Huh?

“Yes, yes —” snort “— yes! Fuck, fuck —” giggle-hee haw “— fuck, yes!” She was giggling. She was a dirty, dirty giggler.

The three of us tittered along with her as she giggled and snorted her way toward what sounded like one hell uva climax. Clive, realizing quickly that his beloved wasn’t making an appearance, beat a hasty retreat to the kitchen.

“What the hell is this?” Mimi whispered, her eyes as wide as apple pies.

“This is the sexual torture I’ve been listening to for the last two nights. You have no idea,” I growled, feeling the effects of the tequila.

“LaughyPants has been getting done like this for the last two nights?” Sophia cried, slapping her hand over her mouth as more moaning laughter filtered through the wall.

“Oh, hell no. Tonight is the first night I’ve had the pleasure of this one. The first night was Spanx. She was a naughty, naughty girl and needed to be punished. And last night Clive met the love of his life when Purina made her debut— ”

“Why do you call her Purina?” Sophia interrupted.

“Because she meows when he makes her come,” I said, hiding under the covers. My buzz was beginning to fade, replaced by the distinct lack of sleep I’d experienced since moving into this den of debauchery.

Sophia and Mimi peeled the covers from my face just as the chick screamed, “Oh, God that’s…that’s —” hahahaha “— so good!”

“The guy next door can make a woman meow?” Sophia asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Apparently so.” I chuckled, feeling the first wave of nausea wash over me.

“Why is she laughing? Why would anyone be laughing while they’re getting done like that?” Mimi asked.

“No idea, but it’s nice to hear she’s enjoying herself,” Sophia said, laughing herself at a particularly loud guffaw. Guffaw my aunt Fanny…

“Have you seen this guy yet?” asked Mimi, still staring at the wall.

“Nope. My peephole is getting a workout, though.”

“Glad to hear at least one hole is getting some around here,” Sophia muttered.

I glared at her. “Charming, Sophia. I’ve seen the back of his head, and that’s it,” I answered, sitting up.

“Wow, three girls in three nights. That’s some kind of stamina,” Mimi said, still looking in wonder at the wall.

“It’s some kind of disgusting is what it is. I can’t even sleep at night! My poor wall!” I wailed as I heard a deep groan from him.

“Your wall, what does your wall have to do —” Sophia began, and I held up my hand.

“Wait for it, please,” I said. He began to bring it on home.

The wall began to shake with the rhythmic banging, and the woman’s giggles got louder and louder. Sophia and Mimi stared in wonder, as I just shook my head.

I could hear Simon moaning, and I knew he was getting close. But his sounds were quickly drowned out by this evening’s friend.

“Oh —” giggle “— that’s —” giggle “— it —” giggle “— don’t —” giggle “— stop —” giggle “— don’t —” giggle “— stop —” giggle “— oh —” giggle-snort “— God —” giggle-giggle snort-snort “— don’t —” giggle “— stop!” giggle.

Please. Please. Please, stop, I thought.

Giggle-sniffle.

And with one last giggle and groan, silence fell across the land. Sophia and Mimi looked at each other, and Sophia said, “Oh.”

“My,” added Mimi.

“God,” they said together.

“And that’s why I can’t sleep,” I sighed.

While the three of us recovered from the Giggler, Clive returned to play in the corner with a cotton ball.

Giggler, I think I hate you most of all…

Chapter Four

THE NEXT FEW NIGHTS were blissfully quiet. No thumping, no spanking, no meowing, and no giggling. Admittedly Clive was a little forlorn from time to time, but everything else around the apartment was great. I met some of my neighbors, including Euan and Antonio who lived downstairs. I hadn’t heard or seen Simon since that last night with the Giggler, and while I was grateful for the nights of perfect sleep, I was curious about where he’d disappeared to. Euan and Antonio were only too glad to fill me in.

“Darling, wait until you see our dear Simon. What a specimen that boy is!” Euan exclaimed. Antonio had caught me in the hall on my way home and had a cocktail in my hand within seconds.

“Oh my, yes. He is exquisite! If only I were a few years younger,” Antonio crooned, fanning himself as Euan looked over his Bloody Mary at him.

“If you were a few years younger you’d what? Please. You’d never have been in Simon’s league. He is filet, while—face it, love—you and I are tube steaks.”

“You would know,” Antonio cackled, sucking pointedly on his celery stalk.

“Gentleman, please. Tell me about this guy. I admit, after the show he put on last week, I’m a little intrigued about the man behind the wall banging.”

I’d broken down and told them about Simon’s late-night antics after realizing that unless I dished the dirt, they would not reciprocate. They clung to every word like fat kids at a buffet. I told them about the ladies he made the sweet love to, and they filled in a few more blanks.

Simon was a freelance photographer who traveled all over the world. They guessed he was currently on assignment, which explained my quality sleep. Simon worked on projects for The Discovery Channel, The Cousteau Society, National Geographic—all the bigwigs. He’d won awards for his work and even spent some time covering the war in Iraq a few years ago. He always left his car behind when he was traveling: an old, beat-up, black Range Rover Discovery, like the kind you’d find in the African bush. The kind people drove before the yuppies got a hold of them.

Between what Euan and Antonio told me, the car, the job, and the international house of orgasms from the other side of the wall, I was beginning to piece together a profile of this man, who I still had yet to see. And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t more and more intrigued by the day.

Late one afternoon, after dropping off some tile samples at the Nicholsons, I decided to walk home. The fog had burned off, revealing the city, and it was a nice evening for a stroll. As I rounded the corner to my apartment, I noticed the Range Rover was absent from its usual place behind the building. Which meant it was out and about.

Simon was back in San Francisco.

Although I braced myself for another round of wall banging, the next few days were uneventful. I worked, I walked, I Clived. I went out with my girls, I made a great zucchini bread in my now well-broken-in KitchenAid, and I spent time researching my vacation.

Each year, I took a week and vacationed somewhere totally alone. Somewhere exciting, and I never went to the same place twice. One year I spent a week hiking in Yosemite. One year I went zip-lining through a rain forest canopy at an ecolodge in Costa Rica. Another year I spent a week scuba diving off the coast of Belize. And this year…I wasn’t sure where I was going to go. Going to Europe was becoming prohibitively expensive in this economy, so that was out. I was considering Peru, as I’d always wanted to see Machu Picchu. I had plenty of time, but often half the fun was deciding where I wanted to spend my vacation.

I also spent an inordinate amount of time at my peephole. Yes, it’s true. Whenever I heard a door close, I actually ran to my door. Clive looked on with a smirk. He knew exactly what I was up to. Why he was judging me, however, I will never know, as his ears perked up every time he heard noises coming up the stairs. He was still pining for his Purina.

I still hadn’t actually seen Simon. One day I got to the peephole in time to see him going into his apartment, but all I caught was a black T-shirt and a mess of dark hair. And even that could’ve been dark blond—hard to tell in the muted hallway light. I needed brighter lighting for better sleuthing.