from whisper to bitch in ten seconds as she condemned her last landlord to eternal damnation and declared that her moving men were know-nothing pigs.
My anxiety about Morgan’s desirability as a roommate boiled a lot faster than the kettle of water when she stepped into the kitchen and I saw two snakes wrapped around her arms.
“Uh…” I said, trying not to back away.
Morgan was short and dumpy. Her uneven hair was black—definitely an unprofessional dye job—and her skin was pale and doughy. Her eyes were like little black currants set deep in her face, and their expression was hard and challenging, as if the snakes were some kind of initiation I had to pass.
“Lucifer,” she said, holding up one arm to better display a yellowish snake. It eyed me with a look that made me remember a fifth grade teacher who’d been pure evil. “Hugsie,” she added, pointing a black snake at me. That one began to writhe as the kettle shrieked at us.
I was grateful to have a reason to turn away and said over my shoulder, “Nick Dunhill. I guess you’re Morgan.”
“Brilliant. If you ever enter my room without my permission, you can kiss your ass good-bye. Which will be easy, because I’ll make sure your head’s stuffed up your ass, just like every other man in Manhattan.”
“I’m pretty sure not every man in Manhattan has been stuffed up my ass,” I said, turning around and locking my eyes on hers. It almost seemed like she was going to smile, in that Wednesday Addams if-I-smile-I’ll-die way. Then she left the kitchen as abruptly as she’d entered, snake bodies trailing behind her like feather boas. Maybe they were actual boas. I had no idea.
When Kendra came back in, looking a little fearful, I hissed, “What did you say she does?”
“She works for an animated children’s program,” Kendra whispered hesitantly, as if she knew the probability of that was highly questionable. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know about the snakes.”
“You’re the one who has to sleep with them,” I said, adding with sadistic satisfaction, “behind a closed door.”
Roberto finally showed up with the clothes on his back, two milk crates full of CDs, and furniture he’d found on the street: a futon, a tiny café table, and two rickety wooden dining chairs. I tried to cover up how lousy I felt when I helped him haul his loot into the apartment. Not that he was paying attention. He answered three calls on his cell phone while we trudged up and down stairs. If it were anyone but Roberto, I’d think he was dealing drugs. But I could tell from his side of the conversations that he was fielding calls from one or more of his brothers. He had four.
I knew Roberto from high school. Although he grew up in the Bronx, we had a few things in common. Mostly our exasperated families. Roberto’s mother had hoped that art school would put his skills with spray paint and walls to good use. Even though he pretended he had no interest in school and was just biding time until graduation, Roberto was extremely talented. Our teachers often compared him to Jean Michel Basquiat. Without the heroin habit.
“I’m sorry we’re stuck in the dining room,” I said. “The girls claimed the bedroom. I get the idea they think the apartment sucks overall.”
“This is a room? I thought it was a broom closet,” Roberto said. “The futon takes up half the room.”
I opened a small door and said, “No. This is the broom closet.”
He laughed and said, “I’m just teasin’, Nickito!”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Who gives a shit what anyone thinks? What matters is, we have our own place, yo!” He high-fived me, then saw Kendra standing in our doorway. “It’s got a good view, too.”
“I just wanted to give you my share of the deposit, Nick.” She took a tentative step into the room and handed me a check. “You know, while I’ve got it? Before I accidentally spend it on something silly, like food.”
“Or the power bill,” I said.
She sighed and asked, “How much was it to get the lights turned on?”
“They’re billing us. It won’t come for another month.”
“Not me,” Roberto said. “I could pop at any time.”
I couldn’t tell if Kendra was grossed out or trying to figure out what Roberto meant. I introduced them. When she left and I heard the bedroom door close, I turned to Roberto and said, “Roommates are off-limits.”
“We got two honeys in our house and you’re telling me I can’t—”
He was cut off when Morgan knocked loudly on our door frame and said, “Hey, you.”
“Nick,” I reminded her, then sneezed twice. “Sorry. I don’t know if it’s a cold or—”
“Listen, just because we’re sharing this glorified shoe box doesn’t mean I want to hear your life story, okay? Kendra told me she gave you her share of the rent and deposit. I don’t want you thinking I’m some freeloader, so here.” She slapped a check on top of my duffel bag. Before she left, she said, “You should get a door or hang up a sheet in this doorway. I don’t want to walk by and accidentally see your man-bits or anything.”
I stood and breathed through my mouth. Roberto was silent next to me. I wasn’t sure what he was contemplating. Probably that one of the “honeys” wasn’t such a catch after all. The miracle would be if he tried to catch her and didn’t get his ass kicked. As tough as Roberto might be, I’d put my money on Morgan. If I had money.
While I put both girls’ checks in my wallet, I sneezed three more times and remembered my cup of tea. It was stone cold, but I drank it in the kitchen while Roberto made a couple more phone calls. Then I went back into our room, trying to summon up enthusiasm for unpacking.
“Let’s get out of here,” Roberto said abruptly, picking up my hoodie and tossing it to me. I slipped into it, understanding his need to leave. Four people sharing the rent was an appealing idea. Four people inhabiting the same small space at the same time was less so. Plus Morgan’s movers were due any minute. Something told me that would entail a lot of drama.
I considered my scratchy throat and said, “Let me get a heavier jacket.”
It had finally stopped raining, but the air was still cold and damp. While we walked, Roberto entertained me with a perfect imitation of Morgan. When I realized where we were heading, I wiped my nose with alternating sleeves of my jacket and asked, “What’s up? Where are we going?”
“Listen to you, all suspicious. It stopped raining, so I thought we’d get out and—”
“No,” I interrupted. “I meant, why are we going to the subway?”
Roberto looked like he was about to deny my accusation, but stopped when he saw me staring at the subway entrance at the end of the block. We could see people descending and ascending the stairs beneath the sign for the 6 train. He glared at me and said, “Suck it up. You can’t ride the bus forever, and taxis are expensive. We’ll be fine. Trust me.”
“Manipulative asswipe. You had to bring trust into this, didn’t you?”
“You
