Page 15 of Working for the Mob

“I’ll collect some hand-me-downs from the girls at church and send them over tomorrow. That should at least get you through the week,” she said.

“Thank you so much!” Lucy squealed. I didn’t have the heart to tell Lucy she wasn’t getting any name-brand options.

???

Art insisted on walking us to the house/condo/apartment or whatever the hell 2181 Elm Street was. He said that the house was close enough to skip the car, and I didn’t mind. The sun was peeking out, ushering in a pleasant fall morning. Hopefully, this day didn’t ruin my favorite season.

As we walked, the shops melded into one-story houses, squeezed between blood-red maple trees that ominously shaded the sidewalk. Each lot had manicured lawns, painted doors, and full front porches with rocking chairs. Some even had rope-swings tied to tree branches overhead.

I eyed each house longingly; these were mansions compared to the apartments in the city.

Lucy and I would never be able to afford one of these cute houses, but I couldn’t worry about that at the moment. I needed to save up for rent, then train tickets, and then on a security deposit on an apartment far, far away from here.

We continued down the sidewalk and turned onto Elm Street; a quiet road that ended in a dead end before a field. I counted the mailboxes, 2199, 2197… 2185, 2183 until finally:

“This is the place,” Art said.

My heart caught in my throat.

The small, wooden cottage sparkled in the sun under a coat of fresh, white paint. It couldn’t have held more than two bedrooms, but it’d be more than big enough for the two of us. The cherry on top of this dream-filled sundae was the swinging chair that hung from the ceiling of the front porch.

I wanted to die in this house.

I don’t think that Johnathan Wheeler had reclaimed his number one spot, but this closed the gap.

“Do you think the bathroom will be big enough for the two of us?” Lucy asked and fingered the bottom of her bob. “I know you don’t do much with your hair, but I need a full hour in the morning to get this curl.”

“It’s going to need to be cleaned,” Art said, sidestepping Lucy’s comment. He unlocked the front door and pulled it open for us. “It’s been at least a year since anyone has lived in it.”

We entered into a small living room, with a faded couch and armchair, which sat in front of an abandoned fireplace. I sneezed after one step in the house, but I didn’t mind. I’d scrub the ceilings to floors on my hands and knees. “We can open the windows to air it out.”

“I call the room with the bigger closet!” Lucy said, and sped through the room into the hallway beyond. “I’ll need it for all my dresses.”

What dresses? She had as many clothes as I did.

With Lucy in the back, I stood alone in the room with Art for the first time. I met his eyes and my stomach somersaulted again. I pushed the feeling down to my toes –this guyisthe mob.

“What’s the catch?” I asked him, and crossed my arms.

“Can’t you just say, ‘Thank you for this house, Art?’”

“What’s. The. Catch. You said it yourself. A renter needs proof of income or a deposit.”

He stepped close enough that I had to crick my neck to hold his gaze. “There is no catch. This property is just sitting here, doing nothing. I need to start making rent and you’re the only applicants.”

“What if we can’t afford it?” I demanded.

He leaned in. I could smell the pomade from his hair. “I’m sure we can work something out.”

His eyes studied my lips and I wanted nothing more than to give in and taste his tongue inside of my mouth.

“I picked the room in the back,” Lucy said from the doorway, and the spell broke. We stepped away from each other and I needed to take deep breaths to slow my racing heart.

“It may look bigger,” Lucy continued, as if nothing happened. “But it lets in more sun so you’ll have less trouble sleeping in.”

Sleep.I think I had another hour before the coffee wore off and I would come crashing down to earth.

“There should be clean sheets and towels in the bathroom’s closet,” Art said as if reading my thoughts. He pulled out his wallet and handed me a twenty-dollar bill. “This should hold you over until your first paycheck. The supermarket’s just by the café.”

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