Fright Night on Hill Street

On the way home from the campaign office, I got a call from Andre, my decorator, who asked me to swing by my bachelor pad on Hill Street. You know, the one I bought so people would think I really live in the city.

Speaking of that, when I was interviewed on Channel 9 during the Mayoral campaign it was really embarrassing. The newslady came to my bachelor pad, opened my fridge, only to find it completely empty. Off camera, she said, "You don't really live here, do you David?"

"You caught me," I replied, sheepishly.



"Don't worry," she said with a wink. "when I did the interview with Mark Mallory, his fridge had nothing in it except a tupperware container with moldy macaroni and cheese, a six-pack of Colt .45 and a brown paper sack with the words, "Property of Dale Mallory- KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF MY SACK."

Ah, yes. Looking back, I think that interview cost me the election...

Anyway, back to Andre. I hired him to decorate my bachelor pad, and he called to tell me he found the perfect piece for my living room. So when I drove up the hill and parked the Audi, I was expecting to find him already there.

He wasn't.

And it was getting dark.

I wanted to go inside, but that place is soooo creepy at night. So I sat in my car singing along to Wham!

No Im never gonna dance again/Guilty feet have got no rhythm/No I'm never gonna dance again/The way I danced with you-u-u.

Suddenly, I noticed a flicker of light from inside my house! My heart leapt in my chest and I felt a surge of adrenaline course it's way through my veins.

Then I relaxed. It must be Andre, right? But why was the whole house dark, except for this small light coming from the living room? I was too scared to move.

Though it's easy to pretend/I know your not a fool/Should've known better than to cheat a friend/And waste the chance that I'd been given

I poked the CD player off with a shaking finger. Silence... My cell phone rang and I nearly soiled myself.

"This is David."

"Hey hot stuff! What are you doing?" It was Leslie Ghiz.

"Wow, am I glad to hear from you!"

"Oh really?" she said, her voice deepening.

"No, no, don't get the wrong idea. I'm outside my place on Hill Street, but there's a light on inside and I think someone is in there."

"Are you sure you didn't leave it on when you left this morning?"

"Leslie, I don't ever come to this place. It's creepy."

"Hmmm. That is odd then. Do you want me to come over and check it out with you?"

"YES!" I said, enthusiastically, bolstered by the thought of having Leslie here as backup.

"Be there in 10 minutes, hun."

I hit the CD player button again.

Time can never mend/The careless whispers of a good friend/To the heart and mind/Ignorance is kind/There's no comfort in the truth/Pain is all you'll find

George Michael seems so tortured in that song. And the video? It's enough to make a grown man cry.

Headlights started up the hill. It was Leslie. A minute later and we were on my porch, my hand trembling as I fumbled with the lock, unsure if I was more nervous about the light on inside my house or at the thought of someone seeing this Republican temptress entering my house with me. The rumors would never cease if someone got the wrong idea. So let me put that notion to bed right now. Read on...

The door opened, and we stepped inside. The answer was immediately obvious. The refrigerator door was wide open and the light was coming from there. Thank goodness it was completely empty, the smell of rotting food would have been unbearable.

"David, look!" Leslie said, pointing to a brown paper-wrapped rectangle leaning against the sofa.

It had a note attached, from Andre. I tore open the package to find a beautiful piece for the living room. Andre said it was from Ancient Greece, and it was PERFECT. Leslie seemed to like it too. She hugged me, and right then, someone came in the front door.

It was Bridget.

She looked up at us in our embrace and she froze, staring at us with this dumbfounded look on her face, her mouth gaping open in apparent shock.

"Oh... sorry," she stammered. Then, quickly turning around, "I... I've got to go."

She ran out.

"Wait!" I shouted. "It's not what you think! Come back Bridget!"

But it was too late. Her car was streaking down the hill so fast she barely made the sharp turn at the bottom.

"Maybe I should go, too," Leslie said.

And she did.

And then I was all alone in my creepy bachelor pad.

I called Andre, who answered on the first ring. "How can I ever thank you for the painting?" I asked...

I'm never gonna dance again/Guilty feet have got no rhythm Though it's easy to pretend/I know your not a fool

TO BE CONTINUED...