Drama, Diner, and a Deal #2
facial expressions as I respectfully walk through what’s become a wonderland of intrigue. If I don’t purchase anything, it’ll
feel like I’m committing a crime as I walk out of the store and thank them.
Most importantly: I’m not financially or mentally stable to make such a purchase at this juncture.
“To save you some time,” I cut in finally. “I’m not in a position to buy right now.”
Lana’s fake and forced laugh is a touch offensive.
“Of course, I understand that. I was actually thinking I could help you rent a place. Not immediately, but once my aunt is back on her feet, of course.” She angles her head thoughtfully.
“You know that new building that’s opening up early next year just off Sixteenth, they’re calling it One Lofts.
Great suites, close to the river, a walk to the core, incredible views, and an exclusive gym with a hot tub.
Anyway, one of my clients is the builder there, and I’m investing in a few suites.
I’ll be looking for responsible tenants to rent there.
To get straight to it, I could likely set you up in one if that seems like a match?
” I can feel the hope pooling inside me as much as I try not to let it.
But she continues, “It doesn’t look like it would cost much more than Irene is charging you here. ”
“Really?” My voice is a squeak, too afraid that something has maybe worked out for me.
Somehow.
I clear my throat. “That would be amazing.”
“I’d just need a small bit of help from you.”
There it is. The hope refuses to dissipate even though my brain knows realtors are not always the honest, upstanding citizens
we civilians see them as. “So, let’s hear the catch,” I say, bolder than I’ve felt in days.
“I’d just need your help, getting this building in working order again—just enough that a private buyer could see its true
potential.”
“So, all I need to do is get it ready to sell?”
“Yes! And it would be, of course, best to keep the upcoming listing discreet. Wouldn’t want to fluster the tenants when we’re
not even sure anything will change. And my aunt, well, she’s so attached to the old place. I want to make it simple for her
when the time comes.”
An instant red flag draws up in my head. “Hiding it from my landlady doesn’t seem—”
“Believe me, I get it.” Again, her voice softens as she leans closer.
Her now-familiar perfume wafts my way. “My aunt is having a difficult time, not just this past week, but also . . . I just don’t think she’ll ever feel okay letting go.
” She exhales loudly. “It’s really hard because she knows she has to sell, but it’s very emotional for her.
All I want to do is get the building in a position where she’d be peaceful with its
fate so that she can live her final chapter of life with dignity.”
“That’s fair.” She makes a good point. I suspect Irene would be better off doing anything else with her golden years.
“She believes the building needs her to run smoothly and that nobody else can take care of it the way she can. I really want to seize this opportunity while
she’s in recovery and show her it’s okay to step back.”
I nod but don’t say more.
“So that’s why your discretion is important as you prep the property, but also, we really need to show my aunt that she’s
not needed anymore. That she can step away for good and have someone else run things and things will be okay without her there.”
I nod again. The scent of my cooking burrito is curling our way. A hint of shame floating with it.
“Tenants go to my aunt often, and she means well, but it flusters her. While she’s healing, I want to keep things peaceful.
So I want to ensure that nobody reaches out to her while she’s in recovery.”
“That makes sense. She should be resting.”
“Exactly.” Lana’s voice lowers just the tiniest bit. “And, of course, we don’t want to cause alarm with the tenants either.
You never know what can happen when people suspect big change like this.”
There it is. The ickiness that always comes. Of course, there’s a good chance the next owner will increase rent—something
most tenants here likely can’t afford. We can’t even muster one real porno DVD for our library FFS. And my dreams of moving somewhere better dissolve as soon as they form. “I’m sorry, I just don’t feel right about it.”
Her tone somehow softens even more as her eyes cast down. “Believe me, Mona. I get it, but I will say that unfortunately if
we are unable to sell it soon, this place will be doomed, my aunt and the tenants with it. She cannot continue to manage this,
and financially . . . what she’s charging the current tenants is not viable and hasn’t been for some time. It’s draining her
future nest egg.” She sighs again. “I’m her only relative that can help. If we can’t get it sold this way, unfortunately it
will have to end up in a developer’s hands in six months, tops.”
“I see,” I say, because I don’t have any better ideas. I don’t know what my problem is. I can normally compartmentalize the
parts that feel wrong using Lana’s exact reasoning. It’s just the idea of sneakily doing this to Irene . . . I hardly know
her or these people, but it’s more than I know most clients and consumers.
I’m off my game. Ever since that meeting, it’s like I messed up my brain.
“Mona, I’m not asking you to do anything overtly deceptive.” It’s like she’s reading my mind, but there’s a soft pleading
quality to her voice. “Selling the building is on me. All I’m asking from you is some help improving the building. And that
helps everyone here.”
It hits me. It’s the way she’s negotiating. It feels like she needs me to do this. And that always gives me the feeling like I should be countering. But even that doesn’t make sense. The new
apartment is better than I could’ve dreamed, so why doesn’t it feel like enough?
“I mean . . . I’m not totally against it but I just don’t know, it still feels . . .”
“I understand. Tell you what, why don’t I just send over more details of what I need from you, then you can decide. I’ll also go ahead and send some brochures for One Lofts so you can picture your new life while you’re at it.” She backs out the door. “I’ll be in touch.”
“Okay,” I reply as I wave her off. “Sounds good.”
It’s when I’m settled on the couch, burning my tongue on that first inferno bite of burrito, that an email buzzes into my
phone:
Subject: Your New Life
Oh god.
I click open the attached brochure. Everything pictured in the building is glossy and modern. I bet they don’t have that weird
smell in the hallway of the second floor.
I reread the subject of the email and try to picture my new life there. Preparing meals in the kitchen; proudly hosting my
friends without feeling self-conscious of the water stain on the corner of the ceiling or wondering whether Divorced Dad is
going to yell when the Flames score a goal and ruin the illusion that my life isn’t a little shitty. I picture myself getting