Chapter II

II

 

The weeks that followed were rather hectic.  What with the start of classes, getting cable and utilities, unpacking, constantly running out to get something forgotten back home; daily and weekly chores, and other stuff I can’t recall but still managed.  Indeed, just getting familiar with the campus, Dayton, and Kettering Hills was rather daunting�"and that’s not saying a thing about the weekend parties my neighbor threw.

There was music coming from Madigan’s townhouse just about every Saturday night that summer, and had that been anyone other than him I probably would’ve complained�"his parties were exempt from what I considered unacceptable.  They were a social smorgasbord of people and plenty of sophisticated women and gorgeous girls. 

One of them, a very cute strawberry blonde, was fanning herself on the rock wall next to the sidewalk along County Line Road.  I was taking a break from the books.  I had seen her in the parking lot with Madigan and by the pool on another occasion.  She smiled at me.  So I went up to her.  I introduced myself.  Her name was Heather.  She invited me to take a seat.  We chatted�"mostly about Madigan’s party.  She told me all about it.  Then she wanted to know where I lived.

“Beneath him,” I replied.

“And you’ve never been to one of his parties?” Heather asked.

I shook my head. 

“Really,” she said, opening her handbag.

“I just moved in a month ago,” I said. 

“I saw you by the pool with that pretty blonde,” she said.

“You must mean Ashley.”

She nodded, “And another couple.”

“That’s Amy and Todd.  They live right over there,” I pointed.  “They are the only people I know here.”

“You don’t know Madigan?”

I shook my head.  She pulled out a cigarette.

“You’re not alone,” she said; and glancing back at his place, added.  “Most of them don’t know him.”

“Do you?” I asked.

“I know him a little better than them,” she pointed.

Two women I had seen at the gym came up the sidewalk.  Like them, the ladies came and went; bringing empty stomachs, thirsty palates, and plenty of laughter.  And, with the exception of a privileged few, most of the women were not invited.  They just showed up at his door.  

“Mind you,” said Heather, “They don’t always get in.”  And, pointing at the lone sentinel standing guard, “Most of them don’t make it past him.”

“He looks intimidating,” I said. 

She agreed.

“Is he hired help?” I asked.

“He’s part of his posse,” she replied.

“How does he know who to let in and keep out?” I asked.  “Is there a guest list?”

She shook her head.

“Then how does he know?” I asked.  “I mean did he recognize you the first time you were invited?”

“I met Madigan when he still lived in Chicago.”

“You did?”

She nodded.

“How did you meet?”

“That’s a long story,” she replied, blowing smoke out the side of her mouth.

A limousine pulled up on the service drive behind us.  The chauffeur got out and opened the door for two women in evening gowns and some guy in a tuxedo.

“They didn’t get an invitation,” said Heather.

I watched as the hooded sentinel opened the door for them. 

“Then how did they get in?” I asked.

“They’re regulars,” replied Heather.

“Last weekend I saw a female officer from the base in the parking lot.”

“Probably a customer,” said Heather.  “The base is his biggest account.”

“What does he sell?”

“Technology,” she replied; then, holding a finger up to her lips, whispered, “He’s got a cubicle in the procurement office.”

Three more ladies came around the corner of the building.

“So many different women,” I said. 

“They come from everywhere,” said Heather.

“What do they all have in common?”

“Why you silly boy,” she replied, “Madigan’s party.”

Once inside they went up to a large mahogany bar with two bookshelves on the backside beneath the stairwell�"and not particle board bookcases but dark mahogany.  The bookshelves housed gins, liquors, and other cordials and ingredients.  The mixologist was the only person there in a professional capacity other than a disc jockey�"and his services were strictly by gratuity.  The kitchen counters and the breakfast bar are lined with an assortment of catered hors d’oeuvre and finger foods, trays of fried chicken, pasta, salad, Italian beef and bread, a variety of crackers, lots of chips and dips, and anything else brought in by the guests.  The extra trays of food, wine coolers and beer, and bags of ice were kept next door in the townhouse of three undergraduates from Wright State.  That small service was their price of admission and certain companionship for the night�"or so Carl Tessone led me to believe by the pool.

“He likes to talk,” Amy’s boyfriend Todd told me.

“He’s a s**t puppy,” said Amy.

I glanced across the pool.  Madigan was lying down next to some woman that resembled Heather.

“Looks like Madigan’s friend caught Rich’s eye,” said Amy.

“Do you know her?” Ashley asked me.

“Yah,” said Carl.  “Do you know her?”

He was a bit smaller than me�"and had a reputation around the pool as a player.

“She looks like,” I began.  Then I shook my head.  “She resembled someone I spoke to last weekend in front of his townhouse.”

“I can’t place her face,” said Amy, “but I�"“

Carl jumped in, “Stay away.”

“Why does he have to stay away from her?” asked Ashley.

“She’s a friend of his,” he replied.

“Are you interested in her?” she asked me.

I shook my head.

“I don’t even know her,” I told Ashley.

“I’ve seen her before,” said Amy.

“Is that his girlfriend?” I asked Carl.

“What do you mean girlfriend,” he said.  “Have you been to one of his parties?”

At any given time there were about forty or more women crowded in Madigan’s place.  They gathered in the kitchen and dining room, around the bar, the living room or on the balcony for some fresh air.  Upstairs, they lingered in the sitting room; many hoping to catch a glimpse of Madigan’s bedroom.  They waited to refresh their faces and use the bathroom.  Then there were those that disappeared into the smaller bedroom above the garage to snort cocaine, smoke pot or crack, and pop ecstasy�"courtesy of a dark, saucer-eyed, weasel-looking, grease-ball wearing two-toned shoes and gangster pinstripe from Suits-R-Us.  The Columbian had a huge gap in his upper-front teeth and a roll on the end of his mustache.  He rented the studio a few units down from mine; his presence tolerated by Madigan only as an amenity to his guests indulging in that sort of thing�"or, at least, so I thought.

“There’s always somethin’ in it for Madigan,” said my neighbor Tino.  “It cost me a case of good Cubans.”

I’d heard that the stench of skunk weed blanketed the air upstairs; as does the constant chatter of casual introductions and the laughter of those that may or may not remember each other’s name.  Just about all of them, though; loved to dance when the DJ put on a favorite song�"Haddaway’s What Is Love.

The sounds were provided by a slick, young Filipino; courtesy of Madigan’s audio-visual system.  Thunderous bass guitar riffs bellowed from the powered subwoofers at the base of large tower speakers in each corner of the living room.  A boisterous group of girls danced with their drinks raised high above their heads.  Before the end of the night, most of those left standing would cast off their inhibitions and mimic girls gone wild.  

“They did what?” I asked again.

“Went skinny-dipping,” replied Carl.

“I beg your pardon,” said Amy. 

Carl pointed at the high dive, “One of them stripped up there for him.”

Ashley shook her head.

“Who is this Madigan?” I asked.

He was the gentleman that lived upstairs.  It didn’t matter that we crossed paths most mornings and that he loved to read by the pool and workout at the gym.  His demeanor made him unapproachable�"and being invited to one of his parties was not something I gave much thought.  Like the majority of residents, I found out about the festivities from conversation on the balcony or through the floor and the talk by the pool Sunday afternoon.  So imagine my surprise when a buxom blonde holding a yellow post-it note came up to my screen door late Saturday afternoon.

“Is anyone there,” she said; her nose pressed against the screen.

“May I help you?” I asked.

“Hi,” she smiled.

“If you’re looking for Madigan’s,” I said.  “He lives upstairs.”

“Oh, no,” she said.  “He sent me.”

“He did,” I said.

“He would be honored,” she began, glancing down at the post-it.

She looked up at me. 

“He’d like you to come to his party,” she said, and then reading on, “He apologizes for not having personally invited you this afternoon by the pool.  He was all caught up in some personal matters.”

Only a select few by the pool had ever been to one of Madigan’s parties, but just about everyone talked about the pomp and ceremony of those gala celebrations.  And, because of my proximity to his place, I was included in many of those conversations�"especially, Ashley, Amy, and her boyfriend Todd.

“Well,” said the girl at my door.  “Are you coming?”

“I have to think about it,” I replied.

“What’s there to think about?” she asked.

“I don’t even know him.”

“Then what better an opportunity to meet him than at one of his parties?”

“True,” I replied, “but I can’t tonight.  I have to study.” 

“You can do that tomorrow.”

“I was already planning to,” I said.

“That’s a lot of studying,” she said. 

“More than you can imagine,” I told her.

“Don’t you ever get tired?”

I nodded.

“Then this party is just what you need,” she said.

“I’m not one for mixing with that kind of company.”

“What kind of company?”

“The people at his parties,” I replied.

“Don’t say that,” she pouted.  “I helped put it together.”

“I’m sure you did a great job,” I said, “but I don’t even know your name?”

“Holly Henderson,” she replied.

“Glad to meet you Holly,” I nodded.  “I’m Rich Winston.”

“Madigan calls me Holly Golightly.”

“Did he tell you where he got it?” I asked.

“Sure,” she replied.  “Some book about a girl like me working a fancy restaurant called Tiffany’s.”

I grinned.

“I work at Flannery’s,” she added.

I chuckled. 

“Oh, come to the party,” she urged. 

I glanced at the clock on the wall.

She went on, “Don’t make me go back and tell him I couldn’t talk you into it.”

“Maybe, next time,” I said politely.

She looked at me with puppy dog eyes.

“Not tonight,” I said. 

“Come on,” she said. 

I shook my head.

“I have to hit the books,” I said.  “Please thank him for the invite.”

“Will do,” she said.

“Thanks,” I said.

“And if you change�"”

“I’ll look you up,” I told her.

“You will not find me,” she said.  “I have to work.”

So did I; but after a few hours of studying, the commotion and my curiosity got the better of me.  So I took a shower and put on a pair of Dockers and a blue-striped polo shirt and a splash of my best cologne.  Then I made my way to Madigan’s.  The lone sentinel stood guard at the door.  He was wearing sunglasses, an unzipped hoodie with no shirt�"a gold chain with a silver medallion and dark cargo shorts.  His shoelaces were untied.  As I approached him, he nodded and then opened the door as if I had been expected.

Reviews

[Srchaud]

I liked this chapter much more and the way you decribe people is awesome. I have no real critiques to offer so I will leave it as good job.