Roommate Wanted (Sharing Space #1) (7 page)

When she had turned her back, assuming I was the plumber, I noticed the rest of her. The white shirt she wore did nothing to hide those curves; if anything, it accentuated them. It went in at her waist and fell on two round hips. For some reason it made me think of ripe fruit. I was less surprised that she was black—I hadn’t given any thought to the race of the person placing the ad—and more surprised to discover she was so good looking. It was like when you go on a blind date you expect the worst, or when you're on the Internet and some girl tells you how hot she is when in real life she's overweight and bucktoothed. Only in movies with Katherine Heigl or Scarlett Johansson do men meet beautiful strangers over the Internet or through newspaper ads. In real life you don't expect a girl like Chloe to open the door and then offer you the chance to live with her, and Chloe on her worst day could give both those ladies a run for their money.

In taking her up on the offer, I found myself meeting with Chloe and the landlord that Wednesday evening. Mr. Tucci was quite a character.  Besides providing references and signing the lease, I felt like I should be kissing his ring or something.  The mafia persona aside, he seemed like a nice man and it didn't hurt to have him living in the building. It assured me the heat would be on in the winter and the air conditioning would work in the summertime. The building itself was in great condition. It was off Seventh Avenue on Thirty-Third Street, nestled between brownstones and small shops. The block was quiet and tree-lined. On my way to the apartment I noticed people coming home from work, walking their dogs, and playing with their children. They looked like working professionals: no punks with green hair, and no one looked to be a rapist, murderer, or thief. Ma would be relieved. After showing me where the laundry room, mailboxes, and backdoor were, we sat down in Mr. Tucci's apartment to sign the lease.

Mr. Tucci leaned forward on the sofa and slid the agreement across the coffee table. "Read this over.  Grace was paid up through the end of the month, but she didn't give proper notice when leaving so she doesn't get the remainder of the rent back. You can wait till next week and move in on the first or you can move in tonight for all I care. Consider the next week a gift from Grace."

He smiled and stuffed a thick cigar in his mouth with thick fingers. Everything on him was thick: his hands, arms, legs, neck, and mid-section. He reminded me of a fire hydrant. I glanced at Chloe, who was sitting across from me but next to Mr. Tucci on the sofa, and she shrugged.  She had her legs crossed. They were good legs, long and lean. She was wearing a brown suit with one of those shirts that had a scarf attached in green. The scarf was knotted on the side of her neck.  Her hair was pulled back and she wore little makeup. A small pair of intertwined hoop earrings jingled whenever she turned her head. Her legs were stocking-less, which made sense seeing as how it was ninety degrees outside. The suit's skirt was short but professional. Chloe looked very classy in her brown suit, a brown that was slightly darker than her skin, which reminded me of a caramel macchiato from Starbucks. I found myself wondering if she was just as sweet.

"So, you gonna sign or what?"

Mr. Tucci said that real slowly, like I was real slow and needed to have things broken down for me. I looked at Chloe again and noticed she was also looking at me like I might have special needs. I quickly signed the lease wherever I saw an X.

***

With the first of September falling on a weekday I decided to take Mr. Tucci up on his offer and move in that Saturday. Luckily that day provided a break in the heat wave and I was able to easily convince Paul and Max to assist in the move.

Paul and I had been best friends since we were seven. He lived only a few blocks away from me and we were rarely seen apart. We were about ten the summer afternoon we were cutting through Roman Glen Park on our way home from nothing but trouble when we noticed this little kid getting the snot kicked out of him by two other boys. As we got closer I realized that the boys doing the kicking were Davey Simmons and Charles Kopak. 

If I were a superhero, Davey Simmons would be my arch nemesis. Ever since I could remember we competed over every little thing. He was loud, he was big, and he spit when he talked.  I didn't like him and I didn't know the poor boy getting the snot kicked out of him, but I was sure he'd done nothing to deserve Davey's wrath. And if he had, so what? I was not going to pass up an opportunity to pound on Davey, so that afternoon Paul and I became the heroes of a small kid new to the neighborhood from Detroit named Max.

We were pretty much attached at the hips from then on. It was a funny union.  Paul was the smart one, tall and lanky with brown hair and green eyes. He had that easygoing spirit that made everyone want to be his friend. Though Max started out as a runt, he went through a surprising growth spurt throughout junior high and entered high school bigger than both Paul and I combined. He grew muscles, joined the football team, and got laid a lot. Davey Simmons wasn't a problem ever again. Now Max was the assistant football coach at Roman Glen High School. He'd led the team to two state championships and was reveling in being the town hero. Paul was working at the local paper and was a serious contender for the assistant editor-in-chief position. They were both content in Roman Glen, but I wasn't.

It seemed natural that we'd room together while in college and even after. I was the first to leave our bachelor's nest at twenty-six years old. It was sad, but I was ready. It was time to go. It took us three trips using Paul's brother's van.  Even though the weather had cooled considerably, we were still sweaty and funky after hauling the last of my belongings to the second floor apartment.

"How much are you paying us again?” Max asked.  We were sitting on the floor in the living room, dressed in sweatpants and t-shirts and chugging bottled water. Before I could answer Max continued, "I don't know 'bout Paul here, but you can repay me by introducing me to this chick roommate of yours and some of her friends."

He winked one blue eye, but I knew he was serious. He was a player, plain and simple. I don't think he'd had a steady girlfriend for more than three or four months and he liked it that way. I just laughed it off and glanced at Paul. He looked at Max, shook his head, and took another swig of his water. We were the best of friends, but even best friends had secrets and we were no exception. Very few people knew that Paul was gay and Max wasn't one of them.

We had been seniors in high school when he told me. I can't say that I was very surprised—not because Paul was flamboyant or behaved "gay" but he didn't date and he didn't seem interested in the normal things guys our age were interested in. Which, at the time, were: girls, getting laid, having sex, and meeting girls. Paul confided in me and I can honestly say my feelings towards him hadn't changed a lick. We couldn't be so sure about Max, and that's why he'd yet to tell him. 

Paul's father passed away when we were freshmen in college, and although Paul was heartbroken over the loss, a part of him was glad he never had to tell his father and see the possible rejection that might have come from his confession.  He came out to his mother three years ago and she reacted as most mothers would. She was shocked at first, then guilty—wondering if it were something she and his father had done or not done in raising him—then finally accepting and worried. Coming out to his brother Tim had left the relationship cordial, but strained. Even though it was supposedly a kinder and more tolerant time, the nightly news told us differently. Hate crimes were still going on and Roman Glen was a small town. Paul couldn't be sure that his career wouldn't suffer because of his sexuality, so it was easier for him to keep it private… for now. I knew that living with the secret was hard on him and it was just a matter of time before he came out to all his family and friends.

So it wasn't with intentional insensitivity that Max kept running his mouth, just ignorance.  He took my silence over wondering if Paul was uncomfortable as reluctance in hooking him up with Chloe or her friends. Well, knowing Max, I should probably say Chloe
and
her friends.

"Oh come on, Patrick.  Unless you plan on hitting it yourself."

"Max..."

"That's it, huh?  You plan on sticking it to this roommate chick!  Dirty dawg!" Max jumped up and started making obscene hip movements and howling like a wolf. "Ol’ Patrick is gonna be spending more time in the other bedroom. No wonder you're ditching out on us. Patrick's moving in with a piece of ass!"

At that exact moment, Chloe walked in.

Chapter Six

Ground Rules

Chloe

I know he’s not talking about me!

I’d just walked in from my treasure hunting through flea markets and I was hot and tired. Earlier my hip hugging low cut jeans and green tank top seemed appropriate, considering how warm it was outside, but after hearing the words of this sweaty, huge white boy in my living room, I felt completely underdressed. I wanted to hold my shopping bags in front of my goodies but realized how ridiculous that was. They were my goodies and this was my living room. Well, technically it was now
our
living room. 

In our living room were three sweaty and stinky white boys. I dropped my bags on the recliner and quickly walked over to crack a window or two, never mind that the air conditioner was going full blast. This was an emergency. Patrick looked appropriately embarrassed.

"Hi, Chloe.  Umm, these are my friends, Max and Paul."

"Hi."

The buffoon that had been dry humping the air when I walked in stayed in character. He was eyeing me with something that was a cross between surprise—I'm sure he didn't know the piece of ass was brown—and lust. Perhaps he'd never seen such a fine brown ass? I didn't know and I didn't care. I wanted him out. Now. He had the nerve to stick out his sweaty hand.

"Wow.  Nice to meet you, Chloe."

There are many things I didn't want. I didn't want my mother to remain single forever and die alone without knowing again the love of a good man. I didn't want to lose my friendship with Myra over a silly argument; we hadn't spoken all week. I didn't want to get stretch marks and have my hips spread like cottage cheese when I finally had a baby and, perhaps most of all, I did not want to shake this man's hand. Though he'd given me good reason to throw him some shade, for Patrick’s sake and the sake of our new living arrangement, I took the high road.  I tried not to shiver noticeably as I shook the beefy hand. I think I was pretty slick, and no one noticed that I’d wiped my hand on the back of my jeans. I turned to the quiet, brown-haired one. He rose and wiped his own hand on his pants before taking mine. 

"Hi. Paul, right?"

"Yup. Nice to meet you, Chloe. This is a great apartment; I like what you've done with it."

"Thank you."  This one I liked. He was polite and, more importantly, he didn't take up as much space as the dancing ox. He damn sure hadn't been flinging his sweat around my furniture.

"Well, Patrick, we'll let you get settled in."

"Whaddaya mean, Paul? We’re not gonna stay awhile?” asked Max.

Paul said, "It's getting late and I have to get Tim’s van back."

"Paul's right, I have a lot of unpacking to do. I'll call you guys later.  Thanks a lot. I owe you both big time."

"Yeah,” said Max while eyeing me. "You do."

They exchanged hugs and a few of those complicated male-bonding handshakes, and then they were gone. It was just me and Patrick, my new roommate. There was a long silence as I looked around at the boxes and crates that held his belongings and he watched me.

"I'm just gonna take a quick shower before unpacking all this stuff.  Most of my things are in the bedroom; this is for the kitchen and living room."

"You don't have to explain. Take your time."

Now that Max was gone the air was suddenly fresher. Maybe it was his attitude. I shut the window and glanced at Patrick as he made his way to the back of the apartment. I noticed he was in great shape and the sweaty t-shirt only added to his appeal.

Chloe, what are you doing?

I suddenly felt like a pervert, secretly checking out my roommate that way.  Kicking off my sandals, I decided to put away the knickknacks I’d purchased. I tried not to think about how weird it felt having a man other than Lawrence showering in the other room. As I placed the blue glass dolphin on the bookshelf, I noticed it: right between my framed painting of two little black girls sitting on a porch, laughing and whispering—I loved it because it reminded me of Crystal and me when we were younger—and my framed original movie poster of
Rear Window
—which cost me a pretty penny on eBay—was a cherry wood entertainment center. It was divided into three sections. The top portion held three sleek black machines. I recognized two as a Blu-Ray player and a receiver. The middle section housed the biggest television I had ever seen in my entire life and, under that, the third section housed an XBOX 360 and a Playstation 3.

"Oh, yeah. I probably should have asked first."

I turned to find Patrick standing in the living room, freshly showered, hair gleaming wet, wearing jeans and a clean white t-shirt.