“Here’s your money,” Alain said, counting out change for the cab driver as he unloaded their luggage from the trunk. Without much difficulty, he had found the apartments. The buildings were on Presley Street, with no room to park or pull over at the curb. Instead, there was a small alleyway a car could fit through between the apartment building Alain and T Money were staying in and a warehouse. The alleyway opened up to reveal a concrete courtyard with parking ports and entrances to the buildings. The alleyway kept going on, Alain saw, but she had no interest in exploring the back roads. All she wanted to do was pick up her keys and get inside so she could take a breather.

“Thank you,” he said, snatching the money from her and ducking back into his car.

“Glad that’s over,” Alain muttered, stuffing the rest of her money back in her wallet and dropping it in her satchel. She glanced around, at the barred windows and doors, and frowned. They certainly hadn’t picked a suspicious area to stay.

With her luggage, Alain walked to the barred, black door that led into the apartment building she and T Money would be staying in. It was a old, large brick building. Nothing particularly special stood out about the building.

“This is it, huh?” T Money sat her bags down next to the door. “It doesn’t look too great from the outside.”

Alain pressed a button on the intercom next to the door. “It doesn’t matter what it looks like from the outside or the inside. We’re only here for a month —”

“Yes?” The same voice from the phone spoke through the intercom. It was Mr. Ian Woon.

She cleared her throat. “Mr. Woon? It’s Alain Young. I’m here to —”

A burst of static interrupted her. “— been expecting you. I’ll be right down.” It fell silent again.

T Money stared at the building and muttered under her breath. “Alain,” she spoke up, “this building has eight floors.”

Alain glanced up and counted for herself. There were eight floors. “Maybe only six of them are rented out.”

“Then what are the other two for?” The smooth sound of a sliding lock interrupted them. They watched the door as two more locks were unlocked and the inner door swung open.

Mr. Ian Woon peered out at them. He was an elderly Asian gentleman, like Alain had thought, with a tuft of white hair and dark, tanned skin.

After he was satisfied there was no one else with the women, he unlocked the barred screen door and pushed it open, holding it so they could bring their luggage in.

“Come on in girls,” he said with a friendly smile that illuminated the wrinkles on his weathered face.

With their luggage in hand, Alain and T Money stepped into a spacious lobby. The floors were marble and the walls were white but covered with paintings. Some of the art was modern, with surrealist touches, and there were a few photographs of odd objects and nature scenes. Most of the art, though, was Picasso-esque. The grotesque images and shapes made Alain not look too closely at the art, but overall it gave the lobby a very sophisticated feel.

As soon as they cleared the doorway and had sat their luggage down, Mr. Woon closed and locked both doors.

“Right over here,” he said, and led them to a desk in the corner, next to two large steel doors that were presumably elevators. The desk was sleek, made out of a light colored wood, and it was neat.

Mr. Woon sat down behind it and opened a drawer. He pulled out a contract that Alain quickly read over. It simply stated that a two hundred dollar security deposit would be required at the time the renter acquired their keys and it would be returned when they returned their keys, granted that the landlord had approved the state of the apartment. If the landlord did not approve, the security deposit would be kept. At the bottom, in smaller print, the contract stated that the renter would be responsible for all damages done to apartment, save for those caused by weather and other damages approved by the landlord. Alain signed the paper with a flourish and handed it back.

Woon returned the paper to the same drawer, closed it, and opened another one. He produced two shiny gold keys.

“Would you like me to give you a tour of the apartment?” he asked. Alain glanced at T Money, who nodded imperceptibly, and said yes.

Mr. Woon led them to the elevator and pressed the ‘up’ button. He didn’t comment on the décor of the lobby and neither did they. Instead, they stood in silence while the elevator came down and opened.

The elevator was roomy and clean. It was obviously kept up nicely. Alain looked at the floor buttons when Mr. Woon pressed three, but all she saw was L through 7. If the second floor was anything, there was no label for it on the elevator.

“I will bring you keys for the main door and the screen door,” Mr. Woon said when the elevator stopped on their floor, waiting patiently for the doors to open. “I don’t have copies for you right now but I can get those to you tonight or tomorrow.”

“That’s not a problem,” T Money said, stepping out of the elevator. “But what if we need to leave and come back?”

Mr. Woon smiled. “The desk is usually occupied by a security guard. To keep an eye on who comes, goes, and who tries to come, you know. He’s a younger man by the name of Nick Armstrong. He’s at lunch right now but should be back soon.”

Alain sat her luggage in the foyer they were standing it. It was a small space, roughly the size of a walk-in closet, with one door to the left and one door to the right. On the left was 4A and on the right was 4B. Mr. Woon opened 4B for them.

Alain’s jaw dropped when she stepped inside. The apartment was huge, with high ceilings and large rooms. The living room, which was what they had stepped into, had plush black carpet, black leather furniture, silver end tables, and a silver entertainment center that was full. The black and silver was beautiful, though it was also bland without any pictures on the walls.

“This is the living room,” Mr. Woon announced, and proceeded to show them each of the rooms. The dining room and combination kitchen was almost as big as the living room, but it was decorated in warm apple red and gold. One bedroom had a blue and silver theme while the other had a green and silver theme. The bathroom, which both rooms shared and connected to, was the best part of the apartment: it had a huge, garden bathtub and shower facility and was done in two colors: warm sand and sky blue.

“This is beautiful,” Alain breathed, walking back through the blue bedroom. “I can’t believe we actually managed to catch one of these apartments.”

“They are nice,” Mr. Woon agreed, “but I don’t rent to just anyone.” With a wink, he left Alain and T Money to themselves.

“Wow,” T said. “We did better than I ever could have imagined.” She let herself fall back, arms outstretched, onto the king sized bed. “This is as close to heaven as I’ll ever get,” she murmured, sinking in the soft mattress.

Alain just grinned and tried to take it all in. It wasn’t easy. “I think I’m in love with this place,” she said. “I could easily choose this over our apartment in New York.”

“Mm, yeah,” T agreed, sprawled out on the bed, “as long as we could personalize this place. I wouldn’t mind just staying here.”

“Me either,” Alain said, walking into the living room. Mr. Woon was sitting on the couch, waiting patiently.

“What do you think?” he asked, raising one silver eyebrow.

“It’s awesome,” Alain told him. “I couldn’t have imagined anything better than this. Are you sure you want to rent it to us for just one month? I mean, I’m sure you could find permanent tenants —”

“No, no,” he interrupted her with a firm shake of his head. “I told you before: I don’t rent to just anyone. I’m happy with my choices.”

“Well,” Alain said, speechless, “thanks.” As she said that, T Money stepped into the room.

“I love it,” she told Mr. Woon. He just shrugged and fished through his pockets for something.

“These are yours,” he said, producing the two gold keys. He handed one to Alain and the other one to T Money. “If you lose them, I will replace them for a five dollar charge.” T Money pocketed her key but Alain immediately fished her key ring out of her satchel and slide the gold key onto it.

“We only have a few rules,” Mr. Woon said, standing. “No loud noise at night and no parties. All company must be signed in and out in the lobby. I can not provide parking for you, but there is a parking garage a few blocks down on Felicity Avenue, which runs south and somewhat parallel to Presley Street.” At Alain’s blank look, he clarified: “It’s the next street over. You can access the back alley through it.”

“Ah,” Alain nodded, filing the information away. “Okay. Anything else?”

He shook his head. “Nope! Do you have any questions?”

Alain started to answer, to say no, but T Money interrupted her. “Yeah, actually… I run a little business of my own, on the side, you know? And I conduct that business here. Am I going to have any problems…?” She left the question open for interpretation.

Mr. Woon raised one eyebrow. “Well, it depends on what kind of ‘problems’ you’re talking about. Police? No, probably not. These apartments are fairly soundproof, though they’re still apartments, and you shouldn’t have any problems out of your neighbors, either.” He paused. “If you’re talking about me, then no. What you do is yours.”

T nodded. “Thanks.”

With that, Mr. Woon smiled brilliantly again, showing his age, and clasped his hands together. “Girls, I’m glad you like the place. Now I’m going to give you time to get settled in on your own. I’ll bring those copies for the front door up to you sometime tonight, but if it’s too late you won’t hear from me. I’ll leave them at the front desk for you to pick up tomorrow in case that happens. If you have any problems, see Nick. He’ll be at the front desk all night.”

Alain walked him to the door. “Thanks,” she said, repeating herself.

“Not a problem, dear,” Mr. Woon said, stepping out of the apartment. “Good day!”

“Bye,” Alain muttered softly, shutting and locking the door behind him. When she turned, there was a huge smile plastered across her face. “You know,” she told T, who had settled down on the couch, “the cab driver kinda ruined my first impression of this city, but if it’s all like this… wow.”

T Money palmed the remote, and with a flick of her wrist, turned the wide screen television on.

She turned to Alain, with a matching grin, and said, “I know.”

***

© 2003 Brianna Jackson.