Only Uni (31 page)

She’d already looked at dozens of apartments the past few weeks, but this one took the cake. Every surface in the bathroom boasted a stain, crack, mold, or all three. The miniscule kitchen looked like it had lived through a couple small fires. Even worse, small pieces of dried dog poop stood out as black lumps amid the dark stains in the carpet, fused to the synthetic pile.

Trish turned to the wiry Vietnamese man who shadowed her. “You want
how much
for this apartment?”

“No’ me. Owner want one-tao-san.” His eyes, weighed down by wrinkles, cast a knowledgeable look at her, as if to say,
Yes, girlie, I know it’s a dump.

Trish twitched aside the musty curtain to peer at the pothole-dotted road, lit by a lone orange street lamp. A heavyset figure bundled in a trench coat strode down the sidewalk. He met a skinny Asian kid in baggy jeans — they paused, exchanged something, then swept around each other, like dancers in a ballroom, to continue on their way.

She wondered if her RAV4 parked at the curb would still be there when she went outside. “I don’t think so.”

“You call me you change yo’ mind.”

“Okay.”

Locking herself in her car, she fumbled with the ignition key. This was the last stop for tonight, and the last on her list of apartments for the week.

A rap on her window made her heart leap into her throat, choking her scream. The large figure she’d seen from the window now stood outside the truck.

“Hey, lady? Want some — ”

She jammed her foot on the pedal and squealed away.

In the sane light of morning, Trish darted into the bathroom to use the toilet. When she finished, instead of pulling the door shut behind her, she stood — safely — in the doorway and glared up at the amoeba growing on the ceiling. She could swear it snickered at her when she nipped in and out each morning and evening.

She padded into the kitchen. The groutless countertop depressed her, as did the avocado-orange-ochre color scheme. She hadn’t used the refrigerator because of the germ-infested peanut butter still slathered into the rubber seal, and she’d be happy if she never saw another Baja Fresh burrito or In-N-Out hamburger or even Mr. Chau’s Chinese fast food.

She stalked to the living room archway and sneered at the carpet. The morning light revealed each hideous stain. She’d love to rip that thing out and toss it away. Well, she’d like to watch somebody else do it.

Although, she could. She wasn’t crippled or anything. There hadn’t ever been a need for her to do anything like that for herself. She could — possibly, maybe — fix things up a little if she were going to stay here.

She wasn’t, was she?

She hadn’t found a single suitable place to live. She’d driven into every neighborhood in Palo Alto, Mountain View, Sunnyvale, Cupertino . . .

To be honest, this house wasn’t any worse than some of the nasty apartments she had seen. Why would she pay to live in those places when she already lived here rent-free?

She wouldn’t hate the house so much if she cleaned up a bit more. She hadn’t intended to stay for long, and she spent so little time inside the house that she hadn’t bothered to do much. She’d done some heavy cleaning at her parent’s house a few times — not that she’d enjoyed it, and she only did it for them because they’d bribed her with something — but she’d done it.

She eyed the dim living room. Venus had said there were hardwood floors underneath. Maybe she could go on the Internet and figure out how to pull up carpet. Maybe it wasn’t so hard . . .

Well, she couldn’t do anything without George’s — or Mrs. Choi’s — permission. She didn’t want to pay for any major repairs out of her own pocket, but she could ask Mrs. Choi if she’d allow her to live here for reduced rent in exchange for some home improvement. Trish didn’t think George would complain about returning to a cleaned and repaired house. She wasn’t certain what sort of financial arrangement Mrs. Choi had with her nephew, but no harm in asking.

It was
only
until she found an apartment. She wasn’t about to give up on that front.

Repairs couldn’t be that hard, right? She could vanquish the beast on the bathroom ceiling with a misting of bleach, squirt grout in between the kitchen tiles, maybe swab the grease off the kitchen ceiling and cabinets with some alcohol or something. After pulling up the carpet, she’d just sweep a bit, right?

For cheap rent, Trish was willing to do light grunt work.

“Are you sure?” Mrs. Choi’s stenciled brows wrinkled across her white powdered forehead.

Trish sat at Mrs. Choi’s Formica kitchen table and pretended to sip the glass of barley water she’d been given. She shifted against the sharp crack in the vinyl seat that dug into her tush. “I’m sure.” She ignored the fluttering in her chest. “But I’d need reimbursement for the cost of any repairs. I’d trade my labor for the lower rent.”

She took another sip of the ghastly water. It smelled musty, like Mrs. Choi’s house, and she could taste a hint of anise seed. Like most Asian mothers, Mrs. Choi believed that the nastier something tasted, the better it must be for the body. Trish considered “accidentally” knocking the plastic tumbler — a relic of the seventies — onto the yellowed linoleum floor, but she knew Mrs. Choi would get her another one filled to the brim. Besides, she’d feel horrible causing a mess in the ruthlessly scrubbed kitchen.

“No, I hate having you stay in that horrible place. It must be terribly unsanitary.” Mrs. Choi patted a strand of jet-black hair into place. Trish didn’t think her own hair had ever been that color.

“It’s been a few weeks, and I haven’t found any other housing yet. I’m getting tired of all the grime in the house, and I’d like to clean up a bit.”

“No, I couldn’t take advantage of your valuable time. Don’t you have parties to go to, or young men to date?”

Ah . . . no comment.
“I don’t mind. I feel terrible for using up utilities for two weeks without paying anything.”

“Oh, that’s nothing.” Mrs. Choi smiled, her fuchsia lips like a neon pink crescent moon on her pasty white face. Although she looked a bit frightening, especially with her heavily kohled eyes, she had a heart of purest gold, transparent as glass.

“This would be a super deal for both of us. I’d get cheap housing and George would get cheap home improvement.”
The reprehensible worm.

“No, I’d feel awful making you do that for George.”

She knew the older woman wanted to let her do the repairs, but her traditional upbringing had taught her to keep refusing. How many times would Trish have to insist before she caved in? This was like trying to wrestle a restaurant bill from her stubborn father.

But she was just as skilled in guilt trips. “I’ll do the repairs and pay for it myself if you won’t — ”

“Oh, no. I couldn’t let you do that. Let me at least reimburse you. Yes, that sounds good. And no rent.”

“Mrs. Choi — ”

“No, you can’t pay rent if you’re going to fix the house up.” Her look dared Trish to defy her logic.

Well, no use quibbling over something minor like that. “All right, thanks. I appreciate that.”

“If you need help, call me.”

Trish smiled, imagining portly Mrs. Choi hauling carpet out of the house with her bowlegged rocking gait. Then again, she had four grown children and still lived on her own.

“Thanks. I’ll call if I need you.”

“What do you mean? If I spritz bleach onto the ceiling, won’t it disappear?”

Spenser raised an eyebrow at her. “Are you kidding? Mold like that? It’s probably already deep into the wallboard.”

“Are you sure? How do you know?” Trish gnawed her lip. “How can I fix it?”

“Hire somebody.”

“Can’t. I’m exchanging my rent for labor.”

He let out a hoot of laughter. Her gaze darted around the restaurant and she hissed, “Behave yourself. Everyone’s looking.”

She settled down to take another bite of her wood-fired pizza. When that pompous windbag Kevin described the new California Mediterranean restaurant, Trish had been intrigued and Spenser accepted her lunch suggestion with alacrity.

She deliberately plucked a strand of gooey cheese from her pizza and licked her fingers. Spenser’s neat side hated when she did that. “Kevin was right about the rosemary-chicken pizza.” Despite his numerous faults.

“I think Kevin’s afraid of you.”

“What do you mean? He barely speaks to me. He sticks his nose in the air and looks at me like I’m lower than a piece of gum on the bottom of his Hermès shoes.” Actually, she’d love to see him step in a piece of gum and mar those expensive things. On his salary? Or maybe they were fake.

“Of course he’s scared of you. Why do you think he’s coming in so early in the morning? It’s to avoid you.”

“Because he thinks I’m the black plague.”

“He thinks you’re mean enough to
give
him the black plague.”

She chomped on her pizza. She hadn’t exactly been diplomatic that one time she talked — er, yelled at Kevin, but she hadn’t actually been an ogre, right?

Why ruin a yummy lunch with an irritating topic? “How do you know so much about home improvement?”

He relaxed into a smug smile. “I did all the repairs at my townhouse when I bought it.”

Humph. Probably bought for him by his wealthy parents. After all, he was from Atherton.

He must have interpreted her facial expression, because his mouth hardened. “I worked during college and invested wisely — and, I’ll admit, luckily — so that I could afford a 20-percent down payment. I didn’t have any help.” The words came out sharp and succinct.

That impressed her, but no way would she let him see that. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Humph.” He chomped into his pizza, eyebrows drawn low over glittering eyes.

Maybe she should have gushed all over him, because she might need his help? Nah. He would quirk his eyebrow at her and say, “Whatever you want from me, the answer is no.” She sighed, then shoved a forkful of spring salad greens into her mouth.

His glare melted into a disinterested mask. “I could help you go online and figure out how to do it.”

She nearly spit her food out. “Waw-wa?”

“Clean the mold. You should at least do that, even if you can’t replace the wallboard.”

Trish wanted to ask him where this streak of helpfulness came from. She also didn’t quite trust him, not after that Sunday school Pet Day. She still felt a twinge of guilt every time she looked at him and remembered his son swallowing the hamster.

Trish didn’t want to be in his debt. She gulped her food down. “That’s a good idea.” At least she didn’t have to surf the web by herself.

“What else is wrong with the place?”

“There’s a mushroom growing in the bathroom — ”

“Uh oh. On the floor? Near the shower?”

“Yeah.”

“Something’s leaking. The joists might be rotted. Huge remodel.”

Her heart dropped to somewhere near her bellybutton. “Oh. I’ve been showering at work, so my biggest concern is the mold on the ceiling.”

“What else?”

“Grease on the kitchen ceiling and cabinets, grout missing from the kitchen tiles, carpet is stained. I’ll need to strip that off.”

“That’s a lot of work, but not impossible.”