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CHAPTER ONE
Susie
I’ve done some things I’m not proud of, and this is one of them. Because if the folks from my hometown of Littleton, Kansas knew what I do to make ends meet, they would die. Heck, if I knew what had become of me, I’d die.
Because I’m an exotic dancer at the Pink Flaming in Midtown Manhattan, flaunting my assets for gentlemen who walk through the door. It’s a long way to fall for someone who was once Homecoming Queen as well as class president, but real life isn’t a fairy tale. And I learned that the hard way on my first day in the city.
“Hey chica,” leered Chester, my new landlord. “You got that deposit in cash?”
I looked at the overweight man with puzzlement.
“Um, I thought my broker already gave you my deposit?” was my meek reply. “I gave her a thousand dollars which I thought she forwarded to you.”
Chester shook his head slowly with a sad frown, but his eyes were secretly happy.
“No, Cheryl never paid me anything,” he said. “We gave you the key to the apartment as a courtesy but chica, we need that one thousand pronto. In cash would be best, if you know what I mean,” he intimated, rubbing his forefinger and thumb together in the timeless meaning of money.
I flushed.
“No, there’s been some mistake,” were my quick words. “I definitely gave Cheryl the money, and she told me she was giving it to you. There’s a mix-up somehow. Just let me get on the phone and clear it up. I’ll have it to you in no time.”
Chester spun and began waddling down the dingy hallway, his wifebeater showing a dirty stain on the back.
“Sure, chica, but if you don’t have it by tomorrow, I wouldn’t bother moving in,” he called carelessly over one shoulder. “In fact, you might want to stop right now because you know what they say. No moolah, no boolah!”
What the hell did that mean? Moolah was money, but boolah? Was that New Yorker for “trouble around the corner” or “pay up or you’re toast”? Was I supposed to watch crime family movies to make better sense of my new landlord’s lingo?
But one thing was clear. There was a mistake somewhere. I’d definitely given my broker a thousand dollars for my move-in deposit, and Cheryl was supposed to give it to Chester. So where was the cash? The money couldn’t have just disappeared into thin air.
Fishing for my cell, I furiously dialed the middle-aged woman. Fortunately, she picked up on the first ring.
“Hiya deary,” sang Cheryl. “How’s your new apartment looking?”
The truth was that it was horrible. The tiny studio had only room for a bed and a chair, and there was no space for a couch, much less a dining room table. Plus, the tub was in the kitchen, and all I’d have to do was reach past my dish detergent for my soap. But I was grateful for the place because at the low price of one thousand dollars a month, it was a miracle I’d landed anything at all.
“It’s great,” I said hurriedly. “Listen, the manager just came by and said he never got my deposit? But I thought I handed it to you last week, and that’s why they gave me the key? Or has there been some misunderstanding?”
Of course, there was no misunderstanding and Cheryl didn’t even try to pretend.
“No, honey, it’s just different terms,” she said.
“Different terms?” I parroted, perplexed. “What do you mean? I thought it was one month’s deposit, and they’d refund it to me when I move out.”
“It is one month’s deposit,” Cheryl replied in a soothing tone. “But what Chester’s asking for is different from a deposit. He’s looking for key money.”
“Key money?” I repeated like an awkward lump. “What’s that?”
Cheryl spoke airily like there was nothing weird about all this.
“Key money can mean a lot of things, sweetheart,” she said. “It can be the payment a landlord makes to a tenant to encourage them to move on. It can be the payment a new tenant make to a former tenant in return for handing their lease to you. But in this case, I think Chester means ‘key money’ in its most basic sense. He wants his palms greased, sweetheart. He wants a little extra as a part of this transaction.”
My heart thumped as all the blood drained from my face.
“So you’re saying that Chester wants to be paid a bribe,” I said slowly.
Cheryl paused for a moment.
“Not exactly a bribe,” she said like this was no big deal. “Again, it’s just something to grease the wheels, except in this case, you’re greasing his wallet.”
