As it brewed, I casually took a sideway glance out the window. The place that the cat had been showed no sign of the previous night's attack. Had it been there? Had I seen it? Vomit still sat splattered all over the sink. A quick wave of nausea flowed through my body as I sprayed the major chunks away. A full cleaning would have to wait until I was back amongst the living.
When the coffee finished, I carried a cup back upstairs to my bedroom. The computer was on, browser still open to my Craiglist post. Plopping down in the chair I hit refresh. One response.
4 COOL CATS, ALL FRIENDS WANT TO RENT THE ROOMS. WE ARE ALL IN A BAND (CALLED CHAPTER SIX) BUT HAVE A REHEARSAL SPACE. WE ALL HAVE STEADY JOBS AND REFRENCES, CAN PAY FIRST AND LAST. LIKE 2 CHECK IT OUT ASAP. –DAVE
A phone number followed. I sat, thinking hard. I didn’t really need the money but it certainly would be nice. And Jake was right. I needed people around me. I needed a fresh circle of people. Anything to fill the void. Musicians, though. They could be total flakes. On the other hand, they would present more opportunities to get me out of the house. And to meet people. Women. To meet women.
I picked up the phone and dialed. It picked up after one ring. “Yo, Dave here.”
His voice was deep and direct. It wasn’t loud yet I instinctively jerked the phone away from my ear for a second.
“Um, hi. You responded to my post on Craigslist.”
“Yeah, yeah. Prospect Heights. Brownstone. Sounds good. Real good. You think we can like see it today? Or do you gotta go to church? Because I respect that and all.”
“Uh, no. Today’s fine. When–”
“Thirty minutes work? We’re just over in the Slope just drinking coffee, fightin’ with the New York Times crossword. Do you know ‘Chess game as metaphor film’? Eleven letters? Starts with maybe an ‘S’?”
“Uh, not off the top of my head. But sure. Thirty minutes works fine.” I gave Dave the address and directions.
“Cool, cool. Let me bring you some coffee. You take it straight, I bet. Black.”
“Yeah, I do. But you don’t have to. I just made coffee.”
“Nah. Let me do this. They got good coffee here. Think of it as an offering of goodwill.”
“Sure. Okay, see you soon.”
“Absolutely,” he said. “Absolutely.”
I put on shoes and quickly put away the little laundry that was out and made the bed. I was finishing up wiping down the kitchen sink when the doorbell rang.
As I opened the door I was confronted with three mismatched individuals. In front, finger still hovering over the doorbell, was a wall of a man. Muscular but not body builder muscles. Fighter muscles. Six feet six, easy. His skin saw slightly olive and his scalp showed just enough hair that made me think he’d shaved it to the quick earlier that week. Old jeans and red Converse All-Stars. His black t-shirt had stylized red portrait of Stalin.
Just to his left was a short, no more than five four, but broad man, shaggy bright read hair that contrasted sharply with the bright yellow spandex bike shorts and jersey he wore. His skin was pink and freckled. He rocked on his feet, almost bouncing as he looked up and down the face of the building.
Two steps behind them stood a lengthy, rail thin man. Black leather shoes, black pants, white dress shirt and black tie. Deep brown smooth skin and black hair tightly cropped. A lit cigarette dangled from his lower lip and he wore vintage tortoise shell sunglasses.
I heard a noise below and I stuck my head through the door to see someone with the lid of one of my garbage cans in one hand and his head plunged inside. Worn grey sweat pants and a beat up leather jacket even though it was 80 degrees out. As he straightened out and revealed his head, I could see bleached white dreadlocks tucked under a ratty John Deer baseball cap. Skin pale as if it rarely saw the sun. He looked up at me with a seriously concerned look.
“Your garbage cans, man,” the man almost whispered. “They’re like, you know, clean. You got clean cans, man.”
“Um, thanks, I guess.” He shook his head in what looked like confusion or a daze.
I pulled my head back and extended my hand to the tall one. “Hi. I’m Allen.”
Slowly but with intent he extended his massive hand and took mine. “Well, hello, Allen. I’m David, but call me Dave, okay? Mister Yellow is Warren. Mister Black behind me, that’s Frank. And comin’ up the steps right now, that be Peter. Got to say, nice place. What? 1901? 1902?” Dave asked.
“1901. Good guess.”
Dave nodded thoughtfully. “Got to tell you, I like architecture. Art that lingers. You’ve got a honey of a building. And here’s your coffee. Unadulterated cup of the old java juice.”
“Um, thanks. Yeah. Well,” I said stepping aside, “come in, guys.”
Frank put out his cigarette on the sole of his shoe and put the unlit butt back on his lip. And they all entered my house.
As they entered they spread out and took in the main floor. A long low whistle escaped Frank, and interesting feat considering he never removed the cigarette butt. I smiled and said, “Yeah. All the original woodwork and moldings. The walls could be in better shape and the pocket doors aren’t so great, but over all it’s pretty great that it was never butchered. Don’t get your hopes up. The upper floors aren’t as fancy.”
Frank extended his spindly arms and gave a quick spin. “This place is one of those places that just sings for parties not that we are party guys you got that because it is your space and we got that but you have some mighty great space here I bet you throw diner parties all the time because you could get some big tables and seat f0urteen maybe eighteen hey is that the kitchen through there?” And he was off of his long legs.
“Uh, yeah. It’s back, um, there.”
“FUCK HELL YES!!!”
I let out a tiny scream in reaction to the yell. Warren was caressing, literally caressing, the television. I had moved it out of the media room and brought it downstairs during The Great Condensing of Possessions. “This is one fuckin’ awe-some TV! Widescreen, high-fucking-def, fifty-two inches of fucking viewing pleasure. You got fucking good taste. But why no sound system? This things begs for a kick ass sound system.”
“Well, I just haven’t gotten around to it yet. I–“
“Dude, dude, dude. I got you covered,” said Warren. “My sound system, on this TV, and it is going to kick some serious multimedia ASS! Dude, we move in here, you and I are going to play some Halo 3. You me, kickin’ Elmo ass up and down Xbox Live. You got broadband, right? Oh, yeah. I see it here. You’ll join my clan and we will OWN! Pee-fuckin’-OWN!”
I had no idea what he was talking about but for some reason it seem totally amazing. I suddenly felt excited and adrenaline was pumping through my veins. “Yes! Of course! That would be great! Yeah!”
Frank yelled from the kitchen, “I see you cook I’m not a bad cook as these fine fellows will tell you I mean I am not Julia Child or Thomas Keller or James Beard or nothing on that level but I cook light you like light yeah sure you do you get sick last night that’s cool we’ve been know do get ripped on occasion not all the time but when the night calls for it you got to get ripped right nice kitchen I like it I like it!”
“Uh, thanks,” I answered still trying to parse all of his words into sentences.
Peter was running a finger across the baseboards. Holding it right up to his eyes, he squinted closely at it. He then extended it towards the rest of us. “No dust.”
“Yeah. I’ve been cleaning a lot lately.”
“No. Dust. No dirt. No grime. No crud. Is that… citrus? Do I smell citrus?”
“Well, yes,” I said sheepishly. “The wood polish I use, it’s… um… citrus… scented.”
Dave looked at me and said sincerely, “It smells nice. Homey.” Peter just gave a grunt and a slumped shrug. I suddenly felt obsessive-compulsive.
Slipping into host mode, I started the rest of the tour. “Well, Frank’s found the kitchen which is right through the dining room there. I just leave the pocket doors open so the parlor and dining room are like one room. Through the French doors is the deck and there are stairs down to the backyard out there. Those fireplaces don’t work. Let’s go look at the upstairs.” We made our way up the steps and they made a slight whine under the weight of the five of us. “Here’s one bathroom,” I said, pointing out the spaces. “Through there is one bedroom. I’m in the front bedroom over here. And up the next floor are the other bathroom and the other three rooms. One is pretty small, but you can fit a bed in it and it’s got its own built in closet. Let’s see. I have tenants in the garden floor apartment and I do work so you can’t be super loud. Dave said you guys are in a band?”
Dave nodded. “Sure are. We are the next big thing. Or will be one day. Soon, in the scale of things. We are, collectively you understand, Chapter Six. Some of our, how shall I say, hipper fans refer to us as just Cee Six. But, as I am pretty sure I mentioned, we have a rehearsal space. It’s in Queens but it’s not too bad from here. So, no problems there. But you should come to our shows. It would be nice to have a fan with some class.”
“That sounds great. Yeah. Um, well, that’s about it. There is a washer and dryer in the basement. Any questions?”
Dave looked at the other three. Frank and Warren were nodding approval. Peter was shaking his head. “It’s too clean, man. I can’t smoke here. I got to smoke my, you know man, my um cloves. And what about Frank, man? He needs his French cigs. He gets all, you know how he get if he can’t have the cigs.” They all looked to me.
“Well, that’s an issue I guess. I don’t really want smoking on the main floor or even next to my bedroom. But I guess upstairs would be okay. I don’t really care what happens in your bedrooms as long as you don’t trash them.” Peter suddenly brightened up and looked at Dave. Dave lowered his head a bit and gave Peter a sly grin but a sharp look.
Peter finally nodded. “Man, that’s cool. I guess it would be okay. Can I have the small room?”
Dave turned back to me. “If this works out, Peter can take the small room. Frank and Warren can duke it out for the other two top floor rooms. Me, I’ll move next to you, Allen. Does that work?”
“Yeah,” I answered. “Sure. All that’s left is I have to check references. It’s Sunday but I could do it tomorrow. Let me get some paper so you guys can write–”
A typed sheet of names and phone numbers was already in my face. “Got it all here, Allen,” spoke Dave authoritatively. “All ready for your edification. And here’s a check. First and last month for all four of us. You just hold that. It’s post-dated to Wednesday. You can call Monday and if it all checks out to your satisfaction, we can move in and you got the check. If it doesn’t, you call us and I cancel in it. All very adult and responsible. But I don’t see any problems. I think this arrangement should work nicely for the boys and me. And you. And for you.”
After they left, I started to wonder what I’d gotten myself into. I never acted this impulsively, but it seemed so needed. It was as if this was exactly was required of me, that it somehow fit the plan for my life.
On Monday I called their previous landlords, their employers and character references. Each was more glowing than the last. So that night I called Dave and told him that they could move in on Wednesday. I printed up a lease lease form I found on the internet and filled it out for three months, in case things didn’t work out. Tuesday night I lay in bed excited and too anxious to sleep. It was like being six and knowing I was going to a birthday party the next day. Or the first day of school. Or that Santa Claus was coming. Something was coming. Something big and life changing.
When I opened the door to them on Wednesday afternoon, Dave hollered, “Happy the first of June! Happy Independence for the islands of Western Samoa!” His t-shirt bore a smiling purple Jimmy Hoffa.
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