McDowell - Dear girls above me : inspired by a true story

Copyright 2013 by Cloudbreak Productions, Inc.

All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Three Rivers Press, an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
www.crownpublishing.com

Three Rivers Press and the Tugboat design are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
McDowell, Charlie, 1983
Dear girls above me : inspired by a true story / Charlie McDowell. First edition.
1. Self-realizationFiction. 2. NeighborsFiction.
3. Dating (Social customs)Fiction. 4. Young womenFiction.
5. Humorous fiction. I. Title.
PS3613.C3948D43 2013
813.6dc23 2012049640

eISBN: 978-0-307-98634-4

Cover design by Jessie Sayward Bright
Cover photographs and styling: Christine Ferrara/Call of the Small
www.call-small.com
Author photograph: Kate Danson

v3.1_r1

For Nell and Edna,
the original funny women

This book was inspired by real people and events in my life, but ultimately it is a work of fiction. In some cases, composite characters based on real people were created, but ultimately most names, characters, places, and incidents are fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons is entirely coincidental.

OMG, if someone ever writes a book about me, it should be called A Beautiful Mind, said a voice still filled with the glory of having uttered some profound clich.

I think thats already a book, I responded out loud, to nobody. And a movie.

And Ill write the sequel, A Beautiful Fashion Sense. Fashion is totally my seventh sense. My sixth sense is seeing ghosts wearing last falls line, chirped another voice in keeping with the enthusiasm.

I glared at my ceiling fan, hoping that this wasnt going to turn into a trilogy. These voices, the voices of the girls who lived above me, had become the Greek chorus of my life. As a guy not new to city life, I expected the intrusions and boundary violations that occur when one lives with only a few inches of wood and stucco between himself and his neighbors. Random footsteps, muffled television programs, maybe even the occasional sentence fragment. But I most definitely did not expect to be the unwilling audience of a twenty-four-hour slumber party between the Winston Churchill and Benjamin Franklin of the 90210 generation.

But lets back up a bit. To a more innocent time. Before the girls rearranged every idea Id once had about life and love, and the biggest challenge in my daily routine was walking my dog.

I stood on the freshly cut lawn of my apartment building and looked around to make sure no one was within earshot. There was the girl across the street chatting on her cell phone, but she seemed much too preoccupied by the argument she was having with her boyfriend to notice me. So, I cleared my throat.

Go pee-pees outside, Marvin. Pee-pees outside, I said in the most high-pitched voice humanly possible.

These are the words I must say to my dog every morning in order for him to go to the bathroom. Not a day goes by that I dont regret taking him to that dog trainer. Im not totally sure, but I think she was legally a little person (which I Googled), clocking in at approximately four foot ten, and the pitch of her voice was commensurately high. No wonder dogs listened to her. So, now, any command I give to Marvin, I must deliver with this Mariah Carey screech. Otherwise hell just sit there and stare at me as if he has no idea what were doing outside. We go through this routine at eight A.M. every single morning. If I wait till eight thirty A.M. , Im screwed; the grass will be damp from the sprinklers and Marvin wont go near it. Even the smallest drop of water frightens him. I guess thats one of the drawbacks in rescuing a Hurricane Katrinasurvivor dog.

Good boy, Marvin! Good boy! Compliments must also come in this piercing frequency. I dont know how much longer my vocal cords can take this.

Bro, you shouldnt talk like that where people can hear you. They might think youre a homo. This unsolicited morning advice came courtesy of apartment 4E, the guy who calls himself the Con-Man but whose real name is actually Conor. The Jesse James of my apartment building. What kind of person puts the in front of his name anyway? I guess the very same guy whose wardrobe appears to be sponsored by Ed Hardy.

Good morning, the Con-Man. Hows your day going? I said with complete disinterest.

Awesome. Ive already taken a dump and trimmed my pubes this morning, he blurted out.

Wow, ConorI mean, the Con-Man, thats a lot of information I dont really wanna know about you, I said with complete sincerity.

Stop being such a pussy, bro. Its science; its the human body; its education. Learn to love it.

Why didnt I rescue a cat? There would have been no reason to converse with him and his freshly trimmed nether area if I were a cat owner. Felines are smart; they go to the bathroom inside, just like humans. They are loyal and dont whore themselves out the way dogs do. If I had been a cat, Id have scratched the shit out of the Con-Man by now.

All right, bro, Im gonna go annihilate ten egg whites for breakfast. Maybe a splash of POM juice if Im feeling craaazy, he said. A real trailblazer. Remember, bro, keep your voice down low, like this!

Yep. Got it. Thanks. I was thankfulthankful that I was looking at the back of him as I said this. I watched as the Con-Man air-drummed his way over to his hydraulic truck and peeled out of the parking garage, almost running over apartment 6A, Mr. Molever, the on-site landlord. Mr. Molever is another person I cant bear to talk to. Not because hes a weasel like the Con-Man, but because I frequently forget to pay my rent on time and he loves to let me know it. I wish I could avoid him forever, but hes made it impossible. Just last month, hed implemented a new policy stating that every check must be hand-delivered to ensure ultimate safety (do not fold check). Dont get me wrong, hes perfectly nice, but boy can that man talk. And when he does speak, it only has to do with the apartment building. Over the last couple of years, Ive literally become an expert on shingle-removal tools and copper piping, something I had previously hoped to never think about in my entire life.

But maybe Mr. Molever hadnt seen me yet and I still had the chance to make a smooth getaway. I picked up my dog, who was carrying out my command mid-pee, and I hid behind the nearest tree. Marvin expressed his discomfort by heavily panting. But thats because hes unable to breathe through his nose. When youre browsing at the shelter, they only tell you the positive stuff. They dont mention how a particular breed is not good for hiding behind trees. I put my hand over Marvins mouth, praying that he would at least try to suck air through that little pug nose of his. It worked for three seconds, and then he began wheezing and shaking around. This caught the attention of Mr. Molever.

Charlie? He stared at me with a silly smile on his face, one that only he could muster so early in the morning. Do you realize youre the only tenant who noticed the trees were trimmed this morning?

Yeah, and its not even Christmas, I said. Hopefully this brilliant turn of phrase would serve to distract Mr. Molever from remembering I was late on my rent payment.