04 - Shock and Awesome (9 page)

 
   
We didn't move.

 
   
That meant one thing: they weren't my new buddies. They wanted my apartment.

 
   
I hated them. And her perfect mac.

 
   
"Cute mac," I said as we eyed each other suspiciously.

 
   
"Banana Republic," she replied, even though I didn't ask, while scanning my jeans and hip-length, mustard yellow, wool coat. I thought I looked awesome when I left my apartment, but felt a bunch less awesome under her stylish scrutiny. I hated when women managed to do that. It was a weird skill.

 
   
"Sale?"

 
   
"I don't shop sale," she shot back. That said it. On the plus side, she didn't know what she was missing when it came to sales shopping.

 
   
"Don't I know you?" Chic's husband looked me up and down with a little frown that half-turned into a smile as he tried to decide whether he recognized me from somewhere. I was pretty sure he didn't, but before I could answer, he nudged his wife. "Honey, here's the realtor." Mr. Chic, as I dubbed him, raised a hand to wave and I checked over my shoulder. Yup. Same realtor... and he double-booked us. What an ass! Even as I mentally added donkey ears to his white-blonde head, I saw an eager-looking third couple trotting along behind him. What were the odds of being triple-booked? Apparently, pretty good as the realtor beamed over his assembled crowd of apartment-seeking desperadoes.

 
   
"Great day for apartment hunting, huh? I'm Rick Taylor, and I'm your realtor today," he said with all the enthusiasm of a game show host. Grinning as he clapped his hands together, he might as well have just announced we were going to save lives! Today! "You can call me Rick. It's my name!"

 
   
Jerk,
I thought.

 
   
"Awesome," said
Mr
Chic. Inexplicably, he and Rick high-fived.

 
   
"Let's head inside and see this place. You're going to love it," Rick promised to no one in particular. He gave his tie a quick adjustment, and punched a number into the keypad. As he held the door open and the
Chics
shot ahead, I caught him giving me an odd once-over before wrinkling his eyebrows. Perhaps he'd never seen a single woman before, I decided, while chastising him under my breath for being so judgmental.

 
   
The apartment was one of a rare breed and exactly as advertised. Light. Spacious. The furniture was modern, but comfortable, and showed off the great original features like the crown molding and fireplace. The galley kitchen was compact, but cleverly designed with plenty of storage, while the bathroom was neat and orderly with an equally surprising amount of storage. The bedroom was, in a word, dreamy. The whole place was a little smaller than my current home, and the view just as dull. It was also slightly more expensive, but I was used to the give-Lily's-friend-a-discount rate.

 
   
"We'll take it," said the
Chics
.

 
   
The third couple and I looked at each other. "I want it," I said at the same time the other husband blurted, "We'll sign the lease today."

 
   
"Way to go on the bargaining power," I muttered as the first couple rolled their eyes at each other. With all three of us wanting the apartment, it would surely come down to one thing now: money. Just the thing I wasn't exactly rolling in on my single income.

 
   
"It's just the right size for one," I murmured, loud enough for the couples to hear as I walked around. Perhaps a little reverse psychology would work? "I'd hate to share such a little apartment." I crossed to the window overlooking the street. "Oh my! Is that man breaking into that car?" I exclaimed in a shocked voice. "Is he taking the stereo?"

 
   
The realtor was beside me in a second, his worried eyes searching the street for the phantom thief. "I don't think so," he said, unconvincingly. "Probably just fixing it."

 
   
"
Riiiight
," I agreed, nudging him in the ribs and giving him a big wink that the second couple saw. "Definitely fixing it. Sure. Absolutely. Did you say it's unsecured street parking?"

 
   
"Uh... yes."

 
   
"So, uh, we have some other places to see." The door shut behind the second couple, cutting off their excuses as they exited. One down, one to go.

 
   
"I know what you're doing," hissed Mrs. Chic. "I use reverse psychology on my kindergartners. You aren't going to get rid of us that easily. We want this apartment."

 
   
"I want it too."

 
   
"So... when are you all looking to move?" asked Rick, nervously looking from the
Chics
to me, his commission suddenly uncertain.

 
   
"Straightaway," the three of us chimed in unison. Except, obviously, none of us wanted to move in with each other. Well, Mr. Chic might have liked sharing with his wife and an extra, but I was pretty sure Mrs. Chic wouldn't want to share her closet with me. Also: no way.

 
   
"Okay, great." Rick beamed. "Let me get some details from both of you and, um, you," he nodded at me, like I was an afterthought, adding "and we'll proceed."

 
   
"So... what happens next?" I asked as he extracted clipboards from his leather shoulder bag and handed us one each.

 
   
"Well, we'll run your credit history and then the landlord will make a decision as to who gets the place. You can submit your offers at the end of the form."

 
   
Huh? What? Offers?

 
   
"We're clearly the best bet," said Mrs. Chic, grabbing the pen and squinting her eyes at the small type.

 
   
"Says who?" I gave her my best “Are you kidding me?” frown. After all, it wasn't a fair observation after knowing me for oh, five minutes.

 
   
"I know you from somewhere," said the husband again. His mouth wrinkled with thought as he tried to place me. He tapped one finger against his mouth and frowned.

 
   
"I really don't think so."

 
   
"Yeah, you do look kind of familiar," agreed Rick. Great, now the guys were ganging up on me too? On the plus side, maybe their familiarity would help me out.

 
   
"Maybe it's through my volunteer work," I lied. Everyone likes a volunteer, right? I was sure I volunteered at something. Sometime. Somewhere.

 
   
"No, that's not it," said Mr. Chic.

 
   
"Are you sure? I volunteer a lot." I nodded to Rick. Rick frowned. So much for giving myself a good reference.

 
   
"Nope." Mr. Chic shook his head. "Can't think of it yet, but it'll come to me."

 
   
Hopefully, I'd be at home with a lease agreement in my pocket by then because if I slept with him and forgot — although I was pretty sure that didn't happen — I wasn't sure it was a story I could confess to Lily. Also, fairly certain I'd never been into blondes of any shade, I was sure that couldn't be it. Not one hundred percent sure, but, you know, fairly certain.

 
   
"I know!" blurted Mrs. Chic, looking up, "You're the private investigator. I saw you in the newspaper!"

 
   
"Who? Me? No, I don't think so." I stepped back, shaking my head vigorously.

 
   
"Yes! It was you! You shoot people!"

 
   
"I do not!" Well, not often. Sometimes I just stab them, but only when my life is in danger, which justifies it just fine for me.

 
   
"That sounds dangerous," mused the realtor, edging away from me and closer to the
Chics
. "I think I've read about you. You were at that hotel convention. The one with all the weirdoes killing each other."

 
   
"I'm not dangerous," I assured him, with my best ditzy smile. Also, exaggeration. Much?

 
   
"She's really dangerous," Mrs. Chic insisted to no one in particular. She focused on the clipboard and began to scribble furiously, as if submitting the form first would definitely give her an edge. "Guns. Murderers. Snooping."

 
   
"I don't think the landlord will like that," Mr. Chic said, cottoning on to his wife's massive hints that I would not make a good tenant. He sidled next to the realtor, adding in a low voice, "I work in IT and my wife's a kindergarten teacher. Two very safe professions."

 
   
The realtor looked from me to them, clearly weighing up who was more likely to blow up the apartment and his commission. With a sinking heart, I realized I could not come out on top in the race for this apartment.

 
   
Whatever. It was too small anyway.

 
   
"We'll pay more than she can offer too. We have two salaries," added Mr. Chic, emphasizing my single status in the most charming way. Not.

 
   
"Done," said Rick, accepting their paperwork and smiling broadly. The men pumped hands and grinned at each other.

 
   
I looked at my clipboard. I hadn't even filled in my name. "Shame. I was going to offer an extra five hundred bucks a month for the next two years," I said with a shrug as I returned the clipboard. Rick's smug face dropped a little. "Enjoy your new place. See ya." I turned on my heel and strode out of the pretty little apartment, leaving the happy couple to negotiate their way out of paying too much, just as Rick repeated the figure I dropped.

 
   
Climbing into my car, I told myself it just wasn't meant to be. Getting the first apartment I saw was too easy, and there were more to see. Even if they didn't work out, it wasn't like I'd be homeless at the end of the month. I still had options. Sure, one option was hearing my best friend and brother humping, or I could stay with my parents and get roped into whatever my mother's latest obsession was. Admittedly, they weren't great options, but options all the same, and that was a lot more than some people had. Another thought occurred to me. I had the
Lexi
-is-a-millionaire-for-two-minutes house to look after while I continued the assignment. What were the odds that the owners would let me stay on a while longer while I pursued my house search? Possibly about as high as my ever owning the perfect, yellow bungalow that had long been the object of my house porn obsession. That thought cheered me as I drove to my next viewing. I wouldn't mind extending my stay in Chilton if it were anything like Solomon's house.

 
   
Frederickstown
it was fair to say, was not at the top of my "really want to live here" list, but the apartment sounded nice in the listings and was on the nicer side of town. Or, at least, the listing seemed nice. But as I pulled up to the curb and surveyed the building, my heart just couldn't get excited. It wasn't because the building wasn't nice. It was actually pretty good, judging by the run-down neighborhood's standards. But I knew I didn't want to live miles away from my family and friends and work, not to mention decent coffee shops. Even if I had to be practical when it came to my future habitat, I still wanted to live well and not spend extra money on cab fares or never having a drink again just so I could drive home.