A chorus of yeses.
“You all love it, right?”
Another babel of agreement.
“Okay, here’s how it is. You’re all great people. I’m going back to my office now and the first couple to reach me with three months in cash gets the apartment.”
Everyone froze. Surely the guy couldn’t mean…? But he could: the couple who beat off all the other contenders to make it forty-seven blocks uptown in the fastest time got the apartment.
It was like a reality show writ small and already three or four of the guys were wedged in the doorway, trying to get out.
Aidan and I were staring at each other in horror: this was disgusting. And in a split second I saw what was about to happen: Aidan was going to launch himself into the scrum. I knew he didn’t want to but he was prepared to do it for me. Before he bolted for the door, I placed a hand on his chest and stopped him.
Barely moving my lips and indicating the scrum with an eye flick, I said, “I’d rather live in the Bronx.”
Deep understanding dawned. Just as quietly he replied, “I read you, Lieutenant.”
Already the room had emptied. The only people remaining were the realtor and us. The others were already desperately hailing cabs or thundering down the steps of the subways, ready to vault over the ticket machines or running—actually running—forty-seven blocks.
“Leave slooowly,” I told Aidan.
“Over and out.”
The realtor noticed our lazy saunter. Sharply he looked up from whatever he’d been doing with his briefcase. Wanking into it, probably, we later decided. “Hey! You guys better get moving. Don’t you want this apartment?”
Aidan held his gaze and said—sadly, like he felt terribly sorry for the man: “Not that badly, buddy.”
Down on the street I began to regret our principled stand. It was only then that I understood that we hadn’t got the apartment. (In my head, we had already moved in and were living there and had bought a plant.)
Aidan squeezed my hand. “Baby, I know you’re choked. But we’ll think of something. We’ll get a place.”
“I know.”
I took a strange comfort from knowing that Aidan and I were the same, that we had the same values.
“Neither of us has the killer instinct,” I said.
It was like I’d hit him. He recoiled. “I’m sorry, baby,” he said.
“No,” I said. “No. I hate all that, There’s no such thing as second-place stuff. And people with the killer instinct are usually a bit peculiar. They’re edgy, they can’t relax.”
“Yeah, have you noticed they eat too quickly?”
“They get married only when they ‘have a window’ between racquetball matches.”
“And they have a compulsive tic to exchange business cards every four minutes.”
“And they divorce people by e-mail.”
“No. Text message.”
“We don’t want to be like that, do we?”
But we still needed someplace to live.
“We’ve got to think harder,” I said.
“No, we’ve gotta think smah-tah. I’ve got a plan.”
He explained: the next time that same real-estate firm was having a viewing of a place that we could afford, we’d go prepared: with three months’ rent in cash in our pockets and a town car waiting outside. “We’ll make sure the guy sees plenty of us, me in particular. And when it looks like it’s getting near the time when he assembles everyone, I’ll pretend I’ve got a call on my cell and I’ll step outside to take it. Soon as I’m out, I’ll run down into the street, get in the car, and go to his office. Let’s hope he won’t notice I’m not there.”
“But when he gets back to his office, you’ll be there and I won’t have arrived yet,” I said. “Don’t we have to show up as a couple? Isn’t it against the rules not to?”
“They’re only his stupid rules, it’s not like we can be arrested for breaking them. Okay, I’m thinking, I’m thinking…right, got it!” He snapped his fingers. “When I get to his office, I’ll say the reason you’re not there is that you’re a nurse and you stopped to help a man who was having a cardiac arrest outside Macy’s. Yeah.” He nodded thoughtfully. “That’s what I’ll say. We’ll guilt the guy into giving us the apartment.”
“I hope you’re not getting the killer instinct,” I said, in alarm.
“Just this once. Let’s see if it works.”
And, strangely, it did.
Although not exactly in the way we’d hoped. The realtor guy said to Aidan, “I know you cheated. I know you’re lying. But I like your balls. You can have the apartment.”
“I felt sullied.” Aidan squirmed, afterward. “Dirty, you know? ‘I like your balls.’ I’ve been dragged down to his level.”
“Yes, yes, that’s terrible,” I said. “But we’ve got an apartment! We got somewhere to live! Get over it.”
52
Neris Hemming’s office.”
“Oh my God, I can’t believe I’m finally through!” I was so overwhelmed I couldn’t stop talking. “I’m at work and I’ve been ringing for hours and kept getting your message, then the very second the clock hit nine o’clock, I got the engaged tone and it was engaged for, like, forever, and I’d got so used to hitting redial and hanging up that when you answered, I nearly hung up by accident—”
“Can I have your name, honey?”
“Anna Walsh.”
I knew it was crazy but I’d fantasized that when she heard my name she’d go, “Oh yeah, Anna Walsh,” then shuffle through some papers on her desk, containing messages from the dead and say, “Yes, there’s a message for you from a guy called Aidan Maddox. He said to say he’s sorry he died so unexpectedly like that, but he’s hovering around you all the time and can’t wait to talk to you.”
“A-N-N-A W-A-L-S-H.” Keys clicked as she inputted me.
“You’re not Neris, are you?”
“No, I’m her assistant, and I’m not even a little bit psychic. Number and e-mail, please.”
I called them out, she read them back to me, then she said, “Okay, we’ll be in touch.” But I didn’t want the call to end; I needed something.