Page 3 of Hold the Pickle
The door creaks when I open it. The place feels old, layers of paint making the trim thick and ill defined. A woman with huge, fluffed, orange-red hair sits behind the desk, piles of folders stacked about her.
And,hello, the woman I talked to a few minutes ago sits across from her. Maybe she’s having trouble with one of her appliances or a water leak.
I’m handy. I could help her out.
Looking around at the dust and chaos of the office, particularly after standing in the squalor of the courtyard, I wonder why this girl lives here. She’s well dressed in a narrow skirt, and her dark hair is smoothed into a polished updo. Maybe it’s nicer on the inside?
“I’m here for the one-bedroom,” I announce.
“Obviously,” the manager says. “So is she.” She aims a pen across the desk at the younger woman.
The woman turns around and inhales sharply when she spots me. That face. She has the sharp, perfect features of a real-life princess. But the interest she showed earlier melts from her expression as she realizes we’re going for the same apartment.
“Hello, again,” I tell her.
Her lips tighten. She’s not happy about this.
I’m not either. If I hadn’t taken those calls, I’d have gotten here first. “I need it,” I say, trying not to plead.
“So does she,” the manager snaps. “And you’re getting on my nerves.”
“I’m a doctor.”
“We can see your scrubs from here.” She shakes her head and returns to speaking to the younger woman. “This is the floor plan. I need first and last month’s rent up front. Can you do that?”
“Yes,” the woman says, glancing back at me.
Damn it.
But then she adds, “Do you allow pets?”
The manager huffs. “Not on your life. And if I catch you with one, you’re out on your can without the deposit.”
My heart leaps at that. I don’t really want to take the last apartment from this beauty who smiled at me. Surely, if she’s asking about pets, she has one. And she got shot down.
Which will leave it for me, free and clear.
But she says, “That’s all right. I’ll tell the rescue that I’ll pause fostering abandoned kittens while I live here.”
She rescues kittens?
The red-haired manager cracks her first smile. A well-dressed rescue princess probably trumps an M.D.
I slump onto a chair, wondering if I shouldn’t head straight to the other available apartment. But it’s only a tiny studio, not a one-bedroom with a separate living space. And it costs more to boot.
I’ll give it a few more minutes. Maybe this place won’t be good enough for her.
“You want to see it?” the manager asks.
“I do.” Rescue Princess stands up.
The manager motions to me. “You can come, too. I don’t want to show it twice.”
I jump up. “Thank you. Thank you very much.”
Rescue Princess doesn’t so much as glance my way as she follows the manager out of the office. Yeah, that ended before it started.
The California sun pierces my eyes after the dimness of the room, and I lift my hand to shade them.
