The following day Brian made decent progress transforming his apartment from house to home. When he heard the noise, he was pacing the living room, admiring his hard work, and humming along to Blood Ceremony. DVDs and CDs in racks, framed Pink Floyd Dark Side of the Moon print hanging in the centre of the living room, incense sticks burning. Truth be told, he felt it before he heard it. The floor started to tremor and Brian wondered if he was experiencing a minor earthquake. There’d been one around a decade ago, down in Kent, when he was an undergrad, so it was possible. He paused the music, cutting short Alia O’Brien’s flute-work.
The sound came from next door. Brian went into the hall where he could hear better. If yesterday was the pre-show, then this right here was the main event. Slow rhythmic drumming, monk-like humming, and female vocals singing in a language he didn’t understand. It sounded as if the drumming and monks were a backing track, but the female voice definitely emanated from the adjacent apartment. Some weird party, perhaps?
His interest piqued, Brian opened the wardrobe and removed the top towel from the heap on the shelf and peeped through the hole.
At first, he didn’t understand. His brain refusing to register what was happening next door. The room was dark, save for two large candles—red wax and black pillar holders—resting on a chest of drawers at the far side of the room. In the foreground was the woman from the car park—Yoga Pants—her body gyrating to the beat of the music as she began to scream what sounded like an incantation. She wasn’t wearing her yoga pants, wasn’t wearing a thing. The candlelight did little to illuminate her features, but none of that mattered. He could see she was in great shape, slim yet muscular. Her skin lit up red, movements too erratic to be alluring, and still … Brian definitely felt something—transfixed as he watched her dance, heard her song, admired the swell of her form and the precision of her movements. He didn’t know who she was or what she was doing, but he found himself unable to look away.
Each time Yoga Pants’ hands moved to the swell of her breasts, Brian swelled too. When Yoga Pants swayed her hips, Brian also swayed. And when she looked directly into the hole, right at him—like it was meant to be—and sang such sweet liquor, only for him, Brian had to clasp his hands over his mouth to keep from screaming.
As she danced and pulsated and teased him, Brian caught his hands creeping towards his jeans. He moved them away, embarrassed at their outburst, scalding them for attempting to sabotage and sully this special moment. When he caught them creeping again, he stormed off and reprimanded them in the kitchen.
The next night it happened again, and the night after that, and the night after that. Same song, same time, same wild yet utterly mesmerising dance. Initially, Brian had felt ashamed, like he was no better than that piece-of-shit caretaker in the Balagueró film, but a few days in, shame turned to excitement and Brian began to look forward to her nightly cavorting. He couldn’t help himself. Straining to see, he’d watch until his vision blurred, trying to make out the details of her face and body. Anything to satiate his appetite for her. Other than her lithe limbs and the small patch of hair between her legs, there were no features he could detect in the dim candlelight.
She was intoxicating, she delighted him, and she formed an important part of his evening ritual: a couple of whiskeys and some Netflix, followed by the headliner, Her. Her was a better fit than the previous moniker, Yoga Pants—ugh, so crude, so debasing, so utterly unworthy of Her.
Her was majestic.
Her was energy.
Her was everything.
There was no gym bro neighbour, no man next door, no boyfriend, just Her. Brian knew because he’d paid special attention to the movements in and out of the apartment. Brian didn’t like to think of it as an obsession, more admiration. And make no mistake, Her was complicit. As Brian watched through that little gateway to heaven, Her danced for him, Her sang for him, Her exhilarated him.