Someone was at the door. Valerie assumed it was Amazon or UPS and normally wouldn't have opened it but she happened to be right there about to leave for tennis at the club.
"Hi there! I'm your new neighbor." It was the older guy with the cane from across the street who she and Tim had seen that weekend directing the movers in and out and occasionally chatting with his wife in the doorway or on the front lawn. Valerie had met the wife, Linda she thought her name was, when she took the new neighbors a banana bread as welcome. Linda was short, and a little dumpy, thought Valerie, but seemed nice enough, maybe a little preoccupied. It seemed Linda was younger than her husband for sure, but it was hard to tell how old the guy was. He had some scars and sun damage, his beard was gray, he could have been mid 50s, but the cane made her think he could be ten years older.
"So I thought I'd introduce myself. And also thank you, I loved your banana bread. I'm Reggie Portis." He put out his hand, but Valerie didn't take it. She didn't mean anything by it, but she was strangely taken aback. No one comes to your door anymore. And it was 2pm. Why would he come over at 2pm? She guessed maybe he was retired or worked from home. Still...
"I'm sorry umm... won't you come in? I'm just getting ready to go and you caught me off guard."
"Well, why would I come in if you were about to go?"
There was something in the way he said that, like sarcasm, like he was angry. But then he smiled and chuckled and said, "No no no, you go enjoy your tennis, I just wanted to say hi."
How did he know she was going to play tennis? Everything this guy said seemed like there was an ominous implication, but then what was ominous about any of it? she thought.
"You ok, Valerie?" Reggie seemed genuinely concerned. She realized she'd been standing there nearly speechless, and now she thought, how does he know my name? "Do you need to sit down?"
"Oh my gosh. I don't know what's wrong with me! I was just so surprised, and a new face..."
Reggie chuckled again. "Well, I know it ain't the most pretty face. And maybe my speech threw you off? Yeah, I had a major stroke a year ago, so I walk and talk funny. But don't you worry, my brain's still ok. I ain't too crazy."
He looked at her without much of an expression when he said it. Like, was he serious or was that a joke?
"Oh Reggie," she said, recovering her well honed manners in spite of having major willies, "you're a very handsome gentleman, and I'm sure your brain is just fine..."
They looked at each other for a moment, something hanging in the air, Reggie expressionless. Valerie was becoming more and more nervous.
"A stroke affects the part of the brain that controls your motor skills, so yeah, I ain't psycho or a retard."
"What is it you do Reggie?" Valerie was desperate to change the subject and right this fucked up ship.
"I'm a writer," he said.
"Oh, what kind of writer?"
"Well, I get paid for writing technical mumbo jumbo, that's my job, but I also write stories, poetry, fiction."
In Marin everyone was a writer. Most of them were "working on a memoir" or had a screenplay idea or were in a workshop developing a novel, so there's a reflex you get, kind of automatically dismissing the idea as hocum, but Valerie politely stated, "Well, maybe I could read a book of yours some time."
"Maybe," Reggie replied, but didn't offer to give her anything or tell her where to find his work.
Valerie didn't know if it was the heat or this weird exchange, but she was feeling faint.
"Well it's so nice to meet you Reggie. Ben and I would love to have you and Linda over for a drink or iced tea some time and get to know you guys properly."
Now it was Reggie supplying the uncomfortably extended silence.
"Who's Linda?" He finally asked, slowly and dryly.
When Valerie told Ben the story that night, she emphasized that moment, the way he said it, and how she felt like she was in a Hitchcock film.
"It was so weird. The vibe was like... just, aaagh!" she said, mock screaming, "I really can't describe it..."
Ben was laughing at her riotously.
"I'm glad my impending murder has you in stitches." She kicked him in the ribs with the flat of her bare foot from the other side of the couch.
"Ouch, hey! Well Val, you know, you'll forgive the man if he doesn't know any Lindas, you know, since his wife's name is Janet." He laughed again, curling into his side of the couch with his butt and thigh lifted to shield her kicks. "And he knew you were going to tennis because you were in that sexy little tennis skirt that makes all the trainers at the club want to fuck you."
She gave him a small grin and sideways glance. "But I'm telling you, there was a vibe the moment I opened the door. Even before that, like, I don't know why I even opened the door..."
"Oh Val," Ben said, suddenly serious, "Mr. Portis is controlling you with his damaged brain!" Again with the laughing and kicking. Ben wrestled her into submission and began forcing kisses on her. She fought back a little bit, but soon they were kissing deeply, and not too much later they were out of their clothes and fucking like kids on the living room sofa. If Valerie would have peeked up to look over Ben's shoulder as he was driving in and out of her between her spread legs, she might have seen the distant small red glow of the burning cherry on Reggie Portis's cigarette on the other side of their back fence as he watched them through the sliding glass door.
Perhaps all she'd needed was a good fucking, but Valerie woke up late the next day and thought about how silly it really was, and just as quickly felt horrible as she probably came off seeming to Mr. Portis like a snooty bitch. Ben had already left to work in the city and she got up and thought about calling a friend for coffee or lunch, but then got carried away surfing the web for carpets. She was redecorating her friend Cindy's place, and as they had a multi multi-million dollar place in Ross, the results would look killer on her vlog and might really give her business the jump start she needed.
It was a beautiful day, so she had the windows open and the front door, too, for a nice crossbreeze. Their neighborhood is pretty quiet, not much coming or going on a weekday, so when she heard a man yell in what seemed like distress, she jumped up and went to the front door to look out. Mr. Portis was lying on his driveway. She saw that he was pushing himself up with great effort. It seemed like he might be hurt.
"Mr. Portis," she called, walking outside and crossing the street, "Mr. Portis, are you alright?"
He'd just sat himself up now and raised his hand as if to signal he was fine, but he stayed sitting there, so she continued over.
"Mr. Portis, what happened? I heard you yell..."
