CAMILLE NEXT DOOR

CHAPTER ONE: I WANT YOU (THE RIGHT WAY)

Brisk and chilly on a fall day, cars and trucks honked by the streets of Queens. Like every New Yorker, Camille had shit to do and she was walking like it.

Her jeans were high waisted and light blue, hugging her petite frame as she strutted down the avenue.

"Hey! You need help with that?"

A bright red car pulled up alongside her, shiny and expensive. Rap music was blasting from the speakers as the window rolled down to reveal a man in his early thirties with a flat top fade.

Camille did what any Queens girl would do.

"No, nigga. I don't."

The guy laughed, shaking his head at how she kept on walking. He thought about saying thanks, especially because now he could see how good she looked in those pants.

He kept on cruising alongside the sidewalk.

"Aye, baby. Be cool. I was just trying to be a gentleman."

Camille rolled her eyes and adjusted her bags of groceries.

"Well, keep trying, nigga."

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Every week, the bright red Mercedes would pull up right by Camille as she made her way home with her bags of groceries.

"You know I'ma keep on. Just let me help you, girl."

Her gold bamboo earrings banged against her cheek as she walked harder, trying to outpace the slow and dragging sedan.

"What is your name anyway?"

He turned her way, eyeing how her body swayed in her biker shorts.

"Marvin."

Camille started to match the speed of the car, walking more natural and fluid.

"Like the singer?"

He nodded.

"What's yours, if you don't mind?"

Her nails were fire engine red, long, and curved in.

"Camille."

He kept on driving.

"Like the tea?"

She laughed, which was a first.

"Nigga, that's chamomile!"

They talked for a little while longer before she said she had to go. He made one last offer to drop off her groceries before pulling away, Camille missing the sound of his voice once he was gone. There was one more block left before she reached her apartment building.

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Marvin was waiting on her this time, starting his slow cruise alongside her as she began her trek back home.

"What you get from the store?"

She was more comfortable with him now. There was a smile on her face as she adjusted the brown bags, her leather jacket tough and spiked.

"Oh, nothin'. Just some coffee, classic roast. Steak. Oranges. Linguine. Eggs. Bread. Something else I can't remember off the top of my head."

His eyebrows raised as he kept his focus on her.

"Oh, shit. You can cook?"

Camille nodded.

"Of course. I had a single mother who worked a graveyard shift every other night."