Roommates

by Whitney Lyles

  “Husband. Where you live?”

  “City Heights.”

  “Díos mio. Why you live there?”

  Even the cleaning lady lived in a better neighborhood. “It’s a long story. But I’m leaving soon.”

  “Where you wanna live? I bet you wanna live in a neighborhood like these? Huh?” She smiled. “Me, too. I also want to drive four runner. Silver one.” Elise spent the next two hours listening to Lupe gossip about all the neighbors she worked for, including a very well-known newscaster who lived two doors down from Melissa and Brice. “She cheap. I ask for five dollar raise because she so picky, and you know what she tell me? No. She say I can’t have five dollar more, and you know what she want? She want me to scrub all her vases with a toothbrush. Don’t say nothing though,” she said as she helped herself to a beer.

  Toward the end of the afternoon Elise was debating becoming the mysterious aunt who sent birthday cards stuffed with a twenty but never made too many appearances. The kid was a terror in miniature cowboy boots, and having quality time with him wasn’t worth getting kicked in the teeth.

  With only an hour left of baby-sitting, he managed to hide the cordless phone. While she was scouring the kitchen for it, he came up to her and tapped her on the leg.

  She looked down at his dimples and marveled at how cute yet bad he was. The thought of what he held behind his back terrified her. His little arms were locked behind his waist, and she immediately realized that he could be armed with a snail or a giant-sized booger that he was waiting to assault her with.

  “What do you have there?” She took two steps back.

  His grin became even bigger. She debated calling in Lupe for backup. “Jeffrey, what is behind your back?”

  Slowly, he revealed his hands. He held a tiny gold frame that he had clearly taken from some mantel in the house when she had been searching for the phone. She looked closely at the picture and thought she might actually have to fight back a tear. Inside the frame was a little photo of Elise holding an infant Jeffrey at his first Christmas. “I love you, Aunt Lise,” he said as he lifted his arms toward her. She wanted to melt.

  As she picked him up, the phone rang. She followed the sound to the freezer, then found the phone hidden inside a package of waffles. It was Melissa, calling to say she’d be home in an hour.

  “How is everything going?”

  Jeffrey rested his head on her shoulder.

  “Fine. Everything is fine.”

  As she drove to her apartment she could hear the leftover pizza in her fridge calling her name. She’d ordered it the night before, and there were three slices of mushroom and pepperoni left, and she planned on eating each one. After eating, she’d take a long, hot bath, curl up on the couch, and watch Trading Spaces.

  Glorious D wasn’t around, and she wondered if perhaps he had gotten a record deal. Light glared from their windows, and she felt a flicker of irritation as she approached the front door. She knew she wasn’t perfect, but the house was lit up like the president of the electricity company’s wet dream, and no one was home.

  What she faced when she opened the front door was so surprising that a little wasted energy instantly became the least of her concerns. Behind a cloud of cigarette smoke sat a man. Frozen, she stood in the doorframe. Had she entered the wrong apartment? Quickly, her eyes darted over the room. Those were her shoes sitting next to the front door. She felt a physical urge to run screaming for her life. Who was this lanky stranger sprawled out on their couch, feet resting on the coffee table? His toenails were long. Good God, he had Bella.

  “Hey. How’s it goin’?” Suddenly, it occurred to her. It was Chee Chee Cheechers. She’d been passing dozens of pictures of him for three weeks and wondered how his face had managed to escape her subconscious. His mug shot should’ve been permanently etched in her memory by now. However, he was much skinnier than the photos, and his hair was longer. He still styled the early seventies ’do, but it was less Rod Stewart and a little more Carol Brady. He looked as if he hadn’t shaved in days.

  “You must be Elise!” He stood, and she was surprised by how tall he was. “I’m Justine’s boyfriend, Jimmy!” He grabbed her hand, gripped it hard, and shook it like a drumstick. The rumors really were true. Musicians, no matter how weird or unattractive they were, could get gorgeous girls. This wasn’t how she had pictured the love of Justine’s life.

  “Uh, yeah. Yes. I just didn’t recognize you from the pictures. But now I do. Uh-huh.” She tried not to sound flustered. But she never expected to find this pale rock-star version of Ichabod Crane sitting on their couch.

  “You look different from your pictures, too.” This was disturbing for two reasons. One, after seven hours of baby-sitting Rosemary’s Baby, she looked like hell. Two, the only pictures of Elise were in her room, which meant that he must’ve ventured in there.

  “I’ve heard so much about you,” he said. “Justine loves you. I gotta tell ya, her last roommate was a real bitch.”

  “I’ve heard so much about you, too,” she said, wondering how he had gotten in. “I thought you were in L.A., recording your album.”

  “Oh yeah, man. I was. Thank God it’s over now.” He shook his head and released a chuckle. “We finished up early. It was getting old, and we were getting sick of each other, so we decided to cram and just power it. I decided to surprise Justine.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Man, I couldn’t wait to get out of there.” He motioned to the couch. “Hey, have a seat. Grab a beer.”

  “Thanks. But I’m actually really hungry. I think I’m going to grab something to eat.” Still flustered, she headed to the kitchen. “Where’s Justine?” she asked over her shoulder.

  “At work. She’ll be home around midnight. She has to close, and there is an acoustic guitar show at the coffee shop tonight. She wants me to go, but I’m just too tired.”

  Her eyes darted over the shelves in the fridge as she searched for her pizza. She moved a milk carton and peeked behind a loaf of bread, but her search for the pizza turned up nothing.

  She found her empty pizza box sitting on the countertop next to the trash can. A greasy paper towel rested nearby with a shriveled piece of half-eaten crust on top. Justine and her guests were welcome to Elise’s food. She wasn’t Scrooge. However, she did mind if they ate the last piece of her pizza.

  She was imagining what Jimmy would look like with an empty cardboard pizza box smashed over his head when she heard the sound of a beer cracking open.

  “Sure you don’t want a beer?” he called.

  At this point, she could really use one. “Yeah, okay. Thanks.”

  He reached into the twelve-pack, which rested by his feet. “Here. Catch.” As fluid as an Olympic disc thrower, he tossed the beer in her direction. Instead of landing in her hands, the silver bullet soared past her and into a framed photo of Justine and Jimmy. The picture shot off the wall like a Frisbee, nearly swiping Elise’s cheek. The beer whizzed into the wall like a cannonball, ripping through the plaster and creating a hole as ugly and large as a rotten cantaloupe.

  “Shit!” Jimmy yelled as the frame crashed next to Elise’s feet, spraying bits of glass over the carpet. He leapt over the back of the couch. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, I’m fine. It didn’t hit me,” she said, touching her face. She glanced at the wall. “Good God,” she breathed. “How are we going to fix that?”

  Drywall and plaster drifted from the hollow like snowflakes. She peeked inside the cavity and could see the Coors Light can resting in a little grave between a pink cushion of insulation and chapped drywall on the floor. A layer of cold moisture glistened off its rim.

  “Look at the size of that hole!” Jimmy exclaimed. “Justine is gonna wig.”

  Their landlord’s reaction had actually been the one she feared most. Common sense told her that having a hole in the wall was one of the worst things imaginable in the world of deposit refunds. In fact, it was probably a close second to spilling red nail polish on the c
arpet. “I have no idea how to fix something like that.”

  “Oh. It’s just drywall. It can’t be that hard. Maybe we can just put the frame back over it for now, and no one will notice.”

  “I don’t think we should do that,” Elise said. “The weight from the frame could create an even larger hole.”

  They both glanced at the frame on the floor. It was in a million pieces, and their sappy smiles were forever embossed with a ring from where the beer can had struck. “Damn. That was a cool picture,” Jimmy said, surveying their now alienlike facial expressions.

  She felt like mentioning that Justine probably had several other copies of the same print stashed away somewhere, but kept that to herself.

  She looked at his bare feet next to the glass. “Let me grab the vacuum.” As she headed to the laundry room, she prayed he knew a good handyman. She could only imagine how much their landlord would deduct from the deposit.

  “Dammit,” he muttered. “I thought my aim was perfect. I can’t believe the size of that hole.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, man.”

  “Let me see that,” he said, taking the vacuum from her hands. “I’ll clean it up.”

  That was good, because she was still starving. She needed to eat something so she could rationally figure out how they were going to repair the giant trench that now occupied their wall.

  When she opened the refrigerator, she couldn’t remember what she was looking for. Oh yes, food. Her mind was still reeling with shock from the way her day was turning out. First Jeffrey. Now Jimmy. In addition to having horrible aim, he wasn’t supposed to be here. How had he gotten in? Justine must’ve been here when he arrived.

  There were all kinds of pastas—macaroni, rigatoni, penne—but no sauce. She found cucumbers, broccoli, and carrots. However, her search turned up no lettuce. What was a salad without lettuce? Peanut butter with no bread. Tuna with no mayo. Her quest for food was worse than searching for a new roommate, and eventually she decided to invent some kind of pasta-vegetable concoction with a butter-garlic sauce. It took her a an hour to make, and she ended up overdoing it with the garlic. She ate her mediocre meal at the counter while Jimmy watched Jackass on MTV.

  She wondered how long he planned to watch television. She wasn’t in the mood to watch a group of deranged skaters crash golf carts and sample delicacies like goldfish all night.

  The phone rang, and she snatched it up. Carly. “Hey. I just wanted to call for your advice. I’m going out with Marcus tonight. Should I wear my black sweater with the bell sleeves, or the red angora V-neck?”

  “Have you talked to him yet?”

  “No. I can’t get the nerve. But maybe tonight.”

  Elise had kept up with her end of the deal. “You said you were going to talk to him before our double date tomorrow.”

  “I am, but you know how it is. I haven’t found the right opportunity. It’s not like I can just bring it up at the copy machine in the office. So which sweater?”

  “The red angora.”

  Jimmy tossed his head back and howled with laughter at something he’d seen on television.

  “Who’s there?” Carly asked. “I hear a man in the background. Is it the guy with the tattoos? Is he there?!”

  She slipped into her room and closed the door behind her. “No. It’s Jimmy. Justine’s boyfriend.” She explained how she had come home to find him on their couch.

  “Where the hell is Justine?”

  “Work. She won’t be home until midnight.”

  “She just left him there for you to find?”

  “Apparently.”

  “That is so wrong.” Carly’s voice burned. “You don’t just leave your boyfriend with your roommate and let him do whatever the hell he wants in the apartment. You need to get out of that place. But listen, Marcus is going to be here in two minutes. I gotta run. I can’t wait till tomorrow night! We’ll talk more about it tomorrow.”

  After she said good-bye to Carly, she took the phone back in the kitchen.

  “Oh hey,” Jimmy said. “I almost forgot. Your mom called. And uh . . .” He thought for a moment. “Carol called, too.”

  Carol? Who the hell was Carol? She racked her brain, trying to remember anyone named Carol. Then it occurred to her. “You mean Cheryl? Cheryl Adams?”

  “Oh yeah. Cheryl Adams. That’s right.”

  He’d talked to Cheryl? Cheryl Adams was her agent. She was business, and one of the main people responsible for making sure she had food on her table. She was about to ask if there was a message from her when the phone rang again. This time it was her mother.

  “What’s going on over there?” she asked, worried. “Who answered the phone when I called?”

  She returned to her room. “It’s Justine’s boyfriend.”

  “He answers your phone?”

  “I guess so.” Elise gave her mother the same information she’d relayed to Carly.

  “Is he on drugs?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “How long is he staying there?”

  An excellent question. “I don’t know. I think he has a place of his own somewhere in San Diego. I’m sure he’s just visiting.”

  “Well, listen. Your father is bringing you a new can of pepper spray this weekend. Okay?”

  After saying good-bye, she flopped face-forward onto her bed. What next? She wondered. A Tyrannosaurus rex could come tearing through her front window, and she wouldn’t be surprised at this point. She allowed herself five minutes to wallow in a miserable yet totally inviting pit of frustration and self-pity over her move to San Diego. For a moment she lounged in a place where she felt completely sorry for herself and wondered why she ever left Tucson. When her five minutes had expired, she told herself the following:

  You can move.

  At least Justine is clean.

  Best of all, there is a double date to look forward to.

  And there is Max.

  There is hope.

  She scanned the local stations in her room, and she found nothing of interest on TV. She decided to take a bath, knowing she was probably missing a good episode of Trading Spaces, but not having the nerve to ask Jimmy to change the channel. While she soaked, she could hear Jimmy’s laughter burning through her bedroom walls.

  5. Adventures in Blind Dating

  A drumroll jolted Elise from her dream. Oddly, she was very relieved. For a moment she’d thought it was gunshots. She rolled out of bed, Bella at her heels, and washed her face in the bathroom sink. Music blasted from the living room—music with lots of guitar and the kind of beat that made people speed on the freeway.

  “Morning,” Jimmy yelled when she entered the living room. He stood in front of Elise’s stereo wearing only boxers and playing the air drums. A small hand-painted lighthouse sat on the coffee table nearby.

  Instead of apologizing and asking if they had woken her, Justine announced that they were listening to Jimmy’s new album. She wore the shirt Jimmy had sported the night before, which barely covered her G-string-clad butt. It really was too early to see this. “What do you think of the album?”

  Oh, I’ll tell you what I think, she wanted to say. It’s too early to be listening to this, and Justine, please cover your privates when you’re in the living room. “It’s great!” Elise said before opening the front door to let Bella out. When she closed the door behind her, she could still hear the blasting music and was confident the entire complex was listening to Jimmy’s album for the first time as well.

  It was a beautiful morning, perhaps the most beautiful Elise had witnessed since she had returned to San Diego. Warm breezes tickled her cheeks, and the sky was a shade of blue that insisted everyone must go to the beach. She was mentally picking out a bathing suit when she remembered that she had to call Melissa’s best friend, Crystal, to find out if there was anything she could do to help with the baby shower. Her mom had been on her case all week.

  When she returned to the apartment, Jimmy was standing at the kitchen
counter drinking a beer at the fresh hour of nine a.m. and making toast with her bread.

  “Hey,” Jimmy said. “Do you want some toast? I’m making it for me and Justine. We’re going to eat as soon as she gets out of the shower.”

  “Thanks. But I think I’m going to have cereal.”

  He’d only been there for one night, but Elise couldn’t help but wonder how much of her food he was going to eat by the time he left.

  Needing a break from the hood, she decided to spend the afternoon at Mission Bay with Stan. She packed a beach bag, and when she left she could hear Justine and Jimmy giggling behind Justine’s bedroom door.

  Saturdays at the Bay were always packed, especially during the summer. Parking spaces were sacred, and it was nearly impossible to avoid kicking up sand on someone’s picnic basket and towels. But she loved it, and for the first time since she’d returned to San Diego she felt at home. She loved the crowds, the lazy way suntanned bodies lounged on colorful beach blankets and cheap chairs.

  She walked through a maze of scantily clad beach bums, inhaling the delicious scent of hot dogs roasting over coals and the occasional blast of coconut suntan lotion. This was where she wanted to live, walking distance from the beach. She found Stan toward the end of the sand strip on the west side of the bay. Already sunburned, he was playing Over the Line with several of his friends.

  She was happy to see that there were a couple of girls lounging at their camp. So far, the only other potential female friends she’d met since she’d moved back to San Diego had been Justine. Considering that Justine’s entire existence centered on Jimmy, Elise assumed she wouldn’t be hitting the singles scene with her anytime soon. She’d been longing for more girlfriends. She missed her group of friends in Tucson, the way they had gotten ready for fun nights together and swapped stories about all the cute guys they had met the following morning over mimosas. She had Carly, but Carly was also trapped in a world of infatuation with Marcus.