Roommates

by Whitney Lyles

  “The owner of your place is going to make a killing when he sells your place,” he said as they pulled out of her street.

  “The inside of my apartment is nice. But let’s face it. I live in the ghetto.”

  “I’m actually thinking about buying property in this area. Rental property. It’s a great place to invest. I tell all my first-time buyers to look here.”

  They talked about real estate, and though she thought Toby was very nice and polite, she felt a growing sense of frustration.

  As he explained the benefits of buying a house and how much money she would make if she turned a property over in two years, it just reminded her even more of how broke she was and how much she craved a place of her own.

  Listening to him made her feel even worse about living with Justine. Toby was only a year older than she was, and he already owned three condos, two of which he rented out. Elise was getting too old to roommate hunt. Even Stan talked about buying a place.

  When they arrived in the Gaslamp Quarter, Toby pulled right up to Dakota’s valet. This was perfectly fine with her, because she was wearing Justine’s shoes and didn’t want to scuff them up. They found Carly and Marcus waiting for them at a table inside.

  When the waiter came to their table for drink orders, Elise’s disappointment over her living situation faded, and she suddenly felt excited about being out with a new guy and doing something fun. “I’ll take a gin martini with two olives,” she said, the melody of optimism ringing in her voice.

  Carly’s eyes lit up. “That sounds great. I’ll have the same.”

  Marcus eyed them both before ordering a Bud Light.

  “Just iced tea for me. I’m not really a drinker,” Toby said as his eyes wandered over the menu.

  She witnessed her moment of optimism suddenly plunge off a cliff and explode in flames. The evening was destined for a safe and boring path of polite talk about real estate investments. On the other hand, so what if he didn’t drink? He was driving, and maybe he had a spontaneous and fun sober side. She just hoped he didn’t mind if she ordered a few drinks.

  Toby seemed like an insightful person. He came from a large Catholic family in Michigan and loved baseball.

  “Sometimes I get box seats from my office,” he said. “You and I should go to a game sometime.”

  “Yeah. That would be fun,” she said, and she meant it.

  When the conversation moved to Elise’s career, both Marcus and Toby were more interested in the publishing industry and how profits were made as opposed to the plot of her novel. But that was okay. They were businessmen and naturally curious about the financial side of everything.

  When it came time to order, Toby ordered a broiled chicken breast and steamed vegetables. This selection was not listed on the menu, but rather was Toby’s own heart-friendly creation. He also requested no butter or oil.

  No drinking and a healthy diet. His lifestyle seemed boring, but perhaps he could be a good influence on Elise if they started dating. She’d ordered a personal pizza and had asked for extra cheese.

  “I’m training for a marathon,” he explained after the waiter left.

  “Toby runs ten miles a day,” Marcus added.

  “It shows,” Elise said, polishing off the last of her martini. “I mean, I didn’t mean to be so bold, but you look like you’re in good shape.”

  “I love working out. I’m really into fitness.”

  Okay, so he would be a very good influence on her. Life changing, actually. Elise had never played sports, and her idea of a good work-out had been parking far away from her classes at grad school.

  After dinner they went to The Bitter End. Carly and Elise both ordered martinis. After finishing their drinks, they had a chance to escape to the ladies’ room together.

  “Are you having fun?” Carly asked.

  “Yeah, he’s nice and cute.”

  “Good! Marcus is getting tired. I think he wants to leave soon.”

  After another drink, the couples said their good-byes. Elise could feel the effects of her martinis. As soon as they slid into Toby’s car, he kissed her, a soft slow kiss with lots of lips. Pretty bold, for being sober, she thought in her buzzed state. Kissing him felt good, and she realized that she’d never gone so long without being kissed. How long had it been? Five? Six months? As they headed back to her place, he kissed her at each stoplight. When they pulled up to her building, he reached for her over the center console. She clicked the button on her seat belt and slid closer to him. Slowly, he traced his fingertips up her inner thighs, and then his hands made their way up her skirt. She hadn’t planned on any of this, but the alcohol made her feel brazen, and it felt good to be touched.

  Gently, she reached for him, pulling him closer. He pulled her panties aside, and she thought she would explode with need. This was a lot for a first-date good-bye kiss, and she wondered through a haze of lust if they should stop.

  Part of her ached for him to touch her more. And part of her was afraid they were going to get carjacked. She was about to suggest he walk her to the door when he stopped kissing her.

  “Go down on me,” he breathed.

  “What?”

  “Give me head,” he moaned. “Please.”

  He was asking. She hadn’t been asked for “head” since the eighth grade. And even then, she’d had the sense to know it was bad manners. Who the hell did he think she was? Because he was about to find out that she definitely wasn’t the type of girl who gives blow jobs in the front seat of cars on a first date. Just because she’d had a few drinks didn’t mean she wanted to live out the lyrics of a rap song for Mr. Fitness.

  “I really should go,” she said, instantly losing her sexual desire. “Thanks for dinner.”

  “Wait.” He grabbed her arm. “Can’t you just touch it some more? Please?” She looked at the tip of his penis sticking out from his zipper.

  “Let go of me.”

  He released his grip, and she instantly reached for her purse.

  “Wait just a second,” he said as he began to climb out of the car, too.

  She tried to get away from him quickly but missed a step and almost tripped over the curb. He pulled her elbow. “Aren’t you going to kiss me good-bye? I kind of wanted a tour of your apartment.”

  He pulled on her elbow, and the way his fingers latched around her arm made her a little afraid. “Another time, okay? My roommate is sleeping right now. And her boyfriend is in there. He threatened the last guy who woke him up. He’s really mean.”

  He wouldn’t let go, and she was completely relieved when Glorious D joined them. “Hey Elise,” he said. “This your boyfriend?”

  “No. It’s not. In fact, I was just saying good-bye to him.”

  Toby wore a guilty expression on his face and looked at Glorious D with a mixture of fear and respect, as if Glorious D were her father. “Well, I should get going. I’ll call you sometime.”

  “I’m moving,” she called after him. “Don’t bother.”

  Glorious D walked her back to the apartment. After explaining what a horrible evening she had to Glorious D and listening to him rhyme about blind dates, she said good night.

  Cigarette smoke assaulted her when she opened the front door, and she went to open a window.

  What a disappointment Toby had been, she thought to herself. She’d been looking forward to Padres games with him, and he’d seemed so normal. It was just as well, though. She hated working out and was actually thinking how irritating it would be to date a guy who ate less than she did.

  The blinds were wide open, and a streetlamp cast a glow over a motorcycle in their parking lot. She wondered if it was Max’s. She felt tempted to take a cab to The Whistle Stop, salvage her night. Max would be there with Justine and Jimmy, and she could still have fun. But then she heard a faint groan behind Justine’s bedroom door. They were back from The Whistle Stop, which meant that wasn’t Max’s motorcycle, and he was probably at home, too.

  A few seconds later she hea
rd the kind of grunting that made her cheeks turn red. She quickly returned to her room, feeling as if she had invaded their private moment.

  As she walked to her bedroom alone, she also felt a pang of yearning. She didn’t bother to turn on the lights as she slipped out of her clothes. After she slid into bed, she wondered if Max was alone, too.

  6. The Unspoken Roommate

  Jimmy didn’t leave. He became as much a part of their apartment as their furniture. A smoking, beer-drinking armchair that hogged the remote control and was terrible at taking phone messages.

  Furthermore, the grunting only became louder and more obnoxious. Justine’s moans and gasps could be heard even with water running at full blast. Nearly every morning since his arrival, Justine would stroll out of the bedroom, wearing one of his T-shirts and the smile of a satisfied cat. First she’d giggle. Then she’d turn to Elise. “I hope you didn’t hear us last night. We weren’t too loud, were we?”

  Something told her that Justine wanted her to say yes, to tell her their frantic sex had kept her awake. “No. Didn’t hear a thing.”

  A flash of surprise would cross over her eyes before she would say, “Oh good. But definitely let us know if we’re ever too loud.”

  Not only had their living room become a fogbank of cigarette smoke, but Jimmy hogged the remote control, watching episodes of MTV Cribs religiously. She had a strong hunch he was probably fantasizing about the day he’d be a guest on Cribs—if that day ever came. And that was a big if. Seeing how Jimmy didn’t even have a crib of his own, it would be a long time before his episode aired.

  At night, Elise sought refuge in the private quarters of her bedroom. Occasionally, she would leave her room for food and water. During these quests she usually found Justine and Jimmy curled up on the couch, a look of pure contentment in Justine’s eyes and a look of childlike yearning in his while Blink-182 showed off waterfalls in their hot tubs and Tommy Lee took a ride in his elevator. Every time she entered, he always offered her a beer.

  “Yeah, come hang out with us,” Justine would add as an afterthought.

  Once or twice she had accepted but couldn’t visit for long. The smoke had made her eyes water and then she’d remember that chilling commercial from the American Lung Association of the middle-aged woman with a voice raspier than Satan smoking a cigarette from a hole in her throat while attached to an oxygen tank. Then she’d return to her room. She often thought about asking them to smoke outside, but she also thought about moving at the first possible opportunity. Since she was secretly planning on bolting from the apartment the first chance she had, she felt bad setting smoking rules.

  She’d gotten so used to Jimmy that when she wrote all day she knew he was behind Justine’s closed bedroom door. She could feel his presence even if he wasn’t in the same room as her.

  He usually popped out of Justine’s half of the condo around two, made himself a late breakfast before skateboarding to the liquor store for a twelve-pack of whatever beer was on special that day.

  Once she had caught him taking apart their couch cushions. “Did you lose one of your lighthouses?” she asked.

  “No. I’m just looking for spare change. I’m starving, and I only have two bucks on me.”

  She took pity on him. “Just help yourself to some of my food.”

  “You sure?”

  “It’s fine. You can eat some of my stuff today.”

  “I’ll pay you back next week. I’m getting a check from the label, and I’m going to hook you and Justine up. I swear.” He headed for the kitchen. “Then I’ll make some money when I’m on the road, so I’ll be in good shape after that. I’ll be able to contribute more.”

  Thank God his back had been turned and he hadn’t seen the shock that registered on her face. Elise knew he was going on tour in a month. He was supposed to be gone for several weeks, wreaking havoc all over the country doing Lord only knows what, but she didn’t know he planned to return to their apartment. Furthermore, his current status was supposed to be as a guest until his bandmates found another place. Justine had been acting as if he was moving in with his friends. Elise had never planned on a third roommate, especially an unemployed alcoholic rock star who left the couch only to grab another cold one from the fridge.

  There was, however, one bonus of living with Jimmy. He was sort of a slob. If he made a sandwich, he left crumbs on the counter. He built pyramids with his beer cans on their coffee table, and he occasionally left empty dishes in the sink. His memory was horrible, too. His sister’s name had shown up on their caller ID once, and he didn’t even know who she was because he’d forgotten that she’d changed her name when she’d gotten married five years ago.

  His bad memory combined with carelessness took a lot of pressure off Elise to be so immaculate. If she got sidetracked and left a mug in the sink, she could be certain that Justine would never be sure who had left the mess.

  She had hoped he would invite Max over again, but no such luck. Jimmy seemed perfectly content by himself.

  Several days after his arrival Elise fell into a writing groove, plugging out twenty pages. She had a feeling about this book. It was much better than her other one, and she prayed to sell foreign rights, perhaps even movie rights.

  She was feeling pleased with her progress when a loud bang on their front door interrupted her. Time had flown, and she was stunned to see that it was three o’clock in the afternoon. She hadn’t heard any bling-blinging on Cribs, and it suddenly occurred to her that Jimmy hadn’t come out from his den yet.

  “Coming,” she called. Rarely did someone come to the front door. For this reason she never made an effort to improve her appearance. She wore red and black plaid pajama bottoms and a University of Arizona T-shirt. Her reading glasses were perched on her nose, and her hair was tied in a bun on top of her head, thin pieces sticking up like overgrown weeds.

  A little man wearing gray slacks with a button-down short-sleeved shirt and a clip-on tie greeted her. For a moment she thought he might be selling encyclopedias. However, he looked really familiar. She thought she recognized him as one of the tenants from upstairs. He was bald in the front and wore thick glasses.

  “Hi,” Elise said, waiting for him to explain his visit.

  “Hi. I’m Walt Carter, head of the homeowners’ association. I realize you guys are renting this place. But most of the tenants here are owners, and we’ve had some complaints about the truck parked in front of the building.”

  Truck? Homeowners’ association? They have a homeowners’ association? In City Heights?

  “In fact, we’ve had several complaints,” he continued. “For one, it’s leaking oil, and two, well frankly, it’s an eyesore.”

  “Um, sir. I’m sorry, but I don’t drive a truck. I drive a Volkswagen, and my roommate drives a Hyundai Accent.”

  “Well, apparently it belongs to a guest that’s been staying here. Several tenants have reported seeing a young man leaving this apartment to retrieve things from the vehicle.”

  Jimmy. Elise knew he had a jalopy parked somewhere. She just didn’t know it was parked in front of their building. She’d occasionally noticed the truck when she had walked to her car. It was a small model from the early eighties, covered with rust spots and painted a shade of green that should only be reserved for the military. On the tailgate it read, “Yo.” Some clever little soul had decided to rip off the other four letters in Toyota.

  “I’m serving you a notice and a fine of sorts. It’s a demand that you must move the truck within forty-eight hours, or it will be towed at your expense and you will also be fined an additional seventy-five dollars for failing to comply with the homeowners’ association. Also, every time you are served a complaint by the homeowners’ association it is accompanied by a seventy-five-dollar fine.”

  He talked so fast, throwing information at her like a child armed with sand at a playground. “So there is a seventy-five-dollar fine today?”

  “That’s right.”

 
“What about the couch that’s been sitting in front of the building for two months now?” she asked. “Why haven’t those people been fined?”

  “That couch actually belongs to the neighboring complex, and it’s not in our jurisdiction. There is nothing our homeowners’ association can do about that. If you have a complaint you can take it up with the neighboring building or perhaps the City of San Diego.”

  “What happens if we fail to pay the fine?”

  “Well, then it’s handed over to your landlord. He can choose to do as he wishes. But typically the landlords will deduct it from your deposit when you move out. Or he might raise your rent.”

  He handed her a stack of papers, nodded his head, and was off. Elise looked over the papers. Sure enough, they had been cited with a fine and a notice to remove the vehicle from the premises. As soon as Walt was gone, Glorious D cruised up, a blue bandana tied over his head.

  “What up, Elise?”

  “Do you know that man who was just here?”

  “Yeah man. That dude’s a prick.” He began to move from side to side, shifting his weight to opposite feet with each beat. “Walt. Walt. It ain’t his fault. He got no life. Takin’ a knife to yo door. Wreckin yo day cuz he can’t play.” He popped out of rapping mode. “Man, screw that asshole. What’d he do now?”

  Elise told him about the fine.

  “You want me to tag his car?”

  “No! It’s okay. Don’t do anything to Walt.”

  After she said good-bye to Glorious D she debated waking Jimmy. After all, most people had put in a full day of labor, and he hadn’t even crawled out of bed yet. Furthermore, he needed to make arrangements to move his truck within the next forty-eight hours. Who knew when the clock had started ticking with those forty-eight hours? This Walt Homeowners’ Association guy could’ve started the forty-eight hours whenever he wrote the citation, which could’ve been last night. She was heading toward Justine’s bedroom when the front door burst open.