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OMG. Obvsly u didn’t get fcked in Seattle. Did the fat Amazon reject ur dick?
God, could she be any more of a bitch? Drew leaned back against the front door and scrubbed his palm over his face.
When are u coming home?
Dunno. Noos & I are in Oslo til nxt mo. Maybe I’ll b back @ Xmas. I’ll text u a list of gifts I want. & pics so u don’t fuck up.
He stared at Livi’s crap strewn across their living room.
“Myliving room. I pay for everything and she treats this place like a fuckin’ flophouse.”
He texted her a pic of the room:
WTF?! Do you srsly not see all this shit?
The message was delivered but remained unread.
Cussing under his breath, Drew went to take a piss, but the bathroom was in even worse shape.
A brownish-orange ring encircled the toilet bowl and streaked its sides. Piss yellow stains marred the white marble floor. And there were shit stains on the seat.
He stared into the toilet. How the hell had a spoon gotten in there? And who the fuck had justleftit? His gaze traveled the room and stopped on the walk-in shower.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”
Dirty dishes sat in crusty piles, mold creeping over their surfaces and across the shower floor.
“This is beyond the pale,” he said. “Beyond. The. Fucking. Pale.”
He took more pictures, then shaking his head, Drew shoved up his sleeve and reached into the toilet for the spoon. As if in slow motion, his phone slipped from his coat’s breast pocket and plunged into the water. He watched it sink and settle, clinking against the spoon and giving rise to a little stream of bubbles.
“Well, fuck me,” he muttered, fishing out the phone and the spoon.
He washed his hands and the phone and headed for the kitchen. It, too, was a mass of unwashed dishes, unwashed counters, unwashed everything. Filthy pots sat on the stove, cooked pasta glued to their surfaces. A pizza box with four slices of moldy pizza occupied the oven. The microwave stank of burned plastic and was coated with something brown — peanut butter he hoped. He scrounged uncooked rice from the pantry, opened its plastic bag, and shoved his phone into it. Clipping the bag shut, he left it on the counter then returned to the bedroom. He changed into old sweats and a ratty tee shirt, then started cleaning.
Six hours later, the apartment was scrubbed enough to invite the cleaning crew in. Drew showered, changed back into clean clothes, and headed for the concierge office.
“Welcome home, Mr. Katterman.” David Browning greeted him as he entered the small, neat room. “How can I help you?”
“Afternoon, David. Three things. Can the cleaning crew come in tomorrow morning? Can you recommend a good iPhone repair shop? And Olivia Isaak is no longer welcome in the building as my guest.”
The man nodded, his expression utterly neutral. He considered his computer, clicking through several screens before replying. “The crew’s calendar is full in the morning, but there’s a two o’clock opening tomorrow. Will that do?”
“Yes. Book it, please. And tell them it’ll be a deep cleaning. Extra charges are expected.”
“Very good, sir. As for the phone, Cellular Stop is affordable and does a quick job.” He wrote the address on a slip of paper. “And Ms. Isaak’s status is noted. I’ll inform management, security, and the doormen. May I suggest rekeying your apartment’s front door? I can have someone from Maintenance there by four-thirty this afternoon.”
“Do it. I’ll drop my phone off for repairs and be back to let them in. Thanks, David. You’re always saving my ass.”
“That’s my job, Mr. Katterman.” He looked over the rims of his reading glasses. “Would you like to leave a message for Mrs. Ashton regarding the complaints?”
Drew frowned. Mrs. Ashton was the building’s senior manager. “Complaints?”
“Oh. I see. Perhaps those weren’t shared with you by Ms. Isaak. There were six complaints while you were away. I’m afraid the matter has been referred to the management team for violating your tenancy agreement.”
Drew squeezed his eyes shut and sighed. “No, they were not brought to my attention.”
“I’ll print copies for you.”
