Chapter Twenty-Nine: What Alice Saw
-Five Years Later-
"Got me lookin' so crazy right now, your love's got me looking so crazy right now. Got me lookin' so crazy right now, your touch got me lookin' so crazy right now," sang a voice from the revolving 6-disk CD stereo on the living room shelf. Dudley exhaled smoke and flicked his cigarette butt over the veranda, looking away from the downtown traffic. He headed into his apartment and hit the remote control for the stereo, changing the music to Eminem's latest album. He didn't mind that other song so much, but some girl had forgotten at the apartment, so it felt weird to listen to it. And anyway, it was a bit repetitive.
He'd gotten a pretty affordable place in London—affordable because it was sort of a shitty little flat, but he liked it enough. It was a one-room with a tiny bathroom and a kitchen with no dish washer Petunia claimed it was in a seedy part of town and wanted him to move, but he could handle seedy. She'd taken to coming over when he wasn't there to clean. This had its advantages and disadvantages. Sure, it was nice to come home to an empty sink and freshly vacuumed carpet, but it was awkward to come home and find that his porn collection had been alphabetized, with a newspaper article about pornography being unhealthy tucked in between Asian Sluts and Affairs with the Girl Next Door. Vernon hadn't come to visit so far—he and Dudley were currently giving each other the silent treatment due to the fact that Dudley had refused to work at Grunnings. But even Grunnings would be better than being unemployed.
He was currently looking at the moment; he had the week's newspapers all strewn out over his kitchen table, where he'd been circling places to contact. He used to work at some restaurant, as a fry cook in the back. He'd even seen a few people from school and the old neighborhood come in to eat. Colin Bard had flaunted his rather attractive girlfriend and he and Dudley had reminisced a bit about the old days, as though nothing bad had passed between them. The job had been fine. It was okay money and all right hours, but he didn't like the boss. In fact, they'd gotten into a few confrontations. Dudley figured it was because this guy didn't like the fact that Dudley was so big and strong, some sort of complex. Anyway, he'd given his notice, and immediately realized what a stupid thing it was to do. Still, he figured it was time to move on.
So far, he'd called a strip club that was in need of floor staff. There were many benefits to this job, clearly. But he'd also circled an ad for a club that was also in need of security, as well as a few restaurant positions, and a music store clerk. But he really wanted that strip club job, even if he'd have to lie about it to Mum. He crossed into the kitchen and opened the fridge to get some leftover fajitas from a date a few days back. He'd met her on the bus. She was stacked with black hair. They'd fooled around at the apartment afterward, but he couldn't remember her name. Anyway, they were good fajitas.
As always, when he opened the fridge, he avoided the note Mum had posted on it a few months back. It had Piers' number on it. Apparently, he and Dudley had been invited to Clarice's wedding and the two of them wanted to meet him for lunch or something and then attend the wedding at some point, but Dudley just hadn't had the will to call back. But the number sat there, waiting for him to dial it. He kept meaning to, but he had no idea what he'd say. Besides, the wedding had passed.
And just like that, the phone rang. Dudley waited, putting down the styrafoam container that held strips of sweetly seasoned beef, bright orange peppers and salsa. He always screened his calls.
"This is Dudley. I'm not answering my phone, I guess. Leave a message." Beep. "Dudley," said a man's voice," this is Jimmy from Enigmas. My boss is David and he had to run out today but he wanted me to give you a call back. He wants to see you tomorro', like around two or somethin'—"
The strip club. Dudley picked up the receiver. "'lo, this is Dudley. So, tomorrow at two? I can make that."
"Great, thanks, man," said the guy and they both hung up.
He had to pass this interview.
Around one forty-five, Dudley headed into Enigmas in black trousers and a black dress shirt, with his only pair of nice shoes. He had to admit he looked pretty good. One look around the club gave him the impression that it was a pretty lowdown place—he hadn't gone to many clubs, but he'd certainly been to ones nicer than this. Still, it was an ideal job. He was greeted by the doorman who directed him to the back office.
A stocky redhaired bloke (David?) who looked to be around Dudley's age was sitting at a desk, filling out paperwork and talking on the phone. "It's only illegal, sir, if you got your face in her tits—there is no her getting her tits in your face—I'm sorry for your arrest but you can get stuffed. She didn't do nothing wrong—oh yeah? Well, I'll be in contact with my lawyer." He threw down the phone. "Sod."
Dudley cleared his throat.
"Oh, so sorry to keep you waiting," said David, standing up and extending his hand. Dudley was about to tell him it was fine, but the bloke pulled his hand back and stared at him. "I know you," he said, and then chortled.
"Sorry…?"
"Big D," said David. "Dudley Dursley. You've certainly shaped up, haven't you? Impressive."
Dudley stared at his face, trying to place him. "Uhm… Sorry, but I really don't remember you. Did you go to Smeltings, or…?"
"No, I didn't go to Smeltings, Big D. And you wouldn't remember me anyway. I was one of the nameless chaps you used to beat up on. At the playground, you remember? David Johnson—Johnson, you used to call me, never really talked to me except when you were slugging me in the mouth. And the conversation wasn't so nice, then."
"Oh," said Dudley, suddenly feeling like this job interview wasn't going to go so well. "Well, I don't—I don't do that anymore—"
"Sure you don't," said Johnson with a smirk. "You've turned your obsession with bloodying people to a pulp into something that looks good on a resume, and now you're going to tell me you don't have the same temper, and you wouldn't dream of beating the shit out of one of my customers. Or my employees—or my dancers. Right, Big D?"
"I don't beat up people anymore—I've been training and I figured I could do something to do with… uhm…" Dudley was drawing a blank now, his face turning pink. "Protection," he finished.
"Yeah, well, that's one thing you and I have in common, 'cause I wouldn't dream of hiring a scum like you here, Dudley. I'm protecting my business, you see."
"Oh," said Dudley clumsily," well, then." He backed out of the doorway, more than a little flustered. He hurried out the front door and back into the autumn afternoon, trying to breathe deeply. It was clear nothing was going to be easy. Can you change your last name? he thought.
Mortified, he headed around the corner, coming face-to-face with a bloke who couldn't have been more than sixteen. The kid had sandy hair partly hidden by a light blue sideways cap and sported a chunky, silver chain around his thin neck. "Wotch out," the kid said dully. He was pushing a pram in front of him. Dudley glanced into the stroller, caught a glimpse of a small toddler fast asleep. Half expecting to see a chavette mum prance into the picture, Dudley side-stepped, but caught the teen boy's eye again, tried to give a nod. But what was Dudley to him? The kid narrowed his eyes and kept walking, his track pants dragging on the cement.
"Hello," said a woman's voice," this is The Eaves, how can I help you?"
"Yeah, could I have your boss?" Dudley asked into the phone receiver.
The woman paused and laughed. "My boss? What are you getting at, eh?"
"Your boss, I want to speak to him, there was an add in the paper for a bouncer, yeah?"
"Yeah," she replied, "I know. I wrote it up. There is no him. I'm my boss."
Dudley sighed quietly. Honestly, would he fuck anything else up today? "Oh—I didn't mean anything by it—"
"Have you ever worked for a woman before?"
"No—" said Dudley slowly.
"Well, I own this place, I do just fine and if you remember to not say stupid things, we'll get on well."
"Yeah, of course," Dudley said, hoping he hadn't blown his chance all ready. This lady seemed intense.
"What would you do if someone had drunk too much and was pressing up on a girl?"
"Er…" Dudley's throat had gone dry. He had dealt with this sort of thing before, but a long time ago and not very well. Dennis giving Sarah mysterious pills. Parties in dark rooms. "Act calm at first but if he kept at it, I'd let him know he was wrong—"
"And if a girl was doing the same to a bloke?"
She had him there. "Well, I'd… try to stop 'er…and then…—" Dudley paused.
"See, you've got to know how to deal with women, 'cause they can be threats, too. How tall are ya, mate?"
"Six foot uh…five," Dudley said.
"Can you come by now? I've got thirty minutes left in my break."
"Uh…" Dudley checked the time on the microwave clock. "I can be there… soon—"
"Great, see you when you arrive." Click.
Dudley stared at the receiver. This woman was a loony. He had a brief pep talk with himself, trying to convince himself that he could easily find a job somewhere else and not with a raving feminist who obviously had intentions of chopping his balls off if he didn't regard her as a more powerful entity than him. But something made him leave the living room.
The Eaves was clearly a new establishment. It took nearly twenty minutes for Dudley to get in the door. He had to keep showing his identification over and over again and yelling over the booming bass that he was here for an interview. Everyone seemed to be convinced that he was trying to trick them. After paying a ten quid cover fee, Dudley walked into what seemed like a dark, hot version of one of that drug-dealing kid Damien's parties—people grinding up on each other, loud music, smoke… There was a bar to the right of the DJ pit, and all ready Dudley found himself staring at a slew of twenty-something year old women with bleached hair and shrill voices.
"Oogling customers all ready? I might have to fire you before you've started!" said a sharp voice.
Dudley looked to his right. No one was there. He then looked down. He found himself staring at a very, very short woman. She was black with dyed blonde hair that was cut very short and shaved smoothly. She had small, angular breasts, a figure made of straight lines and tons of piercings in her ears.
"Uhm. I wasn't…doing… Whatever you said," Dudley managed to get out. He'd honestly been expecting a seven foot tall Amazon woman with huge muscles, but this was sort of a joke.
"Sure you weren't," said the lady, but she was grinning wryly as though she saw people like him all the time and lived her life for the sheer purpose of insulting them. "What's your name?"
"Dudley. Dudley Dursley," he said, and stuck out his humungous hand awkwardly.
She slipped her extremely tiny one into it and shook hard. "Dudley. I'd have pegged you for an Ace or Jack, but not DudleyThat's kind of high-end."
"Grew up on Privet Drive, in Surrey," Dudley said shortly.
She cocked her eyebrow. "Nice little lawn, mum, dad, the whole bit?"
"Something like that," he replied, thinking about magic, drugs, about gazebos.
"Well, Dudley, you just get more and more interesting. I'm Maureen—"
"You're what!?" Dudley exclaimed.
"A BIT LOUD, ISN'T IT?" she shouted up to him. "Come on." And with that, Dudley began to follow this strange little woman to the upstairs of the club. It was a bit quieter, but full of people making out, which made it more than a little awkward. She ushered him over to a leather couch. "So, Dudley, I'm Maureen, but you can call me Mo. I bought this club half a year ago, but we only just opened in August."
Dudley nodded slightly, unsure of how he was supposed to react to her. Honestly, she scared him a little. His old boss had been a right prick, but it had been all right for Dudley to lose his temper at him—it was something men did, and then they forgot. But having a woman as a boss… This was a different story.
Mo smiled like she'd just conquered a small village, crossed one leg over the other. She was wearing black combat boots. "So," she said," you're still here. I'm impressed." She laughed to herself. "Now, what makes you think you can work here?"
Dudley shrugged his great shoulders. Everything seemed to be whirling now. He hated job interviews; they were like mini intelligence tests. He'd given up lying about his character long ago. Really, he could have landed several jobs while in primary school and Smeltings, from the way he could lie about his credentials. I didn't touch him! I'd never steal someone's dinner. I'd never… I wouldn't… I couldn't! But now, he felt bare and listless, like everyone could see it anyway. It wasn't worth pretending. Shit like the strip club incident happened once in awhile. He could never quite stop being Dudley Dursley, Number Four, Privet Drive. Even this chick had pegged him for a square when she'd heard where he grew up. It was always one or the other. He wasn't sure which was worse. "I was a boxer in school," he began dully, not even alive enough to sell himself to this woman. "But I also know how to block throws and punches. I'm gonna be honest."
Mo raised her eyebrows, as though he'd all ready been a bit too honest about himself with just the way he'd addressed her on the telephone.
"I know what pills look like, pot. I know what people look like when they're on it. I know how to pick out who's selling, Who's looking. I can break up fights."
"Why should I hire you?" Mo asked, brown eyes focused deeply on him. She didn't ask how he knew—he figured she had a pretty clear picture of him now, a real classic suburbanite badass, allowance for baggies of weed, bad rap and overpriced designer trainers. A real phony. But he didn't care. He needed this job, but it all seemed to be slipping away.
"Well," Dudley said, feeling tense. "I quit my job at this restaurant 'cause I didn't like the boss. Then I went to this interview today at some stripclub and the bloke was this kid I used to beat up on, and I don't beat up on people anymore but I'm really good at—well, I want to protect people and I—I just need a job!"
And wouldn't you know it? Hard-faced, pierced, feminist Mo sighed deeply. "Come back round this time tomorrow for training, Dudley. We'll see how you work out."
"Wha—really?" Dudley burst out without thinking. "I mean, yeah, okay."
Mo shook her head as he got up, casting a dark shadow over her. She shook his hand again, noticing a tattoo on her hand that trailed down her wrist, a winding, open-mouthed serpent.
Months later, Dudley and Mo were wound so tightly around each other that the other employees at the club made frequent jokes that he was the only man she'd ever paid positive attention to. She loved to make fun of him lightly for everything, anything, and he'd give one of his stupid comebacks, pretend to be truly enraged at her. This delighted Mo for some reason. She liked the way he worked—got in, got out, no funny business. He was making good money and actually socializing with other people once in a while.
"Hey, D, there's a bloke at the bar trying to use what Karen says is a fake ID," came Mo's voice over the walkie-talkie.
Though it had taken a long time to get used to it, Dudley liked using the walkie-talkies. They made him feel like he was in an action movie. "Yeah, I'm on my way," Dudley said, turning away from the entry way, where some young girls were getting a pat-down from the doorman, John.
"Well, move faster, we haven't got all night, you know," Mo retorted.
"Oh, piss off," Dudley said jokingly. He approached the bar where Lucinda, the bartender, was arguing with a guy. Karen, the co-owner of The Eaves, a stern, no-nonsense woman stood by. Dudley clipped the walkie-talkie to his belt and strode between Karen and Lucinda. "What's the trouble?"
The man quit talking mid-sentence. It was obvious he'd been trying to sweet-talk Luce. Dudley understood why—she was tan and blonde with a great laugh, but this sod hadn't likely made her laugh. "Just trying to get a drink—"
"Yeah?" said Dudley calmly. It was always his size that scared people, so he usually tried to speak slowly and like he didn't really care what happened. That threw them off. "How old are you?"
"Twenty three—"
"Like hell you are," Dudley said, when Karen handed him the ID. "This bloke looks like he's got red hair. And you've got this nice brown."
The guy paled a bit—he knew he'd been caught then. It was strange that it often took a man to show them that they were wrong.
"All right, all right, I'm eighteen, then—" the bloke spat out, staring at Dudley angrily.
"Get a new ID card and then we'll see, come on," Dudley said, ushering the angry bloke to the entrance while getting verbally attacked by a slew of cuss words. It was like this almost every night. Young kids trying to sneak in and get drunk and high. Dudley wondered why they didn't just do it at home. Then again, he was never much of in-the-spotlight user. Mum seemed to think his job was very dangerous because she'd seen shows on telly where the floor staff of clubs got attacked by angry mobs and ended up throwing them all out in the streets by their shirt collars. But no, mostly it was underage drinking, drug busts and patrons misjudging other patrons' "personal space." Mo often had Dudley stand near the dance floor, staring at the guys who tried to rub up on women the wrong way. Most of the time, they moved far away when they spied him there.
Physical force wasn't allowed. A handful of times, Dudley had gotten punched, kicked or scratched by a guest resisting him, but there was no epic fighting involved. And he definitely got some looks from the opposite sex, which was always interesting. "No sex on my watch!" Mo always said, or if she was having a bad day: "Oi! They're women, not slabs of meat!"
He was feeling pretty good about himself these days. The weight-lifting and boxing had definitely paid off. He was thick-bodied and could still be described as enormous, but no longer was he an obese kid—though he still felt like it sometimes. He wore the normal uniform, all black with a form-fitting t-shirt, his blond hair cut short.
Dudley checked his watch. Only ten minutes until his cigarette break and an hour and a half before he got to clock out. Good job or not, it was always a nice feeling to walk out the door.
"Thanks, Big D," said Luce, rolling her eyes.
"Yeah, no problem. Just another idiot, that's all." Dudley surveyed the bar. Everything seemed to be in order. Maybe he could get home early. He hadn't been sleeping very well lately.
Luce threw back her head and laughed. "That's for sure. That's for damn sure—" Luce liked to repeat everything, for emphasis, most likely. Either that, or she didn't have much to say. Dudley liked that about her. He never had much to say either.
"Any plans for the weekend?" Dudley asked, only mildly interested, as usual.
"My man and I are going to the cinema and then out to dinner for our one year. One year! I'm thinking he might pop the question… I'm thinking," she said, shaking back her wavy hair while mixing a drink. "What about you, D?"
He drummed his hand on the bar. "Oh. You know. Have to go to the grocer's. Watch telly. Important stuff."
"You're so funny," she said. "So funny." Dudley really wasn't sure if that was true.
"Dudley, I want you on the dance floor," came Mo's voice again. "Be prepared to do some serious patting down, this girl is far gone. She's in the middle—can't miss her--"
"Yeah, I'm on it," he said into the walkie-talkie and grimaced at Luce. "Yeah, well…"
She shook her head and grinned. "Never a dull moment."
Dudley headed toward the dance floor, towering over practically everyone. The pulsing beat of the music melted into a slow, softer melody, one of the only slow-dance tracks that reminded Dudley of being fifteen again. People coupled up around him and got angry when he bumped into them. "Yeah, sorry," he said," got to get by, got to get by." Sometimes Luce's way of speaing rubbed off on him like that. The lights up above became a dramatic blue. Dudley strained his eyes to see which girl Mo had been talking about. Did she think he was a superhero? There were tons of people.
But as soon as he thought that to himself, he saw exactly who Mo was indicating. The woman was dancing alone—people had made a space for her, and those closest to her were gawking, pointing and laughing, out of nervousness or fear, most likely, because it wasn't quite funny. She was doing pretty nasty moves, and the black miniskirt she was wearing was so short that it was halfway over her pink thong.
That was when Dudley stopped in his tracks. It was Sarah Cleelvans.
He hadn't seen Sarah since that time outside Clarice's house, but as she slowly turned around, he knew that it was no mistake. Her long black hair fell in her face, and her lopsided top had straps that were falling off her shoulders. Her eyes were black and empty and on her heavily lipsticked mouth was a strange expression. She was definitely high—possibly Ecstasy. Dudley had no desire to see her. He didn't want to remember again. His shoulders felt stiff. But if he didn't do his job, there would certainly be consequences. And she might not know who he was, anyway. Trying to put his best work-face on, he continued forward. The crowd stared, excited.
"Miss," Dudley said, feeling more than odd," miss—"
Sarah looked up… sort of. Her smile was as lopsided as her seedy little tank top. Her eyes were unsteady. "Hi," she said, moving her hands down the front of her miniskirt, where her crotch was nearly fully exposed, pink panties on show for the world to see. "Just having a good time."
"Have you been using any drugs tonight?" asked Dudley. He was usually supposed to keep a light tone, but he sounded forced.
She giggled, pulling on her skirt. "Nooo, have you?" She stared at him a little more, her grin becoming more pronounced. "Hey," she said.
"Have you been using any drugs?" Dudley repeated forcefully. "Prescription meds? E?"
"Hey," she repeated, swinging her hips. "I think I know you. I do know you, mate." She giggled, waggling her hips.
"I'm going to have to do a patdown search," Dudley said, trying to ignore what she was saying. His heart was pounding in his chest.
"I said," Sarah pouted," I know you. I'd… know that voice any day, Big D. You got tall. Big D." She broke out giggling, her staring eyes growing wider. "Holy shit," she said.
Pretty much, Dudley thought, but he was mortified. "I don't—" he shook his head. No sense trying to tell her he'd never met her. He'd just pretend it didn't matter. "I've got to search you. On the count of five, I'm going to take you to the side of the club, all right?"
"Fuck you," she said, but she was cracking up. "Patdown. Funny," she snorted. Now that they were closer, he could see her features better. When they had been younger, she'd been an equal mix of harsh and striking, but since then, harsh had won out. She wore dark eye shadow and bright lipstick that made her look like a cheap whore. Maybe she was a cheap whore.
"Why's she still out there? Get her off the floor, she's causing a scene!" said Mo over the walkie-talkie.
"Mm, Big D," she said, and suddenly pressed herself to his chest, still giggling insanely. "Loads nicer built," she told him quietly, "of course, I never would've called you fat back then, but do you know how many of my friends asked if it was hard being fucked by you?"
Dudley's face burned, as he tried to get her off of him without touching her anywhere that could get Mo a lawsuit, but her tits were sort of all over. He finally grasped her by the arms and pushed her back as gently as he could—she was still freakishly light. Her arms were covered in razor cuts and needle holes. Dudley quickly let go of them. She stood there like a half-dead ragdoll.
"I'm sending backup," Mo said," what in the hell is going on?"
"Oh Big D," Sarah simpered, suddenly alive again," you aren't being very nice." She kicked her foot and a black high heel fell off. "I've got a much nicer bloke these days. We're engaged," she said, wiggling her left hand, but there was no ring on it.
"You have to move off to the side," Dudley begged, feeling a sweat breaking out on his back.
"Such a bossyboots," Sarah giggled, weaving her arms around his waist. She rubbed her crotch against the front of his trousers, the miniskirt riding up even further. Dudley exhaled, feeling himself getting a very unwelcome erection.
"Yeah, that's what I thought," she said smoothly.
"Just get off!" he exclaimed. "RIGHT NOW."
"All right, Dud," said John, the door-checker, appearing from behind. "You causing Dudley some trouble, missy? Let's get you to a quieter place."
"Just piss off," Sarah pouted, trying to pick up her shoe and nearly toppling over. A little baggie fell out of her top and onto the dance floor. "None of anyone is any fun around here—"
"Well, that makes it easy," John said. "Dudley, call the coppers, we've got possession of illegal substances at least—"
"Yeah—" Dudley said, still in shock. "I—"
"YOU BLEEDING FUCK!" Sarah shrieked. "YOU PROMISED. YOU PROMISED ME."
"You know this girl?" John asked, cocking his brow as he grabbed hold of Sarah's shoulders. She began to flail her arms, and instead of screaming, she started laughing hysterically again.
Dudley went to shrug, but everything was whirling around him. He and Sarah had been in different worlds for the past nine years, and he hadn't prepared to ever make contact again. He somehow had imagined her being fourteen forever with a saucy little smile, not a twenty-four year old crackwhore with an embarrassing skirt riding over her ass. It shook him. Like he was an adult and she wasn't, or… like he had picked the right road and she'd gone down some dark, rotting path.
Or maybe he was just as stupid and ridiculous as her. Who was he kidding, anyway?
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" came Mo's voice from behind Dudley. "Looks like a right little party over here. D, you need to take your break—"
"O—Okay," Dudley sputtered, still beguiled by Sarah squirming in John's arms.
"This little piggie went to market," Sarah said," hahaha!"
"D, GO!" Mo shouted.
At that, Dudley turned away from Sarah's laughter and the bewildered expressions of his boss and John. He headed past the crowds of people, gaping and laughing at the misfortune of that pathetic girl in the high, high heels.
"All right," Mo said, coming out the back entrance and standing next to Dudley along the brick wall of the alley. In the distance, a car alarm sounded. Dudley blew out smoke from his second cigarette and tossed it on the ground, his palms feeling cool and dry. There was a silence that lasted several minutes. "Honestly," she continued. "You've booted out blokes as big as you, Dudley. And you couldn't bust a little girl for drugs?"
"Sorry," Dudley muttered coldly.
"I don't want your apologies, I want to know why."
Dudley's face reddened. What good would it do to tell Mo he didn't want anything to do with that girl? That she'd been part of his life when he was a selfish, piggy bully and he didn't want to revisit that time period? He shook his head and lit up another cigarette.
"I like you," Mo said quietly. "You know I like you, but if it's what I think it is, I'll have to fire you. You can quit right now if you want to—"
"Wait, what?" Dudley asked, completely confused.
"She was a girl you used to sell to, wasn't she?"
Dudley's eyes widened and then he rapidly shook his head, forgetting the cigarette for all of a few seconds. "Naw," he said," no, that's not it… I mean…" He chortled, sucking in nicotine and recalling pink miniskirts and pregnancy tests. "I never sold… well, as a job or anything—"
Mo stared him down, as venomous as the snakes on her arms. She hated liars and she didn't tolerate bad excuses.
"Sarah Cleelvans was my first real girlfriend. If you can call it that. When I was fifteen. We did stupid shit. School kid stuff. Smoked dope, fucked… That kind of thing." It felt weird to tell it to a complete stranger. Everyone who knew had seen it all for themselves. But now it seemed like a fairy tale. "She became a bit of a stalker. And I became a bit of a dick. Long story short, I hadn't seen her in a long time."
Mo breathed a sigh of relief. "I was this close to letting you go, D—" she made a motion with her hands. "It was about a break-up?"
"More than a break-up," Dudley said, exhaling. "My nightmare."
"Deep, Big D, very deep," Mo cracked, shaking her head. "I wouldn't peg you for being one to attach yourself to a girl. What with your frequent flier miles."
Dudley put out his cigarette on the wall and leaned back. "Yeah well… I wasn't attached to her…"
"Yeah well," Mo imitated. "I've never seen you so terrified—"
"Whatever." Dudley rolled his eyes. "I wasn't terrified—"
"Anyway, the cops took her off. Ecstasy tablets hidden in her bra. Sad, really. She told them she was pregnant."
"No," Dudley said quietly. "Fuck me."
"Don't tell me," Mo said, raising her eyebrow.
"Oh. Oh, no, it's been years since we—"
"Okay, good," Mo breathed. "Anyway. Who knows if she was telling the truth—"
"That's a good point," said Dudley wryly, but still felt horrible. It would have been so much nicer to see her all dressed up in a navy suit with a job, but that wasn't how life went. Dudley had been realizing that for years.
"Why don't you clock out early tonight? I know blasts from the past can shake you sometimes."
Dudley caught Mo's eye. He liked how she never made anything out to be bigger than it was, like it was completely normal. "Thanks," he said, but he meant so much more.
Clad in a black leather jacket, Dudley headed out from the club, past the horde of people still waiting to get into the club. He felt completely detached but also alive, like when he'd tried so desperately to find out why he'd turned out the way he did, many years back. He ran a finger through his hair and sighed, crossing streets without noticing what he was doing. He hardly realized he'd reached his apartment house until he had started halfway up the staircase.
"Damn," he sighed, getting off the stairs and heading down the hall to his apartment. He noticed that the hallway was filled with cardboard cartons. The elevator made a dinging noise to his right.
"Bloody hell!" yelled a voice, and Dudley turned to look. A dark-haired woman staggered out holding a huge box, which was teetering over her arms. "Oh no—" she said, looking like she was on the verge of falling over.
"Whoa, hey, hey!" Dudley moved over as quickly as he could and grabbed the box, steadying her. He stifled a laugh. "Looks like you might need a hand, yeah?"
"Yeah, you might say that," she drawled, pressing the box into his arms. Dudley shifted it around in his arms and stopped moving when he caught a glimpse of her. She was smiling, her brown, wavy hair pulled up into a ponytail. She was in jeans and a bright blue shirt that was much too big for her. "Thanks," she said. He noticed she had her eyes on his biceps.
He tried not to smile and instead focused on making the task look like it was nothing. The box shifted against his shoulder. "Oh. Yeah, no trouble. Where's it going?"
"Apartment forty-eight," she said, pointing.
"Yeah? No shit. I'm in forty-nine," he said. He dropped the box onto the floor near the others.
"Why you moving in so late?"
The woman shrugged, reddening a little. "I couldn't stand it anymore. Personal stuff."
Dudley suddenly felt uncomfortable. "Oh? Yeah, okay…"
She seemed to sense his discomfort and smiled again, sticking out her hand. "Thanks a lot, neighbor!"
"No problem," he said, blushing a little bit at the "neighbor" greeting," I'm Dudley Dursley."
"Nice to meet you, Dudley. I'm Victoria George." She shook his hand firmly, and then made a serious face. "And that's Victoria. Not Vicky, Vick, Vee-Vee, or Lil' V."
Dudley laughed. "What? You serious? Lil' V?"
"Quiet!" she declared. "They used to call me that when I was younger—"
"No, it's just… I was… well, to some people I still am, Big D."
Victoria burst out laughing, her smile a big beam. She clapped her hands. "Are you serious?"
"Yeah, and a whole lot of other nicknames I'm not going to get into here." Dudley snickered.
She grinned widely. "Well, okay, Dudley, I don't want to keep you…"
"It's fine," he said. "You need more lifting?"
"More what?" she asked.
"Uh- I mean, you need me to lift anymore stuff for you?" He could feel his face turning red.
Victoria shook her head. "I've wasted way too much of your time all ready, but thank you so much. The rest of this I can just kick inside my apartment. I won't be putting it away anytime soon, anyway—"
Dudley thought of his mother cringing at this statement. "Well, okay…"
She put a hand on her hip. "If you ever need a cup of sugar, I'll be here."
"Oh… okay," Dudley said, wondering why the hell he thought she was so sexy. This was great. Like he needed a crush on his neighbor on top of everything else. But she was definitely sizing him up. "You…too," he finished awkwardly, jumbling with his keys. He could feel her stare on his back until he closed the door behind him. He breathed a sigh, not about the cute new neighbor, but about the entire day in general. How could Sarah Cleelvans make him feel so weird again?
He flipped on the television and then headed to his bedroom, grabbing his weights.
"Next on the nightly report: The man charged with four accounts of rape in the Yorkshire area has been caught. Dennis Clarke was found last evening trying to flee a crime scene. He has been taken in for questioning."
Dudley's eyes widened, mortified, and he headed back out to the living room, one weight in his hand. Sure enough, there was Dennis on telly, smiling like a freak. "What a dick!" Dudley managed to say loudly. He'd heard about the rapes earlier in the month, but he'd never even suspected he'd know the bloke accused of them…Why would he? This was all just freakish. He pumped his weight hard, not really noticing the motion of it. What else is going to happen? Dudley thought bitterly, watching as a few women described almost being attacked by Dennis at some bus stop.
"He dropped his knife," one of them said. "And that's when we called the police."
He stood there for a while, pumping his weight with a sort of fury, staring at the television but not really watching as the weather report came on. Next door, he could hear Victoria singing along to what sounded like a sad song. It was times like this when he really wanted some weed. He hardly ever smoked out anymore but on days when it was too much, it felt kind of nice to just lay back on the couch, put on a video and relax. But what about times like this when even that seemed like too much effort?
Just then, someone started knocking on the door. Dudley's first wild thought was that it was Dennis. Then Sarah. Or maybe the pair of them. Then he realized as they were both in police custody that it was a very stupid thought. He grinned. That meant it was Victoria. All ready. "Well, hi, Dudley," she'd say, "I just needed some more help…" Still smiling, he headed to the door and unlocked it, pulling it open.
"Big D."
Dudley stood in the doorway, his mouth slowly opening, but no words were coming out. He was staring into the face of his cousin Harry Potter.
