The New Neighbor

I pushed the curtain aside to get a better look at the new neighbor. The moving van that was parked out front was empty. The driver busied himself by folding moving blankets and sweeping debris from his truck.

His two helpers were still inside the house setting up that grand piano of hers. I could see them through the window attaching the lid. The new neighbor lady was in the kitchen pouring what appeared to be iced tea into tall glasses. She put them on a tray and carried them into the other room. At least I think they were on a tray. They seemed to be floating on air.

As yet, there were no curtains on any of her windows. I could see everything.

What struck me about the piano is that it was not made of wood. It was acrylic. Clear and colorless. I could tell it was a piano by the black keys and the brass casing on its wheels.

And it wasn't only the piano that was a unique feature of the house . All items in the house seemed to be made of clear, colorless acrylic.

The rooms I was witness to were painted white, as were all the doors and flooring. Most times I couldn't tell a piece of furniture from the air that surrounded it. She’d have to sit in order for me to recognize there was a chair present. When she’d nap on the divan, she seemed to be levitating on three white cushions. With two flickering candles hovering over the mantel above the fireplace. It was like watching a magician relaxing at home.

After about a week of such observations, and not noticing a visitor, I figured she was single and unattached. I decided to make my move.

I dressed all in white. I cut some red roses from my garden and pulled a bottle of my favorite red wine from the rack. I wanted to add a splash of color to my visit.

I stood at her door - unannounced - and looked down at my white sneakers. I was having second thoughts. They didn't seem to be blending as well as I thought with my white dress slacks and white Oxford shirt. But I didn't have the desire (or the courage?) to go out and buy a pair of white leather dress shoes. ‘Those are fancy boy shoes,’ my father would have said. A fancy boy being his code words for gay. The fancy boys on his list were Liberace, Elton John and Little Richard. Old school fancy boys. Even Elvis Presley wasn't off the hook as a fancy boy. 'If you're wearing fancy shoes, then you're a fancy boy.’

When I was younger and living at home I reminded him that Frank Sinatra once wore white Go-Go boots in the sixties. He took away my bowl of Cheerios and sent me off to church to make my confession. ‘May God forgive you,’ he said.

In the confessional the priest reminded me it was Nancy Sinatra who wore the boots. ‘Remember?' he said. ‘These Boots Are Made For Walking?’

I sometimes wish I didn’t have my dad’s voice in my head. It limits my horizons.

The door opened before I had a chance to knock.

“Hello,” she said. “I saw you walking up the drive. Thought I’d beat you to the door.” Then she looked down at my sneakers.

“Converse?” she said. “High tops or low?”

I pulled up my trouser legs.

”High tops,” I said.

“Old school style,” she said. “I like that. But black socks? My daddy wore white high-tops with black socks. Very old school.”

Damn! I was all out of clean white socks. I never thought there would be an inspection. And why can't we just leave our daddy’s at home where we left them?

“Come on in,” she said, “but watch out for the dog."

As it turned out, she had a white poodle named Scrapper that peed when it was nervous. It got nervous all over my sneakers. I never saw it coming.

“I'm so sorry," she said. “Take off your sneakers - and those socks. I’ll throw them in the washer."

I’m happy to report that my Converse weren't the only things to come off that evening. I gave her my best flirty moves that night. Quality stuff. Sean Connery/James Bond Suave. Losing the sneakers helped. I really wanted to see that bed of hers.

On the day she moved in I saw her run a length of rope out her bedroom window. She then came out of the house and tied a garden hose to its end. I watched as she later hoisted the hose into her bedroom and filled up that king-size water bed. I admit to blushing as I watched her slip out of her summer dress and lie down for a nap. It was amazing. That tan-skinned beauty nestled in a sea of white sheets.

I spent the next four weeks working on a tan to match hers.

It paid off.

I never did get back my black socks, though.

”The dryer ate ‘em,’ she told me.