Everything but the Girl
by
Saxon Bennett & Layce Gardner
This is a work of fiction; names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Published by Square Pegs Ink
Text copyright 2019 © Saxon Bennett & Layce Gardner
All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without the authors’ written permission.
Cover designed by Lemon Squirrel Graphics
Chapter One
“You don’t understand... I need this apartment!” Joy Hammond insisted, “I’m living on a friend’s couch. The building I was living in got condemned.”
“And that concerns me how?” Carol Day asked. She was leggy, with blue eyes and long blonde hair. She was the kind of woman who got her way—every time. Unlike Joy, who had short, dark brown hair and unremarkable pale brown eyes. She was as unnoticeable as this statuesque woman was impossible to miss.
Joy didn’t like silver spoon types as she herself had grown up under rather strained conditions and was still trying to sort out her career as a real estate agent. In her life it was feast or famine, and right now she was flush, and she wanted to live in this apartment. She needed this apartment. She had fallen in love with it when she saw it online. The rent was higher than she wanted to pay but the old house had a quaint, if well-used, air to it. It had been built around the turn of the last century and was divided into three units. The entire ground floor was this one large apartment. It had three bedrooms – two were good-sized, and the third, smaller, would make a great office. It was an apartment worth fighting for.
“How much would you charge if I outbid her?” Joy asked, putting on her best realtor tone of voice.
“Well, it goes for two thousand, but I’ll give it to you for twenty-five hundred,” the landlord said, avarice in his eyes. He was a small man, maybe five feet tall, with his hair styled in a pompadour, and what appeared to be a mustard stain on the front of his loud Hawaiian shirt. Orville Martin looked like he hadn’t fully entered the twenty-first century.
“Really? You’re going to start a bidding war? The only person who is going to win here is him,” Carol said, pointing at Orville. She was fuming; Joy could tell.
Joy didn’t like conflict. She was a negotiator. Before she had become a realtor, she had read The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People. “Number one: be proactive; number two: begin with the End in mind. Put first things first; think win-win; seek first to understand then to be understood; synergize; and sharpen the saw.” It changed her life.
There was a reasonable way out of this. They both wanted the apartment. It had more room than she needed, and a second person would help with the rent. Carol, here, was in her circle of influence. And the woman must really need the place to be so adamant about getting the apartment.
Joy summoned her most firm but conciliatory tone. She offered a solution. She hoped she wouldn’t regret it. Surely, this woman would keep to herself and they could share the apartment. “How about we share the apartment? It’s just you, right?” Joy said.
“Now why would you assume that?” Carol said, obviously peeved again.
“Because your girlfriend would be here with you?” Joy queried. She probably had a lot of girlfriends. Perhaps having a girlfriend living with them would prevent Carol from having a revolving door on her bedroom.
“She could be working, or it could be a him,” Carol said, as she studied the crown moldings.
“True,” Joy admitted. She’d made an ass of herself. She studied the gleaming wood floors. Of course, this woman would have a boyfriend or girlfriend or a wife; but Carol didn’t seem like the wife-y type. Joy had nothing to base this on, just that Carol gave an impression of being high-maintenance and a difficult person. Joy immediately questioned her offer. Did she really want to live with this woman and/or her wife or boyfriend? Or whomever? Was it insanity?
“As it happens, I am between girlfriends,” Carol said.
She was a cold fish, Joy thought.
“Ladies, make up your mind. I’ve got other people who want to look at the place.”
“We’ll take it,” they said simultaneously.
The lack of affordable housing in San Francisco meant that getting a place to live (much less for two thousand a month) was almost unheard of, which was why this large apartment was such a deal.
The building had a genteel poverty to it. Two other tenants lived in the apartments upstairs. Joy hoped they weren’t noisy. The building was sturdy, and the walls and ceilings seemed substantial; not like the paper thin walls of the other apartments she had looked at. The reason she was sleeping on her friend, Angela’s, couch was because the owners of her apartment complex were going to raze the building to the ground and put up a posh new building ten stories tall.
Granted, the four-plex she’d been living in was old and forlorn-looking. But it was in an area that was quickly becoming gentrified; hence, land was scarce. Joy would probably have done the same thing if it was her building.
She was homeless and this woman was girlfriendless—they would make the perfect odd couple.
“I’ll get the lease agreement,” the landlord said. “Six month’s lease at twenty-five hundred.”
“You advertised it at two thousand,” the woman said.
“That’s before your friend here offered more,” the landlord retorted.
“Good going,” the woman said to Joy and scowled at her. Joy hoped this wasn’t a terrible mistake.
They checked out the rest of the apartment more thoroughly. They had been so busy arguing they hadn’t taken a good look at the place. The bedroom in front had tall windows with pull down burgundy blinds. “Well, those are going to have to go,” Carol said.
They had finally introduced themselves more civilly. Carol owned an exclusive clothing store called the Boutique. It was one of the stores that had moved into the gentrified area near Jackson Square. How come she had never seen Carol’s store before this? Or had she and purposely looked away? She had found that in the real estate market, the fancier the woman the snottier and more demanding she was. It seemed clothes made the woman as well as the man. It figured that Carol sold high-end clothing; her posh attire made sense. She wore an ecru-colored Burberry coat, trimly fitted black slacks, and a burgundy silk blouse. You can’t dress cheaply if you’re selling fancy clothes.
“So, you’re a realtor. Are you good at it? I certainly hope so, since your offer upped the rent for both of us,” Carole asked.
“Actually I am. Besides, splitting the rent helps us.” Joy said. “We’re coming out ahead.”
“I don’t need financial help. I need a place to live,” Carol said.
“Right.” Joy thought Carol was going to be a horrid roommate.
They continued on to look at the second bedroom. It had one window and was smaller, but it had a larger closet than the front bedroom.
“You can have this one,” Carol said.
“So, you want the best one, is that what you’re saying?” Joy said petulantly.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. This room is fine.”
“It has a lot less light,” Joy flipping into realtor mode. “I’m partial to natural light.” But she had to admit the room had potential. Let Carol do what she wanted; it was easier, and Joy needed to pick her battles. This was one she could concede to.
Carol seemed like the kind of woman who had eclectic good taste. The more Joy looked at Carol the more beautiful she became; the sun s
hone through the window and made her hair sparkle. Joy never trusted beautiful women.
The world was all about beauty, not soul, intelligence, or talent. All this bothered Joy because before she had gone out on her own as a realtor, the office was full of good-looking women with augmented breasts and Joy was forced to take the lesser sellers. What she had discovered was that wives had a lot of pull when it came to buying a house and a super attractive woman real estate agent caught the husband’s eye and alienated the wife. Joy had the perfect look to keep the husbands focused.
“And you won’t need new window treatments,” Carol said, pointing at the slated white plastic blinds on the room’s one window.
That was a consideration. But she was flush right now and if she budgeted she could fix up this room, make it into a bedroom and a sitting room of sorts, so that if she had to get away from Carol she would have a place to be other than sitting on her bed like a teenager. She wanted a comfy chair with an ottoman so she could put up her feet after a long day of showing houses. She could put up with the blinds she had on her one window. Maybe someday she’d put up some nice drapes.
She would show Carol that she had good taste, and she had money now. She knew the importance of window treatments in selling houses. With the rental shortage and the high prices of houses, Joy considered herself fortunate to have this place. Carol would get a girlfriend and Joy would make the money she needed to pay the entire rent. It was the Win-Win principle all done through negotiation. Thank you, Stephen Covey, author of The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People.
Joy followed Carol to look at the third room which, much to their dissatisfaction, was extremely small. “It’ll make a good office,” Carol said. “How about I get the bigger bedroom and you take this as your office. I certainly don’t need one. That should even it out,” her tone more conciliatory.
That was a good deal, but she didn’t want to be beholden to Carol for anything. “I suppose if you combine the rooms it comes up to the same square footage.”
“You talk like a real estate agent,” Carol said.
If she didn’t know any better, she would’ve sworn Carol was teasing her. “This apartment has a lot of square footage for the cost of the rent,” Joy said. “I know the outside looks kind of shitty, but the inside of the building is nice.”
They actually agreed on something. Now where was that shyster of a landlord? Joy didn’t want him talking to other potential renters and starting another bidding war. That had been a bad move on her part. Carol was right; not that she would tell her so. She didn’t want to muck this up because she didn’t particularly care for her new roommate. They were going to have to make this work if they wanted someplace to live that wasn’t out of San Francisco proper.
“I’m going to check on the landlord. I don’t want him cheating us out of the apartment,” Joy said.
“Good plan. I’ll check out the plumbing,” Carol said.
“You know about plumbing?” Joy said, impressed.
“Of course not, I’m going to flush the toilet and make sure it works. I have a feeling this guy isn’t one for fixing things,” Carol said. She looked around again. “This place has a lot of potential.”
Joy almost flattened the landlord as she came out the door. He held a piece of paper Joy hoped was the lease. She couldn’t relax until she had put her name on the dotted line. She wondered why they called it the “dotted line” when it wasn’t, but lord knows she’d used the same idiom with her clients. She often sensed their trepidation before they signed the next thirty years of their life away to a mortgage.
She was going to sign on the bottom line for a six month’s lease with a woman she didn’t particularly like. Like she often told her clients, you only live once... and even if you do believe in the afterlife you won’t be in need of a house (of course, she didn’t mention that part). Never talk politics or religion with clients. If you wanted a house in San Francisco, it took a lot of money. That’s how Joy managed her flush moments. Her commissions were large. And now that she had gone out on her own, she didn’t have to compete with the other realtors. It had been her realtor mother who suggested she do it. She trusted her mother’s business acumen when it came to selling houses.
“I got another three calls. I have one guy who’s willing to pay more.” He didn’t meet her eye when he spoke.
Joy, usually correct in her assessment of human behavior, knew the guy was a shyster. Someone might have called about the apartment or not; he was not a trustworthy man. She could tell.
“We had a verbal agreement,” Joy said. With her real estate background, she might be able to convince him that the time between the verbal agreement and going to his car to get the paperwork didn’t count as an aborted agreement, “I’m a realtor, you know.”
“When you filled out this portion that would’ve been evident,” the landlord said. “I’ll let you all fill that out and mail it to me.”
This didn’t seem right to Joy. What if he claimed not to get the lease and payment and then denied them the apartment? The more the chance of not getting the apartment, the more Joy wanted it even if it meant living with Carol. “Can I talk to you for a minute? In private,” Joy said to Carol.
“What for?” Carol asked, obviously perturbed.
“Because I asked you to, that’s why,” Joy said, equally perturbed.
“All right; we’ll be right back,” Carol said, glaring at Orville as if to warn him that if he left, she’d hang him up by his balls.
They went into what would be Carol’s bedroom. Joy said in a low voice, “I don’t trust him. I think we fill it out and give him the deposit and rent instead of mailing it.”
Carol appeared to consider this. “If a better offer comes along, he’ll say he didn’t get the lease and money in time, so he figured it was okay to screw us over because he didn’t have our lease. That creep,” Carol said.
Joy was impressed with Carol’s quick assessment. She supposed being in sales did that to a person. They had that in common in least.
The original Odd Couple television program came to mind. Oh my god, what if Carol was a pig? Joy was a neat and organized person. She’d been a neat child, making her bed each morning, putting her dirty clothes in the laundry basket, and dusting and vacuuming her room. One time she’d used Comet to clean the top of her dresser because she thought it didn’t seem white enough. She knew she was a weird kid. Her friends had normal, messy rooms. What if Carol was like that?
“I need to ask you a personal question,” Carol said, “I don’t abide by untidiness. I can’t live with you if we can’t at least keep the common areas clean, which means no coats and shoes hanging about. Things go in their place. Can you do that? I don’t care about your bedroom but after a long day of dealing with the wealthy I need a clean space to relax in.”
“Believe me, I’m tidy,” Joy said. Now she flipped to hoping she wasn’t going to be living with a clean freak asshole. There’s tidy, clean even, and then there’s lining up cans labels out like in the supermarket. “You’re not OCD?” Joy asked.
“That’s a personal question,” Carol said tersely.
“You asked me one.”
“I’d view that one simple question as a preference for putting your stuff where it belongs. I can’t have you scrambling around the apartment looking for your keys while I’m doing my morning meditation followed by my yoga session. I need quiet.”
“I know where my car keys are at all times,” Joy said. When did Carol find the time to do all that juju stuff and work?
“Ladies, I don’t have all day,” Orville called from the other room.
“We’re coming,” Joy called back. “What do you say we make him stay while we do the paperwork and get him a check?”
“And how do you propose we do that?” Carol said.
“You chat him up while I complete my part of the form and then I’ll ask him questions about the apartment while you fill out your part of the form.”
“W
hy do I have to chat him up? He’s repulsive,” Carol said, making a face.
“Because he’s a man and you’re beautiful. Just ask him questions about the building. Surely, it’s got a history,” Joy said. “You chat people up all day.”
“So do you.” Carol said.
“Ladies, please,” Orville called out again.
“All right, all right, we’re coming,” Joy called back. “What do you say?”
“It won’t be the first time I’ve used my looks to keep a man interested. They are so simple minded—sex and sandwiches,” Carol said.
“You don’t like being admired?” Joy said.
“It gets tiresome and when I turn forty, everyone will forget my looks and I’ll have only my brains to work with. Do you have any idea how that feels?”
“Uh, no,” Joy said honestly. Not being a beauty herself how could she possibly know? It was heartless question.
“I didn’t mean it that way. I’m just saying being good-looking comes with its own disadvantages,” Carol said.
“Yeah, blonde hair is out this year and brown hair is in,” Joy said. “Come on let’s get this over with.”
“Geez, it’s about time,” Orville said. He still had the lease crumpled in sweaty palms.
“We want to fill the lease and give you the checks now,” Carol said, evidently taking control of the situation.
“I’m kind of busy,” Orville said.
“Why don’t you tell me about yourself and the history of the building while you wait?” Carol said. It worked. Orville puffed up his chest and began his narrative.
When they had paid him and gotten the keys, he said they could move in that weekend. Joy was delighted. She had put her stuff in storage, so it was already in boxes.
“I’ll plan on having the movers come on Friday if that suits everyone,” Carol said.
“Suits me fine,” Joy said.
“Move in whenever you want. I don’t care as long as long as you pay the rent,” Orville said.
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