Keeping Denver

With the weekend finally here, I get ready for the day and even add a little pep in my step. I don’t meet the guy about the apartment until noon, so I decide to go ahead and get my laundry out of the way. The good thing about weekends is I get to change back into my well-worn, secondhand jeans. Even though my shoes have a broad strip of duct tape covering a hole in the toe, they are more comfortable than my work shoes.

The laundromat I use is right around the corner from the shelter. When I arrive, I find it packed. Looking down at my watch, I see I have several hours until noon, so I don’t fret. Besides, waiting inside for a machine to free up is better than waiting out in the cold. Luck was on my side today. There was a large clothing donation at the shelter this morning. I was able to snag two more shirts for work and they all needed washing before I can wear them. The articles are a little outdated, but beggars can’t be choosy, right? Either way, I’m grateful. Every little bit helps, and I know I’m one step closer to getting my life back on track. Since there were no appropriate work shoes in the donation bin, I plan on buying myself a brand-new pair in a few more weeks. And, if I get that studio apartment today, I’ll have just enough money left to purchase an airbed and do some grocery shopping.

Finally, after an hour and forty-five minutes, the couple who was hogging three washers and dryers, finish. I only have enough clothes for one load, so I’ll be in and out in no time. While waiting for my clothes to finish, I can’t help but let my mind wander. The only thoughts that fill my head are of Callan. That man has taken up permanent residence inside my brain. It’s stupid of me to be having the feelings I am, yet I’m completely powerless to stop it. I’m so far out of my element when it comes to him.

During high school, I focused on keeping passing grades and stressing about how long my current foster parents were going to put up with me before they decided they were finished with me. Seriously boys were not on my radar. Since I have been on my own, my days are spent trying to keep my head above water. At my old job at the diner, I was asked out frequently by customers. A few times, I said yes, but neither of those dates turned into anything.

Not that the guys weren’t pleasant. There was just no spark. Callan Hawk is the first man to ignite something inside of me. It figures the first man to invoke anything is not only unavailable but out of my league. Hotshot billionaire Callan Hawk. A man known to only date supermodels being interested in a nobody like me? Can you imagine the two of us standing side by side? Him in his three thousand dollars suits and me in my second-hand jeans and shoes wrapped in tape. It’s laughable really. I have no delusional fantasies of my boss and me. I sigh. ‘A girl can dream.’

The subway commute to where my potential new home is located took nearly an hour, and, now, I’m standing outside the building where the man I talked to told me to meet him. I look down at the piece of paper in my hand and back up at the numbers hanging on the brick wall next to the entrance, where three men are sitting drinking beer. They eye me with suspicion, and their attention makes me uncomfortable.

‘Are you Denver?’ a man stepping out the door asks, and for a split second, I think about bolting. The guy in front of me is at least a foot taller than myself, is wearing a stained t-shirt, has greasy brown hair balding at the top, and a cigarette hanging from his mouth. ‘Look, lady. It’s colder than a witch’s tit out here. Are you interested in the apartment or not?’

I go against my better instincts and answer the man. ‘I’m interested.’

‘Then come on in, and I’ll show it to ya.’ The man disappears inside the building passing the three men as we make our way up the stairs. The first thing to hit me when I walk in is the smell of urine and stale cigarettes. ‘The studio is on the third floor. The elevator is out, so you have to take the stairs,’ the man tells me. ‘Name’s Harold, by the way.’

‘Nice to meet you, Harold.’ I fake pleasantries.

‘Here we are.’ Reaching what I assume is the studio apartment, Harold fishes a set of keys from his pocket and unlocks the door. He steps into the apartment first and I take a hesitant step behind him, leaving the door open and a few feet of space between us. I don’t need to go any further because the place is small. To my left is a kitchenette, and to my right is an area large enough for a bed and possibly a tiny sofa. Shuffling forward a bit, I notice a door. I open it to reveal a bathroom. The appliances look to be older than me and the floor is an awful yellow linoleum. As drab as the place seems, all I can do is smile. ‘I’ll take it.’

‘You got the money for the deposit and first month’s rent on you? Because I’m not looking to waste my time. I got two other people interested in the place.’

‘I have the money. You said it was thirteen hundred a month with a five hundred deposit. Right?’

Harold smiles, showing his yellow stained teeth. ‘That’s what I said.’

Reaching into my bag, I pull out the exact amount of cash needed and hand it over. Harold stuffs the payment into his front pocket and passes me the key to the apartment in exchange. ‘The previous tenants are still in the process of gathering the rest of their things,’ Harold points to a pile of boxes beside the door. ‘And the gas won’t be on until tomorrow. Will it be a problem for you to wait until tomorrow to move in? Wouldn’t want you to freeze in here.’

I shake my head. ‘No. Tomorrow is fine. It gives me time to get a few things for the place.’

‘Alright then, girly. You got yourself an apartment. Have a good day.’

Harold goes to leave, and I stop him. ‘Wait. Do I need to sign a lease or anything?’

‘Nope. You’re all set.’

I find it strange Harold doesn’t require any written agreement, but this is my first time renting an apartment on my own. What do I know? Besides, by the looks of the building and the neighborhood, the people here don’t look like they put much stock into formalities.

The next morning, after stopping at the store to buy a twin air mattress, I hop on the subway again with the biggest smile the whole hour commute to my apartment. When I arrive at my apartment building, no men are sitting on the stoop. Maybe because it’s seven o’clock on a Sunday morning? Either way, I shrug and make my way inside and up the staircase. Using my key, I insert it into the lock, only to discover it doesn’t fit. ‘What the hell?’ Pulling the key out, I stick it back in and let out a nervous giggle. No! This is not happening.

I try knocking on the door in hopes the former tenants are still here and have a spare key. I bang on the door three times with no answer before trying the key once more. This time it breaks off in the lock. ‘Shit.’ There must be a mix-up. Harold must have given me the wrong key. I knock on the door again, this time a little harder. ‘Hello! Is anyone there?’

‘Hey! Knock that pounding off, girl. You’re going to wake up the whole damn building.’ A lady with a Latino accent chastises and I give her my attention. The woman is rail-thin with a weathered face and the kind of red hair that comes from a box.

‘I’m sorry. But this is my apartment, and my key broke off in the lock. I was hoping the former renters were still here.’

‘No way is this your apartment, Chica. I’m the building manager, and I sure as hell, don’t remember renting it to you.’

‘You’re the manager?’ My good mood suddenly vanishes.

‘That’s what I said. I should make you replace that lock you just broke, girl.’ The woman gripes with a cigarette hanging from her fingers.

‘I…I rented this place from Harold. He’s the one who answered the phone when I called about the online ad.’

‘Dios.’ The lady shakes her head. ‘That bastard Harold is the guy who lived in this apartment. I served him eviction papers a week ago. The son of a bitch scammed you. I’m going to bet you aren’t the only person either.’

‘What!’ I shout. ‘That can’t be right. Please. I met him here yesterday. He showed me the apartment and took my money.’ I panic.

‘I’m sorry, Chica. You got swindled. He and your money are long gone.’

My body slumps against the wall as the contents of my stomach threatened to make an appearance. The lady looks on with pity and sighs.

‘Look. I can see you’re in a bind. I can’t get your money back, but I can still rent the apartment to you. Going to need eight hundred for the place.’ She pulls a drag from her cigarette, leaving red lipstick on the filter.

‘Eight hundred!’ I snap my head up. ‘I gave Harold eighteen hundred.’

The woman nearly chokes on the cigarette she’s smoking. ‘Eighteen fucking hundred. Shit, girl. Why the hell did you think a dump like this would go for that much?’

At this point, there is no stopping the tears from flowing past my cheeks. ‘I was thinking I was tired of living in the shelter and needed a home.’

The lady places her hand on her hip. ‘I get it. But business is business, and I can’t let you have the place without payment. I’m sorry.’ There is a hint of sympathy in the woman’s eyes but not enough to waver on her deal.

I don’t bother trying to negotiate. Pushing myself away from the wall, I shoulder past the woman. I have no one to blame but myself. I was the one naive enough to believe in a stranger, and in the end, I paid the price. I learned a valuable lesson today. Number one, you can’t trust people and number two, karma is a bitch. This is the universe paying me back for being a thief myself.

I walk in a haze back to the subway station, my mind racing. I bump into a few people on the street who reward me with dirty looks. I don’t have it in me to care or say excuse me. By the time I make it back to the subway, I realize my hands are empty. Shit. I left the air mattress back at the apartment, or dropped it somewhere. I contemplate going back for it because that’s thirty bucks I can get back returning it to the store, but quickly squash that idea. Someone would have swiped it by now.

Pulling my coat tighter around my body as I try to fend off the blistering cold, I step out of the subway onto the busy city streets. The hour-long ride has done little to calm my despair. I was supposed to be spending my first night in my new home. Instead, I am headed back to the shelter.

‘Denver.’ Lucy rushes up to me the moment, and I step inside. ‘Are you okay? She looks me over. ‘What happened? I thought you were moving into your apartment today.’

I wipe the tears from my face. ‘I was. But it turns out the guy I met with yesterday was not the apartment manager. He was just some guy who had been living there and was being kicked out. He placed a fake ad online. He took my money and is gone. I found out all this from the woman who is the actual manager.’

‘Oh, no. Denver, I’m so sorry. Does this woman know where you can find the man? Have you thought about going to the police? I can go with you if you want.’

I shake my head. ‘Harold is long gone. I don’t see the cops being able to do much. There is no telling how long it would take to track him down.’

‘It’s still worth a try. Don’t you think? Maybe the cops can find him and get some of your money back.’

‘No. I want to lay down and forget how stupid I was to believe my luck had turned around. I’m tired and I have work tomorrow.’

‘Alright.’ Lucy sighs in defeat. ‘Promise me you’ll let me know if you change your mind about going to the cops.’

Later that night, I toss and turn on the cot. The tears have stopped, but my eyes feel swollen and scratchy. I just hope I don’t look a mess for work in the morning. Taking a shuttered breath, I close my eyes. There is no sense in dwelling on what can’t be changed. I lost almost all my money and what was to be a new start. But I still have a job. I’ll keep working and keep saving. In a couple of weeks, I’ll find another place to stay. Tomorrow is a new day.