Days and Nights In Parisienne Heights

About the Book

The Welcome Wagon When you move into a new area or neighborhood, it can be a harrowing experience. You know: new area, new town, new people, new experiences. So having a smiling face and some helping hands to shepherd you through the maze of habitational uncertainty can be as welcome as a cigarette after great sex. When Kris and I first came to The Heights, we didn’t have a clue about what we were getting ourselves into. Sure, we had a contact through Norma, the realtor who gave us the lead on our apartment, but past that, we were in the Twilight Zone. But as soon as we drove across the bridge that lead across the river from the city of Barrow’s Harbor, I began to get some very good vibes from what I saw. Something in my head said, “Yeah, this could be home. This looks like a cool place,” And I could tell from the look on Kris’ face as we drove to see our new home for the first time that the same thought had found its way into his head, too. The whole story of our indoctrination into The Heights began one day with a knock at our door. It was a few days after we’d started moving in. Well, actually, I was the one moving in at that point. Kris’d send me on ahead to take care of things like utilities, getting keys and whatnot. This meant that I was also going to be in charge of unloading the U-Haul. I knew he wouldn’t be up for several days, so I was the one who was going to have to go through the joy of unpacking. I’d sooner go through the joy of childbirth. It was with this cheerful thought on my mind that I went to answer the door. Whoever was calling was going to find me in my grungiest pair of sweats. Wow, wouldn’t that make one hell of a good first impression! I opened the door to find a tall, dark-haired individual smiling at me. A purple beret nestled in a sea of honey-blonde hair and a pair of soulful brown eyes beamed at me through a pair of Buddy Holly glasses. “Well, hi there, new neighbor,” he said. “Are you Kris or are you Paul?” 8 Ron Caldwell “I’m Paul,” I replied, just a bit taken back that he knew either of our names. “Kris hasn’t gotten here yet,” “Ah, too bad. I was hoping you’d both be here. We’ll catch him later, n’est-ce pas?” He swept by me and into the apartment with a large box in his arms. What in the hell could he be bringing us? He kept right on talking without missing a beat. “We got wind you two were on route and thought we’d welcome you to the fold, you know? It’s kinda the tradition here; whenever someone new comes in, we get all gussied up and pay’em a call. Oh, don’t close that door yet, honey. Got several more behind me,” I thought, “Several more? This place is suffering from a major cleaning crisis and all of a sudden I’m entertaining?” I stood there in the doorway watching my unexpected company unpacking the box while he sailed happily away on a wave of gab. “Hope you know that you’ve gotten yourself into a very exclusive place, my dear. We don’t let just anyone call this home. We try to keep out the riff-raff. Plays hell with property values,” “Sounds like a private club,” I said. He stopped for the blink of an eye. “Well, there are a few of us who see it as one big social club, you know. Parties, dinners, get-togethers, that crap. The American suburban hell we tried to escape from, swearing we’d never be like that and son-of-a-bitch if we all don’t do the same damn thing. Might as well face it, love. This is not your mother’s gated community. But it’s a safe place, you’ll get real comfortable with things here. We’ve got everything you need right here. You may never have to go over there,” He nodded at the huge window that overlooked the river and the city just beyond. “We do have some who do that nine-to-five thing to keep up appearances. That’s their thing, I have no problem with it. But lots of us own our own businesses here. You got a job lined up yet ?” “No,” I admitted. “I . . . I was waiting till we got settled before I started

About the Author

Ron Caldwell is a native of Asheville, North Carolina and began writing while a student at the University of North Carolina at Asheville where he majored in History and received his B.A. degree in 1980. This is his first published work. He lives with his Beagle/Jack Russell mix, Dijit, in Asheville.