by S. E. Law
I put my hands on my hips.
“Show me your checkbook register then,” I demand.
My mom shakes her head, clucking.
“Sweetheart, that isn’t going to prove anything because I don’t record out-going checks nor do I ever balance my checkbook. You’re not going to see proof of rent payments there.”
I stare at her, my mind whirling.
“Then I’m going to have to check a different way,” I say. Moving as fast as lightning, I swipe her phone from her purse and begin scrolling through her apps.
“Oh my god, what are you doing?” my mom shrieks. “Haven’t you ever heard of something called privacy? You Millennials have no sense of basic decency!”
But I avoid my mom’s clawing arms and manage to find her bank’s payment app. I tap it open, and fortunately, the log in and passwords are pre-filled, so I’m able to get into her dashboard with no problem. Quickly, I select “Recent Transactions in the Past 90 Days” and hold my breath as the app whirs. Of course, when the results come back, disappointment sinks into my chest and my shoulders slump.
“Mom, you have nothing here except some payments to ShopRite and Taylor Drugs. Oh, and there’s this purchase you made at Nordstrom for two hundred dollars, and some random charges from Jamba Juice, Exxon and Lube-O-Matic.”
My mom nods with a smile.
“Yes, I had to take my Camry in for its one hundred thousand mile check-up,” she says cheerily. “Aren’t you proud of me? I actually remembered this time. I remember how angry you were when I missed my seventy-five thousand mile checkup and my car broke down on the freeway.”
I stare at her.
“Dinah, you’re missing the point. I’m not seeing any debits in your account for rent. Do you have another bank account? How did you make your rent payments each month? Did you pay cash?”
My mom looks confused.
“Of course I didn’t pay cash. I swear I wrote Carlton Realty a check each month and mailed it, so I’m not sure why you’re not seeing those transactions in my log. It must be a problem with the bank,” she says airily. Then she lowers her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “You know I heard Abacus Savings Bank is being investigated by regulators,” she confides. “Word is that there’s some real mismanagement going on there.”
I shake my head wearily.
“Mom, whatever problems the bank has been having, I know that they didn’t ‘forget’ to record your rent payments. You haven’t made any payments for the last three months, and my guess is that if I look through the last year of activity on your account, you’re missing more than just the last three months.”
Dinah shakes her head.
“No, I swear that’s not true! I always pay my rent.”
I merely sigh wearily again.
“Mom, I believe you. I believe that you intended to pay your rent each and every time, but there’s a big difference between intention and execution, and unfortunately, the proof is right here. You haven’t been making your rent payments for a while now, and the Carltons probably have a legal right to begin eviction proceedings.”
Finally, my words seem to have some impact on Dinah. Sometimes, I swear she’s impossible to deal with because nothing ever gets through her skull. It’s always rainbows, flowers, and tomorrow will be another day. But not this time. The Pied Piper’s knocking at her door, and he wants her out. Literally.
Dinah takes a deep breath.
“So what do I do?” she asks with tears in her eyes. “Should I call Mr. Carlton? Should I beg them to reinstate me? Could you reach out to Kenneth? You were friends from high school, right?”
I look at my mom, and how all over the place she is. It’s clear that Dinah can’t handle a confrontation with any type of authority. She would probably break down and agree to move out, without even trying to negotiate a deal for herself.
“No, it’s okay,” I say in a wooden voice. “I’ll go down to Carlton Realty tomorrow and see what I can do. Maybe Kenneth will be there, and you’re right – we did sort-of know each other, even if we weren’t exactly friends. Maybe I can set up some kind of plan.”
“Oh would you?” my mom asks. “I’d so appreciate it, sweetheart. You’ve always been so good with numbers, and I was so proud when you graduated with highest honors in Economics. You’re a super-star, Katie. And I’m sure Kenneth will be amenable. His dad is a really big real estate developer, isn’t that right? I heard Mr. Carlton won some big industry award both last year for most square footage rented or something like that. We’re just small peas to them, so I know they’ll give us some slack. It’s called being neighborly,” she says in a hopeful voice.
I merely smile wanly at my mom and give her a gentle hug.
“We’ll see,” I say. “I’ll give it shot. What else do we have to lose?” I ask.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” my mom says again while stroking my soft blonde hair. “You’re a life-saver, Katie.”
With that, I turn to go even as my heart pounds. First thing tomorrow morning, I’m going to Carlton Realty to beg my mother’s case. I only hope that Mr. Carlton, whoever this big shot is, will grant us mercy in our time of need.
2
Katie
This is it. I smooth down my one nice skirt, and take a deep breath. Hopefully all my flyaways are smoothed down, and my lipstick’s not smeared or ghoulish-looking. Because before the imposing glass tower of Carlton Realty, I feel like a sacrifice being offered up to a mighty king.
It’s easy to see why. Carlton Realty is a big deal in our small town. They don’t just own residential properties here in Sunnydale. They also own shopping malls, strip malls, and entertainment centers all across the country. For some reason, they’re based right here in Sunnydale although their reach is worldwide.
I gulp again, staring up at the massive tower. To be honest, it’s a little of an eyesore, seeing that the building has to be at least ten stories tall while everything surrounding it is three stories at most. Plus, the architecture doesn’t really fit with Sunnydale’s downtown. The glass tower has a shiny, black surface that reflects all light, while the humble pre-war buildings beside it are made of red brick and faded stone.
Well, you can’t stay out here forever Katie, the voice in my head chides. Come on, do your thing.
I take a deep breath and straighten my shoulders before heading inside. The woman at reception smiles blandly in greeting.
“Can I help you?” she asks.
“Yes,” I say. “I’m looking for Mr. Carlton.”
She nods, giving nothing away.
“Certainly. I’ll buzz him and see if he’s free. Your name?”
“Katie McCall.”
She nods and puts the phone to her ear before dialing an extension. Someone picks up on the other end and she says, “Ms. McCall here to see you.”
To my surprise, the receptionist puts the phone down and smiles.
“Mr. Carlton will be with you shortly,” she says. “Please take a seat.”
I hesitantly walk over to a bank of sofas arranged in the lobby. They’re made of black leather, with harsh ninety-degree angles to the cushions. Are these even made to be used as seating? I decide not. Instead, I help myself to some water from the water cooler, and stand there drinking it while pretending to look at the covers of some magazines.
Suddenly, a smarmy voice interrupts my thoughts.
“Well, Katie McCall,” the voice says. “My oh my oh my. What have we here?”
My nerves shudder and suddenly I realize my mistake. The receptionist must have put me through to Kenneth Carlton and not his dad. Oh god, how did this happen? How could I have forgotten to specify that I wanted to see the father, and not the son?
Plus, Kenneth is every bit as awful as I remember. If anything, he’s put on another one hundred pounds on his already tubby frame, making him absolutely enormous. His eyes are a beady blue, and his blonde hair is so pale as to almost look white. All in all, he looks like an albino murderer from some ho
rror movie, although he’s dressed like any corporate schmuck in pressed chinos and a blue button-down.
I manage a friendly smile, managing to choke down my revulsion.
“Hi Ken, how are you?” I say. “Long time no see.”
Kenneth leers at me, his glistening red lips parting in a diabolical smile.
“I’m good. How are you, Katie? I see you’re looking mighty fine as always.”
I look around quickly. Does Kenneth know what he’s saying? This is Corporate America, after all, and in the aftermath of the #MeToo movement, I thought men no longer commented on women’s looks. Especially not while they’re grinning fiendishly at me the way Kenneth is.
“Thanks,” I say with a somewhat-normal smile. You look good too.”
I’m lying through my teeth because he looks much worse than from when we were in high school, but sometimes you have to do what you have to do. Kenneth holds my mom’s future in his hands, and I’ll spout lots of praise if it helps Dinah keep her place.
“Let’s just go to my office,” he says sibilantly. “This way please.”
With that, we pass through a set of double doors and then step into a large room filled with cubicles. The florescent light is ghastly, and both the cubicles and the carpet are gray. In fact, the few people I see walking by also have a grayish pallor, as if they haven’t seen the sun in ages.
“These folks work in cubes, but I have my own office,” Kenneth boasts, leading me down a walkway at the edge of Cubeland. “Right here. Corner office with glass walls,” he says, as if it weren’t completely obvious.
But it’s true. Ken does have a corner office with floor to ceiling glass walls which make it easy to see what his employees are doing. I wouldn’t be proud to sit there, but it seems that he is.
“Come right in,” he adds.
I nod and shuffle in, but not before catching sight of another glass office across the way. This glass office is bigger, and situated so that it’s filled with sunlight. The furniture inside is a gleaming mahogany, and I can see the large figure of a man lounging in front of a huge desk while talking on the phone. I wonder who that is? He certainly looks commanding even from a hundred feet away, as the light glints off burnished dark locks. Is that the boss?
But Kenneth puts his hand on the small of my back to guide me inside and I repress a shudder at his clammy touch.
“Thanks,” I say, taking a seat in the chair before his desk.
“No problem,” he says magnanimously while shutting the door and lumbering over to his desk. I cringe a little as he sits. Will that standard office chair hold his massive bulk? Evidently so, because he lowers himself carelessly and looks at me with his pale blue gaze.
“So how can I help you, Katie?” he asks. “As you know, Carlton Realty is at your service.”
I nod, cross my legs, and begin to talk.
“Well, Carlton Realty bought the Alastair Apartment Complex over on Alastair Road a couple years back,” I say. “You know, the two big grey buildings that are low slung with the green courtyard in the middle?”
Kenneth nods.
“Yes, I know. I was just there last week in fact. I manage the place now,” he says proudly.
That’s the perfect segue.
“Yes, I know, because you visited my mother who lives there. Dinah McCall? She lives in Unit 201, and well, I wanted to see if you could give her a break if possible.”
Kenneth’s brows go down.
“Why, is she behind on rent? We do have a number of forbearance programs, but I have to warn you that the interest is high.”
I shake my head.
“No, not on rent. Actually, when you were there last week, you served an eviction notice. Dinah’s supposed to be out of there within thirty days, and I was just wondering if maybe Carlton Realty could take that back? It’s just a big misunderstanding,” I stammer. “Dinah makes good money at her cupcake shop, but she’s forgetful at times, and sometimes she forgets to pay her rent. But I can pay you all the back rent now, if you’ll just let my mom stay,” I say in a rushed voice. “Would that be okay?”
Kenneth steeples his hands and tries to look thoughtful.
“Ah yes. I remember now. Unit 201 did you say? The woman who lives there was a little out of it, if I remember.”
I cringe a little.
“My mom can be a space case,” I acknowledge in a tight voice. “But I swear to you, Dinah is a good person and she forgot, that’s all. I have my checkbook with me right now, and I’m happy to make a check out for all the missed rent payments at this very moment, if you’ll just let her stay.”
I don’t add that this check is going to deplete my savings account down to zero, but I doubt Kenneth cares. He seems more into fancy offices and making his influence known.
As I expected, Kenneth puts on a fake sad face and the corners of his mouth turn down dramatically, as if he’s an actor in a sitcom.
“Well, you know that you owe that money regardless, don’t you, Katie? Your mom owes it, at least. No matter what happens, we’re going to get paid the back rent, so what else do you have to offer?”
I color.
“I know that Dinah owes you back rent no matter what, but I was hoping that the fact that we were high school classmates would help a little. Can’t you give us a pass? I swear, I will personally make sure that Dinah makes every rent payment on time going forward, even if I have to walk her to the bank myself each month.”
I hate that my voice has a begging quality to it, but I’m in a desperate situation here. Unfortunately, Kenneth shakes his head regretfully, still frowning his fake frown.
“No, I’m sorry Katie. We can’t give your mom a pass because we just don’t operate like that. Carlton Realty is a business of the twenty-first century, and it’s not about “your word is your bond” or any of those antiquated ideas. We’re automated and everything is done according to very strict internal procedures.”
I bite my tongue. It seems pointless to mention that Kenneth came by my mom’s place in person to deliver the eviction notice just like in years of old. That doesn’t seem very automated, but he continues, oblivious to my trail of thought.
“Besides, high school was so long ago, don’t you think? Ten years, is it? I can see that you haven’t changed at all, Katie,” he leers again. “I’m real happy to see you here today.”
I swallow my revulsion and force a smile onto my face while sitting forward.
“Listen, Ken, what do I have to do? I know that you probably have a lot of sway at Carlton Realty, and there must be something you can do. So what do I have to do? Just tell me and I’ll do it.”
At that, my old high school classmates breaks out into a sweat so that his face looks shiny and puffy in the harsh light. He practically rubs his meaty hands together in glee.
“Why don’t you come by my place tonight, and we can discuss further?” he asks in a sibilant voice. “I’m sure we can figure something out.”
My heart pounds as alarm bells ring out in my head.
“And what will we discuss exactly?” I ask in a somewhat normal voice. “I’m sure we can discuss it here, if you like.”
But Kenneth just shrugs.
“I don’t know. A little of this, a little of that. Like I said, it’s good to see you again, Katie. Maybe I just want a chance to catch up,” he says while staring overtly at my cleavage. I have to force myself not to put my hand at the vee of my blouse to shield myself. Instead, I smile again.
“Okay, sure,” I say in a stilted voice. “What time?”
He leans back in his chair, like he’s the king of the world.
“Let’s say eight tonight. That should be enough time to discuss the issue at hand,” he giggles.
“Fine,” I say in a short voice. “I’ll be there.”
“Ok, good,” he says as I get up and turn to leave. “And by the way Katie, wear something sexy okay? I especially like cocktail dresses with tiny bits of lingerie underneath. Oh, and high heels too. An
d fishnets, if you have them. You might want to think about getting a pair, if you don’t already have a pair,” he hints.
I swallow the vomit that’s coming up my throat, and merely nod before letting myself out of his office. Oh my god, did that really happen? Did disgusting Kenneth Carlton from high school just proposition me?
But yes, it’s true. I square my shoulders and prepare myself to walk out of this horrid office. I can’t believe this is happening. Kenneth Carlton is going to want something gross from me in order for letting my mom stay in her apartment.
But as I turn to walk down the hall once more, a tingle runs down my spine and I can feel hot eyes on me. Unbidden, my head turns and I catch the gaze of the man in the other glass office across the way.
My heart begins to pound, and my cheeks color. This man is absolutely gorgeous, and even from a distance, I can see that he has a strong, square jaw, broad shoulders, and black-as-night hair. He’s wearing a perfectly cut suit that skims his athletic frame, and his eyes pierce my heart even from a distance.
But there’s nothing I can do. I can’t throw myself at this man’s mercy and ask him to save me from Kenneth. I can’t beg him to let my mom keep her apartment. Instead, the only thing I can do is to walk out of here with my head high. Lifting my chin, I try to exit with grace and dignity, given the hopelessness of the situation.
But as I depart the office, I can feel the forbidding man’s gaze roving over my form, drinking me in. Who is he? Unfortunately, I’ll never know.
3
Xavier
I knock on my son’s apartment door. There’s no answer. I knock harder. Finally, some shuffling sounds take place and the door finally creaks open to reveal the clammy, chubby lump that is my son Kenneth.
Sometimes, I wonder how we can be related. After all, Kenneth looks nothing like me. I’m six foot four, with dark hair, blue eyes, and tanned skin. Kenneth is about five foot nine, with blonde hair, blue eyes, and pink skin. We don’t look like we share any genes whatsoever, much less that he could be descended from me.
