The Woman Upstairs

by Camryn Eyde

  “Bad news.”

  Ricci grimaced and poked her head out from behind the washer-dryer.

  “Some fool has cracked every pipe they could lay their hands on in that third room when they beat their way through the wall. The water pressure in the shower is currently dribbling down the wall recess.”

  “What? Shit.” Ricci stood so fast her head spun. Lawrence held out a steadying arm. “Is the water off?”

  “Yeah, baby.”

  “The damage?”

  “Minimal. Worth checking down below though.”

  Brushing her hands off on her jeans, Ricci nodded. “I’ll go do that now.”

  “Face. Kneecaps. Groin,” she heard Lawrence say to Howie as she left the apartment. Ricci agreed. The fool that damaged her apartment deserved grievous injury to each of those body parts.

  A minute later, and with a deep breath, Ricci rapped the brass knocker on apartment four. The five-story building housed two apartments on each floor…except floor four because Mrs. Dellaroy paid for modifications. Each apartment had undergone significant upgrades and was now appointed with the best of the best in home design. The exclusive inclusions came with a hefty price tag, and people that could afford to pay that tag were not always easy to get along with. The door she knocked on was soon opened and the man Ricci knew was called Mr. Yates stared down at her. Case in point.

  “Yes?”

  “Could I please have a word with Mrs. Dellaroy?”

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No, but—”

  “Then please call her secretary and arrange one. Good day.” Ricci shoved her hand against the door to stop it from closing.

  “I need to talk to Mrs. Dellaroy about a maintenance issue.”

  Mr. Yates lifted his chin and inspected her. “And you are?”

  Ricci gave him a droll look. “The superintendent and owner of these apartments.” She left off the ‘duh’ that sprang to mind.

  Mr. Yates sniffed. “Very well. I shall inquire on your behalf. Wait here.” He shut the door in her face.

  “Oh, for the love of God.” Ricci pinched the bridge of her nose. Mrs. Dellaroy was beyond rich, had an obnoxious butler Ricci suspected went above and beyond his duties, and had spent the first two years of her tenancy making Ricci’s life miserable. The door opened and Mr. Yates stepped aside to let her in. “Thank you.”

  “In the conservatory, if you will?”

  Ricci tried not to roll her eyes. The conservatory had been one of the rooms Mrs. Dellaroy demanded to have remodeled when she moved in. Buying both units on the fourth floor, she had combined them to make one massive suite, with marble ostentatiousness in the main bath and en suite, the office-library that looked like something from the Victorian era, and every damn thing that opened and shut. Yes, the place looked awesome, but consulting with a woman that could afford to change her mind every other day was a nightmare.

  “Rica, dear,” Mrs. Dellaroy said as she entered the sunlit room. Mrs. Dellaroy refused to call Ricci by her nickname, always preferring to pronounce her given name in true Latino flair.

  “Good morning,” Ricci said, appreciating the spectacular view this room offered over central park.

  “Are you here to tell me I can finally move upstairs? I have so been looking forward to expanding my view somewhat.”

  “Ah, sorry. I’m afraid not. The apartment has already been leased, and the Easten’s are still in 5b.”

  “Well, that’s highly disappointing. Let’s only hope the new tenant isn’t nearly as prone to ruckus as the last. I swear, I didn’t get a wink of sleep Wednesday night.”

  Ricci gave her an apologetic smile she didn’t feel. The fact that Tara had yet to sign anything was left unsaid. “I have some worrying news, though.”

  Mrs. Dellaroy leaned forward in her embroidered chair and propped herself on her cane. “Oh? Do tell, dear.”

  “The apartment upstairs has sustained some…damage.” An utter demolition of my trust, too. “We may have some water issues above your…” Ricci orientated herself. “Butler’s en suite. Would you mind if I could take a look?”

  Mrs. Dellaroy frowned. “Do you have an inspection notice?”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t. It’s a bit of an emergency.”

  “This is highly unusual, dear.”

  Ricci sighed. This woman liked rules. “Perhaps I can give you a verbal notice now, followed by a signed one, and come back in the morning?”

  “I’m entertaining the Mistreated Mallard Society in the morning. I cannot allow you to traipse around with Mrs. Terrington-Brown in attendance in…” Mrs. Dellaroy looked Ricci up and down and waved her arm at her. “Whatever this is. Dear, you really should take me up on my offer to attend my tailor.” She clucked her tongue and shook her head.

  Ricci adjusted the tool belt around her waist and cleared her throat. “Perhaps in the afternoon?”

  Mrs. Dellaroy sniffed. “I shall be entertaining the Manhattan Spinster’s Bridge Club. I will not have you bandying about in front of city royalty.”

  “Tomorrow then?”

  Mrs. Dellaroy sighed. “Tomorrow, I’ll be spending the morning having my hair done, and I’ll be at the City Canine Habitat Alliance Fundraiser from three p.m. As president, I can’t very well be absent. However…” Mrs. Dellaroy screwed up her face and studied Ricci. “You may come around at that time. Mr. Yates will supervise.”

  Ricci sighed. “Very well.” It was the best she was going to get from this woman who seemed to be on the board of every ridiculous society going. “Please call down to me if you find anything unusual happening in the ceiling above the en suite.”

  “I will certainly make Mr. Yates aware.”

  “Excuse me, Mrs. Dellaroy,” the secretary said as she came cowering into the room. “A reminder that Margareta Blomhall is expecting you shortly.”

  “Ah. Thank you, Theresa. Rica, if that is all?”

  She really liked to roll that R. “That was all. Thank you for your time.” Ricci followed Mr. Yates to the front door, hearing Mrs. Dellaroy order Theresa to have the cleaners polish the floorboards. Ricci looked at her boots not noticing any dirt or grime worth scrubbing away. Ugh. Rich people…

  After a small explosion of pressurized water in the closet laundry soaking her and the boys to the bone, Ricci called it a day. Seven straight hours they’d been fixing the electrics and plumbing in the apartment, and Lawrence guessed they had another to go considering the overhaul required in the main bathroom wall. Ricci had already ordered a few sheets of plaster to cover the enormous hole Lawrence needed to make. All in all, Ricci was tired, pissed off, and wishing to castrate Mr. Carter.

  After helping the guys pack their tools into the van, Ricci rang Stevan.

  “Hello?” came a small voice.

  “Hey, Estella! It’s Aunty Rica, honey.”

  “Rica. Rica!”

  Ricci smiled at the enthusiasm of the three-year-old. In the background, she heard her mother reprimand her for answering the phone.

  “Ricci?” said Jessica, her sister-in-law.

  “Hi, Jess. Is Estevan about?”

  Jess chuckled knowing how much he hated his Christian name. No one but their mother called him that. “I’ll go get him.”

  “Ricci?” Stevan came on a moment later.

  “Hey. Did you get the notice from the insurance assessor?”

  “Yeah. What a mess. Is there really that much damage? The list was extensive.”

  “Yeah, but there maybe more. The water has seeped down the wall. I’m looking at the apartment below tomorrow afternoon.” Ricci sighed. “I want this bastard sued.”

  “I’m working on it. There might be criminal charges involved, though. You’ve reported this to the police?”

  “Yeah. They were supposed to question David Carter today. I haven’t heard back.”

  “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!” Estella’s voice rang loudly through the phone.

  “Rica, I have to go. Ella is bust
ing to go to the park like I promised.”

  “Oh. No problem. Talk to you later.”

  “Mom dropped by yet?”

  Ricci narrowed her eyes. “No. Should I be expecting her?”

  Stevan chuckled and hung up.

  Growling, Ricci muttered, “Asshole.”

  “Well, I’m certain you don’t mean me, baby doll,” Howie said as he descended from the fifth floor with the remainder of his equipment. Crossing the foyer, he planted another kiss on Ricci’s lips.

  She backed off with a yelp. “How many times have I told you not to do that? Girls, remember? I’m into girls!”

  Howie laughed and the sound abruptly choked in his throat. “Well, here’s one for you,” he said to someone over Ricci’s shoulder.

  Spinning so fast her neck cracked, Ricci spotted Tara. Way to out yourself, Rica. The roommate situation didn’t need the extra dose of awkward.

  “I’m Howie. Howard Bessler Junior, in fact. I’m sure you’ve heard of my family’s investments?” He walked over to her with his hand extended.

  Tara kept her eyes on Ricci and said, “No.”

  “Oh, well, never mind. I’m more than happy to take you to dinner and show you. Ever heard of the Ridge Hotel?”

  Tara leveled him with a stare that should come with an ice warning. “Do you often make a habit of hitting on lesbians?”

  “Uh…” Howie’s face fell as Tara walked away from him, dismissing the poor man before he barely had a chance.

  Ricci’s eyes widened at her words, and felt her mouth go dry as Tara walked past her with a smirk. What the hell had she meant by that?

  “Dammit. What is it with you chicks?” Howie said, huffing and storming off to the street.

  “Good question,” Ricci said, turning in time to see Tara disappear behind the privacy wall leading to the superintendent’s apartment.

  Chapter Five

  Misheard Rumors

  Ricci had the longest shower she could get away with before reluctantly hopping out and changing into fresh clothes. She picked up her soiled clothing that smelled like sweat and stagnant water, and marched it straight to the laundry basket.

  “Got anything you need…washed,” Ricci said, stumbling as she took in the scene she had wandered in to. “You’re cooking.”

  Tara looked up over the vegetables she was cooking. “I am.”

  “Umm…why?”

  Tara gave her a look that left her with no doubt that was a stupid question. “One assumes you eat in the evening like the rest of the world’s population?”

  “Yeah, but…” Ricci averted her gaze and fiddled with the basket in her hands. “I usually buy it in, or, you know, reheat stuff.” Which reminds me, I must tell mom I’m low on her albondigas and enchiladas.

  “Due to laziness, or lack of skill in the kitchen?”

  “Ah…” Both options sounded bad. “I’m not great in the kitchen, if you must know, and I’m the bane of my mother’s existence because of it. I can do a mean omelet though.”

  Tara slid whatever she was chopping into the pan at the stove and a delicious aroma wafted out along with a sizzle. “I gather she tried to teach you.”

  “Yeah, but I was too busy building things to take any notice.”

  Tara put the chopping board back on the counter and looked at Ricci. “Building things?”

  “Yeah. You know, like…things. Lamps and billy carts and tree houses. Things.”

  “Lamps?”

  Ricci shrugged. “I liked the light.”

  “And now you build gardens?”

  “And apartments.”

  Tara paused in her motion to pick up the knife. “You built this place?”

  “I bought the shell, but I remodeled each floor.”

  “By yourself?”

  “Well…not entirely. I’m not a plumber, and I needed a hand with the sheeting and some other stuff, but yeah, I mostly did it myself.”

  Tara stared at her for a few uncomfortable heartbeats. “I’m making Mu Shu Pork.”

  Ricci blinked at the rapid change in subject topic. “You’re making what?”

  Tara smiled. “It’s a Chinese dish. My partn—umm, I took a cuisine course last year.” Tara cleared her throat and pulled another curious vegetable to the cutting board. Partner? Ricci frowned as the woman concentrated intensely on slicing the…what the heck was that? “Would you like to try some?” Tara asked, as Ricci cocked her head.

  “Mu wu pork?”

  “Mu shu pork.”

  “Oh. Umm…yes? But…” Ricci bit her lip as the weird ingredient went into the pan. “Can I ask what the hell that was?”

  “Wood ears.”

  Ricci grimaced. “I don’t think I want to know.” Clearing her throat and enjoying the wonderful aromas, she asked, “Got anything you need washed?”

  “That depends. How long until I can move upstairs?”

  “Yeah…about that. It’s going to be a while. Maybe the end of next week?”

  Tara sighed. “Well, in that case, yes, I would like to launder some clothing, however, I can take care of that myself, thanks.”

  “Oh. Sure. The laundry room is out there, go left and walk around the hall, which takes you to the right, and then look for the room that says laundry. It’s next to the gym.”

  Tara blinked. “This place has a gym?”

  Ricci frowned. “Didn’t Alicia tell you?” Ricci found that unbelievable, especially considering Alicia used the gym as if it was her own personal playground. Unlike the rest of the floors, she had left herself a modest-sized apartment and used the remaining space as a laundry, a break room for the doorman and security guard, and a small, but useful gym room complete with a narrow lap pool. With the exception of Mrs. Dellaroy, each apartment was worth the hefty lease fees they attracted.

  “All I was aware of was that someone from the store offered to find me a place to stay. I was busy being otherwise occupied to pay attention to details.”

  Otherwise occupied? You mean getting demoted and splitting up a couple?

  “Right. Well. I’ll be back in a moment. Maybe when I get back, I can run you through the paperwork and an induction.”

  “Very well.”

  Nodding, Ricci heaved up her basket and trundled to the door. She opened it and screamed.

  “Are you okay?” Tara asked, running from the kitchen with a spatula in hand. Ricci blushed bright red at Tara as she took in the presence that she had screamed at.

  Ricci swallowed. “Uh, Ma, what are you doing here?”

  Gloria Carrillo Velez stood at the door glaring at her daughter and the woman with the cooking implement. “What is this!” Gloria yelled in Spanish. “You’re taking up with a white girl now? Unwed and unholy in the eyes of our Lord, and without telling your mother!”

  Ricci felt herself shrink. A quick glance at Tara revealed the woman frowning.

  Answering her mother in Spanish, Ricci said, “She’s not my girlfriend. She’s a tenant from upstairs.”

  Gloria narrowed her eyes and looked Tara over. “Small breasts, but she’s pretty.”

  “God, Ma!” Ricci said in English, and noticed too late that Tara had made a noise of surprise. She gave Tara a shrewd look before being yelled at again.

  “What! What is wrong with you? Estevan tells me you finally had a lover, and now you’re telling me you don’t?”

  “No, Ma.” Ricci put her hands on her hips, the washing basket dropped to the floor when she saw her mother. “And Estevan is a lying asshole.”

  Gloria slapped her on the arm. “Mind your language.” Looking back at Tara, she said, “Why can’t you marry this one? What’s wrong with her?”

  God save me. Covering her eyes and reverting back to Spanish, Ricci said, “Nothing is wrong with her, but not every woman I meet is the one I’m going to marry, Ma. I barely know her.”

  Her mother clucked her tongue. “You won’t marry anyone. Men. Women. You’re aging, Rica, and your time for babies is passing. When I was
your age, you and your brother were already at school.”

  “I don’t want kids.”

  Gloria raised her eyes to the heavens. “What have I done, dear Lord, to deserve a daughter like this?”

  Ricci huffed.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” Tara said, holding her hand out to Ricci’s mother. “I’m Tara Reeves.”

  Gloria scowled at her. In English, she said, “Gloria. Rica’s mother.” She eyed the spatula and sniffed the air. “You cook?”

  Tara smiled and Ricci took the opportunity to shove her mother in the direction of the kitchen and escape the room with her dirty laundry. She wished she could stay hidden in the laundry room, but knowing her mother, she wasn’t safe anywhere.

  After sorting her laundry and feeling satisfied by the musical beep of the washing machine starting, Ricci reentered her apartment to find laughter greeting her. Her jaw dropped to see Tara laughing. “Mom?” she said cautiously. She never laughed like that. Especially not when she was in the middle of being disappointed by Rica.

  Tara and her mother, a mighty woman that didn’t reach five feet tall, turned their attention on her.

  “Mi bella!” Her mom cried out, holding her hands outstretched. Ricci moved into them and was smothered with arms, a healthy girth of stomach and breast and kisses to her hair. “How are you, Rica baby?”

  “I’m fine, Mom.” Ricci’s eyebrows drew together. “What’s wrong with you?”

  Her mother clucked her tongue again. “What kind of greeting is that for me, your mother? The woman her birthed you, who raised you, who gave her precious girl everything she had!”

  Ricci rolled her eyes and scoffed. Rarely a conversation went past when her mother didn’t say that patented line.

  Huffing, her mom said, “I’ve decided you have a lovely lady living with you.” Gloria smiled broadly at Tara. “She’s beautiful, mi bella. And look! She cooks! Si, she’s not a Latino girl, but I don’t care. She’s perfect for you.”

  Tara choked and Ricci gasped.