Chapter Five
In which poor people do not get to walk through the front door.
Ava…
"We're gonna miss you so much.”
Carla is draped dramatically against my bedroom doorway as I tape the last box shut.
“Oh, I don't think you're going to be lonely,” I say with a grin. “I understand that Naked Guy is moving in?"
“Don't call him that,” she says. “His name is Steve."
“Yeah, okay,” I say, hefting the box in my arms. “But he'll always be Naked Guy to me.” I'd paid up to the end of the month and thanked my lucky stars that they added Carla's friend to the lease.
There are three movers who speak in low tones amongst themselves as they heft my mattress and bed frame, taking them down the stairs as if they weigh no more than the pillows I've stuffed into a trash bag. Once I hand my key to Carla and join them on the sidewalk, they've already pulled down the rolling back of the moving truck, shutting my sad little pile of boxes inside. It’s warm today and they’re sweating a bit.
The smell of exhaust perfumes the air and drivers are cursing the moving truck for being too far out into the lane. It was not a great parking job.
One of the guys is staring at me. Not sexually or like he’s interested, more… assessing, a weird vibe that makes me uncomfortable.
“Well,” I say, clapping my hands together awkwardly, “I'll see you guys there at The McManus.”
One of them nods at me and they leave without another word, the truck belching black smoke in their wake.
I decide to splurge on an Uber even though I know I'm going to have to figure out which bus routes I’ll need to take to the hospital from the new apartment.
But the day is so exciting, I deserve to celebrate a little.
I'm already envisioning having Priya and some other friends over for a housewarming party. Nothing fancy, but it would be nice to return the favor since I've been to parties at everybody else's place several times.
There are multiple images on The McManus sales website of the new building, but standing in front of it is truly awe-inspiring.
It's a massive tower of glass soaring up forty stories.
Even though I got the impression from Cynthia that it was only half built, it looks perfectly finished.
Flowers and artfully trimmed Japanese maples in giant pots grace the entryway, and a uniformed doorman stands just outside the door, his white-gloved hands folded in front of him.
I didn't know the doormen wore white gloves anymore.
“Ava! There you are." Cynthia hurries over, giving me a warm smile. “I was so excited when they approved your application. I think you're really going to enjoy the apartment."
“I can't tell you how much I appreciate you letting me know about the opportunity in the first place,” I say, heading towards the front door until she puts her hand on my arm.
"Oh, hang on,” she says, smiling apologetically. “There's another entrance here at The McManus; the tenants with the lower income units go through the back.”
Good lord. I knew a lot of the new fancy buildings that were forced to offer low-income housing did this, hiding us peons by making us go through a separate entrance. It still feels unpleasant to be hustled through the back door like trash.
“Oh, I see,” I say, heading down a paved pathway to the back of the building. It's not as nicely landscaped here and there's no doorman.
Once we're in the elevator and I'm watching the numbers shoot up, I feel better. I don't care what door I have to walk into as long as I have a pretty apartment all to myself. We stop at the tenth floor and Cynthia guides me down the hallway to apartment 1014, unlocking the door.
"Are you ready?" she asks, sweeping her arm out dramatically like a game show hostess. “Have a look.”
I walk in and instantly know she’s brought me to the wrong place.
This apartment is huge.
It's already furnished; a low-slung gray sectional and an enormous TV hung over the fireplace dominate the living room. The dining table seats twelve, situated by the floor to ceiling windows and flows into a sleek kitchen. It's too pristine.
“This can't be right." I’m confused, looking down the hallway and catching a glimpse of the bedroom.
“Well,” Cynthia says, putting her bag on the kitchen counter. “I might have slotted you in for the model apartment. We've already sold the last of this expansion. And it was just sitting here already furnished and looking so nice, so…”
She opens the stainless steel fridge and pulls out a bottle of champagne, finding two glasses in one of the cabinets.
“It's already stocked with glasses, plates and silverware?” I ask.
This is too weird. The apartment is shiny and beautiful, and the floors are sleek granite and marble, and the light reflects from the windows, blinding me.
The table is too long, it's really long.
I don't have enough friends to even fill that dining table.
“Will you relax?” Cynthia chuckles. “You deserve good things in your life. Besides,” she adds with a wink, “I live in this building so if I ever need a doctor, it's nice to know you're just a few floors away.”
"Physician’s assistant," I automatically correct while still turning in little circles, taking in the furniture, the artwork on the walls. The wooden bookcases are just waiting to be filled up with my medical journals and trashy paperback romances.
This can't be right.
She opens the champagne bottle with a dramatic pop and pours two glasses, handing one to me.
“It's not that I'm not deeply appreciative,” I say as she raises her glass for a toast. “I am. But this can't be right. An apartment with this kind of square footage and amenities must be over a million dollars. There's no way this is low-income housing.”
“Do you remember the part about you being a doctor?” She ignores my earlier correction about being a PA. “I'm not saying you have to make house calls.” She giggles a bit. “But since you are in-house… It seems like a good arrangement.”
I furrow my brow, but obediently tap my glass to hers, taking a sip. It's good champagne, the expensive, over one hundred dollars a bottle kind. And I take another sip.
“So, some sort of work for rent agreement?” I ask, still trying to wrap my head around this. “It's too expensive. It's too bright. I know I can't afford this."
Focus.
I take another sip of the champagne as Cynthia tells me about some of the features in the kitchen, like the Viking stove and stainless steel appliances.
“There's no balconies on this floor, sadly,” she says, walking down the hall.
Following her, my body does something weird. It weaves a bit as I take a step, a little bit like Captain Jack Sparrow after he's had a bottle of rum and I put my hand on the counter for support.
My glass is empty. When did that happen?
Cynthia takes it from me and puts it on the table with a quiet clink. “You must feel very overwhelmed,” she says, examining me, her gaze suddenly sharp.
“Oh, I'm- I'm fine.” I chuckle, embarrassed that a glass of champagne is making me wobble around like this. I definitely don't have the grace and charm of Captain Jack Sparrow when he does it.
“Why don't you sit down?” She guides me over to the sectional and as the back of my legs hit the cushion, everything goes dark.