CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE: Feast or Famine

Over the next few days, my mother received a few phone calls about the #apartment, but they didn’t amount to much. One was from the administrator of a local college looking for student #housing, but our conflicting schedules caused him to choose a #house elsewhere.   Another call was from a bunch of students.  They didn’t sound very keen when they heard the description and never got back to me.  Mummy’s strategy obviously was not having much effect.  I called the Schemmerhorn Gazette to lower the #rent to $450 per month.

On Friday, a woman was interested enough to call me at work, having been given the number by Mummy.  Her name was Linda Fletcher, she had two children, and was looking to move out of a two-bedroom apartment downtown into something larger.

We arranged to meet on Saturday, and to my amazement she said she would make sure she was there on time so I wouldn’t have to wait around for her.

I couldn’t believe it.  At last, a human!

I arrived in Schemmerhorn that Saturday, a little early as usual and alone.  Since it was such a nice day, my sister Frederica had opted to stay home to sunbathe on the deck. 

I hadn't been at the house for more than a few minutes when I heard the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs.

"Hello?" someone called.

"Hello!" I yelled back.  "Come on in."

The door opened and in puffed a plump woman with an enormous amount of black hair.  It was long and crinkly, swept up on both sides into a large frizzy mound on the top of her head, from which cascaded an abundance of long, thick braids.

"Hi, I'm Linda," she announced buoyantly, hand outstretched.

I took her hand, mentally awarding her points for offering it to me first. 

"I'm Anastasia Scuttlebutt.  Let me show you around."

I went through the usual routine, and Linda seemed quite interested until we came to the bedrooms.

"Are they all this small?" she asked, as we stood in the first bedroom.

"This is the smallest," I told her.  "The other two are a little larger.  Why?  Is that a problem?"

"My bedroom furniture would never fit in here," Linda said.  "I've got a king size bed and big dressers."

I shifted into selling mode.  "Well, you could do what my tenant did downstairs.  She used the front room as her bedroom and the dining room as her living room.  The kitchen's big enough for a table and chairs, or you could use one of the bedrooms as a dining room."

"Hm," Linda pondered, nodding, glossy braids bouncing.

I followed her into the kitchen, where she stood in the middle of the room, staring at the wall behind the stove.  I sneaked a glance at the same wall myself.  Nothing there except an expanse of fresh paint.

I shifted my gaze back to Linda and kept my mouth shut.  I knew from my days as a sales rep that to interrupt a client's thought processes too early could often mean the difference between a "no" and a "yes."

"Hm," Linda said again, still pondering.  "The kitchen's very big, but I dunno.  I’ll have to think about it."

"Okay," I said.  "Would you mind filling out an application in case you decide you do want the place?"

"Sure," she agreed.

I handed her the form, and she filled it out in a few minutes.

"Thanks," I said.  "Is there anything else you'd like to know?"

"What are the schools like around here?"

"I don't really know because I don't live in this area, but the next door #neighbor is very nice and has a son in the school district.  We can go and ask her, if you like?"

"Sure."

We went next door, and Shirley answered the door to my knock.

"Hi, Shirley.  This is Linda," I told her.  "Linda, Shirley."

The two woman nodded to each other.

"Linda might be interested in moving in next door, and she has some questions about the school district."

"Sure," said Shirley.  "What ages are your children?"

"Nine and ten."

"About my son's age.  Well, the elementary school for this district is excellent.  I'm very happy with it.  The school bus picks up the kids halfway down the street."

"Okay, good," Linda nodded. 

I mentally thanked Shirley for the good report.  "Anything else?"

"No, I think that's it."

"Thanks, Shirley."

Linda and I walked back to number 51.

"I'll give you a call in a few days," she said as she got into her car.

"Fine.  I'll look forward to hearing from you," I said.  "Goodbye."

I drove home, feeling quite positive.  Thank goodness Shirley had had good things to say about the school district – at least the elementary school.  The high school had quite another reputation, altogether.  Maybe Shirley's remarks would sway Linda's decision to rent the place.  She seemed a decent sort.

On Monday, a young woman named Susan phoned and said she was interested in renting the apartment before she’d even looked at it!

"I want to live in Manson Street," she declared. 

I showed her around the apartment that evening after work and had her fill out an application form.  She reminded me a little of Mamie: small and quiet.  She also had a couple of young children in tow and said she wanted to move to a bigger place because the children were getting bigger.

A young, newly married couple also came to look over the apartment that same evening.  

It was either feast or famine.  

The couple – Ditsie by name – appeared very interested in the apartment too.  They looked respectable, both had jobs and no children as of yet.  On the other hand, Susan was on Social Services which mean less rent-paying problems, but she had children, and there was the potential of boyfriend hassles.

I called both applicants' current landlords for references.

Susan's #landlord gave her a glowing reference, but when I asked her about the existence of a husband or significant other, she answered, "She does have a husband, but he's in jail."

Uh, oh.

Next, I called the Ditsies' landlord and received another glowing reference.  

Meanwhile, Linda Fletcher hadn’t called me.  I tried phoning her a few times, but there was never any answer.  I gave her until Tuesday, and then decided to rent the apartment to the Ditsies.  

When I called to tell them so, Mr. Ditsie sounded pleased.  I asked him when he would be available to sign the lease, and he said he would get back to me in a couple of days.

I then called Susan and told her the apartment had been rented.

When the Ditsies didn’t get back to me, I called them on Friday, only to be informed by Mrs. Ditsie that they were still looking at apartments and hadn’t yet made up their minds.

"You're still looking?" I questioned, puzzled.  "I thought we’d agreed you were renting my apartment."

"Yes, well," Mrs. Ditsie said.  "We don't want to sign a lease because we might be moving again pretty soon."

"What do you call soon?"

"Around April."

"Oh, thanks for telling me!  Why didn't you say so when I showed you the apartment?  And did you think I was going to rent to you without a lease?  You’ve probably cost me a month's rent now because I told someone else the apartment was no longer available."

"What can I say?  Sorry."  Mrs. Ditsie said, sounding anything but.

I called Susan straight afterwards to tell her the apartment was available again if she still wanted it. But, sure enough, she told me she had found another place.