Page 7 of The Arrangement

I had maybe thirty minutes before I needed to start my filming, and I tried to stay on track and schedule my recordings like a normal job. I just preferred the nighttime because there was less chance that I would be interrupted. My mask, camera, and tripod sat on the kitchen island while the battery finished charging.

It was maybe fifteen minutes after that delightful interaction with my next-door neighbor when I heard a soft knock at my door. It took me a moment to realize it wasn't coming from my TV, and I quickly made my way to the door.

I struggled with the door handle for a moment. The stupid thing always got stuck at the worst times. I really needed to fix that…I left the door chain on the door as an afterthought, thinking it had to be a wrong delivery or a dude with agun. Whichever.

When I opened the door, I didn't expect to see a dripping-wet Georgia Clark with mascara smeared under her brown eyes,clasping a towel around her as she shivered in the barely insulated hallway.

"Clark?" I asked in astonishment and took a chance to look around to see if there was anyone else in the hallway.

"My water's off," she said simply, her teeth looking on the verge of chattering at this point. I raised an eyebrow, looking her up and down. The drowned rat that was my next-door neighbor rolled her eyes and groaned, "Jesus, don't make me ask this."

I crossed my arms and leaned on the doorframe, because if she was going to be a brat, I could match that energy. "Ask me what, Clark?"

She screwed her eyes shut and blurted out, "Can I use your shower?"

I was still for a moment. My apartment was clean, but there were…things out—things I didn't want my stuck-up neighbor to see. The latch was still attached to the door, so I panicked and just shut it quickly, rushing to push the camera into a drawer and throw the tripod into my bedroom, closing the door quietly. I cursed as I realized I’d nearly headed back to the door with the balaclava still in hand; I opened my vanity door and shoved it inside.

When was the last time I had a girl in here that wasn't a collab? Fuck if I knew. I took a deep breath and opened the door.

"You comin' in or what, Clark?"

The drenched woman stood there for a moment like she was stunned that I’d answered the door in the first place. Never mind that Clark slammed the door in my face less than thirty minutes ago; my mother would hit me up the head if I let a soaking wet woman stand in a frigid hallway all night after she’d asked for help.

Georgia carefully walked in, and I could see her looking over my apartment like she was checking to see if there were dead bodies, or maybe it was the surprise that I actually had furniture and not just boxes holding up a ten-year-old TV.

"Bathroom’s that way." I pointed to the end of the hall; my place was small and, I assumed, set up similar to her own. She was also in a beach towel, and I didn't want to make her feel uncomfortable bygetting too close. So I returned to my couch and switched back on the TV until I heard the shower start and the bathroom door lock.

I turned the TV volume down to a more suitable level in case, I don't know, she started screaming and shouting in my bathroom, too. Or in case she needed something.

I looked around my kitchen for any sign that I’d missed putting away any of my equipment, my heart still racing in my chest even as I heard the water shut off in what had to be the quickest shower I had ever heard a woman take.

It was quiet, too quiet, but also, what was I supposed to do when an almost stranger was using my bathroom at 10 o'clock?

I cleared my throat, fiddling with my phone, texting Natalie to give me a few minutes before she headed over. As usual, the ever-happy woman just said she could stop and grab us coffee since it would be late at night. I replied with a thumbs-up and sent over $20 for the inconvenience.

"Clark? You doing okay in there?" I called, mostly because I wasn't sure if it was more creepy to be silent or loud.

Her responding call sounded out of breath. "Yeah, yeah, I'm almost done!" Not even half a second later, the door opened to reveal a much drier, less soapy Clark. I kept my phone in my hand like I had been mindlessly scrolling since she had been in my shower, rather than agonizing over what to do while she was in my apartment with my things.

"Thanks again, Quinn," she waved over her shoulder, tiptoeing out the door and shutting it quietly behind her. Okay, well, I guess that was fine.

Natalie: “You ready? I'm pulling in!"

Me: “C’mon up, I'm going to need that coffee."

Chapter 5

Georgia

The next two weeks passed by like normal: visiting my grandmother every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday and working at Hemingway's my regular forty hours. The thoughts of Quinn and the mask flitted away as soon as my water was restored, and life went on as usual. I had even been hacking away at my novel, still sitting at a cool 20 thousand words and 10 chapters. If there were an award for rewriting a sentence a week, I would have it plastered on my wall by now. Everything was fine, good even. I had my routine, and I preferred it that way.

The chaos of my younger life had left me with an innate desire for peace and predictability, something I’d only had after my grandmother had picked me up from my father's house having found out the condition I’d been living in for months after my mother died. Stability meant everything to me. So when that all came crashing down one Tuesday evening, I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me.

"Things have been a bit tight lately," Emma admitted, her hands tented in front of her as she leaned against her old desk. I had crammed myself into what my boss called her office, but it was really a glorified broom closet with a desk shoved into the corner amid piles of books that I hadn't yet cataloged. "When I bought this place with my wifetwenty years ago, I never thought we'd even get this far. It's just been such a rough year." The older woman's face was full of regret, and I couldn't help but feel panicked, while heartbroken for my boss.

A framed photo of Emma and her wife Elaine hung over the same desk next to the solitary table lamp, with the first dollar they had made tacked underneath it. I remembered Elaine fondly; she had been such a smiling person, always sneaking a free bookmark into my bag when my grandmother and I came in once a month on allowance day. Cancer had snuck up on her in the golden years of her life, and as hard as Emma had tried, these last few years had been difficult without her spouse.

"But it's only two months before December! Surely the business will pick up before then," I reasoned softly, rubbing my arms as the chill of the day had seeped into the poorly insulated building. "We could host a book signing or a book club!"

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