“Carter!” Eli calls. “Hope you brought money.”
“Ha, I did. Yep.” He shakes Eli’s hand. “This is pretty impressive.”
“It’s all Paige,” Eli says, tugging the bill of his hat down to block the harsh sun as one of the few puffy white clouds in the sky drifts away. “Wish the weather had been nicer. At least it’s not raining, right?”
“Yeah.” Carter shades his eyes with his hand. He should have kept his sunglasses on. “So is this gonna work, do you think?”
“Long-term?” Eli says. “No. And honestly, Link already has one foot out the door. One and a half, even. But I wouldn’t put it past Paige to do one of these every month if she has to.”
Carter spots Paige, waving her hands wildly as she bosses someone around; they look as though they have food for sale, but nowhere to set it up.
“She is a force to be reckoned with.”
“Yes, she is,” Eli says in a tone that makes Carter turn back around. Eli is watching Paige too. Suddenly Carter understands, what Paige meant by not liking the way Matthew looked at him. It was never, ever anything close to the raw adoration in Eli’s gaze.
Paige comes rushing over, pointing at Carter and then at Eli. “Carter, go buy something. Eli, I need you to find a table or something for these idiots who can’t read instructions. ‘Bring your own table.’ It could not be clearer.” Paige throws her hands up in frustration and starts to rush off again, but not before Eli says, “As you wish.”
Paige smiles and winks at him as she goes.
Eli comes around the table, gives Carter a friendly pat on the arm, and thanks him for coming. Carter has no clue how to be a protective brother and is not great at being macho or aggressive. And Paige is really the last person who needs protection, anyway. He doesn’t know what else to say, though, to thank Eli for caring about Paige the way he does, for making her happy the way he has. Carter is jealous of the way they found each other and found a way to fit together so easily. Mostly, though, he’s happy for them, really and truly.
Carter grabs Eli by the arm and says, in what is probably the least threatening tone of voice ever, “If you hurt my sister, I’ll kick your ass.”
Eli smiles, then forces his face into a semi-serious expression. “Got it.” Carter releases his arm so he can go. “Thanks, Carter.”
Carter walks around; he can’t stay long. He buys a painting of an evening landscape from Malcolm; the blues and grays will go perfectly in his dining room, with the wallpaper he paid someone else to put up. He buys sunglasses, too; though the bedazzled frames aren’t exactly his style, he’s tired of squinting.
“Hi!”
He’s finally meandered to Link’s station. “Hi,” he says, then scans the table and taps two of those cool metal plants Link had at the Saturday market, back when Carter made a fool of himself. One of many times, it seems. “I’ll take two of these, please.”
“Oh, okay.” Link takes the sculptures Carter pointed out and starts to wrap them in paper. “Hey, so. If you want, we can hang out after. Play cards, or maybe get something to eat.” Link can’t seem to focus on wrapping the plants and looks up at Carter.
“I have plans, actually. With Sara, from work.”
“Oh, yeah. Okay.” Link looks down, biting their lip and hurriedly wrapping. “That’s great for you. Yeah. Where, uh. Where’re you going?”
“Funny enough, we’re doing that same Garden District tour that was rained out when you and I tried to go. I finally get to go into some of those amazing old mansions.”
Link harshly yanks off a strip of tape. The dispenser falls sideways. Packages wrapped, Link hands over the two metal plants and says, in a flat, wistful voice. “Kind of ironic that we couldn’t do the one thing you actually would have been interested in that week, huh?”
“I was interested in stuff,” Carter says.
“You were sweet enough to pretend you were,” Link replies.
Carter tucks the two packages under one arm and the painting under the other and thinks back to that week he and Link spent together. He remembers having fun doing whatever Link wanted because he was so awed by New Orleans and awed by Link that everything was cast in a rosy glow. He can’t say that kind of stuff anymore, though; Link wouldn’t want him to.
“I liked the food,” Carter says. He did. He still does. “And, oh, the picnic. Or, I guess that’s still food-related.”
Link’s gaze intensifies, as though they’re trying to see behind Carter’s sunglasses to his eyes, trying to read something there. Is it about the picnic? That flower? Should Carter say something about it? Then someone crosses in front of Carter to look at Link’s art pieces and the moment is gone.
“See you soon,” Carter says, not knowing if he will. “Good luck in Seattle, if I don’t see you.” Link’s head bows, and Carter turns away.
The Garden District Tour is great, or it would be if Carter’s attention wasn’t so split the whole time. He’s glad Sara has her wife along for company, because Carter is a terrible companion for the whole tour and dinner. At home, he has to sign off on the day’s work with the foreman and he barely even gives the repairs a cursory glance of approval.
Nothing he does about Link feels right except for just being with Link. Something that should be so simple has always been so complicated. Now Link is leaving, to move across the country. Even if Carter knew what do, it’s too late.
“Will you be renting the property?” the foreman asks, flipping to another form on his clipboard.
Carter shakes his head. “No, I’m the primary resident.”
The foreman flips the papers back. “Okay, good. There’s an extra inspection process we have to go through for rentals in this county; they’ve really cracked down lately. Landlords not in compliance get hit with steep penalties. Some of the repeat offenders have even gone to the slammer.”
Carter’s head tilts; his attention is piqued. “Can you explain the details of this extra inspection process to me? In the event that I do rent it someday.”
Thirty-eight
New Orleans City Hall is a giant, white rectangular building with row after row of narrow mirrored windows; it’s disappointing, architecturally speaking, but Carter supposes that it certainly fulfills the “form follows function” ethos. He takes a very plain elevator up to the very plain seventh floor, where he’s directed to a suite, where he’s directed to a desk, where the city clerk, Sharon, directs him to a door that reads: The Department of Code Enforcement. Inside the door are rows of plain brown shelves filled with plain brown books. Carter rubs his hands together, rises to his toes, and pulls down several heavy hardcover books.
The codes he’s in search of are online, yet woefully unorganized there, and Carter prefers the satisfaction of holding a clearly spelled-out building code in his hands: the weight and smell of the book, the indexes, the bullet points, the tables of contents. Carter spends so much time reading through the comfortingly clear rules and guidelines and ordinances and limitations and laws in a room without windows that evening falls without his noticing. He only realizes the late hour when Sharon asks if he needs to make any copies before she closes up for the night.
“That would be fantastic, Sharon. Thank you.” Carter gathers a stack of books right up to his chin and follows Sharon to the copier behind her desk.
“I must say, it’s not often that we get someone so enthusiastic about municipal codes in here.” Sharon pushes a button and the copier rattles and wheezes to life.
Carter sets a book face down onto the first set of codes that will help him in his mission. “Some people just don’t know how to have a good time, Sharon.”
He leaves with a stack of papers neatly clipped and organized in a file folder; Sharon from The Department of Code Enforcement was so helpful! He writes exactly that on a comment card before taking the elevator back down and sends a text to Paige as he leaves
City Hall. Tell Eli to set up a meeting with the landlord ASAP.
Paige sends back an emoji with question marks over its confused face, but this is too much information to explain via text, so Carter doesn’t reply. He doesn’t hear back from her for a few days, which is fine as he’s bogged down in work and ongoing home repairs, and the message she finally sends is as vague and confusing as his probably was.
He’s coming.
Carter is driving home from work. When he’s stopped at a red light he texts back, asking for clarification. Paige replies, and Carter curses, making a U-turn at the next intersection.
The landlord. Now.
Eli and Paige meet him at the entrance of the warehouse under bright security lights, immediately demanding to know what is going on and what his grand plan is. Carter looks past them into the dark warehouse. “Where’s Link?” A truck pulls up before anyone can answer.
“What’s this about a sewage leak?”
Carter turns to Paige. “It was the only way to get him here,” she says. Then she pinches the inside of Carter’s arm. “You better know what the hell you’re doing.”
Carter nods, saying in a loud, bold voice and pointing to really sell it, “The sewage leak is you taking advantage of these hardworking artists.”
A middle-aged man with a flat, serious face, wearing a polyester golf polo and creased khaki pants, steps into the halo of light. He looks at the three of them in turn, then says, “What?”
“Uh, thanks for coming by on such short notice, Mr. Reynolds.” Eli shakes the landlord’s hand. “We actually wanted to speak with you about the lease. I think? Carter?”
Carter clears his throat. He doesn’t have his stack of papers with all the codes, and he only remembers some of them offhand. This is not how he imagined this going down, but he’s here now. “Mr. Reynolds,” Carter starts, his voice shakier than he’d like it to be. “Are you familiar with the property ordinances for the city of New Orleans as they pertain to tenants’ rights?”
“Of course I am,” Mr. Reynolds snaps. “I was in the middle of dinner; what is this?”
“Uh,” Carter says, “This is, um.”
Confused and panicked, Eli and Paige look at him. He really wishes Link were here; he’s able to explain things with so much more confidence when Link is around.
“This is bullshit, then,” Mr. Reynolds announces, then starts to walk away, out of the light. “Thanks for wasting my time.”
“Wait!” Carter calls, searching his brain, waste, waste water, water system… what was it? “Chapter seventy… eight. Article, uh. Three! Section twenty-six dash… one one… one one… eight! ‘The installation and repair of all plumbing and plumbing fixtures, um, must be inspected by the Board of New Orleans Governing Use of Sewage, Water and Drainage Systems.’” Carter inhales a gasping breath. “‘Violations will be subject to fines and up to ninety days’ imprisonment.’”
Mr. Reynolds steps back toward them, half under the security light and half out. “This some kind of a threat? You know I can just kick anyone out any time I want, right?”
Carter can hear the inward breaths Eli and Paige take and hold in unison. Carter swallows, smooths his hair and tie, and replies in a steadier voice. “No, sir. And no, you can’t. Actually.”
“What the hell do you think—” Mr. Reynolds takes a step toward Carter. So does Paige, protectively. Eli does too. Carter holds his hand up. He’s got this; he remembers now. The neatly laid out codes flash like photos through his mind.
“Mr. Reynolds, as I’m sure you’re aware, the New Orleans Code of Ordinances, Chapter Twenty-six: ‘Buildings, Building Regulations and Housing Standards’ details the requirements that landlords must adhere to, including but not limited to: Article Three, ‘Plumbing.’ Article Four, ‘Minimum Property Maintenance Code.’ Article Five, ‘Minimum Standards for Certain Other Properties.’ Article Six, ‘Property Standards, General.’” Mr. Reynolds, Paige, and Eli stare at him as if he has four heads. Carter continues, more emphatically. “Article Eight, ‘Minimum Standards for Parking Lots.’ And skipping to Article Ten, ‘Standards for Long-Term Rentals.’ And that’s not even getting into Chapter Seventy-four, ‘Fire Prevention and Protection,’ Chapter Seventy-eight, ‘Floods and Flooding Damage,’ and Chapter One Five Eight, ‘Utilities.’”
Mr. Reynolds glares. “What is your point?”
“Well,” Carter says, a smile creeping onto his face. “Looking around I see, offhand, a number of potential violations, all of them carrying fines and potential jail time. Of course, as you know all of this, I’m sure you’ve taken pains to adhere to the proper procedures for rectifying these violations through the relevant city boards and bureaus, and, as well, gotten all of these issues approved prior to renting out this property for commercial and residential use.”
Mr. Reynolds crosses his arms. Paige and Eli start exchanging excited glances.
“You don’t have to take my word for it,” Carter adds, really getting into the game now. “You’ll want to go to city hall. Take the second elevator, not the first, that one goes down to the parking garage, learned that the hard way. Second elevator, up to the seventh floor. At the seventh floor, you need to wait and be shown to a suite. Inside the suite, Sharon at the front desk—we’re friends now, she’ll vouch for me—will show you to the Department of Code Enforcement, which is a catalogue of books where all the codes I’ve referenced are written out. Go to the seventh shelf, third row from the top. Start with Chapter Twenty-six, Article One, Section two six dash one—”
“Okay!” Mr. Reynolds holds up both hands in surrender. “I can’t listen to you yammer about codes and articles and elevators any longer. I have a ribeye waiting for me at home. I’ll draw up a new one-year lease with the old rental amount, okay? Is that what you want?”
“No,” Carter says, smug now, “we want a two-year lease at the same rate, with a provision for future rental adjustment percentages based on fair market value.”
“Fine.”
“Great. Eli?”
Eli blinks, looking back and forth at Carter and then Mr. Reynolds. “Uh. Yeah. Great.”
“Great,” Carter says again. “Enjoy that ribeye.”
Mr. Reynolds shakes his head and steps back as if walking off a right hook to the jaw. Carter may not be tough or manly or macho, but he knows his building codes.
“You their lawyer or something?”
“No, sir.” Carter puffs out his chest. “I’m an architect.”
The landlord leaves, and Paige starts to squeal while Eli whacks Carter on the back. “How did you know he was in violation of all that stuff?” Eli says.
“Oh, I didn’t.” Carter laughs a little in relief. “Yeah, that whole thing could have really blown up in my face.” He makes an explosion-like motion with his hands.
Eli shakes his head, laughing in the same relieved way. “I can’t believe it.”
“I can,” Paige says, then pitches her voice to a shout, directing it to where Mr. Reynolds is getting into his truck. “Because no one is more pedantic than my brother!”
Taking it as a compliment, Carter smiles at Paige and Eli, who are swinging their clasped hands back and forth between them, and asks, “So where is Link?”
Thirty-nine
Paige and Eli exchange a glance. “Wait, they didn’t tell you?” Eli says. Paige releases his hand to grab Carter by the arm. “Let’s go get a drink.”
Carter moves his arm away. “Tell me what?” Eli and Paige look at each other again, having another one of those silent conversations, a terse one, until Carter can’t take it anymore and says, “Someone tell me what is going on, please.”
Paige’s head dips, and Eli answers, “Link left for Seattle a few hours ago.”
“Oh.” Carter nods. “Okay. Okay, that’s fine.” Forcing himself numb, he heads back to his car; the night falls around him as he step
s away from the warehouse lights. Link left. Link left without saying a word to Carter. Not a goodbye. Not a call you soon. Nothing.
“Carter, don’t go. Let’s go grab a drink,” Paige calls after him.
“Come on, my treat,” Eli adds.
Carter shakes his head even though they probably can no longer see him. He was stupid to think that saving the warehouse would solve anything. Link was obviously eager to leave, and, yet again, no matter what Carter does, it will never be enough. He will never be enough. Footsteps crunch behind him, and Paige calls out to him, closer this time.
“I’ll come hang out at your house. You shouldn’t be alone right now.”
“I’m fine,” Carter snaps. She touches his arm again, and Carter wrenches it away. “Just leave me alone, Paige.” He gets in his car, slams the door, revs the engine, and speeds out of the gravel lot, leaving Paige behind in clouds of dirt. He’s fine. He’s fine.
When he gets home, Carter drops into the camping chair in the living room and does something he never allowed himself after things ended with Matthew: He cries. A stopper finally uncorked, he cries angrily over Matthew and heartbroken over Link, sobs and hiccups despondently over the unfairness that he’ll never get to have his own happily ever after while he watches everyone around him get theirs. Carter has never cared much about having the perfect home, the perfect job, the perfect life; these were the stifling parameters of his childhood, an illusion of perfection. All he wanted was someone who wanted him back, as is, flaws and insecurities and all. Carter really thought he’d found that. He really thought that he and Link would finally get things right.
His phone rings, probably Paige, then dings with a voicemail, probably Paige yelling at him to answer his damn phone. Carter goes upstairs to splash cold water on his blotchy face, dries off, and takes a few deep, shuddering breaths. He feels better for crying, a long-needed release. He should call Paige and take her up on that drink offer and apologize for the dirt clouds he left in his wake. Someone knocks on the door before he can finish dialing her number.
Jilted Page 18
