Seeing the way Donovan grew up always gave her feelings of envy. It wasn’t so much jealousy, because Violet had long ago decided she wouldn’t have enjoyed living in Donovan’s family - they were distant from each other. For example, both of Donovan’s parents had different rooms. Still, the money seemed like a comfortable situation. Violet’s family had always fought to get by, whereas Donovan’s skated on through life without worrying.
Violet opened the windows at the front, letting in the warm summer breeze. She could hear the birds in the distance heralding a new day. She let out a deep sigh and peered out, enjoying the view of a silent morning. She couldn’t help but think of Greece and the scenery that had left such an impression on her. It was difficult not to compare the two.
Or think of him.
Goosebumps formed along her arms at the thought of him. He was like a ghost in her mind, always wandering through when she had a moment of respite. It was frustrating. Her memories of Greece itself always fell into the background when he came to mind. He had become such a prominent staple of her memories of that place. That one night with him had made her feel as though she’d lived someone else’s charmed life.
Going back to her own life made it all the more painful.
She turned back to the kitchen and felt the fabric of her satin nightgown be picked up by the breeze that entered through the open windows. There was work to be done and coffee to be made. After all, she was back in her real life - like it or not.
The classical music floated in the room, allowing her to set the mood for concentration. She always got into the same routine - listen to the same playlist she’d built, set up her easel or tablet and get started. She painted over two mediums: with actual paint and using Illustrator on her tablet. Which one she used depended on the client and the story she was illustrating.
At that moment she was working with watercolors and her hands were covered in streaks of paint. Her apron had small round spots on it from where the wet brushes she was using would drip onto it. The scene before her was of a girl and a cat staring off into the distance with windswept meadows ahead of them. It was a story about how a young child built a bond with their pet, all while showing the four seasons. It was a soft story that required the lightest palette and brush strokes so as to bring the reader into the story gently.
She reached her hands above her head, trying to force her joints to crack. It had been almost six hours since she’d started that afternoon. Time always flew the moment she started work, and she often became engrossed in the painting or image she was creating. There was a sense of adventure to being able to create a new, colorful world based on the words of the authors assigned to her by the publication company.
It was then that she heard the laughter and the beat of loud music. She furrowed her brows and looked up from her art, hoping the disruption was temporary. The sound of the bass through her walls was a definitive sign that it wasn’t. She could hear multiple voices in the distance, all of them singing along to a song. It definitely wasn’t from Donovan’s place - they never had parties.
There was only one person it could have been. The new neighbor.
Violet tapped the wireless speaker off next to her and waited for the sound outside to carry. She let out a deep breath and leaned back against the transparent plastic ghost chair she used while she painted. Of course the new neighbor would have a party. It wasn’t dark out yet, so there wasn’t a legal noise ordinance issue, but the amount of sound emanating from their yard was ridiculous.
She pushed out of her chair and placed the paint brush next to the pallette. The music sounded as though it was coming from inside her own home. It was as though she’d started a club in her living room. Violet walked through the loft and towards the stairs that led to the lower level of the house. If she was going to work, she’d need at least a reduction in the noise level. It wasn’t late enough that she could report them to the police, but it was enough to at least give them a warning and let them know to lower the music.
It seemed a little rude, but it was something she knew she had to do. Especially if they had just moved in. She didn’t want to seem intrusive, but having your music blasting outside of a rich suburban neighborhood was not the right way to meet the neighbors.
She pulled off her apron and put on a pair of black flats, before heading towards the door. She took in a deep breath. The last neighbors were a young family that she never had to complain to. In fact, she couldn’t remember ever having to complain about her neighbors’ noise level in her life. She felt a little uncomfortable about the situation, but the moment she walked outside, she began to feel angry.
It sounded as though there was a DJ in the yard next door. She could hear loud voices and people jumping into a pool - most of them young women. The music wafted into the yard, carried along on the summer breeze. She gripped her jogging pants fabric and imagined herself as though she was a warrior going into battle. There was no way the neighbor wouldn’t be understanding. She, after all, was working from home, and the sun hadn’t even set.
She made her way through the yard, keenly aware of the fact that she was still dressed in her jogging pants and an oversized sweater. There was the thought that maybe her neighbor would think she was crazy because she appeared so dishevelled. Hopefully, all it did was enhance her point that she was working and couldn’t focus with all the noise.
Donovan’s house had a massive yard and a driveway that went around in a circle, as though people were going to line up their cars and drop people off for a gala. The distance from her house to the driveway was frustratingly long. There was a driveway that led to her guest house, but it took longer to walk than it did to just pass through the yard.
She tapped the button for the gate, admiring the California sunset. Colors of amber were streaked across the sky like ribbons, and the clouds were puffy and pink. There was something about the sky on the west coast of the U.S. that really stood out from everywhere else in the world that she’d travelled to. The soft hues were always brightest in Malibu.
The iron gate opened and she stepped out from the property. The sidewalk was a pristine white, and there were trees intermittently placed all down the street. Palm trees reached up towards the sky, reminding her of old ‘80s movies everytime she went for a walk. There was no telling that they were close to the coast. There was no shade of blue to be found anywhere near where Donovan’s house was located. It was about a fifteen minute walk to the beach, across the other side of the street and down a path. There were times when she wished she could see the ocean from her house. It would inspire her to paint the water when she had a scene in a book that required a shoreline.
Each yard was so massive it took a few minutes to even get to the next house. Some people had tennis courts, most people had pools. Unfortunately, Donovan’s parents only had a hot tub and gazebo. They had never found the use for a pool, which always upset Donovan, who loved to swim and sunbathe. Doing both had become a part-time job for her ever since she’d dropped out of the local University and decided to become an Instagram influencer.
Violet spotted the gate up ahead and quickened her steps. She wondered if anyone would even respond, given the noise that she could hear from above the white plaster wall on the edge of the property. The music travelled over the wall, and she could hear loud voices and splashing. If it weren’t for her work, she’d want to be there, too.