CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Meet Miz James

My downstairs #tenant Greg called again at the beginning of August.

"Uh, we're gonna be a b . . . b . . . bit late wiv' the r . . . r . . . rent this month," he finally managed.  "W . . . we'll b . . . be able to p . . . p . . . pay it in ab . . . bout a week."

"Oh.  Er, o--kay," I said.  "Is anything wrong?"

"No, w . . . we've j . . . j . . . just had a f . . . few expenses to p . . . p . . . pay," he stammered.

"All right, I suppose a week's okay," I said.  "You do know that after ten days there's a late fee, don't you?"

"Y . . . yes, we know.  Th . . . thank you," Greg stuttered, and hung up.

I didn’t start to feel a mite suspicious until ten days had passed and I hadn’t yet received the promised #rent.  I called the threesome's number a couple of times but there was no answer.

Finally, after another few days, I asked Wim to go over to Schemmerhorn to collect the rent for me.  He kindly obliged. 

No one answered the door when he rang the bell but he knew they were home because he could hear them.  I wouldn't have been so bold, but after a few more ignored knocks and rings, he let himself in.

Not surprisingly, he found the three huddled together in their favorite spot on the couch, indignantly staring at him for having dared to invade their apartment uninvited.

"I've come to collect the rent," Wim announced.

"We're moving," Greg said, "so we're not paying.  We've had it with Natasha, and this area's too dangerous.  You can use our #securitydeposit for the rent."

“There didn't seem much point in arguing with them,” Wim told me when he got home.

I received the news with some equanimity.  "It's not too bad," I said.  "At least we've got a couple of weeks to find another tenant, and their security deposit was six hundred.  The rent is four seventy-five so I'll make a hundred and twenty-five on the deal. 

"And last time I saw their place, it didn't look too bad.  A touch up here and there with a paint brush should do it."

The next day I paid the local newspaper $14.00 for a week-long advertisement.  My ad briefly described the apartment’s features and listed the rent as $475.00, with one month’s deposit required.  I was quite looking forward to playing at real estate agent and showing prospective tenants around the apartment.

The word "Jacuzzi" prompted several phone calls almost immediately, and I made some appointments to show people around that weekend.  I asked Wim to go with me, as I was new at this and felt I could do with a second opinion.

Saturday arrived.  The first few appointments did not.  Maybe they had changed their minds or found another place.  Nice of them to call!

Wim and I spent a few boring hours sitting in my car outside 51 Manson Street. 

It wasn’t the most comfortable of times. 

Melissa, Greg or Tom occasionally peered out the window at us while I steadfastly pretended not to notice.  I don’t know how Wim felt but, being so shy, it was a very painful couple of hours for me.

Eventually, the last appointment decided to show up and did so in a regal, white monstrosity of a Cadillac-type vehicle.  The door opened and a large woman with lots of tight black braids sticking out all over her head eased herself out onto the pavement and walked in a jerky fashion across the street to meet us.

"Hi, I'm Miz James," the woman introduced herself rather nasally in a self-important but friendly manner.  Wim and I shook hands and said hello.

I showed Miz James around the apartment, and Wim tagged along behind.  Melissa, Greg, and Tom were naturally seated on the couch and, thankfully, the place looked neat and tidy.

 Miz James surveyed the small bedrooms doubtfully. 

"Hmm, my bedroom set'll never fit in here," she stated.  "But, maybe I could make the living room into a bedroom.  I've got all my own closets.  Black enamel, you know." 

She looked expectantly at me, obviously waiting for some comment.

"Oh," I said.  "That's nice."

"Yes," Miz James agreed and jerked her way into the bathroom where she stood, hands on ample hips, appraising the slightly grubby bathtub.

"Hmm."

“I’ll get that cleaned up for you,” I hastened to assure her.

We then proceeded to the kitchen.

"Now, this I like," Miz James announced.  "Nice and big.  I can have my table in here."

We followed her out the back door and onto the deck.

"Very nice," Miz James approved.  "I like it.  Now, I have some questions for you, if you don’t mind?"

We sat on a wooden bench that ran along the left side and back of the deck. In her self-important, fussy manner, Miz James proceeded to ask me questions, some of which I couldn’t answer, such as how much did the monthly electric and gas bills amount to.

"Now, are you planning on painting?"  she asked.

"The place isn't too bad but I do plan on doing some painting, yes," I answered confidently. 

I had never painted a room in my life.

"Good.  Now, I didn't notice any washer/dryer hook-up.  Would it be possible to have one put in in the basement?"

I looked to Wim for that one.

"Yah, tha’s possible," he said.

"Good.  I'd be moving in a few days after the first of the month ‘cause I have to pack my stuff.  Would that be all right with you?"

I barely opened my mouth to answer, before Miz James continued on.

"If you'd like a reference, you can call my landlord.  I live over a doctor's office.  It's a real big apartment but I just became guardian of my niece Princess and my nephew Desmond.  Their mother -- she’s mah sister -- is useless at looking after them.  My landlord don't want children above the office, even though they're eleven and twelve years old and really good, quiet kids, so we have to move.  I bring the kids up right, though.  They go to private school, you know.

"Also, my mother died a short while ago and left me her house near here, but I'm going to sell it.  I don't want to live in that part of Schemmerhorn -- on the 'Hill' you know? -- so I'm gonna be a landlord too.  I got me a book of rules 'n regulations for landlords.  You should look at it some time, or I could get you a copy.  They're free from the City."

"Okay, yeah, sure," I hastily interjected, getting up and dusting off my butt.  "Is there anything else?  If not, I think we're about done."

"Yes, though may I make a leeetle suggestion?" 

Miz James heaved herself to her feet and patted my arm conspiratorially.

"Sure," I said.  "What?"

"If I were you -- and I don't mean to tell you your business -- but I'd put a closet in the front hallway.  Silly to have all that space and not use it, don't you think?"

"Yes, I suppose so.  Something to think about, anyway.” 

I had had enough of Miz James's pompousness for one day and attempted to salvage some control. 

"I'll call the reference you gave me," I told her, firmly ushering her out, "and I'll let you know."

With a wave goodbye, Miz James made her jerky way across the street to her big, white car.  It took her five minutes of easing the car backwards and forwards, a few inches at a time, to complete a three-point turn at the end of the street.  She almost knocked down the neighbor’s fence in the process but eventually managed to turn the car around and drove away, looking down her nose at us as she passed.

As Wim and I were leaving, I almost fell over a small, furry animal in the hallway.  Since when did my tenants have cats?  Just then, another kitten peeped out from behind the front door.  I distinctly remembered a clause in the lease, which stated that tenants may not introduce pets into the house without notifying the landlord first. 

Oh, well.  They were leaving anyway.

Wim and I left without saying goodbye to Tom, Greg, or Melissa.  They didn’t bother saying goodbye to us, either.

Wim and I discussed Miz James as we drove home.

"What did you think?" I asked.

"She's certainly very bossy," Wim said.  "I’m afraid she's the type that'll find fault with everything and keep wanting me to come over to fix this, that, and the other thing."

"Yes, I didn't like her manner very much," I agreed.  "Right from when she introduced herself.  Miz James, if you don't mind.  I don't even know what her first name is.  I'm sure she'd keep the place spick and span, though, and the kids sound okay."

"What does she do for a living?" Wim asked.

"She told me she just found a job as a counselor at a center for the mentally disabled.  Not the outfit you work for, though.  But, can you imagine?  She probably bosses her clients around to her heart's content.  She gets money from the County, too, for being the children's guardian."

"Sounds like she'll be able to afford the rent, then," Wim said.  "But, I tell you, she'll be trouble if you let her."

“I agree,” I said, down-shifting to turn a corner.  "Let's see what her landlord says about her."

That evening I called the number Miz James had given me.  The doctor wasn’t home, but his wife gave her a glowing reference and verified the reason Miz James had to move. 

"You won't find a speck of dirt anywhere," she told me.  "You're lucky to get her, and her kids are wonderfully behaved.  We're sorry to lose her, but with two more pairs of feet overhead and the doctor's office downstairs  . . . you understand?"

"Yes, I do," I assured her.  "Thanks very much, then.  It seems your tenant has found a new home."

I phoned Miz James to give her the news, and we arranged to meet a couple of days later to sign the #lease.

 

The next evening, I received a telephone call from the left-hand next-door neighbor in Schemmerhorn.  She was a blonde, buxom woman named Shirley, whom I had met a couple of times and given my phone number.

"There's really loud music coming from Natasha's place," she told me.  "Natasha's away, though.  I've called the #cops, but I thought you might wanna check it out."

I let out a huge, disgruntled sigh.  What now?  "Thanks for letting me know, Shirley." 

“Oh, Wim?” I called as I put the phone down.  “Fancy another trip to Schemmerhorn?”