Sharon pretended to walk down to her mailbox.
For the sixth time, that day.
She knew all too well that she wouldn’t find anything more than a couple of untamed dust bunnies, and an old take out menu she had never cared to throw to the trash. What she did know, though, was that he wasn’t much of a cook, since he left everyday arround dinner time, making his pickup wheels spin in the alley’s gravel. Not long after, he came back with a bag that left a yummy smelling trail behind him, in the staircase.
Her first five trips down the stairs had been pointless. She had gone to the mailbox, had pretended to check for letters, had lingered a little by the door before climbing back to her flat.
This time she heard some noise, and she suddenly felt really nervous. She was just curious about him… He was so mysterious. Since his move into the building, he hadn’t introduced himself to any of the other tenants. And she kind of liked the idea of making friends with the block’s bad guy.
She had heard the rumors… Not that she really cared to talk to anyone in the building, but the walls were paper thin, and you only needed to be curious to be up to date with the recent gossip.
She ran her fingers in her long curly hair, trying to look absolutely careless as she approached the hallway. Coming out of the staircase, she came face to face with Walter.
Oh! Good evening, Mr Weinstein!
The old man was watering the two huge dieffenbachia plants of the hall. Mr and Mrs Weinstein were already living in their first floor flat when she had moved in, and she had never seen anybody else take care of the only green touch of the building.
Hello Miss Sharon… Enjoying a day off? That must be nice, you seem to be very busy lately.
She agreed, half hidding her disappointment.
Not really wanting to go on with a conversation, Sharon turned, heading back up. Walter looked at her, puzzled.
Miss Sharon, weren’t you coming for your mail?
Like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar, she tried to think fast. Wearing her sweetest smile, she turned to Mr Weinstein again. Patting her pocket, she continued…
Hmmm yes, but I just noticed I forgot my key. No big deal… Good evening, Mr Weinstein!
She ran back to her door and hid in her apartment again. Shoot! But she wasn’t ready to give up just yet.
He had to be on his way.
She rushed to the bathroom to check if her make up needed a little touching up, and she regretted her little narcissist bout, thinking she might have missed him to check on her lipstick.
Suddenly, she heard his pickup truck pulling up in the alley.
She peeked through the peephole, waiting for the right moment. Just as he was about to pass across her apartment, she walked out, faking a chance encounter. She gave him her best doe eyes, as he walked by, not even aknowledging her presence.
And before she knew it, he was back in his lair.