Roommate Wanted (Sharing Space #1) (9 page)

Patrick sat on the arm of the sofa. I looked up at him and felt awful. “Patrick, I’m so sorry about that. He shouldn’t have spoken to you that way, and then I used you to make him upset because—”

“He deserved it? He’s an ass? Just stop me when I get one wrong.”

 “We were a couple up until about a week ago. I caught him with another woman at his apartment.”

“So I was right?”

I raised an eyebrow.

“He is an ass.” 

***

Since coming back from Chicago, Lila had been in rare form. We were trying to land three new accounts that would bring in serious revenue for B&L. As a consequence, I spent long days at the office. I didn’t mind because it kept my mind off Lawrence, who had been calling and even stopped by the agency. I had the receptionist tell him I was in a meeting.

I was afraid if I allowed myself to slow down long enough to hear what he had to say, I'd fall for it out of loneliness more than anything else. I knew he was no good, but it was hard going from eight months of having someone to suddenly having no one. I was starting to miss him.  Not him specifically, but all that he represented: companionship and affection. It would be too easy to pretend that everything would be okay, just to allow him back into my bed long enough to fill the emptiness. That was something weak women did and I didn't fancy myself a weak woman. 

I’d gladly put in the long hours if it also meant securing that promotion. I’d taken my entry-level position to pay my dues, and I was ready to collect something in return. I knew I was at the top of a very short list, and I appreciated every opportunity Lila gave me to stay there. The few times that I had filled Myra in on my plans, she'd accused me of sucking up to Lila. It didn’t help our already strained relationship that I had to turn down her recent lunch invitation because Lila and I planned to spend the hour revamping a presentation for a major client. I hoped that Myra believed that was the real reason, and not that I was still mad. I wasn't, but I couldn't be sure from her voice as she said, "Okay. Well, maybe tomorrow then,” and hung up.

The heat wave was a distant memory. The leaves were starting to turn, the wind was starting to blow, and navels were starting to get covered. Just as I was getting used to the change in seasons, I was also getting used to the changes at home.  As I suspected, Patrick and I didn’t see much of each other. He spent his days working at the gym and sometimes going on auditions. There were even a few nights a week that he worked at the gym giving personal training sessions to clients who were too busy during the day. By the time he got home I was already in my room reading in bed. I would hear him enter, busy about in the kitchen, and then settle in the living room watching television for a while before turning in.  A few times he'd come home while I was in the living room working on office projects on my laptop. He was always mindful to ask if the television would bother me—it didn’t—and even ask about my day. It felt pretty good going to bed each night knowing that a man was in the apartment.  I felt safer.

I'd managed to avoid having to tell my mother about Patrick since she picked mid-September to go on a two-week cruise. I received a postcard from someplace in the Bahamas. I could have sworn it was hurricane season down there but, once my mother made up her mind to do something, she did it. If she got it into her head to visit the Bahamas in the middle of September, hurricanes be damned. That was my mother. I knew I couldn’t avoid telling her forever, especially since she was due home in a few days. I had to prepare myself for my own personal hurricane when she found out I was living with a man.

Chapter Seven

Crossing the Line

Patrick

Living with Max and Paul had pretty much been a free-for-all. We didn’t squabble over bathroom space, groceries, or chores. Things just worked themselves out. Even though the closest I’d come to living with a woman was college co-ed dorms, I knew that the same approach would not fly living with Chloe. It was a big adjustment for her, having me in the apartment, so I was extra diligent in not leaving my crap around and remembering to put down the toilet seat.

Even though we’d cleared the air I wondered if Chloe had any residual feelings over Max’s comments. She’d seemed almost offended by my saying that I had no intentions of hitting on her, but maybe that was wishful thinking on my part. In fact she’d probably thought, "Who does this white boy think he is? I
know
we're not going to be anything but platonic 'cause I wouldn't give him the time of day."

I might have made an ass of myself and, even though what I said wasn't entirely true—a man would have to be deaf, dumb, blind, gay, and racist to not be interested in Chloe—it had to be said. I couldn't have my new roommate thinking I was a womanizer out to get into her panties. 

And it’s not like they weren't nice panties. One Saturday I was returning home and ran into Chloe in the hallway on her way back from the basement laundry room. I offered to carry the basket up and she accepted. It was hard not to notice the lingerie.  She seems to be fond of Victoria's Secret in shades of blue and green. I didn't even want to think of how good they must have looked against her skin for fear of slipping on my own drool and falling down the stairs.

No, I was sure a woman like Chloe was not worried about me hitting on her, but there was something there, an unease. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I didn’t have to wonder for too long as it all became clear during what could be called our first fight.

"Did you see this?"

I'd just entered the apartment after working at the gym. A quick check of the mailbox revealed two envelopes for Chloe: our electricity bill and a notice from Mr. Tucci. Chloe was sitting on the couch, legs folded under her, wearing reading glasses and nose-deep in her Kindle. The soft sounds of Adele and the aroma of garlic filled the apartment.

"No, what is it?” Chloe looked up and took the notice I handed her. Her eyes scanned it quickly.  "Can you stay home that day?” she asked. "Because I don't think I can.  As a matter of fact, I know I can't. I'm bogged down at work."

"It shouldn't be a problem,” I told her. "I'll check my schedule, but I think I can swing it."

The notice stated that the next week an intercom system would be installed in the building.  Visitors would have to be buzzed into the building after announcing themselves via the intercom. The installation would take two full days and someone had to be home one of those days so the electricians could access the apartment.

"I wonder why Mr. Tucci can't let them into each apartment. He has pass keys."

"Sounds like they'll be doing more than one apartment at a time. Besides, would you want someone in here working when we're not home?" I asked.

"Good point."

I rose and headed towards the kitchen. "What I want to know is, why the sudden desire to secure the building?” I called from the kitchen where I grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator and noticed several pots steaming on the stove. My stomach churned.

"It smells good in there.” I said, coming back into the living room.

"Thanks.” Chloe placed her Kindle on the coffee table. "Then you haven't heard?"

“Heard what?" I made myself comfortable on the easy chair.

"A woman who lives three buildings down was mugged in her lobby last week."

"Damn!  Was she hurt?"

"Yeah, the guy roughed her up pretty bad. I'm glad Mr. Tucci has come to his senses. This should have been done a long time ago. I hate going down to that laundry room even when it's daytime."

"No kidding. I'm surprised it took something like this to have him do anything about the security. He seems like a pretty nice guy."

"Hmmm, it wasn't always this way. Before Mr. Tucci, his brother Johnny owned the building.  Their father left it to him. Johnny wasn't too pleased with the fact that the building was rent controlled and, to make more money, he wanted to renovate the building, turning each apartment into two smaller apartments. This was a few years ago when everyone wanted to move to this area. Of course, for his plan to work he had to get rid of the people already living here and, when they wouldn't budge, he started doing things like forgetting to turn on the heat when the law says or letting the garbage pile up in the back, stinking up the place."

"Nice. So what happened?"

"Thankfully, he was found floating in the Hudson.” Chloe noticed the funny look on my face and quickly explained. “I meant, thankfully for us he's no longer the landlord."

"Uh huh." We smiled at each other and I realized that it was probably the first time we'd sat in the living room together conversing for more than five minutes. It was nice.

"That reminds me of a story,” I said, taking a drink of water. "This happened in my brother's friend's building in The Village. It was a building similar to this one with two glass front doors and the intercom system to each apartment. You could get in the first door without a key, but in the vestibule you had to be buzzed in to get any further. So anyway, this girl was doing her laundry in the basement, walking back and forth from her third floor apartment. One time she's in her place when the buzzer goes off and the guy on the other end says, 'pizza.’  That's it, nothing else, just 'pizza.’”

I could see I really had Chloe's attention, so I continued. "Thinking the delivery guy must have gotten the wrong apartment, she buzzed him in and went about her business.  About a half an hour later she goes to the laundry room to pick up her clothes. Two hours later her roommate comes home and finds the apartment empty. The door was unlocked, the radio was playing, but no roommate. She goes into the girl's room and finds her clothes all over. You know, clean clothes folded on the bed, dirty ones sorted in piles on the floor, so she figures she must have run down to the laundry room."

"Uh huh,” said Chloe, totally into it.

"Another hour goes by and her roommate gets worried, you know? Thinking maybe she's down there reading or something, she takes a trip down to the basement." I pause for effect and take a long drink from the water bottle.

"And?" Chloe is now sitting forward on the couch, watching me intently.

"And she finds a big pool of blood on the floor and from that pool of blood there's a trail. Like someone was dragged through it, you know? It leads to one of the running dryers and there's this awful sound coming from it, like when you put sneakers in. She walks slowly to it, careful not to step in any blood, and opens the dryer door. And there she finds her roommate's body parts cut up and rolling around in the dryer."

Chloe gasped. "No!"

"Yes. She runs up to their apartment and calls the police. They arrive and find the roommate’s head in a washing machine. Turns out the guy was caught six months later on a totally unrelated crime and, in a moment of I don’t know what, confessed to the murder. Said he'd been watching her for weeks, figured out which apartment she lived in and pretended to be a pizza guy to get in the building.  When she buzzed him in he just waited in the basement till she came down again. He'd been watching her through the glass door in the hall. I guess the point of my story is that the intercoms are only as good as the people using them."

"Shit. That’s awful. I can’t believe it.”

"Well. You shouldn’t."

"You're lying?” Chloe squinted at me.

"I am."

Chloe tossed a pillow at my head. I caught it easily and rested it in my lap.  I had tears in my eyes from laughing so hard. Chloe was trying to be mad, but laughter won over.

"I'm glad you think it's funny. I can never go in that basement again."

"Well now I bet you'll think twice before buzzing in a stranger."

"Oh, so that story was for my own good, huh?  Not to scare the shit out of me and give you a good laugh?"

"Well, that too." 

My cell phone rang and I glanced at the screen while wiping the tears from my eyes. The display read ‘Mom.’ Picking up my phone from the end table I answered, still laughing. “Hey, Mom.”

"I must have the wrong number,” said the woman on the other end.

I pulled the phone away from my face and looked at the screen. It still read ‘Mom,’ but the number underneath was a 919 area code. Not my mom. I noticed that it was also not my phone. I put it to my ear.

“No, you don’t. I just picked up the wrong phone. One sec.”

I leaned forward to offer Chloe the phone. She looked at it like I was trying to hand her a dead cat. She looked from my outstretched hand to my cell phone still sitting on the end table and back again, quickly piecing together what had just occurred. She took her phone and spoke into it.

"Hello?” Her voice was shaky and I noticed her hand was too. "Hi, Mom. That's Patrick.  My roommate."

I went into my bedroom where I could still hear bits and pieces of Chloe's muffled conversation. It didn’t seem to be going well. After about twenty minutes there was a knock at the door.

"Come in,” I called. 

Chloe entered with her phone in her hand and a sour look on her face. "Thanks a lot."

"What did I do?” I asked and sat down on my bed. Chloe leaned against the door jam, arms crossed under her breasts.