Blue Diamond

by Dawn Umrie

Looking guilty, like a kid who just snuck a cookie out of the cookie jar, he hears my approach.

  “Oh, Mr. Vas, I thought you had left when your sister did.”

  “No, I was in my back office going over a few things. What was she here for?” My tone’s stern, I couldn’t soften even if I tried.

  “I gave her my card and told her I would look through the MLS and call her if something came up. She’s seeking a rental property in this area, but in her price range, I’m pretty sure I won’t find anything that meets her requirements unless she expands her target location. I’ll most likely refer her to another agency.

  I clench and unclench my fists, not quite understanding why I’m getting pissed off, or maybe I do and would rather not analyze my feelings towards our two happenstance meetings—first the coffee shop, and now here at my business. Although, I’m not sure this counts as a meeting since I never made my presence known.

  If it were about another client, I wouldn’t question Tim’s decision to refer them to another agency that could better meet their needs. But it isn’t about someone else, so, frankly, his lackadaisical attitude, gets me hot under the collar. “I just skimmed through some of the new listings and there’s a small house for rent on one of these side streets.”

  He looks at me questioningly as if I asked him to solve world hunger. “But, Sir, that house is for rent on Aqua Vista Blvd. You know, the historic section of Ft. Lauderdale? It’s way out of her price range, not even in the ballpark, for that matter.”

  I fold my arms across my chest and look down at Timmy as he tugs at his shirt collar. “I’m aware. This is what I want you to do for me. Wait until mid-afternoon, then call her. Let her know that a rental listing came up that would be perfect for her. Tell her the older couple who owns it wants someone in there that would take good care of the property first and foremost and aren’t interested in charging the hefty rent that comes with the neighborhood. Set up a showing, and I’ll handle the rest, understood?”

  A shocked expression crosses his egg-shaped face. “Yes, sir, I’ll call her this afternoon.”

  And with that, I nod my head and walk away.

  Merissa

  I set the tray of empty glasses on the counter when I notice that Jim is entering his own bar. Imagine that. He’s been coming around less and less over the last few months, mostly to collect his money or to drop off our checks. The day to day operations and orders have been left to Brook and myself. Something just doesn’t add up and I can’t put my finger on it. Why own a business if you’d rather be doing anything but operate one?

  Today, I’m covering the first couple of hours of Nate’s shift, since he had an appointment, and I didn’t have any plans other than the agency visit, which took no time at all. This place is dead in the afternoon anyway and I’m more than willing to help him out.

  I hear him before I see him as I set a bottle on the glass shelf behind me.

  “Whatcha’ doin’ here so early? Where’s the queer?” Jim says.

  “Nathan had an appointment, but he’ll be here in about an hour, so I’m covering for him.” I can’t hold my tongue about what just came out of his mouth, not this time. “That was a really shitty thing you just referred to him as… even for you.”

  Eying me with a smirk on his sweaty face, I look right back at him – directly into his beady little eyes.

  He raises an eyebrow. “Oh, I’m sorry, was I not being politically correct?”

  I raise my chin at his bigot ass. “It has nothing to do with being politically correct and everything to do with being a kind, respectful human being.” I will not let someone slander another innocent person in my presence.

  “Don’t get your panties in a twist, Merissa. When the quee… when Nathan gets here, don’t go disappearing,” he says while enunciating every letter in his name. “I already told everyone else to come in here this afternoon because I got big news to share. So, stay, you got me?”

  Ugh, I would have already known what was going on if I didn’t drop my phone in the toilet this morning, and now it doesn’t work even after using a hair dryer on it. My phone has probably been blowing up with calls and messages.

  Just under an hour later, Nathan walks in with his partner, Bob.

  “I don’t care if they’re comfortable, Crocs are ugly as fuck,” Bob says while staring intently down at Nate’s feet. “And don’t think because you put those cute little doohickeys in the holes it makes any difference.”

  I approach the two of them while laughing. They’re like an old married couple.

  Bob winks at me. “Hey, gorgeous, I can’t stay, just wanted to stop in and say, hi, and thank you for covering for Nate.” He wraps me up in a tight hug.

  “Anytime, Bob, no need to thank me.”

  “Have Nate text me as soon as Magilla Gorilla tells you guys his news.”

  “Will do.” I turn around and walk back behind the bar, all the while laughing. Nathan slides a beer across to a gentleman that just sat down and walks over to where I’m standing. “Bob is a hoot. By the way, he wants you to text him after Jim lets us know what’s going on.”

  “Girl, where’s your phone? We all had a group chat this morning about what Jim’s deal could be. We thought maybe you slept in or something.”

  “No, more like I dropped my phone in the toilet while I was getting ready bright and early. Let’s just say a blow-dryer doesn’t work to dry it out.”

  “That sucks, you should have put it in some rice.”

  “I heard that’s not a good idea because it gums things up and makes it worse, not that my idea was any better.”

  I hold up my new phone I got on the way back this morning. “It did give me an excuse to get rid of the piece of crap phone I was using with the cracked screen.”

  “Nice. Anyway, my theory is that it has something to do with mister hot stuff that came in during my shift around three weeks ago,” he says while fanning his face with his right hand.

  I sigh. “What mister hot stuff? And, why do I always miss the good happenings around here?

  “He came in here with rakish good looks and a devil-may-care smile. Said he wanted to meet with Jim. He was back in his office for a short while, came out with a smile on his face and waved goodbye to me. I thought it was odd that he would be smiling after talking to Jimbo, but then again, I was too busy ogling… other things.”

  I slap him on the arm. “You are so bad! What would Bob think?”

  “I told Bob all about him. We might be married, but I’m not dead, honey.”

  I snort very much like a lady should never when Mike and Brook walk in.

  Brook hugs me, followed by Mike. “That snort has to be in response to Nathan talking about the mystery man who looks like an Adonis,” Brook says while rolling her eyes like she doesn’t believe him.

  “Adonis, or not, this shit better be good because I actually have a business to run. We haven’t had one meeting in all the time I’ve been here,” Mike says while stroking Brook’s back.

  And with that, Jim comes out of his hole, walks right by us wordlessly and sits on one of the barstools.

  Jim taps on the bar, “Looky here, even beefy boy left his Gym to be here during the day. I’m honored.”

  I could see Mike’s chest heaving up and down rapidly like he’d like to end, Jim. As if sensing his aggravation, Brook strokes his forearm up and down.

  “I wanted to let all of yous know that I will no longer own this here bar as of the end of the week. The new owner that’s takin’ my place, will be here at that time.”

  We all gawk at each other in shock not expecting to hear him say he sold this place. He rakes in money and barely has to lift a finger, so the fact that he’s giving it up is baffling.

  Without so much as another word uttered, He gets up off the stool like he didn’t just drop a vague bombshell in our direction. I mean, he didn’t even tell us if the owner would be leveling the place for an apartment building or a fast food joint. Nothing.

 
Feeling on the verge of a breakdown about possibly losing my job… and living space, “Wait, Jim.” He turns around with a look of boredom on his face, but too damn bad about him.

  “Do we still have jobs? Will I still be able to live upstairs? Will we receive notice?” I’m firing off questions as panic begins to set in.

  He casually glowers back and shrugs his shoulders. “Hell, if I know. You’ll have to ask him those questions.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Merissa

  The agent, Tim from South Shores called me a couple of hours ago and said a listing, which just so happens to be an actual house, just became available for rent in the neighborhood behind Las Olas Boulevard.

  Apparently, an elderly couple would like someone to give it as much love and TLC as they have over the years and would come way down on their rent if someone happened to fit their criteria. He had asked me when I’d be available to see it, but I completely ignored his question, willing to accept it sight unseen.

  “Are. You. Freakin.’ Kidding. Me!

  “A house, like an actual house?”

  “Where?”

  “Get out!”

  “How much?”

  “Shut the front door!”

  “Oh my God, seriously, you’re joking, right?

  Poor Tim couldn’t get a word in edgewise if he’d tried while I had a complete spaz attack. Then it hit me like a ton of bricks. I forgot all about the sale of the bar, the new owner, the possibility of being out on my ass with no paycheck. Tim sounded worried when I told him I needed until Saturday to think about it, which is a strange reaction. In all actuality, he probably thinks I’m a few screws short of a hardware store with my sudden change in disposition quicker than a flip of a switch.

  Oh, sure, I saved enough money for the first month, last month and security, along with a small cushion for emergencies, but my savings would only last so long without a j.o.b.

  My eyes fill up when I think about what Mike and Brook said to me right after Jim’s shit show. Whomever first said that family isn’t always blood, could not have been more accurate.

  “Don’t give us any shit, Merissa. You’ll stay with us if Mr. Adonis gives us all the boot.” He said while putting me in a headlock.

  “Don’t worry, Rissy. ‘You jump, I jump.’” Brook says while rocking us both back and forth.

  Another Titanic quote to live by.

  The two of them don’t need this job, since Mike does well for himself at the gym, but Brook is as stubborn as I am. She’s going to make her own money and help out since they also live together. He’s tried to persuade her to work at the gym instead, but, like me, we actually enjoy our jobs, just not working for Jim.

  Feeling like an emotional wreck, I curl up into a fetal position on top of the comforter and close my eyes, wishing for sleep, but no such luck as my mind hits the replay-the-shitty-memories-of-your-past-button.

  I place my messenger bag on the kitchen table as I call out to my mother.

  “Mom, I’m home! Sorry, the city bus ran late. I hope you weren’t worried.” It’s sad how delusional I’ve become to believe that one day, maybe even today, my mother would somehow change back to the mother that she used to be—before the pain pills took her and left behind this empty shell of a woman in her place.

  I study our small two-bedroom apartment and see the usual stack of dirty dishes piled high in the sink, an ashtray filled to the top with cigarette butts—the air thick with the pungent scent of smoke.

  Eighteen years old, and only one month left until I graduate High School. I should be enthusiastic about venturing off to college like my peers, but I gave up that dream a while ago. She’s been on disability since her back injury after the car accident, which leaves her with nothing but time on her hands—time to self-medicate.

  Time to forget about living.

  Time to forget about me.

  I walk down the narrow hall and see her door cracked open about a foot. With no light on and the curtains drawn shut, I could just about make out her form draped across the bed. Same position as always.

  “Ma, I’m home.” I shake her gently on the shoulder.

  She slurs her words and keeps her eyes shut. “Go start dinner, I haven’t eaten yet. Make yourself useful.”

  Of course, she’s completely out of it, but to what degree is always the question. Some days she makes it out of bed and has a few lucid moments where my mom is trying to escape out of this despondent person’s body.

  But, not today.

  It’s sad that I prefer her excessive sleeping to her rapidly changing mood swings, which always involve her lashing out at me… then much later, apologizing.

  “Okay, Ma,” I whisper, but she’s already sound asleep.

  ‘Please come back to me.” I say while I cover her with a blanket.

  Seth

  I hang up from my interior decorator, Trish, and set my phone on top of my desk. She agreed to meet me around 8:30 tonight at Graffiti’s, which will leave me plenty of time to go home to shower and change. Although, this isn’t an official walk-through since it would be better to do so thoroughly during the daylight hours. I wanted the both of us to get a feel for the place while it’s busy. From what Mike mentioned to me this week at the gym, everyone should be working tonight since its Friday and Cinco de Mayo, an even better reason to introduce myself as the new owner to the staff. Mike doesn’t even know yet.

  Their ex-boss, Jim, on the other hand, come to find out, has a bit of a gambling problem. By a bit, I mean a gamble your kid’s piggy bank money kind of problem, and I know this because I make it my business to know everything there is to know about the people I have dealings with.

  Apparently, word on the street is that he owes the wrong people a shit-ton of green. The kind of people that if you don’t pay up would think nothing of strapping a cinder block to your dick and tossing you over the side of a canoe into the Florida Everglades. Hence the reason he was willing to hand the place over without as much as a ruffle of a feather. I honestly didn’t need a report back to determine that he’s a shady fuck, however, I did need leverage in case he tried to pull something.

  Picking my phone back up, I decide to throw a text to Vee about tonight.

  ME: Meeting Trish tonight at Graffiti’s. Stop in for a drink.

  VEE: You’re dating Trish??? :O

  ME: What the hell is the matter with you? I’m hiring her services.

  VEE: Now you’re paying for freaky deaky? ;)

  ME: The day I have to start paying for it, is the day I become a fuckin’ Monk… Which BTW isn’t a bad idea at this point.

  VEE: The Mogul Monk…bahaaa

  ME: Ha. Fuckin.’ Ha. Need to go. You coming or not?

  VEE: Only if you’re buying. See ya later.

  ME: Don’t I always, cheap ass. Love you.

  VEE: Love you, too! XX

  I slip my phone into my slacks pocket, disconnect my laptop, and shove it under my arm. I get to actually leave my office at a decent time without Janine here since the woman can make a copy paper delivery seem urgent.

  My nightly ritual is about to begin as I reach into my pocket to connect the saved music from my phone via an aux cord to my car’s radio. Having backed up into the space this morning, for obvious reasons, I start the engine and instantly peel out of it like the things on fire, and I’m using speed to extinguish the flames.

  Just as I’m rounding the final corner out to the main road, Kid Rock’s “Bawitdaba” blasts through the speakers. The energy of this song in combination with driving at an unacceptable speed makes me want to punch something… or someone, and at the end of a workday, it’s almost as satisfying.

  Stopping at a red light, it dawns on me that I didn’t touch base with Tim about…

  Of course. I didn’t ask him her name. It’s like I suffer from dementia when I’m around this woman. I remember hearing about a study that found that regular sex in rats made them smarter, and the increased neuron production, or some shit, woul
d lead to improved mental performance. So, that must be my problem, no regular sex. I don’t believe that my right-hand counts because if it did, my neurons would be having a parade with floats and a marching band.

  My sudden celibacy is high on the suck factor list even though it’s by choice. Honestly, I’m sick of wading through the phony bullshit just to get off. It’s not fuckin’ worth the drama or the work that’s required, and make no mistake, those two things are the salt and pepper of meaningless sex, and we all know that too much of either ruins a meal.

  What’s her name seems to be the exception. I’m not sure what the hell I’m doing, but I have to do something. I don’t even know her name and I’m arranging living arrangements for her. Clearly, I’m not of sound mind, but who said you needed to have both oars in the water. Maybe I could row extra hard with just one. The only problem is that I have no idea where I’m rowing, but that’s the way life is sometimes, and getting there is always part of the adventure.

  Merissa

  “The bar is gonna to be jammin’ tonight,” I say to Brook while my phone is balancing against my ear and the crook of my neck.

  “Cinco de Mayo, baby! Even more popular than St. Patty’s day, and you know how people just use that holiday as an excuse to get wasted.”

  I add another layer of lip gloss and apply silver glitter to my eyelid trying to not get it in my eye in the process. “That’s so true, but I love working on special occasions, drunks and all.”

  She shrieks into the phone. “Me, too, especially with my peeps. Don’t forget to wear the shirt I got ya.”

  Laughing, I peek at my reflection in the mirror. “Thanks, Brook, I’ve got it on now. I love my “Fiesta Foreva” tank! When you showed me all the shirts yesterday, I thought I was going to pee my pants.”

  “I know, right! You’re welcome, Rissy. I wanted to do something special for my crew. I gotta go finish getting ready. See you in an hour.”

  “Can’t wait, bye sweetie.”

  “Byeee.”