Kip attended church services less regularly than Lucifer with a hangover, and he couldn’t even recall the last time he uttered a heartfelt prayer. But for lack of a more secular term, he equated his correspondence with Mark Flyer as a godsend. On paper, Mark had the credentials that instigated bidding duels between landlords. He worked at the same job for over ten years, earned a culinary degree, didn’t smoke or drink, and despised loud music. In person, he looked like a three-dimensional GQ cutout, tailored and groomed in a fashion that belied his profession. Even his shoes were polished so that they glistened like wet asphalt. Kip needed only one glance at the togged up fellow before concluding that Mark was the ideal candidate for sharing his home.
“You sure dress spiffy for a chef,” Kip said, welcoming Mark with an intentionally firm handshake. Mark paced through the motions of this formality before giving Kip a sealed envelope that he had folded in his tweed overcoat. “What’s this?”
“First month’s rent, plus security. Cash.”
“You didn’t even look at the place yet. How do you know you’ll like it?”
Mark stepped a few feet back from the townhouse’s façade and took a mental snapshot of the premises with his bullet gray eyes. “I’m not too fussy,” he said.
“But I am,” Kip said. “It’s pretty quiet around here, and I intend to keep it that way. Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look like the type of guy who owns real estate, not someone who rents it.”
“I hear that a lot. Thanks, though.”
Kip found himself testing the envelope’s weight between his hands; pretending to be impartial with Mark’s method of introduction did not come without effort. Nothing else about him was either extraordinarily good or bad, but the normalness of his gestures softened Kip’s reservations about renters. Halfway through the initial tour of the townhouse, Kip paused and observed Mark’s chiseled face with a certain reverie.
“You look sort of familiar,” Kip said. “But I can’t place your face.”
“A lot of people say I resemble that detective on Magnum, P.I.—you know, that old T.V. show.”
It must’ve been the shaggy brown hair and 70ish-styled mustache, which clung to Mark’s upper lip like a monkey’s finger. “Tom Selleck,” Kip thought. “Maybe. I can see that. Are you sure you haven’t been in this part of town before?”
“Positive. First time here.”
“Maybe I saw you at Bed Mania. Ever been there?”
“Nope. I don’t shop much.”
Maybe Mark was a tad more furtive than Kip would’ve preferred, but he paid in cash, and Kip wasn’t in the best position to get finicky at this juncture.
“Look, I’m going to be honest with you, Mark. I’ve never rented to anyone before. My wife and I split up about six months ago, so the extra money would sure help me out. I just don’t want to get stuck with somebody who won’t follow my house rules.”
“No drugs or pets,” Mark said. “I read your ad at least twice.”
“And you’re okay with everything else?”
“You won’t even know I’m here half the time. I know what it’s like to go through a divorce. It’s a big club and its membership is getting bigger every day.”
“Well, I guess we can give this a shot and see how it works out,” Kip mused. He extended his hand again, only this time his grip wasn’t nearly as rigid.
The transition of cohabitating with a virtual stranger proved to be less of a burden than Kip expected. Mark moved into Kip’s townhouse within two days of their initial meeting; no one in the neighborhood even furrowed an eyebrow. After all, Mark arrived without excess baggage, literally and figuratively. He even cooked dinner for Kip on the first night without any apparent hope of reciprocation.
Three days went by and Kip hadn’t exposed a single flaw in Mark’s character. They still didn’t discuss a lease or anything on paper to legitimize their arrangement. One late afternoon, before Mark left for work, Kip felt obligated to relay his gratitude toward his home’s newest occupant. They crossed paths in the driveway.
“This might seem a little premature,” Kip said, “but thanks.”
Mark fumbled for his car keys before saying, “For what?”
“Well, I’ve heard a lot of freaky stories about renting to strangers. I guess you never really know what to expect from people nowadays. But you seem pretty normal. I mean that in a good way.”
“I just keep busy and try to stay out of trouble. Nothing fancy.”
“I wish my ex followed your approach. Anyways, I think this is working out pretty good so far.”
Mark offered Kip a reassuring nod and then donned his mirrored sunglasses, which seemed curiously superfluous for such a cloudy day. Before getting into his pickup truck, Mark called back to Kip, “Hey, there’s some extra stew in the fridge. Feel free to treat yourself. See you later.”
Chapter 4
Mark, There's a Beagle in My Bedroom! Page 3