CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE: Charmin' Charmayne

That evening, Charmayne was supposed to sign a #lease for the upstairs #apartment, moving in on September 1st.  I was still concerned that Kristina wouldn’t be out by then, but hoped that having a signed lease in her hot, sticky hand would stop Charmayne calling me every day.

Speaking of hot and sticky, that’s what her apartment was when my sister Frederica and I arrived after taking a couple of wrong turns.  It was a tiny place, and the air-conditioner was on the fritz.  Observing the cramped quarters in which she lived, I could understand why the girl was so keen to move to 51 Manson Street.  Frederica inspected the place with an eagle eye, but we were both reassured by the fact that the apartment appeared neat and clean.

While I filled out the lease, Charmayne's son Darrell came up to see what was going on.  He engaged Frederica in conversation and was so polite and well mannered that we were amazed to discover he was only two years old.  At one point, he stepped on Frederica's foot and was most apologetic, then he sadly showed us an empty pencil box and told us his mom had thrown his crayons away because he’d been bad.  We felt quite sorry for him.

Charmayne signed the lease, and Frederica and I said our goodbyes.  I was satisfied that, on the whole, Charmayne would be a good tenant.       

Before I’d known Frederica was coming to stay, I’d booked a week at the dude ranch for the kids and I at the end of August/beginning of September. I was sad to be away from Frederica towards the end of her visit, but I really needed the break.

I set off on my vacation, hoping that Kristina would move out by September 1st.  Allen assured me that he and Wim would take care of getting the apartment ready for Charmayne to move in.  

For once, everything went smoothly.  When I called Allen from the dude ranch, he was able to report that Kristina had indeed moved out, and that he and Wim had done a spot of cleaning. 

“And, of course, I performed my usual spectacular job on the oven,” he added.  “Don’t worry, it’s all under control.  Charmayne’s busy moving in.  Oh, and I called the #Building Inspector and Mr. Catcher about the rental certificate and #security agreement.”

‘You’re wonderful!”  I blew kisses down the phone line. What a relief!

Our stay at the dude ranch  was a lot more relaxing than the previous time, which had begun with  hearing the bombshell on the radio about Mamie’s arrest.  Andrea won a ribbon in the kids’ rodeo competition, and I had my first exposure to the distasteful habit of tobacco-spitting.  I was standing on the top row of the bleachers next to the enthusiastic father of a young rodeo competitor.  His left cheek bulged as he chomped away, pausing regularly to spit a stream of juicy, brown liquid over the back of the bleachers. Ugh. I couldn't imagine what it would taste like to kiss him!

The week passed without incident, except that Andrea managed to break one of her fingers on Bronwyn’s upper arm when they collided in the swimming pool.  We returned to St. Albans, suitably refreshed and finger-splinted.  Andrea was bummed out that she’d have to take it easy for a few weeks at gymnastics, but Bronwyn was priding herself on the rock-hard form of her left bicep: the result of diver-training.

I returned home to find that Giselle hadn’t paid her #rent for August. However, she had sent a money order for September’s rent with a promise to pay more when she could.  Come to find out, it would be a whole year later before I received any extra money from her.

Meanwhile, Frederica had just learned that her boyfriend Dan had dumped her, in her absence, for one of her best friends.  We spent hours sitting on her bed, working through her anger and hurt.  After a while, she reached the stage where she was able to declare that Dan was a scumbag, so she didn’t want him anyway. 

Snagging Shane as he hurtled past, she hugged him to her, fiercely.   “It’s just you and me, kid,” she whispered into a grubby, protruding ear.

Shane hugged her back, not knowing why she was sad, but always willing to exchange hugs.

“Love you, Mummy,” he announced with affection.  After a big, smacking kiss on her cheek, he raced away, ever active, ever vibrant.

We sadly bid farewell to Frederica a few weeks later. She was returning to South Africa, still saddened about Dan but more relaxed, and healthier, than when she had arrived in the States.  Knowing the disease still lurked inside her immune system, it was hard to say goodbye.  Mummy and I wanted so badly for her to stay. We wanted to wrap her up in cotton wool and take care of her.  As we hugged goodbye, I was overcome by a feeling of intense hatred toward the Immigration and Naturalization Service.

* * * * * * * * * *

Each month, for the next three months, I received a notice from the Department of Social Services stating that they were reducing the amount of Charmayne’s shelter assistance by various amounts.  Although I sent her several letters, Charmayne never increased her own monthly payments to cover the balance.  Meanwhile, in October the cockroaches returned to the upstairs apartment with a vengeance.  Charmayne claimed innocence and Greatest Pest Control charged me an additional $78.11 for an extra “clean-out.” 

December arrived and Wim was summoned to Schemmerhorn on two occasions, six days apart, because the upstairs toilet was running too slowly.  The first time, he found it blocked with cotton swabs; the second time, a pen was wedged in the pipe.  Charmayne again pleaded innocence.  I paid Wim $125.13.

January arrived but Charmayne’s rental payment did not.  Instead, I received a final notice from Social Services that, as of December 31st, they had closed her case.  When I went over to Schemmerhorn to find out what was going on, Charmayne greeted me pleasantly enough and introduced me to a new roommate.  Apparently, Maureen hadn’t lasted long. 

The place was nicely furnished, but the sticky floor paint had finally given up the ghost, revealing uneven patches of bare floorboard.  We squatted on a low couch by a coffee table while Charmayne informed me that she’d had a car accident in November.  Apparently she’d gone through the windshield, and a lawsuit was now pending. 

Although she described her facial injuries in gory detail, Charmayne must have had one fantastic plastic surgeon, because a month later there was no sign of any stitches. She told me she'd also injured her back, but from the way she bent over at that moment to scoop up her exuberant son Darrell, I saw no evidence of it, being a veteran of slipped disks myself.  Still, I said I was sorry about her accident and hoped things would turn out okay.

"Now, what's up?" I asked her.  "You still owe me for October, November and December, and I just got a notice from Social Services that they've closed your case."

"Yeah, I know.  They're not paying my rent anymore because I got a job," Charmayne told me. "Don't worry, though.  I can pay you when I get my paycheck.  Can you wait a while?"

"I guess so.  But what about the security agreement?"

"It's okay. I'm still covered ‘cause Social Services are still paying the utilities."

"Well, that's a relief.”

"One thing, though.  Giselle downstairs . . . she keeps playing her music real loud.  It's irritating.  I even called the cops on her once, late at night.  And that dog of hers . . . it was on the porch the other day, and I was too scared to come in."

"I'll talk to her," I promised, getting up to leave.  "I’ll expect the rent in a few days, okay?"

"No problem," Charmayne called after me as I went down the stairs.

I knocked on Giselle's door.  She let me inside quickly because it was really cold standing out there on the doorstep in the middle of winter.

"I've just been to Charmayne's and she complained that you play your music too loud," I told Giselle, once we were inside her superheated apartment.

"Yeah, I know," she admitted.  "I do like my music loud, but since she called the cops on me, I've been trying to keep it down."

"Okay, good.  Well, she also said you let your dog loose sometimes. She's scared to come in when he's on the porch."

"I usually keep him in back, but I'll be more careful about letting him loose out front," Giselle promised, agreeably, "I have a problem with Charmayne too, you know."

"Oh?  What about?"

"Well, she has friends over often, and they make a lot of noise as well.  Those relatives of hers from next door . . .  I told you, remember?"

I nodded. "Okay, I'll warn her, but, tell me . . . do I have anything to worry about you two?  These things aren't serious, are they?"

"Uhn, uhn," Giselle assured me.  "No big deal."

We said goodbye and I knocked on Charmayne's door again, glad to be out of Giselle's hot apartment.  Goodness knows what her heating bills were like!  When Charmayne came to the door, I told her I’d spoken to Giselle and then repeated Giselle's return complaints about her and the next-door neighbors making noise too.

"She told me there's nothing major between you, though," I said.  "I hope that's true."

Charmayne agreed.

By the end of January, I still hadn't received any rent from upstairs, so I paid Charmayne another visit.

"Sorry you've had to wait,” she told me. “It's just been taking me a while to get sorted. You know, my new job, Social Services and stuff? I should be able to pay you something soon, though, and I can give you more when I get my tax refund."  Where had I heard that one before? 

Well, at least my tenants' tentative truce seemed to be holding.

Charmayne telephoned a week later and told Wim she was moving out.