CHAPTER THREE

NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOURS

For much of the ride, Arthur was silent. More than once he opened his mouth, so badly wanting to say something, anything, even if it was just another simple, grateful "thank you." But each time his shyness took hold, forcing him to go on staring wordlessly out the window. Say something! he kept thinking.

He inhaled, breathing in the scent of cinnamon wafting from the air freshener. He hoped the scent was strong enough to mask even a bit of the smell of nicotine he'd brought into her car. He shifted slightly, trying not to fret over it. But in the back of his mind, he kept telling himself he was stinking up her car. If only he hadn't smoked so much that morning. If Aubrey was a non-smoker, then no doubt she was fighting the urge to plug her nose to block out the stench.

She's just not saying anything, he thought, picking timidly at his fingernails. To be polite. He ran his fingers along the car seat, surprised at how much softer a material it was than seats on the bus. Sitting on the hard, not-so-comfortable seats of a bus for even twenty minutes was enough to make Arthur long for his couch at home. He hated taking the bus. But with no vehicle of his own, that, the subway and cabs were his only ways to get around the city.

"Something wrong?" asked Aubrey, finally breaking the silence between them. She kept her eyes on the road, but shot Arthur a quick, concerned look.

"I..." Arthur began. He took a nervous breath before continuing. "I-I'm sorry about the smell. I...I'm a smoker and I...should have asked you if you minded." He suddenly wanted to kick himself for not having asked. No, he wasn't smoking in her car, but it wasn't like he smelled like a fresh bouquet of flowers on Valentine's Day. He smelled like...like...like Arthur Fleck who's smoked one too many cigarettes. Sure, he had an old shampoo he used to wash his hair. But it wasn't like it was an expensive shampoo with an irresistible aroma that would drive ladies crazy. The minty scent was probably gone anyway.

Aubrey didn't answer immediately. After a minute that felt like a painful eternity for Arthur, she said softly, "I don't mind, Arthur."

He wasn't expecting that. What he'd expected her to say was something along the lines of "As a matter of fact, I do mind. Now could you get out of my car and find your own way home?" Too often he'd attract nasty stares from those passing by him on the streets, disgusted by the smell wafting from his burning cigarettes. Somewhere inside him, he feared her words were simply a polite, neatly wrapped up lie. He was used to lies being shoved in his face.

"I...I know I smell like cigarettes," he confessed quietly. He avoided her gaze, looking not unlike a little boy who thinks he's done something horribly wrong and is putting more blame than necessary on himself. "It...it's not a nice smell." He paused, wishing he'd declined her offer for a ride home and taken the bus. Besides, it wasn't like she'd care to see him once she'd dropped him back home. They'd part ways and she'd vanish from his sad and lonely life like a speck of dust, never to be seen again.

Who, he thought sadly, would want to see someone like Arthur Fleck again?

Who'd want to see a nobody again?

Nobody, that's who, he thought glumly.

Coming up to a red light, Aubrey slowly eased on the brakes. Picking up on the guilty tone in his voice, she laid a hand on his forearm. The touch sent Arthur's heart beating a little faster. Gooseflesh rippled down his arms.

"Trust me, Arthur," she said sincerely, holding his gaze. "That doesn't bother me." Seeing the frown etched on his face, she didn't look away. She kept her blue eyes on his green ones, speaking not only with words, but with her expressive eyes. "You could have died back there. You needed help and I'm gonna give you that."

"But—"

"You smell fine, Arthur," she calmly argued, cutting him off. Both hands were back on the wheel, but while her eyes were on the road, her words were for Arthur alone. "You"—she felt a small smile tickling at the corners of her lips. She paused, falling silent. Arthur watched her curiously. For a second, he thought he noticed her cheeks reddening slightly, but he shook that off as impossible. Not a chance would this woman feel anything for someone like him. He was the farthest thing from Prince Charming. Thinking of an old nursery rhyme he'd read as a child, he thought: more like the Ugly Duckling. Yes, that was him. The Ugly Duckling of Gotham City. Odds were she was thinking of her handsome boyfriend, who probably smelled fresh and certainly not like Arthur.

Whatever it was she was about to say went unspoken. Arthur kept glancing at her, struggling to read her expressions. Her face was like a jigsaw puzzle, filled with so many pieces and expressions, none of which he knew quite how to read. Was she regretting having invited a total stranger into her car? His shoulders slumped as he resumed staring out the window. Was she annoyed at the fact that he reeked of cigarettes?

Not much was said for the remainder of the drive. Arthur was too busy convincing himself Aubrey would want nothing to do with him as soon as she dropped him off at his apartment. What would a teacher want to do with a party clown? Not in a million years could a woman ever be attracted to unattractive Arthur. Dream or not, he knew it would all end soon, anyway. The minute they reached his apartment, it'd be goodbye to the only woman who'd shown him more kindness than he felt he deserved.

Finally, when the silver car was pulling onto Winslow Avenue, Aubrey asked him, "Which house is yours?"

"I...live in that apartment building," Arthur told her quietly. He pointed to the large, brick building standing tall on their left. "Over there..."

Aubrey flashed him a surprised look. "Really?"

He nodded in silence.

"Me too."

It was Arthur's turn to flash her a surprised look. "But...but I've never seen you around." Arthur didn't talk much with the other residents, but he did recognize most of them. He couldn't recall ever bumping into her.

"I just moved in," she answered, pulling into the parking lot. "Few days ago. I'm not working as many hours as a teacher, so I"—she shrugged—"I couldn't afford to keep my house. Downsizing to an apartment was my only option. Working part-time as a teacher, I just wasn't making enough money."

Arthur felt a mixture of emotions rushing through him.

Part of him felt sorry that Aubrey had been struggling financially. Most who lived in Gotham were struggling financially; it it was an unfortunate, but inescapable truth. He knew the feeling all too well. He didn't bring home much money as a party clown, so supporting both he and his ill mother was never easy.

But he also felt...glad. Of the many residents living in his apartment building, not one ever took the time to say so much as "hi" to him. With how much notice they gave him, he felt more like a ghost of Gotham than a living, breathing human being with feelings. But here was this woman who'd not only saved his life, but offered him a ride home. Maybe, he thought, unable to keep his excitement from ballooning, she'll want to hang out with me?

No, don't be stupid, he thought quickly. No one's ever wanted anything to do with me. Why would she be any different? As he stepped out of the car and followed Aubrey down the sidewalk, he tried shaking off the burning pain in his shoulder. And anyway...she's probably got a boyfriend and will forget all about me once she's back in her own apartment.

"You okay?" she asked, watching him closely. "Need some help?"

"N-no," he said, taking it slow. "I'm okay, just...a bit sore in my legs, is all." He gave her a small, reassuring smile. "I'm okay...really." She watched him closely, walking alongside him in case he stumbled.

When she saw his shoulders fall at seeing the intimidating stairs before them, she jumped in, saying, "Here, lean on my shoulder." Step by step by step by step, the two started their way up the enormous staircase. Every day Arthur trudged up these stairs, always feeling like his feet weighed heavier than bricks. But he wasn't alone. With Aubrey walking alongside him, she supported him, helping him reach the top without stumbling down, down, down to the bottom. Arthur knew without her help, he probably would have have tumbled down and broken bones on his way to the bottom.

A few minutes later, they were on the main floor of his apartment. His eyes took in the chipped walls covered with graffiti, words and images, most of which Arthur couldn't quite make out. It was all such a mess and blur of colors. But then wasn't that Gotham City itself? A mess and blur of colors, swirling round and round in sleepless chaos?

"Which apartment's yours?" she asked.

"8J," said Arthur, hands buried in his pockets.

"That's funny," she commented thoughtfully.

"What is?" He sent a confused look her way. For a minute, he feared she was laughing at him. Had he done or said something stupid? He wanted nothing more than to have people laugh at him, but because they thought him humorous. Not some bumbling buffoon who couldn't tell left from right.

"You and I are next door neighbours," was her answer. When Arthur turned, he saw a small, subtle smile sneaking onto her face. For the second time, he thought he caught her pale cheeks turning rosy red. Quick as lightning, he reminded himself not to think so foolishly. "I'm 8I."

Next-door neighbours? Arthur felt something warm and fuzzy stirring inside him. So badly he wanted to believe he and this woman could become friends. How nice, he thought longingly, would it be if she actually wanted to spend time with him? As if he were an interesting person who she wanted to get to know. If she wanted to listen to his jokes, jokes that he was striving so hard to perfect in his tireless efforts of becoming a stand-up comedian? He couldn't help imagining he and Aubrey sitting side by side on his living room couch, watching the Murray Franklin Show together.

Before entering his apartment, again Arthur told her, "Thank you...for giving me a ride home and everything. You didn't have to do that." Already he'd thanked her probably ten times, but he wanted her to know just how much he appreciated it. It was so much more than a kindly gesture; it was the most kindness anyone had ever shown him in thirty-five years.

"Of course," she said, smiling coyly.