The Woman From 3B

I promised elsewhere that I'd try to write a piece per day. This one is a little late but that's what deadlines are for :-)

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The smell emanating from 3B was not unpleasant. Somewhere between freshly picked vegetables, flowers and that earthy smell left after rain; petrichor, I think they call it. The odd thing was, the scent never dissipated, never weakened in any way. It hung around 3B, a permanent fixture, as if it was leaking through the walls.

I live in 3C, just across the hall. I'd seen the woman from 3B a few times through the little security lens in my own flat's door. In her twenties, I'd guess, she reminded me of an actress from one of those 'Magic School' movies. We on Floor 3 tended to be an insular bunch and kept ourselves to ourselves, unlike the weirdos on Floor 4, who always seemed to be visiting each other. I heard parties just about every weekend, emanating above my head, from 4C.

It had to happen one day, I suppose. I was, admittedly, a bit sloshed and was standing at my door fumbling with my keys. Feeling a little woozy, both from the beer and the ever-present scent from 3B, I was trying to fit the right key into the right keyhole when I heard her voice. It was soft, almost musical, and each syllable was perfectly pronounced.

"Don't suppose you could lend a hand, could you?"

I dropped my keys, cursed and turned. There she was. Or at least, I assumed it was the woman from 3B. I couldn't see her face, or indeed much of her, hidden as she was behind a dozen or more brightly-coloured shopping bags, each one with the logo of one of the city's big department stores. A bunch of shiny silver keys jingled invitingly from the little finger of her left hand.

"Yeah, yeah, of course, no problem," I rambled, as I picked up my own keys and reached for hers. She shuffled to one side and I unlocked her flat. I pushed open the door and immediately the scent from her flat ramped up several notches.

The woman edged past me into the small hall. I had the mirror image on the other side of the hall. Wobbling on one leg, she kicked open the living room door, bustled in and dropped all the bags on the sofa.

She turned to me, a slightly embarrassed look on her pale, delicate face. "A girl has to get new clothes every so often," she said.

"New clothes?" I asked. "It looks like you've bought a whole new wardrobe."

"Seasons change, fashions change," she explained. "I've lost count of how many times I've done this sort of thing."

Her current ensemble of mini-skirt, tight top, calf-high boots and a hair-do to match. I'm no fashion expert but, looking at her, it seemed she had just stepped out of the Sixties.

"Well, don't just stand there. Put the kettle on. I've got to see my babies."

Babies? I thought, as I stepped into the living room. It was then that I realised where 3B's curious, not unpleasant, smell was coming from. The living room was a jungle. The sofa was set in a clearing, of sorts, surrounded on all sides by greenery: palms, ferns, grasses, flowers of every shade, cacti. This was the the sort of vegetation I had only seen on nature documentaries. The smell of loamy soil came from dozens of grow-bags spread around the living room. My head was spinning from the heavily scented air: incense, joss-sticks and various illegal herbs.

"What a clever girl!" she said. "You caught one. Well done. Mama give you a treat."

I looked over, expecting some jungle cat to emerge from the foliage. Instead, she was talking to what looked like a Venus Fly-trap. I swear the thing belched! She reached for a small, green plastic watering can and filled the plant's pot with yellowish coloured water. If, indeed, it was actually water.

"Don't just stand there, looking like a lemon. Go and make the tea."

Whatever was in the air was weakening my will and her voice, her soft, dulcet tones, was guiding me, puppet-like, through the motions of making tea. The kitchen was much like the living room, overgrown with a bewildering array of plants. Was it just me, or were some of them looking at me with small, beady black eyes?

I found her lounging on the sofa. The shopping bags had gone, as had her Sixties fashion sense. Now, she was bang up to date, in a soft green sleeveless dress, sheer stockings, high heels and a hair-do straight from the salon. Her hair had grown six inches in as many minutes.

"Sit with me," she said, as she patted the cushion.

I did as I was told. I couldn't stop myself.

"I've been waiting a very long time to meet you, Adam. You can call me Lili."

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If you're interested in what Adam and Lili get up to next  (because let's face it, I have no idea!) let me know in the comments section.