CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT: Chasin' Charmayne

About a month later, I decided it was time to take Charmayne to #Court to try and #collect the #rent she still owed me from October through February.  The total sum only amounted to $116.02, but I'd also spent about $500.00 in repairs, so I was determined to get what I could. Charmayne had been ignoring all my letters and phone calls, so I went ahead and filed a #petition in Small Claims Court. The City Clerk mailed it to Charmayne's mother's house on Knife Street, which was the only Charmayne-related address I had. I soon received a frantic phone call from said mother.

"What's this petition thing come in the mail?" she demanded.

"Overdue rent,” I told her. “It's all explained in the petition."

"Why's my name on it, though?” she practically screamed in my ear. “I have to go to court too?  I don't owe you no rent. You ain’t gett'n nutt'n from me. I've never even met you."

"Don't worry," I assured her. "Your name's only included on the petition because you're the ‘care of’ address. You don't have to go to court. Just Charmayne."

"Humph," Ma grunted and slammed the phone down in my ear.

Charmayne called soon afterwards.  "Why're you taking me to Court?  I said I'd pay you when I can."

"You did say that,” I agreed, “but that was ages ago and nothing's happened. You've been ignoring all my letters and phone calls. The only option I have is to take you to court."

"I never got no letters from you," Charmayne protested.

"Oh yes you did," I told her. "I sent it certified mail, care of your mother, and she signed for it."

"Oh."

"lf you want, I can send you a copy of the return receipt," I offered. "If you pay me before the tenth of the month, you won't have to to go court. But if you don't pay me, then I have to go to court to protect my interests."

Charmayne spluttered loudly into the phone, then, like her parent before her, hung up loudly in my ear.

I sent her a copy of the return receipt, signed by her mother. As expected, no payment was forthcoming.  I kind of hoped Charmayne wouldn't show up in Court so I could get a default judgment against her, but when the day arrived, the #Judge was delayed, and Charmayne slipped into the courtroom a minute later.

After sitting through the first few cases, it was my turn to be heard. Charmayne and her Ma, a hard-bitten, young-old woman, followed me up the aisle to the front of the courtroom to stand before none other than the mustachioed Judge Grazziano.

He recited my petition out loud. Then, eyeing Charmayne over the tops of his spectacles, her asked her if, in her opinion, the dollar amount stated in the petition was accurate.

"I guess," she reluctantly conceded.

"And do you intend to pay this amount?" 

"I told her I'll pay her when I can," Charmayne answered.

"Your Honor," I broke in. "She's been promising that for months but it never materializes."

Judge Grazziano looked back at Charmayne.  "Do you have a job?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"Fun World."

"She's been there since last November," I put in.

"Address?" the Judge asked. Charmayne remained stoically silent.

"Worthington Street Extension," I answered in her stead. "I've tried contacting them but they won't take my calls and they return all my letters."

Judge Grazziano frowned.  "Where do you live now, Charmayne?"

"Main Street."

"Number?"

"One one one one."

"Apartment number?"

"Two."

The Judge raised his gavel.  "Judgment for the #claimant."

"Your Honor," I said quickly.  "She's got a lawsuit pending for personal injury.  Can I at least get her social security number?"

"Very well," the jurist agreed. "What's your social security number, Charmayne?"

"It's on the lease," was her answer.

"No it's not," I said.

"What is your social security number?" Judge Grazziano repeated, a little testily.

Charmayne gabbled something and was made to repeat her answer, which she did in slightly slower gabbles.

I scribbled the social security number down on my file folder next to where I'd written her equally-garbled response as to her current address.

The Judge looked at me. "We done here?"

I nodded.

"Rule for the #petitioner."  Bang went the gavel.

Driving back to my office, I felt emboldened by my small victory and decided to stop by 51 Manson Street to see if Giselle could pay me the two months' rent I was also owed by her.  The background to this circumstance was as follows: 

Claiming that Social Services was late in paying her check to her, Giselle had promised to send me a money order as soon as the check arrived. Some days later, she apparently mailed me the money order but when it failed to arrive, opined that the post office must have lost it and that she would investigate. Two days later, she called to say that she’d erroneously mailed the money order to her sister in Florida instead of to me, but that her sister was returning it by return post, and as soon as it arrived, Giselle would mail it on to me. A week later, when it still failed to materialize, I called Giselle to find out what was going on. She apologized profusely for forgetting to mail it and assured me that she would mail it the next day. To date, no money order. 

Marvin opened the door to my knock and asked me to wait whilst he rummaged through Giselle's dresser for the money order.  To my relief, he came back with two money orders for two months' rent.

As I turned to leave, Marvin called me back. "You see what Shirley and Jerry put up?" he asked, indicating a tall wooden fence separating the neighbors' #property from mine. "Giselle was wonderin' if you could put a fence up on the other side of the yard? The fence we have now is all loose an' everything, and the dog can get out. Giselle wants to let him run loose in the back yard."

"Let's take a look," I offered.  We tramped up the alley to the back yard where the chain-link fence was indeed looking very sorry for itself.

"Jerry got his wood real cheap," Marvin continued.  "If you buy the wood, I can put the fence up for you.  No charge."

I thought for a moment.  "The thing is, even though I just got two months' worth of back rent from Giselle, she still owes me three hundred and seventy-five dollars from last August. I really don't want to spend any more of my own money til that's paid that off too."

"I don't know about that," Marvin said.  "I’m jes tellin' you about the fence, and the labor will be free."

"Why don't you get me an estimate?" I suggested, "and I'll think about it."

Marvin nodded. "Okay, an’ there's another thing.  We need recycle bins. The City's changed the rules. They're not going to pick up bags no more. We need a container."

"You don’t have your own garbage cans?"

"Yeah, but we need another one for recyclin'.  The landlord's supposed to provide those."

I sighed. "Anything else?"

Marvin pointed to a hole at the edge of the sidewalk in front of the house. "That there needs fixin'. I tried fillin’ it wit’ rocks and stuff, but the kids from upstairs ... they keep pickin' at it an' makin' it bigger."

"All right,” I said. “I'll find out about that, too.” 

At that moment, Diane popped her head over the balcony above our heads. “Diane?" I yelled to her. "You keep your kids away from that hole, you hear? I don't want someone suing me because they've broken their ankle." She giggled and disappeared back inside.

When I got back to the office, I called the City and learned that, yes, fixing the #sidewalk in front of the #house was indeed my responsibility. They also told me I could purchase any kind of garbage can for recyclables, so long as I put stickers on it, which the City would send to me.

I wrote to Giselle to let her know I'd be delivering a #recycling bin as soon as the stickers arrived.  As an afterthought, I added that she was welcome to pay off her debt to me by purchasing the wood.
No stickers arrived, but my father did, accompanied by his fourth wife, Brenda. She was a six-foot-tall Amazon-of-a-woman, with a weather-beaten face and a no-nonsense manner, but she had a fun, kind personality. Following Frederica's death, our family was drawing together.

They stayed with us for two weeks, and Daddy was barely moody at all. He particularly enjoyed getting reacquainted with Andrea and Bronwyn, who had grown quite a bit since he'd seen them last.  Bronwyn kept him entertained for hours with her endless chatter and funny impressions, while Andrea demonstrated the gymnastics prowess she'd undoubtedly inherited from her athletic grandpa. “These granddaughters of mine are quite delightful,” Daddy was heard to declare one day in a proud voice.  

In between Daddy and Brenda's sightseeing trips, I also enjoyed spending some quality time with my father. He was into New Age music, and one night we sat together in the living room watching my new Yanni video.  I remember sharing a glance of silent appreciation with him as the music surged to a crescendo at the end of a track. We both had tears in our eyes at the beauty of the soaring violins.  It was a special moment.  Mummy, Wim, and Brenda were outside on the back deck, no doubt wincing at the noise but they managed to endure the whole length of the music video without making any snide comments, which was very public-spirited of them.

Toward the end of Daddy’s stay, I asked him if he knew what time it was that Frederica had woken up from her semi-comatose state and spoken to Janie for the last time. I was amazed to learn that it was just about the exact moment that I’d been trying to connect with her via ESP, holding her hand in my mind and sending her my strength. I looked down at my sister's favorite cameo ring that Daddy had brought me from South Africa, and my heart swelled as I twisted it around on my finger.

I was having such a nice time with my father, that I forgot all about buying the recycling bin.