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“Not Andrew, I hope.”
“Nope. Not Andrew, I promise.”
“Good.”
I started cutting the potatoes while Leslie got on with preparing the chicken, each of us doing our work in silence. That was until a gaggle of high-pitched, very loud female voices began echoing bouts of raucous laughter up and down the outside corridor of our apartment.
“Damn, sounds like a whole cheerleading squad is busting some moves out there!” exclaimed Leslie. “What the heck is going on?”
“Oh, I think I know. The guys next door are having a party tonight, and those are their 'hoes,' or whatever they call them.”
Leslie busted out laughing. “Their 'hoes,' huh? Really, Brooke?”
I looked at her, my head cocked to the side. “What? I'm not joking, Les! I met one of them half an hour ago when I took the garbage downstairs. She was wearing the shortest cocktail dress I've ever seen. It was practically screaming 'hey everyone, look at my panties!' every time she took a step. That is if she was even wearing panties. And her boobs looked like they were planning a jailbreak from the top of that dress. Not that it would have been much of a jailbreak. Those things were barely covered by an inch of fabric to begin with.”
Leslie lost it. She was laughing so hard she had to sit down in a chair at the kitchen table. “Oh, my god, are you serious?”
Her laughter was infectious. I couldn't help letting out a few giggles myself and grinning from ear to ear, even if I was feeling a bit jealous thinking about Emerson and bimbo Barbie. “I'm completely serious. She looked like she just stepped off the set of a porn film.”
Leslie laughed again. “Damn, so that's what those two players next door to us are into, huh?”
“I guess it is. Are you really surprised, though? I mean, that’s exactly what I imagined Chris would be into.”
She shrugged and shook her head, still laughing. “Well, I guess not.”
Another bout of bawdy laughter echoed outside our door and a high-pitched, exaggerated, “Oh, my God!” boomed down the corridor. We exchanged glances and then both burst out laughing.
“Oh, my God,” repeated Leslie in a mocking high-pitched voice that sounded very much like a stereotypical airhead.
I couldn't help laughing hysterically.
Then we heard Chris's voice booming outside. “Ladies! Welcome to the party palace!”
That’s when we really lost it. We almost fell over laughing at that one. After that, though, the noise died down, as they'd all gone inside the apartment. We could hear a bit of bass coming through the walls from the music, but that was about it. We prepared the rest of our dinner giggling and sporadically blurting out, “Oh, my God!”
***
After dinner, the music ramped up a bit.
“Sounds like things are getting serious over there,” I remarked to Leslie.
“That it does. You wanna go over there and join ‘em?”
I laughed. But part of me wasn’t so sure she might not have meant it. “No thanks! But seriously, the music is getting a bit much, don't you think?”
“Yeah, it is kinda getting on my nerves. Should we go over and ask 'em to turn it down a little?”
A shot of uncomfortable heat coursed through my veins at the thought of seeing Emerson drunk with those half-naked bimbos. Then the thought that he might very well be half-naked, too, took over. I didn't really want to see anything like that at the moment.
“Um, nah. It's Friday night, you know; we should just let them have their fun. Besides, we just moved in. Let’s not be those neighbors on the first night here.”
“Valid point,” she agreed.
“Let's crack open a bottle of wine and watch some TV. We've got a long way to go to catch up to where The Walking Dead is, right? C'mon, I'll get some snacks and we can chill out on the sofa. The sounds of zombies on TV will drown out the sounds of the zombies next door.”
Leslie chuckled. “Sounds like a plan. I'll put the dishes in the dishwasher, and you can get snacks and wine.”
A few minutes later, we settled down on the sofa with a glass of wine each and chips with salsa.
