Behind the Door of 4B

The first thing Vanessa heard through the wall wasn't music or a television.

It was a man shouting.

"I said you're not going out, Laura! What part of that don't you understand?"

"I only wanted to get some groceries, Richard."

"Then make a list. I'll pick them up. You don't need to wander around town all day."

"But I haven't been outside in almost two weeks."

"Stop exaggerating!"

Something hit the floor.

Vanessa stood motionless in her new apartment, holding a half-unpacked box of dishes.

She had moved into apartment 4B the previous afternoon. At thirty-six, recently divorced and determined to start over, she had been looking forward to the peace and quiet of her new home.

Apparently, peace and quiet were in short supply next door.

"You're my wife, Laura. Remember that. And don't embarrass me by behaving like some desperate woman looking for attention."

A moment later, a door slammed.

Vanessa looked at the clock.

8:17 a.m.

Through the wall came the unmistakable sound of a woman crying.

Laura was forty-two.

Once, she'd been the sort of woman who laughed loudly in restaurants, wore beautiful dresses just because she felt like it, and drove her little red convertible with the roof down even when it was cold.

That woman seemed to have disappeared somewhere during fifteen years of marriage.

Richard hadn't always been cruel. At first, he'd been charming, attentive, even romantic. He bought her flowers, took her dancing, told everyone how lucky he was.

Then came the little criticisms.

Her skirts were too short.

Her friends were a bad influence.

Her job at the department store wasn't worth the trouble.

Her sister interfered too much.

And eventually, somehow, without one dramatic moment she could point to, Laura had stopped working, stopped seeing her friends, and stopped going anywhere without Richard's permission.

The convertible was sold.

The beautiful dresses hung untouched in the closet.

And her world had shrunk to a two-bedroom apartment on the fourth floor.

Richard left for work at eight every morning and rarely returned before seven.

Eleven hours alone.

Eleven hours of television, housework, and watching other people's lives through the window.

She sometimes wondered whether anybody would notice if she simply disappeared.

At eleven the following morning, there was a knock at Laura's door.

She looked through the peephole.

A woman stood outside holding two paper coffee cups.

She was tall, with shoulder-length dark hair, a fitted cream blouse, a fashionable navy skirt, and elegant black heels.

Laura hesitated before opening the door.

"Hello?"

"Hi! I'm Vanessa. Your new neighbor. Apartment 4B."

"Oh. Hello."

"I bought two coffees by mistake," Vanessa lied cheerfully. "Would you like one?"

Laura looked toward the hallway, almost as if Richard might suddenly appear.

"That's very kind, but—"

"Or you could come over to my place. I'm surrounded by boxes, and I could use some company."

Laura stared at her.

It was such a simple invitation.

Yet nobody had invited her anywhere in years.

"I really shouldn't."

Vanessa smiled gently.

"Well, the offer stands. I'm right next door."

She handed Laura one of the cups.

"At least take the coffee."

"Thank you."

"I'm Vanessa, by the way."

"Laura."

"I know."

Laura's expression changed.

Vanessa lowered her voice.

"I'm sorry. These walls aren't very thick."

Laura's face turned scarlet.

"Oh, God. You heard?"

"Enough."

"Richard gets upset sometimes. He doesn't mean—"

"Laura."

Something in Vanessa's voice made her stop.

"You don't have to explain him to me."

For a moment, neither woman spoke.

Then Laura whispered, "Thank you for the coffee."

And closed the door.

The next day, Laura stood in front of her bedroom mirror.

She was wearing jeans and an old sweater.

She looked at herself for a long time.

Then she opened the closet.

At the very back hung a blue summer dress she hadn't worn in nearly six years.

Richard disliked it.

He said it made her look like she was trying too hard.

Laura took it down.

Twenty minutes later, she stood outside apartment 4B, wearing the blue dress, a little lipstick, and the prettiest sandals she owned.

She knocked.

Vanessa opened the door.

"Oh, hello!"

Laura smiled nervously.

"Is that coffee invitation still available?"

Vanessa looked her up and down.

"Absolutely. And may I say, you look lovely."

Laura lowered her eyes.

"Thank you."

"Come in, darling."

Laura stepped inside.

The apartment was almost identical to her own, but somehow completely different.

Bright flowers stood on the kitchen counter. Music played softly. Half-unpacked boxes lined the hallway, and a pair of red high heels lay abandoned beside the sofa.

It felt alive.

Vanessa poured coffee.

They talked.

At first, Laura said very little. She answered questions cautiously, glancing at the clock every few minutes.

But Vanessa had a way of making silence comfortable.

She told Laura about her divorce, her new job, and her disastrous attempt to assemble a bookshelf the night before.

Laura laughed.

It surprised both of them.

"That's a beautiful laugh," Vanessa said.

Laura shook her head.

"Richard says I laugh too loudly."

"Richard sounds exhausting."

Laura nearly spilled her coffee.

Then, unexpectedly, she laughed again.

"You're terrible!"

"Only before lunch."

By one o'clock, the coffee had gone cold.

They were sitting close together on Vanessa's sofa.

Laura had told her about the department store, the red convertible, and the friends she no longer saw.

"I used to be somebody," she said quietly.

Vanessa turned toward her.

"You still are somebody."

Laura shook her head.

"You don't understand. I can't even buy a pair of shoes without explaining why I need them."

"Does he hurt you?"

Laura looked away.

"Not the way you're thinking."

Vanessa waited.

"He shouts. He calls me stupid. He says no other man would want me. Sometimes he won't speak to me for days."

She swallowed.

"Last Christmas, I bought myself a red dress. He made me return it because he said I looked ridiculous."

A tear slipped down her cheek.

"The worst part is that I believed him."

Vanessa reached for her hand.

"Laura, look at me."

Laura did.

"You're a beautiful, intelligent woman. And you deserve to be happy."

Laura stared at their joined hands.

"Nobody has held my hand like that in years."

Vanessa brushed the tear from her cheek.

"May I kiss you?"

Laura's eyes widened.

"You're a woman."

Vanessa smiled.

"I noticed."

"I've never..."

"You don't have to do anything."

Laura looked at her for a long moment.

Then she leaned forward.

Their lips met.

The kiss was soft, almost uncertain.

Laura pulled back, astonished.

"Oh, my God."

"Was that all right?"

Laura's answer was another kiss.

Longer this time.

When they finally separated, Laura was trembling.

"I didn't know," she whispered.

"Didn't know what?"

"That I could feel like this."

Vanessa kissed her forehead.

"Would you like to stay a little longer?"

Laura looked toward the bedroom.

Then at the clock.

Richard wouldn't be home until seven.

"I'd like that."

They stood together.

Vanessa took Laura's hand and led her down the hallway.

At the bedroom door, Laura stopped.

"Vanessa?"

"Yes?"

"Can we close the curtains? I know we're four floors up, but..."

"Of course."

"And lock the front door?"

"Already locked."

Laura gave a small, embarrassed smile.

"I'm sorry. I'm being silly."

"No, darling. You're being careful."

In Vanessa's bedroom, afternoon sunlight slipped between the curtains.

For the first time in many years, Laura undressed without worrying whether somebody would criticize her body, her age, or the way she looked.

Vanessa told her she was beautiful.

And this time, Laura almost believed it.

They spent the afternoon beneath the covers, kissing, laughing softly, and discovering a tenderness Laura had forgotten existed.

There was no shouting.

No criticism.

No demand that she behave differently.

Just two women holding each other.

At three-thirty, Laura lay with her head on Vanessa's shoulder.

"I've wasted so much of my life," she whispered.

Vanessa stroked her hair.

"Then don't waste the rest."

Laura closed her eyes.

"I wish it were that simple."

"I know."

"Richard would destroy me if he found out."

Vanessa didn't make promises she couldn't keep.

Instead, she held Laura a little closer.

At five o'clock, Laura began dressing.

She stood in front of Vanessa's mirror, carefully fixing her hair.

The blue dress looked different now.

Or perhaps it was the woman wearing it.

Vanessa came up behind her and kissed her shoulder.

"Come back tomorrow."

Laura smiled.

"At eleven?"

"At eleven."

Laura hesitated.

"Vanessa, I can't invite you to my apartment."

"I wasn't asking."

"It's just... even when Richard isn't there, I feel like he's watching me. Every room reminds me of something I've done wrong."

Vanessa turned her gently around.

"Then come here. Whenever you want."

Laura's eyes filled with tears.

"You're going to make me cry again."

"I'd rather make you smile."

"You already have."

At the door, Laura kissed her once more.

Then she slipped into the hallway.

She waited until she heard Vanessa's lock click before opening her own apartment.

Inside, everything was exactly as she'd left it.

The spotless kitchen.

The silent television.

Richard's photograph on the sideboard.

A list of chores he'd left beside the telephone.

Laura stared at the list.

Then she looked down at her blue dress.

For the first time, she realized how much she dreaded hearing Richard's key turn in the lock.

At seven-fifteen, Richard came home.

"Why isn't dinner ready?"

Laura stood at the stove.

"It's almost finished."

"Almost? You've been home all day. What the hell have you been doing?"

She thought of Vanessa's kisses.

Of the laughter.

Of warm arms around her.

Of being called beautiful.

"Nothing," she said.

Richard dropped his briefcase onto a chair.

"Well, you could at least try to be useful."

Laura lowered her eyes.

But this time, she wasn't listening.

She was thinking about tomorrow.

About eleven o'clock.

About the woman in apartment 4B.

And about the extraordinary difference between being trapped inside a home and being welcomed into one.

Later that night, while Richard watched television, Laura quietly opened her bedside drawer.

At the bottom lay an old photograph.

She was twenty-seven, standing beside her red convertible, laughing into the sunshine.

She studied the young woman in the picture.

For years, she'd thought that woman was gone forever.

Now she wasn't so sure.

She tucked the photograph into her handbag.

Tomorrow, she would show Vanessa.

And perhaps, one day, she would buy another red convertible.

To be continued...

NEW IN TOWN — Stories of lonely women, unexpected neighbors, forbidden affection, and the courage to discover a different life.