I Scream for Irene
Subject: We have an offer!
Hi Mona,
Great news! We have an offer.
I’ll be with clients all day but wanted you to share the news ASAP.
Congrats Mona! We are able to sell the building all thanks to your hard work! I look forward to setting up a meeting at Westmore
Communications so we can discuss other ways to partner going forward.
-L
The email comes right as I heave my overfilled laundry bag into the hallway. All the weeks of work around here paid off. I
have just gotten Lana freaking Winston as a client! I can’t believe I pulled it off. I can’t believe it’s real. I barely have time to register this when I open
the door to my suite and Ernest practically trips me up, pounding past me into the hallway, straight to Irene’s unit.
When he reaches her door, he starts scratching furiously, his nose blasting little puffs of air through the bottom of the
door.
That’s when I spot a light coming through the crack under her door. What the hell? I dump my laundry bag and make my way down
the hall. “Irene! You there?”
The hollow knock thuds through the hallway and meets the faint sounds of some kind of jock jams from Divorced Dad’s suite.
But there’s no answer.
I press my ear against her door. The sound of a laugh track comes through. The TV is on?
I knock. “Irene?”
Ernest’s tail is wagging harder than I’ve ever seen.
“Hello!” I knock again. Another laughing sound from a TV show echoes through the door. There’s definitely someone in there.
I try the handle. Irene’s apartment door opens just a crack. “Irene?” I ask, holding the door ajar. “Everything okay?”
I push just a little more and peer into the room in front of me. Irene is there—slumped sideways in her chair, mouth open,
eyes closed, skin way paler than normal.
“Irene!” I call, as I make my way closer. Ernest starts darting around the place—full-on zoomies happening now that he’s back
in the home he hasn’t been to in weeks.
I put my hands in front of her face and check her breathing.
And instantly Irene’s eyes dart open. A scream tears from her, so sudden and loud that I actually jump back. My heartbeat
pounds in my ears as she waves her hands to regain her balance and straightens in her chair. She puts on the glasses strung
around her neck. Her eyes dart around the room, still disoriented, as she pulls her cardigan together.
“Irene, what are you doing here?” I ask, still lightheaded with relief that I’m not talking to a corpse.
“What am I doing here? I’m in my home.” There’s a ferocity in her voice.
Ernest jumps up onto her lap and starts licking her face furiously. The ire saps out of her as she gives him a thousand kisses
and hugs.
“You looked like you were passed out,” I say as I watch these two wrinkly creatures fawn over each other.
“I must’ve dozed off. Is this what you’ve been up to? Breaking into my house to party while I’ve been gone?” Her eyes drift to the talk-show host on her TV. “And how did this asshole get on there?” She grabs the remote from the arm of her chair and turns it off.
“I didn’t realize you were coming back. What happened? Are you feeling better?” I try to keep the panic out of my voice. Did
Lana even have a chance to talk to her? Probably not, since her email to me only came a few minutes ago. What if Irene has
gone rogue?
She lifts her foot, displaying the plastic boot on her ankle. “I’m just here for a break now that I’ve got this new walking
cast on.” She crosses her arms defiantly.
“So . . . Lana knows you came back?”
She throws her hands up. “You mean that elder abuser! Never getting me a damn sticky bun. Talking over all my shows.” Irene
purses her lips. “Last I checked I’m an adult with free will. There’s ice cream in the freezer—do us a favor and make us each
a bowl, will ya? I’m on borrowed time here.”
I do as she says and make my way to the kitchen. The thing about Irene’s apartment is that every surface is covered in all
sorts of trinkets that don’t seem happy to be there—a disturbed glass frog with a wide mouth as a vase, crocheted blankets
with gaping holes, a weird porcelain horse lamp—while every piece of fabric covering the chairs and tables seems to compete
for attention. It’s like being wrapped in an envelope of kooky grandmother. There is no way this kind of thing can happen
overnight; it took years of bad choices to compound into the final product.
I manage to pull two bowls with rose flowers from the cupboards. I find a pint of strawberry ice cream in the freezer and
two spoons in the same drawer that I use for my cutlery at home. I return and hand Irene the fuller bowl, then I take a seat
on the small embroidered couch across from her.
She takes the spoon and fiddles with the scoop of ice cream, but doesn’t start eating. “By the way, I came by your place when I got back this morning, but you weren’t home. Where the hell were you?”
“Oh, I must’ve been . . . taking Ernest for a walk.” My cheeks flush at the memory of waking up at Sami’s. I let a spoonful
of the overly sweet ice cream melt in my mouth as Irene watches me curiously.
We eat in silence while Ernest stares eagerly at us, apparently trying to hypnotize us into sharing. Eventually, Irene clangs
her spoon into her bowl and declares, “I’ve been needing this for weeks. Even ice cream tastes better here.”
“You missed this place that much?” I try to keep the emotion out of my voice. An embroidered picture on the wall behind her
reads “I love coyote watching,” which I didn’t know was a thing.
She looks around the room fondly. “I don’t really feel like myself when I’m away from this building.”
I nod as casually as I can muster. “I guess you’ve been managing it for such a long time, it’s been an adjustment leaving.”
She suddenly shifts the topic, still gazing wistfully around the room. “You know, when you first started renting from me,
I was pretty sure you wouldn’t live here very long. Remember you didn’t have enough for the damage deposit?”
And her words jolt inside me. “I’d forgotten.”
“You got it to me that next month.”
“Thanks for that,” I say kindly, though I’m unsure why she’s bringing this up.
She looks at me, assessing. “You seemed all eager about your job downtown. I had the feeling you were about to turn into a
total yuppie asshole. Don’t worry, this is a compliment.”
“Oh, good.” I flatten my expression. But I think back to the person I was back then.
Irene’s was the only place I could afford that was walking distance to the office.
I remember how badly I kissed her ass to get her to rent to me.
How much I needed it even though I was determined it wouldn’t be for long.
But of course, there were setbacks.
And I can’t believe how quickly the past five years went by. I was so focused on getting ahead, on creating as much distance
between myself and my past, that it all just kind of went . . . by.
Irene continues. “The thing is, I had a feeling you’d surprise me, and then finally these last few weeks, you did.”
“How so? By helping around here?”
Irene nods. “I just never would’ve believed there’d be a day where you’d break into my place and share some ice cream with
me. It’s nice to see you happier.”
Her words crawl their way to me with confusing distortion—like I’m hearing them through a carnival mirror. “I’m not much happier.”
“Well, something’s different. You seem more yourself. After all these years, you’ve shown us your true colors.”
She has a point, sort of.
“Mona, I’ve had a lot of tenants over the years, and you can’t take care of a building without getting to know more than you
planned to about the renters.”
“Makes sense.” I think about all the things I’ve learned about the tenants against my will lately.
“It’s almost impossible not to have that knowledge affect you. Not to care.” Irene looks almost through me.
And I realize she’s right. When I move out, I’ll wonder about everyone here for years to come.
I’ll even fucking think of Divorced Dad, or maybe Carmen, whenever I see the Flames playing, and that’s only after one month of taking care of this building.
I can’t imagine what an entire lifetime caring for tenants feels like—how many of them she’s watched come in and out of her life.
How much this building, and the people in it, became a part of her.
“Anyway, the very best tenants are the ones that I get to see grow into themselves while they’re living here.” Her eyes reach
mine again. “It’s lovely to be a part of that.”
I blink over the tenderness in my eyes. “Irene, thank you for renting to me even though I didn’t have the cash. That was really
helpful.”
She throws up her hands. “I’ve never been wrong to bet on someone.”
We sit in contemplative silence for a beat until the ping of an email comes from my phone again.
I remember the note Lana sent about twenty minutes ago. Soon, Lana will be presenting the offer to Irene. It’ll be pretty
obvious that she’ll have to take it.
It’ll be hard for Irene, but I have to believe this was the kindest way I could repay what she did for me. I tried to make
this place shine, so it could find a new owner who saw what she did—who could keep caring for this place, and the people inside
it, the way it deserves to be.
I stand and gather my bowl, then put out my hand to Irene. “Can I take that to the sink?”
Irene looks at me long and hard. Something seems to pass unsaid between us. That something is ending. “Mona, I know my management
style has been unconventional.” Her voice croaks when she speaks now. “But I hope you can see now how much care was involved.”
I nod. And my voice cracks around the words “I do.”
She nods, settling back into her seat. “Anyway, Lana’s going to cut off my ice-cream supply when she gets here, so be a dear
and refill that bowl before you leave. I have lots of defensive eating to do.”
“Of course.” I grin.
I refill her ice cream. Then I close the door on the lady who bet on me and everyone here.
And let her enjoy her home.
I open the email as soon as I’m back in my apartment. This time it’s from Carolyne.