2. Dalton
2
DALTON
I watch as the woman I met heads out of the courtyard. Her skirt twitches with each step, and I’m mesmerized. Moving here might have some benefits.
“Dalton, are you sure you’re getting enough sleep?” Mom’s voice is crackly on the other end of the call. “And eating right?”
“I’m good. I feel fine.”
“Did you get a place yet?”
“I’m about to head into an apartment office and try to snag one. I only have twelve hours before my next shift.”
“Well, good luck, honey, and don’t worry about me. I’m managing fine without you.”
But is she? I worked a night job throughout med school to help her pay the bills. But even I can’t scrape much extra together right now, dealing with LA prices on a first-year intern’s salary plus medical school loans. “You’ll tell me if you fall behind.”
“Not a chance.” She laughs. “You let me know what happens.”
“Talk to you soon, Mom.”
“You better, Dalton.”
I shove my phone in my pocket. At least she’ll always have a cell phone, since I got a two-line plan. I am so ready to be pulling decent money to help her out. It’s been a real struggle since med school. I couldn’t work two jobs like I had in undergrad.
I have to kill it my intern year. Not everybody makes it out. I have to. With bells on.
I take long steps as I stride around the corner to the office. There are only two furnished apartments in the area I can afford. This complex has one of them. I can’t delay any longer or I might lose it.
The door creaks when I open it. The place feels old, layers of paint making the trim thick and ill defined. A woman with huge, fluffed, orange-red hair sits behind the desk, piles of folders stacked about her.
And, hello , the woman I talked to a few minutes ago sits across from her. Maybe she’s having trouble with one of her appliances or a water leak.
I’m handy. I could help her out.
Looking around at the dust and chaos of the office, particularly after standing in the squalor of the courtyard, I wonder why this girl lives here. She’s well dressed in a narrow skirt, and her dark hair is smoothed into a polished updo. Maybe it’s nicer on the inside?
“I’m here for the one-bedroom,” I announce.
“Obviously,” the manager says. “So is she.” She aims a pen across the desk at the younger woman.
The woman turns around and inhales sharply when she spots me. That face. She has the sharp, perfect features of a real-life princess. But the interest she showed earlier melts from her expression as she realizes we’re going for the same apartment.
“Hello, again,” I tell her.
Her lips tighten. She’s not happy about this.
I’m not either. If I hadn’t taken those calls, I’d have gotten here first. “I need it,” I say, trying not to plead.
“So does she,” the manager snaps. “And you’re getting on my nerves.”
“I’m a doctor.”
“We can see your scrubs from here.” She shakes her head and returns to speaking to the younger woman. “This is the floor plan. I need first and last month’s rent up front. Can you do that?”
“Yes,” the woman says, glancing back at me.
Damn it.
But then she adds, “Do you allow pets?”
The manager huffs. “Not on your life. And if I catch you with one, you’re out on your can without the deposit.”
My heart leaps at that. I don’t really want to take the last apartment from this beauty who smiled at me. Surely, if she’s asking about pets, she has one. And she got shot down.
Which will leave it for me, free and clear.
But she says, “That’s all right. I’ll tell the rescue that I’ll pause fostering abandoned kittens while I live here.”
She rescues kittens?
The red-haired manager cracks her first smile. A well-dressed rescue princess probably trumps an M.D.
I slump onto a chair, wondering if I shouldn’t head straight to the other available apartment. But it’s only a tiny studio, not a one-bedroom with a separate living space. And it costs more to boot.
I’ll give it a few more minutes. Maybe this place won’t be good enough for her.
“You want to see it?” the manager asks.
“I do.” Rescue Princess stands up.
The manager motions to me. “You can come, too. I don’t want to show it twice.”
I jump up. “Thank you. Thank you very much.”
Rescue Princess doesn’t so much as glance my way as she follows the manager out of the office. Yeah, that ended before it started.
The California sun pierces my eyes after the dimness of the room, and I lift my hand to shade them.
The older woman surveys me as she locks the door. “You look like something the cat dragged in. You sure you’re not coming off a bender?”
“Just a twenty-four-hour shift in the ER.”
The manager harrumphs. I’m not sure if that means she doesn’t believe me or if she thinks the marathon shifts are a bad idea. Most everyone does, but it happens anyway.
“Is it legal to work that much?” Rescue Princess asks.
Maybe I can charm her into letting me have the place. Surely she can afford something nicer. She looks like she comes from money.
I give her the grin that worked earlier. “First-years average seventy-two hours a week.”
She gasps as we cross the scraggly courtyard where we first met. “That’s terrible! How do you care for patients if you’re exhausted?”
“They don’t,” the manager says. “They are heavily supervised. We get a lot of interns from South General in my building.”
My head snaps in her direction. “Are there others?”
“Not currently. I threw out the one who rented the unit you’re about to look at. He was too buried in med school debt to make rent.” She narrows her eyes at me as we approach the side of the building lined with doors. “Are you financially sound, Mr. Doctor?”
Not really, but I say, “I’m good.”
“Me, too.” Rescue Princess adds her assurance quickly, but I get a hint of uncertainty, like something might be amiss despite her clothes and overall presence.
Maybe she’s not what she seems.
We pause in front of a scratched-up door with a metal plate at the base. It looks like it’s been kicked a time or two.
“Home, sweet home,” the manager says and swings it open.
The smell of smoke hits us. That’s not great, but I can always Febreeze the place to hell.
It’s modestly furnished with an orange plaid sofa, a dinged-up oval coffee table, and a TV stand. I don’t have a stick of furniture of my own, which is why my apartment options have been limited.
“All bills are included,” the woman says, leading us farther into the place. “But I keep an eye on that electric. I’ll pound your door if you keep the A/C running twenty-four-seven.”
The kitchen isn’t particularly inspiring, a sickly sort of beige, but it has the basics, including a dishwasher, stove, and fridge.
“No microwave?” Rescue Princess asks.
The manager rolls her eyes. “It’s not the Taj Mahal.”
We peek into a bedroom with gray carpet.
A large round stain marks the floor beside a bare mattress on a metal frame. There’s nothing else in the room, but the bed is what I need.
Time to grab the bull by the horns. “I’ll take it,” I say. “I can move in this afternoon.”
“Hey!” Rescue Princess protests. “I was here first!”
“And it’s clearly not up to your standards,” I say.
“What do you know about my standards?” Her cheeks flush pink.
“This can’t be good enough for you.”
She lets out a huff. “Why does a doctor need to live in a place like this, anyway? I bet those scrubs aren’t even real.”
Wait, what? “Why would I fake being a lowly intern with a heap of student loans?”
“I knew it,” the manager says. “I’ve got one who’s too poor and one who’s too good.” She waves us toward the door. “Out. Both of you. I have three other people coming by for this place today. You two can live somewhere else.”
Alarm bells ring. “But I love it,” I say. “This is a great place.”
“Yes!” Rescue Princess says. “I love it, too! I’ll take it!”
“Nope,” the manager herds toward the door. “I know trouble when I see it. And you two are trouble with a capital T! Out you go. Don’t bother following me to the office.” She pushes us to the sidewalk.
Only when she’s taken off across the courtyard do I fully realize what’s happened.
I whip around to my new arch-nemesis. “You lost me this apartment!”
Her dark eyes flash with anger. “No, I was the one who could have gotten it! And you lost it for me !”
“You’re the one who accused me of faking my scrubs!”
“You’re the one who’s all, ‘Look at me, I’m a doctor!’”
“And you’re the saint who rescues kittens!”
She glares at me, which only makes her look more beautiful. I’ve got it bad.
But this isn’t about a hook-up. I need a place to sleep.
I whip away from her and stalk toward the office.
She rushes up behind me. “Where are you going?”
“To sweet-talk that lady into giving me this place.”
“Oh, no you don’t! I’m going to grovel and beg!”
“I don’t think so.” I hurry faster.
She breaks into a jog to keep up.
We arrive at the office, but when I try the knob, it’s locked.
“What the hell?” I twist it harder.
“Great, just great,” Rescue Princess pounds on the door.
The curtain moves aside at the window. We both hurry toward it.
Rescue Princess waves at her. “Please!”
“No, me!” I hold my hand to my heart. “I’ll be a model tenant.”
The woman holds up a piece of paper with the words “I’m calling the police.”
“Shit,” I say.
Rescue Princess retreats from the building. “I guess this one’s not going to happen.”
She’s right. Good thing I have a backup.
“Good luck, Rescue Princess,” I tell her.
“What did you call me?”
I don’t answer that as I hurry to my apple-red Jeep, ready to put a deposit on the studio the minute I arrive. It will have to work. I’ll cut my grocery budget. Eat ramen. And send Mom less, damn it.
I leap up onto the driver’s seat and pat Bernadette’s dash between the collection of tiny rubber ducks. “Don’t worry, you will never be on the chopping block.” My Jeep is a classic, leftover from my dad.
I spot Rescue Princess stomping up the sidewalk. She unlocks the car in front of me, a Jeep that is a newer model of mine in a color they call Earl blue.
Huh. At least my evil opposition has good taste in cars.
I pull out and drive around her, giving a wave that I hope she knows is sarcastic. Good riddance. Faking my scrubs? And who is she, Miss Wear-Designer-Clothes-to-a-Hellhole?
But when she pulls out behind me, then takes my same route, turn for turn, to the next apartment complex, I have a sinking feeling I’m going to see her again, real soon.
We’re headed to the same available unit.
The last furnished one for ten miles.
Here we go again.