“Okay, yes. It works,” I said. “When can I movein?”
“Mr. Loupier indicated that today would be acceptable. I’d suggest reaching out to him directly to coordinate timing.”
“I don’t have his number.”
“I can provide it, or you could simply knock. You are, after all, across the hall.”
There was something in Terri’s voice that might have been amusement, though it was hard to tell with Terri. Her emotional range operated in a very narrow band between “professional” and “professionally tired.”
“Right,” I said. “I’ll just knock.”
“Best of luck, Mr. Kwon.”
I sat there, phone to my ear, long after the line went dead. Princess Consuela’s grumble shifted into a higher register, which was her way of asking whether we were going to sit in the parking lot all day or whether I was going to get my life together.
I called Mia.
She picked up on the first ring. “Tell me everything.”
“They found me a placement. In the building. Across the hall.”
“That’s perfect. Who is it?”
“Newspaper Robe Man.”
Silence.
“The weather check guy? The one who clocked your underwear? Or, more specifically, what was poking through its thin fabric?”
“The very same.”
“The one you described as, and I’m quoting you from last night, ‘the human equivalent of a Do Not Disturb sign’?”
“That is an accurate quote, yes.”
Mia was quiet for two seconds. I counted my heartbeats. I have perfect pulmonary timing. It was the longest I’d ever heard her go without speaking.
Then she started laughing.
Not a polite laugh or a sympathetic chuckle.
This was a full wheezing, doubled-over laugh that I could hear bouncing off the walls of whatever room she was in at the dental office.
“This isn’t funny, Mia.”
“This is the funniest thing that has ever happened to you, and I was there when you accidentally went to a furry convention thinking it was a Halloween costume party.”
“We agreed to never discuss that.”
“Benji, this is a sitcom. This is a show I would watch every week.”
“I’m glad my housing crisis is entertaining.”
“Oh, it’s beyond entertaining. It’s art.” She took a breath, composing herself. “Okay. Okay. Here’swhat you do. You go over there and knock on his door. You are polite and grateful and you donotlead with the full Benji experience. Dial it back to like thirty-percent Benji, maybe twenty.”
“I don’t have a dial, Mia, or a volume control. I’m a fixed setting.”
“Then fake it. This man is giving you a roof and a bed and tolerating your cat. You can be a little lessyoufor five minutes.”
