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I dragged my suitcase out of the small trunk of her car and followed her to the front door. It had a keycard entrance, but Christi didn’t bother pulling hers out. The door had been propped open by a chunk of brick, and I got the sense that was its permanent state. Inside, the lobby smelled like mildew. It was small with a carpet that looked like it had been woven in the first century.
I frowned at a particularly dark patch. “Is that–”
“It’s not blood,” Christi assured me. She pressed the button for the elevator. We heard an ominous grinding from somewhere far above us, and then a hideous shriek.
“Oh my God,” I said quietly. There was a fizzy, bubbling feeling in my chest. I didn’t know if it was laughter or hysteria. “We cannot bring a baby here.”
“Oh, no,” Christi agreed immediately. “No. I’ll go on OnlyFans first.”
“I’ll take the pictures.”
We laughed with a strange mixture of relief and horror as Christi saw the place anew through my eyes and agreed it was terrible, but at least we were together.
“And at least it’s temporary,” I added. I was relieved to see that the keypad on the door to Christi’s apartment at least worked. If we’d gotten to the eighth floor and found it propped open with a brick, I didn’t know what I would have done. Pulled out all of my meager savings to cover the first and last month and the security deposit on a better apartment, most likely.
“Yes!” Christi cheered. “Because you’re about to be the newest financial wizard at Marks Wealth Management!”
I winced at the one-two punch of her words and my first glimpse of her apartment. “It’s not in the bag yet,” I cautioned as my eyes roamed over the tiny, 700-square foot space. We basically walked into the kitchen. The refrigerator had coat hooks affixed to it with what looked like cement.
“Holds even the heaviest purse!” Christi said brightly when she saw me looking at it.
The common room was long and narrow, like a coffin. There wasn’t room for a table, so the bar had three short stools pushed up to it. Jaundiced yellow linoleum flooring covered the entire space, even in the living room. Christi had put down a cheerful rug between the ratty loveseat and the tv stand. It was maybe five-by-seven and it nearly filled the entire space. The walls had the rippling texture that spoke of water damage that had never been repaired. There was so much of it that it looked like the drywall had melted in places. The ceiling had dark splotches. While I stared up at it, heavy footsteps clomped across and we heard as clearly as though they were in the room with us, “Where’s my fucking phone, Maribel?”
“Maribel and Clyde,” Christi said, looking up at the ceiling with a fond smile. “They’re my upstairs neighbors.”
“You don’t say.”
I met her eyes, and we started laughing again. Helpless, convulsing, desperate laughter that was one part humor and two parts hysteria. We couldnotlive here. Ihadto impress Dominic White and get the job at Marks Wealth Management.
Everything depended on it.
* * *
