Page 18 of Idle

I square my shoulders. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

The door swings open, and we’re greeted with what can only be described as a disaster. He allows me to enter first, and we walk in on floors covered in a thin, worn, blue wall-to-wall carpet. A soot-laden red brick fireplace stands against one interior wall. Behind a dividing wall, I see a kitchen that’s missing a couple of cabinet doors. Crossing the expanse of threadbare blue rug, I enter the kitchen where the island sports the same tops as the rest of the counters—Formica. Dragging my fingers over the top that’s practically begging to be returned to the 1950s, I turn and am greeted with massive, floor-to-ceiling dirty windows running the length of the apartment, overlooking the Hudson River. Immediately, my mind pictures them, clean, letting in the brilliant sunshine and gorgeous views. No curtains or any sort of soft coverings needed.

“Quinn wasn’t kidding when she said these are blank slates.” Jesse bangs on the mantle. “But it’s solid.”

“And ugly.”

“It’s your job to make it beautiful. C’mon, let’s check out the rest of this place.”

I follow him to a door, which opens to a massive full bath. Total gut job. We move on to two bedrooms, followed by the primary suite. I suppose it can be called a primary suite, since a bathroom’s attached, but I can’t even imagine the obnoxious lime green tile ever being in style.

We return to the living room and stand next to the fireplace, facing the wall of windows. He rocks his right foot. “Well, shit.”

Jesse’s assessment is on point. “Yeah.”

A knock on the door sounds, and I trudge across the room to answer it. Quinn walks in. “How are you liking your new digs?”

I lick my lips. “Is each apartment similar?”

“Oh, yes.” She glances at her feet. “Some have different colored rugs and cabinets and such, but they’re alike.”

My heel scuffs across the shabby carpet—minus the “chic” part. “Joy.”

Jesse comes up next to me and puts his arm around my shoulder, causing my head to whip to him. Ignoring my reaction, he says, “When do we get started?”

Quinn smiles. “Right now.” Quinn opens her oversized floral Vera Bradley tote bag and hands us each a stapled document. “We start filming Monday, so I would use these days to plan what you intend to do for each room, in general terms.”

She turns on her heel. “Oh, and before I go, please pull up one contact number on each of your phones.”

I step away from my partner’s weird embrace and retrieve my cell. They probably need an emergency contact, although I thought they already asked for them. Opening her tote again, she hands us each a phone.

“These will be yours during the shoot. You don’t have to check, Wi-Fi is not enabled and photos cannot be sent out. My number has been pre-programmed, as have all the other contestants’ numbers. Of course, when someone’s eliminated from the show, their number will no longer be operational. There’s space for you to enter one more number, but you won’t be able to change it once you press ‘Save,’ so choose wisely. Oh, these numbers are for outbound calls only, not texts.”

What the hell? Assuming these will be prop phones for the set, I choose Chloe’s number and press “Save.” I sneak a peek at Jesse, whose contact reads “Mr. Hooper, High School Teacher Extraordinaire.” I wonder who that is.

When he finishes tapping his screen, Quinn says, “Great. Now turn off your personal phones and give them to me.”

What does she want with them? Jesse shuts his down and hands it over like a good little boy, but I’m not such a rule follower. I hold my light blue case up. “Why do you need them?”

Quinn’s gaze travels my full length, as if she’s trying to see into my soul. Nah. I must be imagining things. She’s probably trying to figure out if Jesse and I are together, considering she’s eating him up with her eyes. “You’re about to film a reality show, and we need to ensure you’re not getting help from the outside world.”

Makes sense, in a Draconian sort of way. Still. “As you probably know, there are things going on with my family, and I need to be able to keep in contact with them.”

“We’re aware. Don’t worry. We’ll be keeping tabs on what’s happening with your dad and will tell you right away if something new breaks. Besides, I assume you programmed him into the new phone.”

It’s odd she focused on Father rather than VOW-cubed as a whole, but her response gives me comfort that I’ll be kept up to date about the legal mess without actually having to do it myself. Besides, I did input Chloe’s info. Not correcting her misguided idea I would’ve preprogrammed Father’s number, I place my cell in her palm. Her fingers close around both phones for a minute, then she drops them into her tote. “Thank you. Now, I’ll leave you to go over the paperwork and get to it. See you later.”

Quinn leaves and takes all the air with her. My mind whirls—I’m adrift without my phone. My eyes flit to all the corners of the apartment. What on earth can be done to make this dump look habitable? Forget television-worthy.

Unflappable, Jesse flips through the papers. “Here’s the schedule and a materials order list.” He holds up the latter document. “I think we should take photos of each room and then go back to the ViewPad, where we can at least sit on chairs, to strategize. We only have a week to get everything in order.”

“I’m not sure a lifetime would be enough time to right this place.”

Jesse focuses on me with a laser stare. “Hey. You rehabbed the house you flipped. Don’t be put off by the exterior in here. The bones are fantastic.” He tilts his head up. “Check out these high ceilings. What can you do to them to make them look even taller?”

I look up. Jesse’s right, they’re pretty high. How could I make them look even higher? A vaulted ceiling comes to mind, but such construction would be impossible in an apartment. However, we could put in some moldings.

I shift my weight between my feet. “I suppose we could make it look like it’s a tray ceiling.” I take a step backward and cross my arms across my chest.

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