by Ellie Rowe
No luck.
When nothing comes to claim me, the shock wears off and the horror sets in. That photo. How? I look around at my windows and hug myself tightly. I feel violated. Again.
I feel watched, I feel stalked, I feel… alone. What I need is some air. In my suite, I could have escaped to the balcony, inhaling the sweet summer air with a drink in my hand. Or at work, I could have ducked down for a moment to stroll through my park.
What do I have here? I think there’s some dog run where tenants take their pets to piss. It’s not real grass or anything, but it looks green. They say if you hang photos of nature in your home you feel better, even if it’s not real.
I’d have to move a fucking jungle in here for that to work. I peek out the window and try to see if there are any cameras pointed my way. There are none that I can see from over here, but I snap the blinds shut just in case.
The blind gets stuck at the top, and as I’m fussing with the string, the double-sided tape holding it in place peels off and it comes crashing down. I scream in a rage and throw it to the floor.
“I’ve got to get out of here!” I hiss and rush to get my coat and purse. I don’t care where I go, but I have to go somewhere. Maybe I can spend what little I have on something nice. A little pick-me-up treat?
There’s a lot nearby that sort of resembles a park. Maybe I could fluster the pigeons enough to reclaim one of the benches. I grab a trash bag to throw in my purse. If I’m lucky enough to snag a bench, it will undoubtedly be covered in bird shit.
No sense making this day worse by ruining my outfit, and some fresh air and carbs could cheer me up. Brandi promised a free Dino meal every day I’m working, so at least I won’t go hungry. I’ll have an ulcer, kidney failure, and a heart attack, but I won’t be hungry!
Rushing out the door, I’m already feeling better about leaving it behind me. But, as I turn to do so, I see a notice stuck to the frame. The building will be undergoing renovations in the coming week, and everybody needs to get out.
Oh, Christ, are they prorating my rent then? That would be a crime. Renovations are great, sure, but I can’t afford them! Not now. Dertainly not on my “Dino Manager” salary.
I rip the note off the door and continue to read.
Oh God. It looks like the building has a new owner, although it’s very cryptic, and makes no mention who that may be. There’s no name or logo or anything, but I have a sinking feeling I know exactly who bought this place.
Thirty
Roger
I arrive at Natalie’s building downtown.
Immediately, I realize why Gerald was so appalled when I told him I wanted to buy this place. I paid hardly anything for the property, but just one look at the building’s façade makes it clear to me I still got ripped off. I wouldn’t be surprised to find human-sized bed bugs lounging in the stairwell, smoking cigarettes and drinking forties, just as comfortably as you like.
The keys I picked up from Gerald this morning aren’t even necessary. The lock on the ‘security’ door clearly hasn’t worked in years, and I step right into the foyer. I scan the mailboxes for Natalie’s name. It’s not there. My stomach drops. I pray she hasn’t slipped through my fingers again.
The TV is blaring from behind the door of the landlord’s first-floor apartment. I have to bang on it several times before a squat man in a sleeveless shirt opens the door. His shorts are stained with what I hope is only mustard, spaghetti sauce and mayo. He has more hair on his bare shoulders than he does on the top of his head. His nose looks like it’s been broken more than once, and he finally stopped bothering to get it fixed. There’s a slice of pizza dripping sauce from one of his hands.
“What the fuck do you want?” he asks, his mouth full. Charming guy.
“You’re lucky I don’t throw you out on the street.” His eyes go wide. “I own this building.”
“No, you don’t. Some guy named Zane just bought it.” He takes another bite of pizza. I stare at him and wait for it to sink it. His neanderthal brain finally puts two-and-two together. “Oh, shit, Mr. Zane, sorry about that…”
He sets the pizza down on a little table by the door. Then he wipes the grease off his hands and onto his shirt, holding it out to shake mine. I decline the offer.
“Which apartment is Natalie Ashcroft in?” I ask.
“Natalie Ashcroft…?” I wait for his slug mind to match a name to a face. His eyes light up and he looks back at me.
“Oh. The sexy one?” he asks salaciously. He licks more grease off his fingers.
I decide I will have this asshole fired and thrown out on the street as soon as I’m done here.
“Yeah,” he says dimly, “she turned in her keys and packed out already.”
You’ve got to be kidding me. I deflate a little, my shoulders sagging. I take a deep breath. Refocus. There’s still work to be done. “What apartment was she in?”
He gives me the number and I make my way up, killing three cockroaches as I go. It pains me to think of Natalie living in this dump. Truth be told, it pains me to think of anyone living in this dump. I start mentally noting all the changes and repairs I’m going to make to this place now that it’s mine.
Inside Natalie’s old place, I come up short. It still smells like her. Under the mildewy aroma that permeates this whole building, I catch the faint scent of her perfume.
For a moment, I’m transported back to our evenings together. Not just in bed. But talking with her, holding her, falling asleep beside her. A rush of emotion comes with the memories. All of it serves to strengthen my resolve.
I get to work. Look around the apartment, scoping it out like I did her empty rooms in the other place she vacated. Despite the horrible condition of theis place, I still don’t expect to find any clues visible to the naked eye. But that’s all right though. I planned for that.
I check my watch. Dennis and his crew should be here any minute. In the meantime…
Natalie’s friend’s number is still in my phone. Look, Natalie got away from me the first time. When Josie called me the night she was having dinner with Natalie, I made sure to save her number just in case Natalie tries to leave me again.
I Facetime her so I don’t have to go through the rigamarole of explaining it’s really me. That shit gets old fast.
She’s quite loud when she answers the phone. “Oh my God, Roger Zane!”
“Hey, Josie.”
“To what do I owe the honor?” She’s clearly in a store somewhere, holding up various items of clothing to her body as we talk.
“I’m trying to track down Natalie.”
“Oh, yeah?” I can tell she’s stalling for time.
“Yeah. Look, Josie, it’s important.”
“Have you tried her place?” She’s trying to keep her expression neutral, but it’s obvious she knows more than she’s letting on. I’m glad Natalie has such a loyal friend even if it’s the last thing I need right now.
“She’s not there,” I inform Josie.
“Hmm. Guess she’s out.”
“She’s out, alright. She’s moved out.” I turn my phone around to show Josie the empty apartment.
“You breaking and entering now? Careful, Roger, you’re on the verge of turning stalker there.”
“I bought the place.”
Her jaw drops at that. She ceases her shopping and gives me her full attention. “Are there any more men like you out there?”
“You mean stalkers?”
“You’ve turned stalking into a romantic art form. I’m down with it.”
“Then, please, can you tell me where she is?”
“Roger, she’s my best friend,” Josie screams at me. She’s very loud. She goes back to holding up items of clothing to herself. “If Natalie doesn’t want you to find her, then I have to respect her wishes, you know.”
“There’s more going on here than we thought. It’s imperative I speak with her.”
“Don’t you think she’s better off without the crazines
s of your world? Let her go. Let her get her life back together again.”
“But that’s what I’m saying, I can put things back together for us.”
“You can’t, Roge,” Josie says, suddenly serious. “Not by buying up buildings.”
That comment takes some of the wind out of my sails.
“I know,” I admit. “But I… I want to take care of her. I appreciate that you’re trying to protect her. But, so am I. I’m doing more than trying to protect her. I’m trying to salvage everything she’s lost. Yes, I can buy buildings to try and help with that, but the money’s an expression of… of something more. I care about her, Josie.”
“That’s very sweet,” Josie tells me.
I sense she might be beginning to crack, so I press my case.
“You called me that night,” I say. “You helped bring us back together that time. Which means, you know there’s something between her and me. Something worth fighting for.”
“I can’t betray her trust,” Josie says. I start to protest, but she talks over me. “Just imagine how upset Natalie would be,” she goes on, “if I told you she had to move all the way out to another borough. Seriously, just think, if she knew I told you she was in Queens… she’d be so angry with me.”
I smile at Josie’s image on my screen. “Where in Queens can’t you tell me she’s at?”
She shakes her head. “You can only get me to break so far, Roge. Even with looks as good as yours.”
Beggars can’t be choosers, I guess. At least Josie’s narrowed my search down a little. “Thanks, Josie,” I say, sincerely grateful.
“She’s a special lady,” Josie says. “You don’t deserve her.”
“I know.”
“That said, in all seriousness, are there any more like you? You have a brother or something?”
“Bye, Josie.”
I hang up. I’m one step closer to getting her back, and it feels like I’ve struck gold.
Just then, there’s a knock on the door. I let Dennis and his crew in. I notice the grotesque landlord has followed them. He tries to get a glimpse inside the apartment, but I slam the door in his face.
Dennis stares in horror at the apartment, then looks at me. He’s clearly suspicious. “Lemme guess. Another demolition?”
“You know it.”
He sizes up the place. “Might end up being an improvement,” he shrugs. “Just outta curiosity, we gonna be tearing down the whole city, Mr. Zane?”
If I have to, I think.
“Who cares? Just strip this one.” I don’t like being curt with a guy as kind and loyal as Dennis, but I’m running out of time.
“No prob.” He nods to his crew, and they hop to it.
The noise is fast and deafening, so I step into the dingy hallway outside the apartment to make a call.
“How’s the roach motel?” Gerald asks when he answers the phone.
“I’d be doing humanity a favor if I razed it to the ground and salted the earth,” I state.
“Sounds about right,” he agrees. “So, what do you need now? If you tell me we’re purchasing property in Newark, New Jersey, I quit, by the way.”
“Real estate’s on hold for the moment,” I say quickly. “In fact, I’m wondering how you’d feel about changing gears.”
“Oh?” Gerald asks, his interest piqued.
“Anyone in the firm as good at criminal prosecution as you all are at real estate law?”
Thirty-One
Natalie
“Hey, pick up!” I holler at the line cooks with a smile. They blow me a round of kisses and I laugh at them before dinging the bell for good measure. I haven’t spent a lot of my time in Queens, but I’m beginning to like it here.
Besides, I love Greek food, and working at a cute little ma-and-pop Greek diner in Queens is way better than that Dino-disaster in midtown. I mean, why did I need Manhattan so badly, anyway? The crowds, the tourists, the smells…
This here is manageable, and to be honest, the people are completely sweet and compassionate. I’ve only been here a few days, mind you, but, so far so good. I admire them, running this bustling little place through sweat, and tears, and hard work.
Fuck Manhattan! What’s there to miss? Bagels still taste great here, and I don’t have to wait in line so long. I can always take the train to Josie, assuming she’ll let me step foot on the subway before she calls a car, and there’s unlimited tzatziki, which suits me fine.
No, the only thing to miss about Manhattan is Roger.
As mad as I’ve been at him, I keep turning our argument over and over in my head. Our first night was amazing. And, yeah, it led to where we ended, but it was only supposed to be a fling, right?
A fling I started no less. Catch and release, I’d said after that night even if he was already pulling at my heart. So can I really blame the guy if he went out partying, when we weren’t really into each other yet?
I certainly could blame him, and I did. But now that the pain has dulled, I feel like I’ve made a huge mistake. The more I think about it, the more I realize it was admitting my feelings for him the night before that got me so worked up.
I can’t believe I told him I loved him. He didn’t say it back, but the way he held me felt like a response. Or, was I all wrong? I sigh heavily, and one of the line cooks gives me a sympathetic eye.
“It’s coming, don’t worry, don’t worry!” he says, and I wave him off. Good, let him think I’m sighing about moussaka. It’s no good to give them my sob story, although something tells me they’d love to hear it.
I’ve never been super close to my family, so it’s nice to feel a little like I’m part of one. I wonder what advice they’ll give. They would definitely tell me to call him, and a part of me would agree.
But, what the hell would I say? ‘Hey Roger, sorry about yelling at you — uh, can you come pick me up?’
It’s all too ridiculous and humiliating. And, frankly, why does he keep buying all the places I live in! ‘Weird flex’, as the kids would say.
This was one of the many reasons I chose not to divulge where I’m currently situated. I don’t need to be rescued, and I certainly don’t need a landlord slash guardian.
What I need is my food order. I’m about to give the guys some hell again, when one of the cousins comes barging in.
“Hey, lamb, you’ve got a new table in. I’ll bring your food, don’t worry. They take too long, eh?” She barks over to the line and they erupt into apologies and excuses. I laugh and shake my head, wiping my hands on my apron to grab my notepad.
After working under the pressure of chief editor at Chic, everything here seems easy. Work seems easy. All I need to do is come in, take orders, collect tips and keep things clean. There are no deadlines hanging over my head, or meetings, or unreasonable board members, or Gabbys.
Here, I’m anonymous. I come in, I do my job, and I go home. It’s not so bad.
I push my way through the swinging door. While I’m running through the list of specials in my head, I look up to see my table.
There’s a man sitting in the booth, his back to me. My stomach turns. Something about the back of his head… I slow my pace until I’m only a couple of feet from him. No fucking way.
“Blake?” I choke as I face him. How does he keep finding me? I haven’t told anyone where I was headed, or where I started working. Just Josie! And she would never give me up, she hates Blake.
“Look at you,” Blake smiles sinisterly. “Cute. I like the apron.”
He reaches for the edge of the fabric, but I slap it out of his hands. “You look like a sweet little New York housewife.”
“I don’t know what you’re doing here, but you need to leave,” I say tightly, trying to keep my voice down. I need to get him out of here without causing a scene. The last thing I want to do is lose this job because of Blake.
“Can’t a guy come in for a cup of coffee?” he asks as he throws his hands out.
“Fine,” I turn and grab a cup, my
hands shaking with fury. One of the cousins eyes me through the kitchen window and frowns. I give them a smile before pouring a cup and turning back around.
“Thank you, waitress.” Oh, he’s really twisting the knife now. “Gotta say, the apron suits you, but this?” He gestures around, looking disgusted. “You deserve more than this, don’t you think?”
I don’t know what to say. I know anything I do say will just give him fuel and rile me up, so I keep my mouth shut. I won’t let him take anything else from me.
“Come on, Natalie,” he says, his eyes shining with false sympathy. “Haven’t you had enough?”
This son of a bitch.
Blake sighs and takes his napkin out, grimacing at the quality before he drops it to the ground. “Whoops... Won’t you pick that up, sweetheart?”
I grind my teeth so hard; I can hear it. I stoop to pick it up slowly when he grabs my wrist and pulls me in. The table near us raises their eyebrows, but I try to smile and dampen the situation.
“Let go of me,” I say calmly, but Blake shakes his head.
“Are you ready to give in, Natalie?” He coos as he runs his fingers up my arm. I shudder involuntarily. “Are you ready to take me back?” I rip my hand from his grip so hard, I stumble backward.
The table nearby is definitely alarmed, but I’m hoping they’ll keep their mouths shut. Don’t make a scene, I beg in my head, Don’t make a scene!
“Stubborn as always,” he chuckles. “I’m doing all this for you, baby. You know that, don’t you? I’m doing this to get you back. This is your fault, Nat. It didn’t have to be this way — ”
“My fault?” I hiss, trying to keep my voice down.
Blake nods solemnly.
“I didn’t want it to be like this. I told you, I love you, honey. But you ran off with that fucking tool, Roger —”
“You keep his name out of your mouth, you son of a bitch,” I whisper, my jaw clenched. Blake raises an eyebrow and adjusts his collar. A tell-tale sign he’s getting mad.