life. She was just well-meaning. And as good as that broody, sour-faced expression looked on him, she preferred his flirty smirk. These interactions were after all so precious and so few.

 

[Traveler]

The silver surface opened and revealed a pile of garment bags. Behind the bags was the Neighbor. Her eyes were wide and her hair was tied up, very old-school pin-up girl. The expression on her face reminded him of Lucille Ball, who he had a definite crush on when he watched her old show. She was simultaneously gorgeous and fun, and she never seemed to be overly bitchy...

Unlike cat woman upstairs.

"Hi," he answered. She seemed buried under her bags. Wisely she had put on her purse under the jacket, deterring any city thieves who might try to snatch and run. Jacob thought that it was quite cute, actually. A bit of 'little girl' mixed in with 'sexpot'. Lesbian sexpot... but it was fun to look.

He Mmm'd at her question and watched her for another moment before her situation got to him. "Here...let me help you," he volunteered. He began to take her bags from her, freeing those alabaster perfect hands to do other things. Like push buttons. Or play with hair. She looked like she had just gotten done with a painting or some other artistic thing. She looked like a sexy housewife. He could imagine her with her arms elbow deep in a sink full of bubbles, dressed in nothing but a frilly apron.

Then his fantasy was semi-shattered when his brain brought in a girlfriend from her work, probably a gothic chic with bright blue eyes, and they both turned towards him and mouthed 'not for you, boy'.

Sometimes he hated his fantasy world.

"I hate cats." His statement came out of nowhere, but he was answering her question. "Not all cats, just my girlfriend's." His expression had relaxed slightly as the elevator descended, and then traveled all the way down to the lobby. The remaining sunlight glinted off the mailboxes, beckoning to him in the early autumn sunset. It looked like the colors of Koi in the near-horizontal rays. He loved the way the light played through the building. Every season was it's own visual symphony. Every month had it's crescendo.

Fuck the mail, he'd check it later. Jacob decided to help the cute neighbor with her bags, just to remind himself that not all women were as screwy and high strung as Vanessa. Lately she'd been on the rag daily. She had complained, almost non-stop, about the bitches at work. That was her word - 'Work Bitches'. Only she said it 'Bee-chees' in that annoying, nasal voice she had when she wasn't in front of the camera.

"Where are you taking this?" He asked once the silence had descended again, and they stepped out into the glossy tiles. "The bags," he nodded to the pile of things in his arms. "I'll help you carry them." Hell, it beat rushing off to the bar. Maybe he just needed some time to clear his head. Maybe Vanessa would clean the mess upstairs. Maybe she'd get rid of her cat. And maybe they'd find out that the entire planet was a speck on a flower, being carried around by a giant elephant.

Jacob stood there and looked at the play of light through Neighbor's chiffon head scarf. Layers, colors... it reminded him of looking up through a canopy of deciduous leaves in the fall and watching them falling one by one. He loved the way the seasons changed, and he realized with a slow heat that he was ready for change again. Maybe it had been long enough; maybe it was time to break things off with Vanessa.

 

[Charlotte]

Olive nodded gratefully towards her neighbor once he’d taken the bags from her, giving her a chance to smooth her shirt over herself and tug everything that’d gotten wrinkled back into place. She tied her ponytail a little tighter and instinctively checked her reflection in the mirror. The blonde pressed her lips together to re-distribute the sheer flush of pink and deemed herself okay enough for the public eye.

When the neighbor admitted to hating cats, and having answered like that was what was the matter, she turned her head, a playfully confused smile on her lips. Then he clarified, her mouth opened and a quiet, knowing ‘ah’ slipped out with another tiny nod. “I’m much more a dog person,” Olive added, figuring that would be enough to add to the conversation.

As much as she liked to gawk at her neighbor and fluster about him like some lovesick teenager, she had things to do. The elevator brought them down and the doors opened, both walking out and the woman glad to see she still had a bit of sun on her side.

They didn’t particularly live in a bad neighborhood, but even so.. when your father is a cop, you learn to walk with keys between your fingers, purse across your body and with a scream lodged in your throat. So far, Olive hadn’t needed to use it – but she was better safe than sorry. And using her car seemed like a waste of gas for a journey so short.

Before she could gesture towards him to get her bags back, he asked where she was taking them. A few of them were solid black, but a couple underneath them hinted at the frilly, sheer garments inside. “I’m, ah.. just going to the drycleaners a few blocks down..” Olive informed, considering her options. Maybe he’d just meant he’d carry them to her car? “I was just gonna walk there.” A small shrug of her shoulder as she looked over the bags. It wouldn't be so bad to let him walk her, would it?

But seeing as he’d already walked out of the elevator, she figured allowing him to accompany her out the lobby doors would be alright. The blonde trotted along, opening the door for him so he didn’t lose the grip on her things, kept it open as another tenant walked in and when they exchanged polite smiles, quickly followed him out into the evening. “I have a shoot in a couple of days and I was just told they didn’t have enough outfits on hand.. “ she nodded to the bags, “A lot of those are vintage, and they’d just.. fall apart in a machine.” She sighed, as if knowing this fact first-hand.

“I’m hoping that if I update my portfolio, I can get a better paying gig..” a soft roll of her eyes as she walked a little down the sidewalk, waiting for the handsome, helpful neighbor to stop and reconsider. But he didn’t. “And nicer clients..” Olive finished, shaking her head briefly and solemnly.

 

[Traveler]

Dog person. Jacob smiled, allowing her to categorize herself like that if she desired. Dog person, cat person, straight, gay... what did it matter really? Just don't piss on his bed. That was all he wanted; a clean place to sleep and a little fucking respect from his girlfriend. He didn't even care if she might see him leave the building with another woman. Her feelings didn't matter to him at that moment and he wondered if they ever had.

He walked out with his neighbor, still holding her bags and wondering at the way she checked her hair and lipstick in the reflective elevator doors. "I'll walk with you." He wasn't asking; he wanted a direction to go, and she was providing it. He took care not to look too closely at her garments, though the soft folds of fabric under his fingertips were difficult to ignore.

The night was crisp. Refreshing. He needed a literal breath of fresh air, and it felt as if his mind was clearing now that they strolled in the amber light. As the neighbor expounded on her photo shoot he wondered if she was a model. Certainly there was a market for her Bettie Davis mystique. Perhaps she was a model, or even... an actress? A very specific kind of actress who plays a specific lesbian role to feed certain fetishes? The thought of her dressed in kinky clothing in front of a camera brought a wry smirk to his lips. Now that he'd like to see.

Vintage clothing, updating her portfolio, a better gig, and nicer clients... it all added up in his mind. He believed that he had her all figured out. How complicated could a pretty girl be? All make up and outfit designs... they weren't that complex.

"So, still having client problems?" He smiled at her as they moved down the block and turned the corner. He knew the small dry cleaner's they were going to. His girlfriend had forbade him from taking her things there once, when they supposedly left a small stain on her lapel. It showed on a weather report and Vanessa was humiliated. She hated that particular cleaners, and actually sued them for 'purposely' embarrassing her on television.

"I suppose paying clients are still paying clients. Bills have to be paid, and we put up with a lot of bullshit if they pay us enough." He paused outside the dry cleaner's door, his arms still laden with her bags of clothing. Oh, that was right - costuming.

"At least, I know I do." He was thinking about Vanessa though. Was the shit he put up with concerning her worth what he got in return? It wasn't seeming that way lately; he felt like he was giving more than he got in that relationship.

 

[Charlotte]

Was she still having client problems? Olive laughed quietly, genuinely at the question. For one, it was just the one client that gave her problems.. secondly, even the idea that at some point Vanessa might not give her problems was funny in itself. That’d be incredulous. “Yeah, unfortunately.” She summed, shaking her head and dismissing the notion that Vanessa would ever not be troublesome.

When handsome neighbor stopped in front of the door, the blonde quickly opened it for him and waited for him to pass to follow him into the little joint. “You’re preaching to the choir..” she trailed, wanting to add some sort of name at the end and almost, almost calling him ‘handsome neighbor’ out loud. Luckily, she caught herself.

The conversation was put on pause while she handled her business at the drycleaners. Olive bounced up to the counter and chatted idly with the owners, who by then recognized her by face and sent her lovely bag-holder a flirtatious smile. After what she could only assume was an insinuation that Olive had caught herself a good one, seeing as they were speaking a different language but their brows and hushed whispers gave it away, she received her receipt and a pick-up date. Bags handed over, the two went back on their way.

Even the idea that someone thought they made a cute couple, in whatever language it was, was highly amusing. She considered him so above her 'league' that the thought didn't even embarrass her.

When the two made it outside, she sighed solemnly. “I was afraid this place would get shut down..” she said idly, nodding towards the small building. “They got sued not too long ago when one of the owner’s husband got sick and left their daughter in charge for a while. She kinda stained a few things, but eventually she got the hang of it. I thought it was excusable given the reason, but..” Olive shrugged, “I guess someone thought otherwise.”

Which lead her back around to Vanessa’s unreasonable fucking demands. “So, you have troublesome clients, too?” she asked, allowing herself the possibility of knowing what it was he did for a living. It wouldn’t ruin the mystery too badly.. He had to make a decent amount to afford the kinds of clothes and shoes he did.. not to mention that car. Which! She was glad he hadn’t seen her drive her own.

But, the walk was nice either way. It was a nice, brisk evening. The sun was setting, everything was bathed in a soft orange glow and her accompanying eye-candy was sweet to look at. How often did this sort of thing happen to her?

Not at all. So she’d take it in strides.

And maybe shorten hers a little.. just to lengthen their walk.. just a bit.

 

[Traveler]

He stood aside, hands casually pushed into his pockets, as he watched the older ladies chit-chatting and tending to his neighbor's needs. Jacob hoped that they wouldn't recognize him. After all, all tall white guys looked alike, right? He smiled at one in what he knew was a reassuring manner when the woman looked from him to the cute little blond and then back again. Instead of responding he simply raised his brows, which might have meant "I have no idea" or "You're absolutely right". It was up to the shop owner to decode his body language.

When they were done he held the door open for a change, allowing the cute little bombshell to exit first. She mentioned the lawsuit and that brought Jacob's brows to furrow slightly. "Huh. You heard about that lawsuit hm? Yeah... it was a mess." He remembered the distraught nights Vanessa spent, ranting about the way she had been humiliated. Hell, no one cared about the stain as much as she did, and as far as Jacob could recall it hadn't been there when he had picked up the damned blazer. But the suit was over, the damage was behind them, and the shop stayed open. Vanessa had been pissed when the judge simply had the shop keepers refund the cost of one cleaning and called it good.

Jacob smirked at the memory. He glanced across the street to the other block and the park beyond that. He'd spent a lot of time runnig thorugh that park. Had it been earlier in the day he'd have gone out to run, instead of heading across town to try to forget about his girlfriend and her damned cat.

"Hm" His attention was drawn back to the little vintage beauty strolling at his side. Too bad she was gay. And his neighbor. Had he met her across town in a bar he might have taken her to bed for a little fun, but she was not in that catagory any longer. "My clients? No... I don't have client problems. Just opportunities." He smiled broadly. "It's my girlfriend's co-workers I was thinking of. She has this one, a real piece of work, who thinks she knows it all and doesn't know how to listen to her betters. My girlfriend insists that the only reason this little out-dated trollop still has a job is because she's blowing one of the bosses." He shrugged, as if he didn't really give a shit one way or the other.

"Different strokes." His smile softened as they neared the apartment building. He loved this time of the day; the in-between hours when it wasn't quite night and it wasn't quite day. It was the magical hour, when photographs looked perfect and the air smelled soft and full of life. "So... here we are." He stopped outside the building and looked up. He could see his balcony from there; the slider was open and the long, gauzy curtains flowed from the inside like the soft sleeves of a ghostly lover.

She was letting the A/C heat the entire damned city again. He frowned and considered going up there to correct her behavior, but then he swore he could hear her talking to that damned cat in her Fran Dresher voice and decided against it.

"I'm actually going downtown, to the Blue Moon Club." He lowered his gaze and looked at the neighbor. "Maybe get lucky." He grinned. "Want to come? I could use a wing man."

 

[Charlotte]

The blonde walked happily along, enjoying the small breeze that carried bits of Fall along with it. Her mouth puckered some in thought as she considered the handsome-neighbor’s response to her follow up question. No clients. Just opportunities. Whatever the hell that meant. And since she had no real intention of getting to know this man, she just nodded and offered a small shrug of a shoulder. Her glance trailed over to him at the same time, catching an exceptionally wide smile across his face. It looked slightly out of place, considering she’d only ever seen his flirty grins and sour, grumpy faces.

Olive listened to the complaint about his girlfriend, and in turn about her complaints over her coworkers. Out-dated trollop..? She wondered, catching a hint of familiarity in the phrase before she’d skimmed over the gist of the entire sentence. The woman scoffed, the sound momentarily twisting her otherwise sweetened features to that of annoyed disgust. “Sounds like something my bitchy client would say about me, honestly.” She sighed, rolled her eyes and resumed with the rest of the conversation.

“Yep.” She agreed, both to his comment on ‘different strokes’ and the fact that they’d arrived to their shared building. Olive followed his gaze upwards to the complex and sighed softly at nothing in particular. When she looked back down and towards him, he had begun to say something else.

Olive listened and chuckled idly, her eyes softening and brows twitching into a position that gave her a slightly sympathetic look. Either because things had gotten so bad with his girlfriend that he considered cheating on her, because he really would cheat on her and the ramifications of that decision for those involved, or because he thought in any case that Olive would make a good wingman. Unless he wanted to bed men that looked like.. well, he did.. that wasn’t going to work out.

But, what did she know? Maybe he swung both ways.. .. Nah, she’d seen too many skirts in that elevator and not one male. Not without the neighbor present and jousting with, anyway.

And any women she picked up for him would likely be more interested in her than in him, which.. would prove to earn no results for either of them.

“Nah, I’m gonna pass on that.” She answered through another soft laugh, giving his chest a gentle, reassuring series of pats. Her shiny red nails, pale skin and delicate fingers in stark contrast to the heavy, dark material of his coat. “Good luck, though.” She smiled warmly, thinking no less of her neighbor than when they’d headed out originally. She knew his type. She was just glad not to be in those high-maintenance overly-expensive heels his girlfriend probably wore.. or the pair that adorned the feet of whatever pretty legs he’d find later on.

“I’ll see you around,” Olive said with a small wave as she began to turn and dismiss herself, “Thanks for the company.” She added, then turned, and walked into the building.

Into the elevator, up the floors.. to her hallway.. and into her home.


Holy shit.

Olive held her hand over her chest and felt the manic thumping of her heartbeat. She’d done it. She made it through a whole conversation with handsome-neighbor, had a nice little walk with him, he’d even (somewhat) asked her to a club.. and she didn’t fumble or trip or anything!

Pretty good day, overall.

 

[Traveler]

He liked her even more when she passed on helping him nail a date. Hell, she'd probably wind up scoring harder than he did. It wouldn't have been such a blow to his ego, but a man couldn't compete when the market was slanted in only one direction. He opened the door and walked into the lobby with the retro beauty, then paused as she put her hand on his chest. She was a nice height; just shorter enough that it was comfortable to look down into her eyes, but not so much shorter that he would have to bend uncomfortably to ki-

What the hell, he wasn't shopping for a new car or a new fit, or a new anything. He was heading out. "Anytime," he answered when she thanked him for the company.

And you know what? He meant it.

With a renewed light in his eyes he opened the staircase door, knowing that she was heading up into the elevator, and descending the two set of eight steps it took to get to the basement parking garage. Every time he saw his white Audi RS7 it brought a smile to his lips. The thing still smelled new. No one had eaten in there or spilled soda in there, hell, he didn't even let Vanessa drive it. The car was his, and his alone. He paid premium to get a parking spot between two pillars to further prevent anyone from dinging his doors with theirs. As he walked through the parking garage he noticed the huge differences between cars. There were a lot like Vanessa's, a few years old and in decent shape, though they had been used hard and put away wet. Then there were the ones that looked like they were being held together by their paint and a lot of prayer.

Those were more common, he guessed, since the rent on this building was so varied. The lower three floors had more apartments per floor. Smaller units were cheaper to rent, and the city wasn't always the cheapest place to live. Then there was his floor; they had larger units and access to the roof. It wasn't exactly luxurious, but sometimes you needed more than a four by ten balcony to call your own. Sometimes you needed to see stars.

Or the area where stars would be if the city wasn't so bright.

He slipped easily into the leather seats, luxuriating in the way the panels seemed to hug his body, and soon he was headed into the city. The women had best be on their guard tonight - he was on the prowl.

---

"What do you mean you can't come out and fix it tonight?" Vanessa's full, red lips pursed millimeters from her iPhone 6. She stomped a foot and slammed a manicured hand on one curvy hip. "The mattress is ruined!" Her heavily mascara laden eyes turned to look at the bed, where the spot had seemed to get bigger and bigger, like the bleeding wound from some alien creature. "I cannot sleep on that."

The person on the other end of the phone was unimpressed. It was past business hours. The best they could do would be to send out an 'emergency crew' in the morning.

Vanessa bent towards the bed. It wasn't so bad, was it? She took a sniff and immediately recoiled as if someone had shocked her with a cattle prod. The acidic smell of her cat's urine was even offensive to her, and that was saying a lot. As she listened to the cleaner explain, yet again, that they couldn't come out, she reached over to her bottle of Jennifer Lopez's "Live' fragrance. Several spritzes later did nothing to hide the foul scent, only to add a tawdry layer of spunk to it.

She hung up on the technician and went out the balcony to call Jacob. Surely he would understand? He loved her, right?

She tapped her foot impatiently as she dialed his number and waited for him to pick up. A few rings later he did, the sound testifying that he was on his Bluetooth in the car. The car he never let her drive.

"Jacob?" Her voice trailed upwards at the last syllable.

Who the fuck did she think was going to answer? He scowled at the freeway. "Speaking. What is it, Nessa? I'm driving."

"Jacob, this is Vanessa." She shifted her feet. On the other end of the line her boyfriend rolled his eyes. He knew it was her. Didn't he just say her name? "Listen. I called the cleaners, and they can come out tomorrow, okay? So maybe tonight we, I don't know, maybe we rent a room? At the Marriot? Maybe we take a little Staycation okay?"

Shit. He shifted the car into a lower gear and passed a few Sunday drivers in the number two lane. They disappeared in his rear view mirror and blended with the other lights. "Either the bed's fixed tonight or the cat's gone. My vote is both. I'm not staying in a damned hotel room when I have a perfectly good apartment available."

"Baby, be reasonable." Her pout was audible even over the phone. "Listen, I pay half, okay? That's fair. I pay half, and..." she added in a sing-song voice, "I'll make sure that you get something spec-i-al to-niiight." She smiled, confident that an offer of 'great' sex would convince him. Didn't women rule the roost?

"You heard my terms." He reached up and touched the ear piece. This was getting out of hand. She was trying to use her body as a bargaining chip? There was only so many ways he could fuck her; she had gotten boring after the second month, her interactions as scripted as her damned weather report. Touch here, lick there, nip, moan, stroke several times and check the clock. It was ridiculous.

He was done. In the pit of his stomach he knew it; he was done. And he was glad to be done.

 

[Charlotte]

That morning had gone somewhat as expected.. For once everything went the way Olive had planned it in her head. Things were actually going so well that the blonde was borderline suspicious of it all. Was she on some sort of gameshow for the day? Was everything being pulled together by other people behind-the-scenes of her everyday life? God, she hoped not. That’d mean at some point shit would come crashing down and she’d have to look pathetically into a camera, straining not to cry or beat someone for fooling her.

She had picked up the clothes from the drycleaners, drove her car that was miraculously held together by paint and prayer to the shoot location, did her absolute best in slapping every kind of look imaginable onto as many models she could. Sultry, sweet, simple, some other looks that began with ‘s’ and everything before and after the alphabet. By the end of it all she had a good twenty photos and a fairly updated, balanced portfolio. Now all she needed was to get a good word.. from.. Vanessa.

Hah.. that must’ve been the joke, huh..

And her day had been going so well, too. She could almost see Vanessa in her seat at work the next day, laughing about the absurdity of Olive’s request. “A recommendation?” she’d ask, in that nasally uptight voice she had. And then laugh bitterly before asking Olive to touch up her lips before she went on the air. And she’d have no choice to do so. Oh no.

Maybe.. Maybe if Olive was extra super nice (and by which this just meant.. completely spineless and submissive) with Vanessa, she could get a meager note of approval. She didn’t need it. She would be fine without it.. Her last employer was still the station and not Vanessa personally. She just so happened to like Olive’s work (hah) and keep her on after the studio had its budget cuts. Because god forbid she go on without her full face done up.

But it would look so good on her resume..

Ah well.. tomorrow. She’d deal with it tomorrow.

Today, she’d meet with several potential new employers. Line up some interviews.. and celebrate her productive day with a hearty glass of wine. Or two.. or three. But only to drown out the bickering upstairs neighbors. Whom, up until then, had been fairly quiet. Only the seldom shifts of furniture and on occasion, the rhythmic thumping of what she could only assume were lewd acts.

But, those high-piched whines did sound awfully familiar.. .. a fourth glass couldn’t hurt.

 

[Traveler]

He wasn't going to to go home that night, not after the endless calls and texts from Vanessa, but the pale ginger he had fucked on the bathroom counter was getting too clingy, so he dumped her with her friends and spent an hour outside, sobering up before going home. He sat in the passenger seat when he thought he was ready and pulled the breathalyzer out of his glove compartment. A few puffs later and he gauge confirmed he was good to go.

Good. He didn't need a damned DUI fucking up his credibility with the people he worked with. That would royally screw up several multimillion dollar deals. Nobody had time for that shit.

The windows had been left open and the apartment reeked of perfume. His eyes stung. After walking around, turning off the extra lights that had been left on, he finally found Vanessa passed out drunk on the couch. She was wearing some ridiculous teddy that she must have thought he would have liked. He found it desperate at best. Cheap and tawdry were more the words that sprung to mind.

As he loosened his collar he walked to his bedroom, where the bed was still stripped down, the stain was still on the bed, and the damned cat had taken up residence, right in the middle of the mattress. A swiftly thrown bottle of some shitty perfume later and a very smelly, very irate cat was screeching out of his bedroom and licking it's pride on the living room floor.

The next morning he had left early. A note for Vanessa had been pinned to the front door, with the instructions to be out in 72 hours. He was done. They were done.

She woke with a start, her head blurry and her eyes hurting from the sun. Why had it gotten so bright? She rubbed her face and stared at the window for a long moment as she tried to remember why she was on the couch. Hung over eyes looked down at her outfit. Oh... had they had sex? Was it a kinky sex night? Vanessa glanced around, her dark hair frizzy on her head and her mouth feeling like it had been stuffed with dirty gym socks all night.

"Jacob?" Her voice wined as she looked around. Her cat purred loudly, rubbing up along the couch. He slid under the glass dining table and his tail caught the edge of a wine glass, spilling the red liquid all over the white carpet. "Jacob?" She stood up on unstable feet. Looking down she figured it out; she was still wearing the four inch strappy heels she had put on to go with her sexy outfit. She struggled to kick them off, using the couch to pry the back of one of the straps off her foot, then stumbled towards the front door.

His note made her burn with anger.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" She sneered at no one. She was getting angrier. "Who do you fucking think you are? I'm the star! I'm the big shot! I tell you when we're done, not the other way around!" She screeched and balled up the paper. With a banshee cry she hurled it across the room and accidentally hit the cat, who cried out in surprise and ran from the room.

"Fuck you!" Vanessa shook her fist at the door. "I didn't like you anyway! You and your stupid car! You asshole!" She dropped to her knees, the anger succumbing to something else. She sobbed in her hands and felt like it was unfair that anyone else in the world might be happy if she was not. Her day had turned to shit. Thus, everyone else was going to have a shitty day also.

Her eyes were still puffy when she arrived at the studio. Her hair was a mess, her complexion splotchy. Everyone instinctively knew to keep clear of Vanessa. She snarled at the coffee girl and pushed away her usual fruit bowl. There was something going on, that much was certain.

"Someone get me some coffee!" Vanessa pulled a cigarette out of her purse and lit it, puffing like some addict needing a hit. One of the interns started to tell her that smoking wasn't allowed inside, but the weather woman shot her an "I'm going to kill you" look and the girl skittered away. No one had ever seen her like that before. The girls looked at each other with trepidation. Who was going to approach her first? And with that attitude, would any of them survive?

 

[Charlotte]

The idea of dealing with Vanessa that morning was bittersweet. On one hand, it might be one of the last times she ever had to.. which, in all honesty, made Olive swell like a happy fucking balloon. But on the other hand, trying to get her to sign the paper she’d written up last-minute to agree that Olive had done a fair enough job.. well.. that was the downside. And it only seemed to feel more and more impossible as the day dragged on.

The blonde arrived a little earlier than usual to say her potential good-byes and give the on-staff makeup artist a heads up. The usual time Vanessa rolled in was quickly approaching.. as terrible as she was to work on and with, the woman was hardly ever late. She wanted to keep her job, after all. So when the few minutes passed.. people began to panic. And when at last the brunette arrived and cleared a warpath to her designated chair, Olive’s balloon had deflated completely.

She looked towards the stylist, both sharing a ‘god help us’ look of disapproval. He looked at the back of Vanessa’s head, then at Olive, then back to Vanessa.. the coward. Olive swallowed hard, steeled herself, and went over. To greet the pissy walking chimney. “Hello, Vanessa.” Olive said, trying to keep her voice from sounding overly-chipper and set off the walking rage on legs that she somehow had to apply make up to. While she smoked in all sorts of ways.

The blonde received a glare in response, and she blew the smoke in the other direction – somewhat. But, hey, at least she vaguely tried, right? Right. Olive chewed in the inside of her lip and nodded the stylist over. It was safe, for now. He began pinning her hair back out of Olive’s way and the blonde started to dab makeup remover onto a cotton ball in order to remove the residual ink around the other woman’s eyes.

Olive cleared her throat, “So, I’m gonna be leaving sometime this week,” she began, then after noting Vanessa’s lips purse over the smoke stick she quickly added, “But I’m gonna supervise and train the on-set artist until I go –“ which seemed, for the most part, to calm Vanessa down. Which was odd in itself.. she woman must’ve been sufficiently distracted. “And I’d really appreciate it if you could sign off on this stamp of approval..” the woman offered quietly, taking opportunity while she pat the little damp cotton ball onto the lids of the other woman to gesture wildly with her eyes towards the paper on her desk.

The stylist caught on quickly and snatched it, holding it gingerly within Vanessa’s reach until Olive had finished with the eyes and tossed the cotton ball into a nearby bin. Vanessa rolled her eyes, “Yeah, whatever.” Was her response, almost spitting had she not had the cigarette still pressed between her lips. “Get me a pen,” she snapped to the stylist, literally snapping her fingers and waiting for a pen to be placed in her hand.

Olive.. was floored that this was going so well. She had to work around the small gap Vanessa left between taking drags and the smoke bothered her to no end, but this was good all things considered!

A pen was placed into the claws of the brunette and she haphazardly scrawled her name onto the dotted line after almost ripping the paper from the stylisy's hand without even bothering to read it. She just wanted it out of her face. She’d used her thigh as a surface and the pen sort of poked through the paper but at this point Olive would’ve been glad if Vanessa scratched the signature into her goddamned arm.

The paper signed and tucked away into her bag and Olive felt.. a thousand times better. She sighed in relief and gratitude.. then instantly regret it as the inhale brought two lungsful of smoke. It would always be like this with Vanessa, wouldn’t it? Always a downside to any slight up. Oh, whatever, she had her paper and she was gonna leave soon. Olive’s balloon inflated just a bit. It was still alive.

“Thank you,” she said, and began to pat little dots of green underneath Vanessa’s eyes with the pads of her ring fingers to block out the red.

“So, the shoot went well, I take it?” the stylist asked, figuring that any sort of conversation would be better than the tense silence that surrounded their tiny workspace. Olive nodded and he continued, “I didn’t think you’d make it to the drycleaners on time..” he muttered, beginning to comb the knots out of Vanessa’s hair with little protest from the woman. Apparently her annoyance was so ingrained into Olive that she had none left to focus on the stylist.

“I almost didn’t,” Olive added, laying down more green and dotting areas that needed to be concealed with a too-light color. “But handsome-neighbor walked me there, so..”

At this, both the stylist and Vanessa perked. Stylist for purely gossipy reasons. Vanessa.. well, what would make her feel better than trashing on the dated-trollop? And talk of this handsome-neighbor she’d heard in passing would give her leverage to do so.

“He walked with you?” He asked.

“Mhm,” Olive answered, cleaning her hands and picking up the palate of flesh-tones to begin laying down.

“.. That’s interesting..” he offered with a devilish smile in the tone, Olive looking up and blushing only slightly.

“I.. don’t think I’m his type,” she fumbled softly, dipping a bright pink cylinder sponge into the Vanessa-appropriate hue and patting it gently to her face.

“Ha!” Vanessa barked, finding her entryway. “That’s an understatement.”

Olive was thrown aback. She’d paused mid-pat on her face. Bra strap plucked. She stayed quiet. Vanessa seized the silent opportunity.

“If he’s as rich and handsome as you’ve said he was, I sincerely doubt he’d be interested in someone like you,” Vanessa said, looking down her nose to Olive’s feet and trailing up her outfit. Bra strap plucked.

Olive continued patting, her lips pressed in a fine line. The stylist had stopped, and was just watced the drama unfold in front of them. Could she be serious? This woman was literally touching her, and Vanessa had the gall to say such awful things?

“He was probably just throwing you a pity party.” She scoffed. Pluck.

Pluck.

Pluck.

She’d had enough.

She couldn’t turn around and smack the annoying boy behind her desk in the face. She was an adult. Her daddy would not come to the rescue and gnaw out the dean or Vanessa.

“I quit.” Olive stated, putting away her things without bothering to clean them. It was taking all of her effort not to actually lunge at Vanessa for her unnecessary bullshit.

The rest of that little scenario she could only recall in memory.. When she was sitting at home, wide-eyed and in absolute terror. Eyes locked on the television, watching Vanessa do the weather..

She had left, and given the on-set artist strict instructions as to how Vanessa wanted her makeup done. Well.. she’d followed them precisely, at least. Vanessa appeared on screen, face overly-orange, lips a horrid pink, brows too dark, her nose and face made to appear more slim than necessary. She looked.. terrible.. It still wasn’t satisfying. Not after the dumbfuck move Olive did in her rage quit.

The blonde had slid the note-of-approval from her bag and tore it in half in Vanessa’s face. “And I don’t fucking need this,” accompanied the sharp tearing noise from the paper.

The sharp noise that haunted her all the way home. While she sat. And watched Vanessa.

Son. Of. A. Bitch.

 

[Traveler]

The shrieking was something that he could have done without. The thrown dishes, well... he had expected as much from her. She was hot-blooded, through and through, and he always knew that feisty in bed usually equaled fiery when red. The dishes were easy to replace; they were just things. His eardrums were harder to replace, and if there was something that Vanessa knew how to use, it was her voice.

At this moment it had risen to such shrill pitches that he was certain the manager would be pounding on his door at any moment, demanding that they both vacate.

"I hate you!" Her voice rose even more, causing the word 'you' to sound more like 'chew'. "You are a rude man! How could you tell me to leave? Now? After what that bitch did to my face!" She threw another plate that smashed off the front door, sending splinters of porcelain across the bamboo floor. Jacob dodged the initial onslaught but felt the shards hit the back of his legs as they ricocheted off the door.

"I could have you arrested!" He ducked again when she picked up a cutting board and hurled it, Frisbee styled, at his head.

"Then arrest me!" She grabbed a metal trivet and clutched it in her hand, threatening him with another missile attack. "There is no way I can move out in just one day! Damn it, Jacob! I love you!"

"Then get rid of the fucking cat!" Secretly he didn't want her to get rid of it. He wanted them both gone, but he knew that she wouldn't part with her Precious, and it was easier to break up with her over her cat than to tell her that her voice and her whining and her general attitude was why he was sending her off. No one wanted to be told that they weren't good enough. It was kinder to make it about her cat.

But he did hate it... that much was true. He hated it almost as much as he was beginning to hate her.

"I can't get ride of her! I love her!"

"I thought Precious was a boy cat." Jacob's voice was flat. Damn, all this time he thought the pussy was a dick, and it was really a cunt. His lips tightened at the foul words that were peppering his thoughts. He'd always considered himself a gentleman, in complete control of his thoughts and his actions, but right now, with Vanessa screeching in his ear, he was completely uncouth.

"Boy, girl, what does it matter? I love my Precious kitty witty," she looked for the feline as she pursed her lips and started to talk in baby talk. "Where is my Precious bitty?"

During her momentary distraction Jacob ducked into his bedroom. This was going from bad to worse. Plates and cups were one thing, but that metal trivet would do a number on his skull if she connected. That woman should have been a major leaguer; she had a damn accurate arm on her.

"What are you doing?" The clop-clop of Vanessa's heels followed him into the bedroom. Her eyes widened as she watched him packing clothes into his weekend bag. "What are you doing? Where are you going?"

"You have seventy-two hours, Nessa. I want you out when I get back."

"What? We can work this out, Jacob! Give me another chance!" She brought her hands together, her bottom lip jutting out in what she thought was an adorable pout. "This is just a little spat. It's nothing!"

"Three days." He grabbed a few more things. Thankfully he kept a full suit in his office in case he needed one for meetings, and he had a few things at the gym. "I'm done. Don't bother with the key; I'll get the locks changed."

"NO!" Her eyes grew wide. "No! I've been with you for almost a year! I've invested my life in this!"

He yanked the zipper closed and walked past her, set on his plan. "Make sure to take the damned cat. And the bed. I don't want it."

"But Jacob!" She followed him out into the hallway in her stiletto heels. "But Jacob! We're not supposed to be breaking up! You are supposed to ask me to marry you, and then we have children. Of course, through a surrogate," she smoothed down the front of her skirt to accentuate her curvy figure, "and we live happily ever after!" She was still in the same clothes she wore on the set but her make up had been wiped off. Thankfully the assistant convinced her that the makeup would look garish if it wasn't under studio lights, and Vanessa had believed the girl. After all, at least she had the sense to put on the camera make up the way Vanessa had wanted it. Not like that other trollop.

She followed him into the elevator, her words dripping on him like rain on a sodden cat. He set his jaw and refused to answer. Her hand still gripped the now-forgotten trivet, and her other hand gesticulated like some live, epileptic cobra moving to hip-hop. She prattled into his ear as other tenants got on and off the elevator, and when the elevator door finally opened on the ground floor she was still telling him why he was making a mistake breaking up with her.

 

[Charlotte]

Someone had been fighting upstairs again. Those people were getting out of hand. A few times, Olive swore she heard things being broken? And under the stress that she’d put herself under the last few hours she had to get the hell out of there. So out she went, figuring she’d give herself a little walk outside to clear her head and rid herself of any of the smoke-smell Vanessa had blown on her clothes and hair. She was briefly reminded of her little walk with handsome-neighbor.. and then quickly reminded of how Vanessa had mentioned him to start the worrying all over again.

She shook her head clear of the thoughts, stormed into the elevator, stomped out of the lobby and walked a few blocks away. And still she held opened doors, apologized if she bumped into people in her rage-fueled walk and made sure not to make trouble for anyone else like usual - she just did it all with a frown and pout.

When she returned, all the stomping had been done and she’d simmered to a manageable heat. The blonde had a little paper pouch with a few select ‘gourmet’ cookies in one hand and in the other a frozen, overly-sweet overly-berry smoothie drink. It was a ‘fuck it, I’m eating whatever the hell I fucking want’ day and this was only the beginning. Olive took a bite from a cookie, using the pouch as a makeshift holder and then tucking it into her side and arm in order to open the door to the lobby.

She rummaged through her pocket for her set of keys to get her mail, sighing absently as she chewed and unlocked the little slot. Cookie swallowed, followed by a sip of her drink, mail pulled out of the slot, elevator door opened.. she heard familiar clop-clop-clop’s of stiletto heels on the floor and ignored her instinct to grit her teeth. It couldn’t be Vanessa.

Mail slid into her bag, the little key turned and her slot locked again. Keys dropped back into her pocket. Clop clop clop. Plus nasally voice. “Jacob!” it had said, and the blonde’s brows pulled together. It couldn't be Vanessa.. She took the little pouch in her hand and took another bite out of cookie – chocolate macadamia nut – turning to make eye contact with.. Vanessa.

Time froze for a second. Olive pulled her hand back down but the cookie remained in her mouth, her head tilting as the gears slowly, slowly worked in tandem. Vanessa.. and handsome neighbor, stood in the lobby. Tick, tick, tick.. went the gears.

Handsome neighbor.. Vanessa.. Crystal blues switched from one face to the other. Over and over. Rapidly. His bitchy girlfriend who had a ‘dated trollop’ as a coworker and fucked everything up.. Vanessa.. and Olive had spoken about her handsome neighbor in her presence, too..

“What are you doing here?!” Vanessa shrieked upon laying eyes on the poor woman, Olive looking like she was still unsure of how she even got there.

“Mmrphh!” Olive said, the cookie snapping and tumbling down her front, slow-moving arms struggling to catch it as she furiously chewed and swallowed. What appeared to be a trivet was pitched right at her, and luckily she managed to duck out of the way. The only reason she was able to maneuver it was because the blonde was already in a frenzied panic and jittering about to save her cookies, otherwise she would’ve gotten clocked in the mouth.

“I live here!” Olive shouted, scrambling to put her cookie back in its container and swallow enough of her smoothie to clear out her mouth and throat. There was gonna be a shout-off at the very least. Especially after the brunette had damn near taken her head off.

But she’d paused.. which scared Olive a lot more, really. Why was she stopped? Was she looking for another thing to throw at her? Or.. no. She was coming to the realization that the walk she went on with handsome-neighbor, the crush she’d had on the guy in her apartment complex.. was Jacob.

 

[Traveler]

"Will you just leave me alone?" He turned towards Vanessa, angry that she was bringing their disagreement into the lobby. He wondered what condition he was going to find his apartment in when he returned. Would she be the type to shred all his clothes and break every applieance he owned? Probably. She was fiery in every sense of the word. He wondered why he ever found her beddable. Well, beddable was one thing, but someone to share his home with? He must have gotten a temporary case of 'the stupids'.

Then he saw Vanessa's eyes go dark, like a demon on Supernatural, and he turned to see what had caught her attention. There, standing with a cookie in her mouth, was that cute retro neighbor he had been noticing of late. She looked back at Nessa with wide, stricken eyes, and it seemed like time was mired in molasses.

He looked at the neighbor, then back at Vanessa, then back again and his eyes met hers. Jacob blinked. It felt like the moment before the tidal wave struck, when everything is at a low roar and time seems to move at a super slow speed. He felt like he could see every strand of hair in both women's head, and each heartbeat was a deep, loud thrum in his chest.

"What are you doing here?!" Vanessa shrieked.

Jacob turned towards her, sensing horrible things in the immediate future. The neighbor sounded like she was choking, then Vanessa hurled the trivet at her head and time moved once again at it's normal speed. He heard the girl say that she lived there, which made sense to him, after all, she was their neighbor! He saw the insanity flash in Vanessa's eyes as she paused to consider her next move, and he grabbed her by the shoulders to push her against the wall.

"Stop this! What the fuck do you think you're doing?" He pinned Vanessa hard, and in an instant he saw her angry eyes flashing with lust. She had switched over just that quickly. Triple fuck. Normally that look meant good times; sore and worn out times, but good. This time... he knew it meant trouble.

"It's her!" Vanessa whirled her gaze over to Olivia. "You did this! You, with your oh-so-innocent talk and your stupid walks! You did this! You drove him from me!"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Jacob didn't dare let her go, but he glanced over at Olive and shook his head. "She has nothing to do with this. This is about you and your cat and -"

"NO! No! It's her! She's always talking about you. Handsome Neighbor checking the mail, and Handsome Neighbor walking me to dry cleaner. YOU! ~ You're Handsome Neighbor!" She screeched and tried to stomp her stiletto heels into his feet, her slim hands clenched into violent little pummeling tools and her accent coming through more heavily.

Jacob drew back slightly, realization starting to sink in. Was she... was his neighbor the incompetent, out-dated trollop Vanessa was always complaining about? He turned to look at her. The front of her blouse had a few cookie crumbs on it, and she looked so innocent and naive standing there, a frozen concoction in one hand and a bag of goodies in the other. How could this be the tyrannical bitch that had been ruining Vanessa's screen time on the weather channel?

He pushed her back once more before releasing her. "Three days. Get the fuck out by three days, and I swear to god that if you bother her or anyone else in this building I'll back them up in court. We're done."

 

[Charlotte]

Oh my god, oh my god. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. This isn’t happening!

As impossible as it seemed, Olive went white. Baby blues opened wide like a goddamned baby bunny with her stupid fucking cookies and her stupid berry drink and her stupid stupid stupid Handsome-Neighbor standing a few feet away! Everything was moving so fast it felt like the blonde was drowning in the moment. Handsome Neighbor had pinned Vanessa and although the brunette’s hands were free and empty, Olive felt no such sense of safety.

Handsome Neighbor – No, Jacob. She knew his name now. Vanessa had said it. He had a name. He had a name and a horrible ex-girlfriend. This was too much. This was too – “~You’re Handsome Neighbor!” Oh.. Oh no. Oh no, no, no.

Her heart jumped into her throat and all the blood flew to her face. Any remnants of her makeup only dulling the vibrant red to a softer pink but the blush was evident to all around. Her throat was dry and her pulse was in her ears. Oh my god. This was the fucking worst! And now Jacob – Handsome Neighbor, knew he was the Handsome Neighbor! Ugh, fuck.

Olive closed her eyes for a second, feeling suddenly nauseous and dizzy and thoroughly, irrevocably embarrassed. She didn’t even stay long enough to hear what Jacob had said to Vanessa. This was her only escape. She couldn’t very well go home! Vanessa knew she lived there, she’d probably stalk her ass up the elevator to her apartment!

The blonde turned on her heel, swallowed back the anxiety – or maybe vomit, who knew – and sped-walked out of that damn lobby so fast that it bordered on humorous. Where could she go? Not to the garage – Vanessa knew what her car looked like. Shit. Shit. Shit! Oh welp, time for a goddamned adventure on foot!

And so she went. For hours. Until the sun had to set and she had to set her phone’s GPS to guide her back home. She’d forgotten all about her cookies and drink; it took her half an hour of walking dumbly with them in her hands and her stomach growling to remind her. The poor little lamb was in shock.

She made the quietest entrance back into the lobby imaginable. She peeked around corners, she kept her head low, she made no eye contact with anybody. Olive padded into the elevator and prayed, for once in her life, that Handsome - - Jacob, that Jacob wasn’t in there. Luck.. for once, today, was on her side. Button pressed. To her floor. Empty hallway, empty apartment.

And that’s the story of how Handsome-Neighbor-turned-Flirty-Innocent-Walk-Handsome-Neighbor turned into Jacob; Avoid-At-All-Costs.

This is why Olive Dallas did not have crushes.

 

[Traveler]

He turned to apologize to their, no... to his neighbor, but she was gone. The frightened, abused, innocent girl had fled, and Jacob didn't blame her. He rounded on Vanessa one final time, warning her to stay away from the girl, to stay away from his work, and to never contact him again. They were done. He was done.

Vanessa, though, tried to convince him to stay. She liked the way he had pushed her against the wall - it had gotten her juices flowing and her thighs trembling, but when Jacob went downstairs to the garage, his head shaking in disgust the way she had seen him do so many times when talking about business associates he wished would drop off the face of the earth, she knew that he meant what he had said. If she initiated contact, he would make her sorry. She watched as the door shut behind him, and she decided that she was going to make him regret sending her away.

Now she simply had to ensure that the damned trollop suffered as well, and in the process convince Jacob to be the one to ask her back. The vixen's mind began to work overtime for the first time in years.

He waited an extra day. Not because he was worried about bumping into Vanessa, but because he was dead tired from negotiations at work, and he knew that coming home would mean more work. After all, he didn't expect that she would clean up the broken dishes, and he sure as hell didn't expect her to leave his place better than she found it. No... knowing her the way he did, he almost expected to find a horse's head on his pillow.

What he found was not that bad, but still... it was uncalled for. He set down the small designer bag of gourmet cookies and scanned the apartment.

Un-fucking-believable.

Dishes had been broken, that much he expected. What he didn't expect was the dried paint poured all over his cream colored carpet, or the knife stabs running down the curtains, or the emptied bottles of alcohol all over his leather and suede furniture. He hadn't expected her to turn off his refrigerator and leave the door open, so the smell of rot permeated his apartment. Nor had he expected the cut-up mattress, though he was planning on getting rid of it anyway. He noted that she had been very precise about pouring the contents of her cat's litter box on what had once been his side of the bed.

And, of course, there was the closet. Thousands of dollars of custom made suits had been shredded, and in bright red lipstick across his grand mirror were written the words "Fuck U".

She hadn't even bothered to spell out the words. Vanessa knew how much he loathed text speak.

Well shit. This place wasn't even habitable for a single night. He sighed and picked up his suitcase, then the bag of cookies. The confections were meant to be an apology to his neighbor. The suitcase? Well, he had hoped to unpack and start living in his apartment again, but it looked like the damn thing was going to need to be gutted and remodeled. As he waited for the elevator he put in a call to a designer friend of his and explained the whole bloody mess, then pushed the button for the third floor. After what he had just experienced, going door-to-door to find out where the mysterious neighbor lived seemed like it might be a bit extreme. He leaned against the shiny wall, his head pressed against the cool surface of the elevator, and felt the lift descend.

 

[Charlotte]

Olive had never been so embarrassed in her entire life. She’d also never been so continuously suspicious, either. For several days the woman avoided the elevator all together. She took the stairs every time she needed to get out of her apartment and even then she peeked around corners and listened hard for the trademark click-clack of Vanessa’s stiletto’s.

In absolute shock and denial of what’d happened that night, she’d returned and went through the motions of her every day routine. She ate, showered, brushed her teeth, pinned her hair, went to bed.. dove into her nightstand for some earplugs that she’d invested in when her upstairs neighbors began to get in on entirely too loudly, and forced herself to sleep.

It wasn’t until she woke in the middle of the night, likely to contemplate the meaning of life or some other ridiculous thing between that half-asleep half-awake all-stupid state that she let the weight of what had occurred sink in. Olive had reached for her pillow, hugged it tight to her chest, buried her face in it and squealed as she curled up around it.

She didn’t cry or anything. Just let the sheer terror wash over her thoroughly for a few minutes. Just to get it out of her system. Just so she could resume her life of normalcy.

Without a job.. or crush.. or Vanessa.

Well, that last part seemed to cheer her up, at least. So long as she’d continue to actively avoid her. Which she had been doing a pretty good job at. Not even a glimpse of the brunette since that little fiasco. And Olive had even gotten herself an interview lined up! It was a sure enough thing, but she had to go in to speak to the staff and fill in some paperwork anyway.

And so came the day for said interview. Things had quieted down. She no longer felt the need to duck behind plants whenever the lobby door opened and she hadn’t quite reached the stairway yet. No need to rapidly yank mail from her mailbox just to clear the lobby and sift madly through it to make sure nothing weird had gotten in the slot. So far, Vanessa had not figured out which one of the apartments was hers. Or she just wasn’t acting on it.

Either way, hopping down the stairs in her nicest little interview outfit did not sound appealing. So today was the day she was going to risk the elevator ride. She couldn’t avoid it forever. What were the odds he’d be in there, anyway? Right? It was too early in the day. Wouldn't make any sense. She'd be safe.

Olive smoothed her hands over the fabric of her pencil skirt across her lap, made sure her stocking seams were straight, checked herself in the mirror for stray hairs and made her way down the hallway after locking up. The skirt restricted her steps a bit and for a moment she was walking uncharacteristically effeminately but as long as no one saw her she would be a-okay. She got to the end, pressed the button, fidgeted idly with the large white bow that came attached with her blouse underneath the tiny, quarter-sleeve blazer and overall felt absolutely adorable it was gonna be such a good da- oh no.

Oh no, no.. no.

Olive stood there for a moment after the doors opened, her eyes having caught Jacob’s instantly with no plausible, feasible way of getting out of this. What was she gonna do? Back out? Take the next one? That was unnecessary. She had to be a big girl. Slowly, with more than a bit of hesitance, she offered what was supposed to be a warm smile. At best it looked forced.

Her mouth opened reflexively to greet him once she'd entered and turned to face the doors. To say ‘morning’ in that friendly way she used to. But she closed it. Her teeth snapped shut and lips pressed tight into a ruby line. One of her hands nervously twirled the curly ponytail back into one solid curl and she stared at the reflection of her shoes in the elevator doors. Her feet close together, hands in front of her, holding her bag, head ducked. Man, she was uncomfortable. So very uncomfortable. This wasn’t her.

“S-sorry about, you know, all.. that.” She blurted, not feeling brave enough to look at him. Only noting the fact he had his bag with him.. and seemed to be going downstairs still. Maybe he was moving out.. Oh no, was this her fault? “You’re not moving, are you?” Olive asked, finding her words in the guilt-ridden panic. She looked over and frantically searched for an answer before he said anything, “You don’t have to – I won’t bother you, it was just a little crush, I don’t- I’m not-“ she flustered, then saw the corners of his mouth begin to perk.

She deflated some, reeling back and furrowing her brows, lip pouted.

“You’re not moving, are you.”

God. Damnit.