Roommate Wanted (Sharing Space #1) (3 page)

The chatterbox arrived first. In getting to know each applicant, I figured thirty minutes would be sufficient. I could show the apartment and still have time to make small talk. In the thirty minutes Rebecca Highsmith was in the apartment, I don't think I got one word in edgewise. 

At eleven I answered the door and there she was, all blond and petite, looking cute in a yellow floral sundress, sandals, and yellow cardigan.  She wore the outfit well, and I was about to tell her that when it started.

"You must be Chloe Brooks,” she said, just as perky as can be.

"Yes, and you must be Rebecca, nice to meet you." We shook hands and I waved her into the apartment.  "I really like your—”

"Ooooh,” she squealed, "I absolutely love what you've done with the place."

"Thanks, I—"

"This is IKEA, right?  I can tell IKEA furniture anywhere. Love it. Absolutely love it. I get paid to pay attention to detail. I'm an art buyer. Well, in training, anyway. I've been working at this gallery here in the city and the commute from Jersey, which is where I'm from, was getting to be a bit much. I love it here in the city. So many things to do, people to meet. Just being in the city makes you feel like you're on the pulse of the world, you know?  There’s nothing like that in Jersey, nothing at all. Have you ever been to Jersey?  Probably not, huh? Even though it’s right next door; who in their right mind would want to visit there? Not much to see. Ooooh! What a cute little kitchen.  It’s so quaint. I love it.  Not that I spend that much time in the kitchen. I honestly couldn't tell you the toaster from the microwave from the blender, but this is really nice and wonderfully decorated."

"Well, Grace and I, she's my old roommate, we—"

"Is someone taking a shower?'

"Huh? Oh, that. Well, I had a little problem getting the shower faucet to shut off this morning, but the landlord is sending someone over soon to take care of it. He's really good about things like that. You can call him any time, day or night, and he'll have someone here to take care of it."

"Oh that's
so
good.” She sighed as I opened the bathroom door. "The place I'm in now, the landlord is a total creep. You have to be near dead for him to do anything about it. Ooh, this is different.  I usually prefer my bathrooms to be decorated in lighter hues, but this is nice, too." 

She was referring to the fact that the bathroom was decorated in hunter green. When I moved in, Grace hadn't done much with it. She didn't care what the bathroom looked like and told me I could decorate it any way I wanted. Since I take long baths with candles and bath oils at least twice a week, it's important to me that the bathroom be a comfortable and visually pleasing room. I didn't have much choice on colors though, since the wallpaper was primarily hunter green with flecks of cranberry. Quite a few people had complimented me on it and I was pleased with it myself. I couldn't tell now if Rebecca truly liked it or not, but I didn't have time to give it too much thought because Rebecca was talking again. Actually, she hadn't
stopped
talking. 

"So, I guess these are the bedrooms?"

"Yes, this one's mine and down the hall here, this one would be yours." I opened the door, letting her enter the room first, and steeled myself for what I knew was coming next. 

"Ooh."

Again with the squealing. It was like acid through my veins.

"I love it!"

In truth, there wasn't that much to love. Both bedrooms were equal in size and quite ordinary without any furniture in them. The only things remaining in Grace's old room was a small dresser and some framed black and white photos of black movie actors from back in the day. I thought she would want the pictures, but she hadn't contacted me yet. My plan was to leave them in the bedroom until someone moved in and then store the prints in the basement.  

"The girl who used to live here left that stuff, but I planned on putting it in storage if she doesn't send for it.  I—"

"Oh yes. I have my own bedroom set that was a gift from my Nana. She gave it to me when I was just sixteen and I've had it ever since. It would look so good in here. And you know what I think is just great? The bedrooms aren't too close together, because privacy is important. I think it's awful when you can hear every little thing that goes on in a person's bedroom, don't you? Not that I have a boyfriend or anything. I mean, you wouldn’t have to worry about that.  Do you have a boyfriend?"

When she stopped to take a breath, I assumed that meant I was allowed to answer.

"Well, actually, I just—"

"I'm making it a point to leave certain things in Jersey, and that includes Joey, my ex. Wow! I'm really excited, aren't you? This will work out great, don't you think?"

Why was this girl constantly asking me questions when it was obvious she wasn't interested in my answers?

"Um, well, I still have other people interested in seeing the apartment, but I will call you—"

"Great, you do that. I know we would get along fabulously,” Rebecca said as I led her to the door. "Here's my card with my work, home, and cell numbers on it. I have a good feeling about this. You are so easy to talk to and such a good listener!"

I took the card, nodded, and shut the door.
Such a good listener?
I didn't have a choice. Damn, that girl could talk. Soon after she left I realized two things: Rebecca left not knowing one thing about me yet I knew her life story, and secondly I was not calling her back.  I tossed the card in the trash.

***

Heather Blake arrived next. She was the complete opposite of Rebecca. Whereas Rebecca had diarrhea of the mouth, Heather barely said a word, and when she did speak she managed to give me the heebie-jeebies. Rebecca had arrived in a short sundress, which was appropriate since it was approaching the end of a summer that had all the meteorologists referring to New York City as The Baked Apple, but Heather was wearing a long navy blue skirt that flowed to her ankles with a matching blazer and white shirt. I felt hot just looking at her. Rebecca had been punctual and arrived right on time; Heather was actually fifteen minutes early. Heather was black, wore black wire-rimmed glasses, and wore her hair pinned back in a bun.

When we’d spoken over the phone she explained she was a bank teller in Manhattan, and was planning to go back to school part-time for a bachelor's degree. In doing this, she'd have to cut back on some of her expenses and wouldn't be able to afford the loft she rented downtown. She hadn’t disclosed her age, but looking at her I figured she had to be in her late twenties to early thirties.

"Hello, Heather. It’s nice to meet you." Heather nodded in my direction with a slight smile as she entered the apartment, taking everything in.

"You're early. I take it you didn't have any trouble finding the place."

"My church is near here. I came over right after service."

"Oh, great. Can I take your jacket?" 

Please, please let me take it.

"No, thank you.  I'm fine."

Darn. 

"Can I get you anything to drink or—"

"No, thank you."

“Well, let me give you the grand tour. This is obviously the living room. It's very spacious, as you can see. Do you have much furniture?"

She shook her head. "I don't believe in acquiring too many material things. The Lord provides me with what I need, and that is enough."

I wasn’t sure how to respond so I just continued on with the tour. "Oh, okay. Here's the kitchen. My old roommate and I were pretty relaxed about the groceries. I mean, we sometimes did the shopping together and split the cost down the middle. We didn't worry about putting our names on stuff, you know? But if that's a problem for you, I thought I could just section off the shelves in the fridge and the cabinets and we each keep our things separate?" I opened the door to the fridge so she could see what I meant.  She simply nodded and glanced inside. 

"I see you drink alcohol."

Was that a question? I wasn't sure but, from the look she was giving me, I suddenly felt like the kitchen floor would open up and drop both the bottles of wine and myself into hell.

"Um, yes... well, occasionally?"

What was I doing?
If Miss Holy Roller didn't like it, well, too bad.  Why was I explaining myself to a stranger? I'm a grown-ass woman, and I don't have to answer to anybody so she could just... oh, there was that look again.
It reminded me of the looks my mother would give me when I was cutting up in church with my cousin. I decided to move the tour along before she pinched my ear, also like my mom used to do.

Briefly I explained the problem with the shower. That, too, warranted nothing more than a nod from Heather. I led her to the bedrooms and took that opportunity to explain the rules of the building that Mr. Tucci had set forth. 

"Other than that, things are pretty laid back around here. If you have a male friend that you'd like to sleep over, it's not a problem...." Before I realized my mistake, the words were already out of my mouth. 

"Ever since the Lord spoke to me I don't indulge in such things as premarital sex."

Somehow, I was not surprised. I was about to usher her to the front door when she surprised me by placing a hand on my arm. "Chloe,” she said, like we were old friends. "The Lord spoke to me and told me that I would soon come into the life of someone in need of guidance. I have learned over the years that I've been saved not to question the Lord and His messages. Although at the time I was not sure who this person would be, I had faith in His word. I know now that person is you."

Huh?

"It's apparent to me that you need help, the kind of help that only He can provide. The Lord speaks to me and He never steers me wrong. Never. Moving in here with you would benefit us both. It would allow me to continue the Lord's work, to spread His word, and it will allow you to open your heart and give your life to our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ."

It's true that I hadn't been to church since Michael Jackson had a Jheri curl, but did I deserve this? Every time I spoke to my Mom in North Carolina she questioned my church-going habits and expressed several times her desire to see her only child make it to Heaven. I kept my feelings on organized religion private because the truth was I had no idea if there was a God or not. I did know that I didn't need to travel to church every Sunday to prove I was a good person or lived a good life, and I damn sure wasn’t going to be a brownie point for this woman to earn her Conversion Badge.

"Maybe so. How about I call you after I've met the other applicants?"  I tried really hard not to look as desperate as I was to get her out of my apartment.

"That will be fine, but know this: The Lord is never wrong, Chloe."

"Of course not. I have your number." 

As I closed the door on her smiling face, I wondered when the Lord would tell her she wasn’t moving in here.

***

Around one-thirty Ms. LaKeera Jones breezed into the apartment looking six kinds of ghetto fabulous. I wasn't aware people still wore acid-washed denim but, apparently in LaKeera's world, they did. She had on the tightest, shortest denim skirt I’d ever seen with a matching jacket. A leopard print shirt and a black pair of five-inch stilettos completed the look. It was official: She wasn't moving in for fear of a late night raid from the fashion police. 

"Hey, girl, this place is nice!"

"Thank you."

I followed the same routine.  It was a good thing I had begun to memorize the speech throughout the tour because it was hard to concentrate over LaKeera continuously popping her gum. In fact, she was chewing on the gum so vigorously I figured she must be hungry, but no matter how many times I offered the poor child something to eat, she was unfortunately content with the gum. After the tour, I suggested we sit in the living room and chat.

"Well, I live in Brooklyn,” she said. "I'm a dancer here in the city and moving here would sure make things easier on me."

"Oh, are you in any shows I might have seen?"

"Shows?" She looked confused.

"Off Broadway..."

"Oh no, girl. I work at Goldy's."

"Goldy's?"

"I'm an exotic dancer, and don't worry, I pull in enough bank to afford this place."

I didn’t know how to explain to Miss Thang that her bank account was the least of my worries. "Yeah, I don't wanna be doing that forever, though,” she continued. "I plan on going to school for cosmetology."

LaKeera left soon after, but not before giving me her cell number and a reminder not to call from a blocked number so that she would know it wasn’t some guy she was dodging from the club.

At three o'clock I had just about given up. I plopped down on the couch and hoped Cynthia Becker would just pull a no-show. Just when I was beginning to think shaking
my
ass at Goldy's wasn't such a bad idea—at least I could afford the rent alone—someone knocked on the door. 

Cynthia was white, in her mid-fifties, going through a painful divorce, and sweating up a storm even though she was dressed in khaki culottes and a black tank top. She clutched her purse as if someone would jump out of the shadows suddenly to take it. One of the first things she said when she walked in was "Is it hot in here or is it just me?" It was definitely her—the air conditioner had been on all day.