The man unlocked the door and wrenched it back violently. The sound of metal on metal rent the air, accompanied by a crunching of, what sounded like, something structurally significant. He tugged twice more and managed to get the entrance halfway open.
“That’s what the notice said,” he answered me, offering no explanation for the state of the stubborn door.
I soldiered on. This is why I’d listened to “Skyscraper” by Demi Lovato before coming. “Whiteware is included?”
“Yeah.”
Great…
The man led me into the lounge, and I eyed the blue carpet, wondering which parts were stained and which were the original colour.
The state of the brown and orange kitchen didn’t bother me. I had no idea how to use an oven or how to prepare food. It did contain a fridge—which I opened per Tommy’s orders.
The man’s lip curled. “It works.”
I flipped him an arched look and reached to flick the power switch. The light inside blared to life and a soft whirring sounded. What noise did fridges make?
Not a clue.
Flicking the switch off, I followed the guy across a dark hallway to the laundry—equipped with a washer—and through two bedrooms. One had housed a smoker at some point. If I took the place, I knew where I wouldn’t sleep.
The bathroom wasn’t as horrible as expected. In fact, it was the nicest part of the house. I smiled at the shower-bath combo. Looked like a new toilet too.
I flushed the toilet, obeying Tommy because she’d sense if I didn’t.
“Want it then?”
Should I refuse based on his manners alone? The temptation was strong, but I’d been taught that emotions had no place in business.
I hummed, slowly walking back through the apartment. “How much is rent?”
“Two hundred a week. As said on the listing.”
Tommy said that price was outrageous for Orange.
Snorting, I turned. “We both know it isn’t worth half that much. So how about eighty dollars a week?”
His scowl twisted, but his eyes gleamed. Was I really so easy to peg as the rich brat? I’d borrowed Tommy’s clothes, so it wasn’t my outfit. What was giving me away? My hair? My nails?
“One hundred,” he said. “Each week. Payment on Sunday by 10:00 a.m. In your letterbox. Not a second late.”
I’d been schooled not to accept more than eighty-five, but it was only fifteen dollars difference. “I accept. I’ll move in tomorrow, so I’ll pay for five days only.” It was kind of strange to do mental calculations without a string of zeros attached to the end, but I managed. “That’s seventy-two dollars.”
The man’s chins wobbled as he laughed. “That ain’t how it works, sweetheart.”
“You realise I’m considering becoming your tenant? I’d advise against calling me sweetheart again.”
The smile slid off his ugly mug.
“You’ll pay the entire week or wait to move in on Sunday,” he told me.
I tapped my lips, considering that ultimatum. “Okay, I’ll move in on Sunday. Lose out on seventy-two dollars. I have somewhere to stay. In the meantime, I’ll search for a different place.”
I turned to leave.
“Wait.”
The smile didn’t spread across my face, but it sure wanted to. This joker was a harmless puppy compared to my grandmother, though her manners were about one thousand times better. She knew how to introduce herself for starters.
He held out his hand, looking like he’d sucked on a lemon. “Fine. Seventy-two dollars for this week. One hundred otherwise. And I’ll need a month’s rent as bond. Up front.”
It said as much on the listing.
Taking my time, I wandered through the lounge and kitchen again, peeking into the laundry once more. Can I live here? Envisioning myself relaxing on a sofa and drinking wine on a Friday night in this place would take a stronger imagination than I possessed.
When I ran away, it was to escape and to choose the rules of my life. I’d expected to start at the bottom of the ladder. I wanted to start at the bottom to better understand the world’s problems. That sentiment didn’t extend to punishing myself unnecessarily—now I knew that sleeping on the streets really was as bad as it sounded.
Tommy helped me figure out that after tax, I’d have over four hundred dollars to spend or save each week. The rent for this apartment took a quarter of that sum. Twice that amount would push the limit once I took food and transport into account.
This hovel was within my budget and available now, but would living here be unnecessary punishment?
I belatedly remembered another question. “Utilities are included?”
The man cursed under his breath. “Yes,” he grated.
Bastard would have charged me extra for them if I hadn’t asked. What a dick.
Did Tommy rattle off any other questions?
… If she had, I couldn’t recall them.
I inhaled slowly—ignoring the musty, smoke smell saturating the carpet and coating the walls. I could spend a few months here. After that, I’d have a better grasp of what week-to-week costs were; maybe some savings up my sleeve.
“I’ll take it,” I told the man. “And I’m Basi by the way.”
“Clint. Bond.”
Huh? His name was Clint Bond?
His grubby hand shot out.
Oh my god, he wanted the bond? That’s how he asked for things?
Don’t give the guy an etiquette lesson, Basi. It’s too late for him.
I smiled and hoisted my pack higher. “Thanks for showing me the house, Clint.”
I ambled to the half-open front door and squeezed through the gap.
“I thought you wanted the place,” he snapped.
I smiled sweetly. “What did I say earlier about treatment of a potential tenant?”
His face turned purple.
Still I waited, letting him suffer.
Fixing him with a cool look that extended into awkward length territory—for him anyway—I fished in my pack for the stack of cash. I pulled out the wad and leafed through until I found four crisp one-hundred-dollar bills.
“Here,” I said, holding it out.
I glanced at his face and frowned at the direction of his focus. On the wad of money. Crap. Maybe bringing it out like that wasn’t wise. I shoved the stack into the zip pocket and swung my bag on again.
He blinked and inspected the money in his hand.
“Keys,” I pressed.
My tolerance had officially expired.
Clint dragged his eyes off the money. “The keys will be in the mailbox at 7:00 a.m. tomorrow morning. You paid for five days this week.”
That one was my bad for haggling him down, but my shifts at Live Right Realty were 11:00 a.m. to 8:00 p.m. I’d have time to move in tomorrow, so Clint could go screw himself.
“That’s only fair,” I said grandly. “Thank you for your time, Clint.”
Asswipe.
I strode in the direction of the bus stop, feeling more in control of this situation than I had since sleeping on the streets. I officially had my own apartment. I’d get five days’ worth of pay for working this week. More than enough to pay rent.
Which meant that the two and a half thousand dollars in my zip pocket could go toward kitting out my new place.
It was time to shop.