Birthday loving

Kristine Atterbury, Contributor

"Happy birthday, darlin!" Zara winced and pulled the phone away from her ear. She had been wise not to take this call. As she listened to the voicemail message, she shuffled over to the breakfast nook by the window, plonking her coffee down as she sat. As her mother's voice screeched cheerfully on the recording, she bit her lower lip, and tried to fight off the panic that started to creep over her. She was 40. Divorced. Alone.

She turned the phone off and stared out the window. Across the street, Mr Thompson was watering his herb garden. In the yard next to his, two little girls were playing hop-scotch. And right below her window, in the parking lot, Omar Walker was washing his car. Wearing a sleeveless grey shirt and faded jeans that sat low on his hips.

She leaned forward to get a better look.

"Oh my," she said. There was a sudden knock on her door. It took her a moment to drag her eyes from the sight of the way the muscles in Omar's arms and legs stood to attention every time he leaned over to scrub a stubborn spot on the hood. She sighed and went to see who was at the door.

Omar glanced up to see if she was still looking. No one was at the window, the coffee cup sitting deserted on the sill. He straightened and craned his neck to see further into the apartment. Where had she gone? He had been reaching across the car deliberately, scrubbing at dirt that wasn't there, hoping to catch her attention. It was a cheap ploy but hey, he worked hard to get the body he had, and if he had to flaunt it to catch the eye of the lovely Zara Flowers, well that's what he would do. She mostly ignored him when they passed each other in the hallways, her eyes sliding quickly away from his, even as he stared right at her. He figured his typical work wear of drab grey tie and black pants couldn't be very impressive to a woman like her. He, however, couldn't seem to stop thinking about her - about her long, dark brown hair that always hung over one shoulder, her equally deep brown eyes, and her cool, collected smile. He knew she must be at least 10 years older than his 29 years. She probably thought he was nothing more than a little boy.

He sighed and leaned over the car again, in case she returned to the window. His back was beginning to hurt. She was worth it.

Zara couldn't believe her eyes when she peered through the peephole. She pulled away from the door, groaned, and looked again, just to be sure.

"Ken," she called through the heavy wooden door of her upper level apartment. "What you doing here?"

"Can you at least open the door, Zara?" He had the nerve to sound wounded.

Shaking her head, she undid the locks and paused. For weeks, she hadn't thought about her ex at all, and now here he was at her door. Was this the universe's way of punishing her for ogling after a younger man?

She blew out a breath of pure frustration and opened the door to let him in.

Omar was disappointed. His car, however, was now spotless. He had spent several minutes scrubbing, rinsing, drying and polishing, leaning over several times, all for nothing. She still hadn't come back. Obviously, luring her with his good looks wasn't going to work. His back ached but he straightened it resolutely as he headed inside to take a shower. Tonight he was going to ask her to dinner. Buy her flowers. Sweep her off her feet. Real bad man ting.

Zara watched as Ken walked around the small sitting room, his eyes surveying everything and finding it lacking. He looked at her with a satisfied smile. She stared at him like he was a stranger. After a while he cleared his throat.

"Your mother told me where to find you."

"That's too bad," Zara replied.

"Bitterness doesn't suit you, you know. I remember you used to be such a sweet girl."

Zara stared at his shiny black shoes, her eyes rising past his immaculate blue jeans, to his black button-down shirt, and the razor-sharp moustache above his sardonically smiling mouth. She was missing a good show for this foolishness. Omar would have finished washing his car by now.

"What do you want, Ken?"

He paused, his lips pursing in disapproval of her manner.

"I want you to come back home."

Zara stifled a laugh of pure hysteria.

Omar got out of the shower and walked around the apartment, letting his body air-dry. He checked his drawer for boxers and realised he hadn't done laundry in weeks. Only one pair was left, a bright green cotton pair, littered with pictures of SpongeBob Squarepants. His last girlfriend had given them to him as a joke. He pulled them on, and vowed to get some laundry done. Maybe after he called Zara and asked her to dinner. He wondered if she ever thought about him. He wondered if she was thinking of him right now.

Zara stared at her ex-husband in amazement. "I don't think I can call it home anymore," she said. "Three women have lived there in the two years since I moved out."

"Honey, be reasonable."

"Don't call me that!"

"I mean, it makes sense when you think about it," he continued, as if she hadn't spoken. "We used to be really good together. I'm tired of the running around."

He stepped closer, his cologne overwhelmingly strong. "Besides," he said with a charming smile. "You're not getting any younger."

He backed up a little as Zara looked at him with undisguised loathing.

Omar practised his speech several times. He did some breathing exercises and then cracked his knuckles. He was ready. As he reached for the phone, it rang suddenly.

"Cho man."

When he answered, his mouth fell open. It was her.

Ken watched in suspicion as Zara finished her call. "Okay, sweetie? See you in a bit!"

She hung up the phone and smiled at him.

"So that was your boyfriend?" His voice was full of scepticism.

Zara could have slapped him. Instead, her smile widened even more.

"Yes, he lives right downstairs. He's dying to meet you, so I asked him to come right up."

Omar couldn't believe his luck. She had called him first! She'd sounded a little strange, especially when he told her he wasn't dressed. "Oh just wrap a towel round your waist and come! Right now!"

He hoped she wasn't just interested in a one night stand. He thought of her soft curves and her smile and realised he wanted much more. He looked down at the phone. At the same time, he wasn't a fool. He yanked a towel around himself, dropped to the floor to do some quick push ups and was out the door in less than a minute.

Zara was backing away from Ken, who had got pretty insistent. "That was a fake phone call," he said, wagging a finger at her. "You mother told me you weren't seeing anybody."

Not for the first time, Zara cursed her mother under her breath. Ken was advancing on her, his eyes two beacons of single-minded determination. Unfortunately, he loved a challenge.

When Omar practically burst through the door, breathing heavily, she grabbed at him like a sailor adrift at sea.

Ken stared. "Who is this?"

Omar stared right back. "Who are you?"

Zara pulled him closer, and exclaimed "Ken, this my boyfriend, Omar."

As both men looked at her in surprise, she clutched Omar's arm even tighter. Might as well enjoy the moment while she could.

While Omar tried to catch up, Zara gave him a look of warning and prayed he would understand. Ken glared at them both, and understanding began to dawn in Omar's eyes.

"So you like them young now?" Ken said.

Zara swallowed the urge to push him down the stairs. "I don't think you can really point fingers here," she said sweetly. She turned to Omar. "He's everything I could ever want."

Omar grinned devilishly, and in a moment of abandon, she ran her hand across his bare chest. He turned to lean towards her eagerly and the towel came loose, falling to the floor.

There was a moment of stunned silence.

"Well." Ken said.

"SpongeBob?" Zara asked incredulously.

Omar bent and picked up the towel, recovering quickly. "A Valentine's gift from Zara." He nodded at Ken, who was beginning to look purple with anger.

He muttered something under his breath, and stalked through the door. Zara breathed a sigh of relief and smiled at Omar.

"Sorry about that," she said, and stopped short. He was staring at her with naked desire in his eyes. "What?" she asked.

He stepped closer. "I want to kiss you."

She became aware of his nearness, of his smooth chest, his broad shoulders, the towel barely hanging on to his hips, hardly covering his ... underwear.

"About those boxers," she began.

"I'll go change," he replied quickly.

She smiled at him. "I'll be waiting."

Omar was out the door and back before you could say "SpongeBob SquarePants".