I had no doubt my friend was correct in his assessment that I wouldn’t be welcomed with open arms, so the head-on approach wasn’t even an option. Especially since I wasn’t going to get any support from him or Constance where that was concerned. This was something I would have to do on my own, with subterfuge. As my wife had recently pointed out, I wasn’t a very good liar, so that was yet another hurdle I would need to face. Unfortunately, deceit was going to be necessary because the truth was simply too insane to be believed.
I had just pulled my door shut when my next-door neighbor stepped out of her room and, not paying attention to where she was going, stumbled directly into me. She jumped back with a yelp, teetering on a pair of platform heels that looked a half-size too big. Regaining her composure, she shuffled then leaned against the doorjamb. I wasn’t sure if she was doing it for balance, or if she was trying to look alluring. Maybe it was both, although she wasn’t accomplishing the latter-in my eyes at least. Either way, she simply looked me over and smiled.
I muttered, “Sorry,” then gave her a nod and started for my car.
“Gotta light, Mistuh?” she asked before I’d made it two steps.
Even though it was against my better judgment, I stopped and looked back at her. In the dim swath of yellow spilling from the overhead light, I could see enough of her face to tell that her vacant eyes were fixed with a substance-induced glaze. I didn’t really want to know which substance. Her vinyl skirt was too short, her top too tight, and her makeup too thick. She looked like she was in her late forties, but something about her felt like she was maybe all of fifteen.