Grimalkin and Other Short Stories

Loud Music & Writer's Block

Cleo Dupont sat at her desk, her laptop sitting in front of her, a word document open. The cursor on the screen was blinking at her lazily, and she was close to throwing the piece of technology against the wall near her.

She was lucky: writer's block had never importuned her before. For the past week, however, she had been so distracted that whenever she sat down to write the final chapter of her newest novel, nothing came to mind.

Leaning back in her desk chair, she glanced at the clock. It was almost midnight, and the rough draft of her manuscript was being asked for the next day. She knew what she wanted to do for her final chapter, but had no way of expressing it.

Music blasted through the walls of her apartment. It had been like that for the past week—and Cleo suspected that it had everything to do with her writer's block. If the person living next to her had another next-door-neighbour, she would have gone over to them and asked for help speaking to the music-playing one. She wasn't sure whether she'd able to bring up the courage to speak to them alone.

She clenched her fists as the music grew louder. She was very close to simply stomping over there by herself, or at least putting in a complaint, but neither one would help her current situation. She'd still not have the ending done in time.

It grew louder again—how could the people across the hall not hear it?!—and Cleo resisted a scream of frustration. That was it. She stood up abruptly, her chair flying halfway across the floor, and strode to her front door. She opened it before freezing.

She hated speaking to people.

Here she was, determined to go and yell at a complete stranger, in the middle of the night. On the other hand, she needed them to stop—not only so that she could get some sleep, so that she could finish the chapter!

After an intense mental debate, she stepped out of her apartment, shut the door behind her, zipped up her sweater, and walked to the door where some music (it was much more muted) was bleeding out. She stood there, gathered her courage by infuriating herself completely, and knocked.

She knocked thrice, determined to get this done and over with. The music stopped, and a young woman showed up at the door, unlocking it before standing in front of Cleo.

"Look, lady," she started off. "I don't know if you know, but other people have lives here. I, for one, need to finish a chapter by tomorrow, and your stupid music is so incredibly distracting that I can't pay attention. Nor can I sleep, but obviously you're so self-centred that that is not an issue for you," She announced angrily. Her green eyes were flashing angrily, and for the first time in her life, she felt like she was fitting the 'angry red-head' stereotype.

"Finally!" The woman standing at the doorway was grinning at Cleo. "Do you know how annoying it is to stay up until midnight hoping that you'd walk over? It's been a week! The last time I did that to a cute neighbour they talked to me the first night."

Cleo simply stood there, dumbfounded.

"So, what you're saying is that... You deliberately were trying to piss me off?" She finally asked, barely containing the rage in her. Not only did this lady keep her up late and induce writer's block in Cleo, but she had done it deliberately?

"Do you know how hard it is to deal with a lack of sleep? Not to mention writer's block? I have a manuscript due tomorrow and I have had about four hours of sleep per night on average because of you! If you wanted to talk to me, you could literally have spoken to me in person! Not try and goad me!" Cleo ranted angrily. Next time she'd buy an apartment with soundproof walls.

"I'm Amelia Waters." The lady—Amelia—ignored Cleo completely. "Can I offer you a deal? I stop with the music, and you agree to go out for coffee with me—and I'll even pay for it."

"So basically I would be winning and you'd be losing. That's an incredibly stupid deal. I sincerely hope you're not a lawyer—you wouldn't make a very good one," Cleo commented critically.

"I get to score a date with the incredibly cute next-door-neighbour. I think I'm winning something as well."

"So I go out with you for coffee—once—and you stop the music?"

"Yes."

"Fine. Once."

"What time works for you?" Amelia asked, a lopsided grin appearing on her face. She blew a strand of dark brown hair out of her face before resuming the grin.

"Tomorrow, nine AM. You know Le Café Gourmand? Tiny little place down the street? Don't be late." This was a bad idea—yet Cleo just wanted the music to stop, and what could one cup of coffee do? She headed back to her apartment, ignoring the cheerful wave Amelia gave her, and slammed the door behind her.

This was just wonderful. Of course she had just agreed to a date with the obnoxious next-door-neighbor.

Cleo figured that maybe she had an ending to her book—one entirely different than the one she had planned.

***

It was late afternoon, four years later, and Cleo was putting away some paper, a few extra copies of her newest book, and her sharpies into her bag. She had just finished a book signing at the local bookstore. She zipped the bag shut, flipped the top over it, and slung it over one shoulder when the door opened. Amelia came through, grinning at Cleo with the same lopsided grin she had given her four years ago.

"Hey there, cutie," Amelia told the other, tossing the keys from one hand to the other before storing them in a pocket.

"Right on time. I think that's a first," Cleo commented offhandedly, a teasing grin forming on her face. Amelia had shown up to their first date at Le Café Gourmand half an hour late and with a packet of candy. Cleo wasn't entirely sure why she had waited for the other, but she was glad she did.

"Least I can do for my wife," Came the reply. Amelia leaned over the table that
Cleo had been signing books on, kissed her, and then stood straight.

"We've been married for six months," Cleo pointed out. "It still is a first."

"You're no fun. Anyways, car's parked out front. Anything else you need to do?"

"No, I think I'm okay." The two headed out to the car, their hands intertwined. "Hey, Amelia, guess what?"

"What?"

"They're asking for a sequel."

"Did you tell 'em it's about us?"

"No. But if I am to write a sequel to My Annoying Neighbour—"

"You know, I never liked that name," Amelia interrupted, causing Cleo to laugh.

"Well, as I was saying, if I am to write one, I guess I might have to stand you for some more time," she said. The two shared a short grin, and Amelia leaned over and kissed Cleo once more before turning on the car and going down the highway.

On the way home, Cleo reflected on what had happened, and she was suddenly glad for writer's block and loud music. Maybe the bad things in life were really just good things in disguise.