Townhouse
Flicka von Hannover
Yeah, I left the hotel room.
What did you expect me to do?
The first two apartments were dismal wrecks with nothing to recommend them, but the third was a cozy two-bedroom townhouse.
While she was looking at the second bedroom, the rental agent admitted to Flicka that the housing market in Las Vegas was soft that year due to some obscurelocal economics that Flicka didn’t understand. They had five empty units ready to rent, and no one had so much as looked at them for a month.
Flicka excused herself and did a little internet research to make sure there wasn’t a reason like a muddy tap-water problem or a rattlesnake infestation for five near-downtown units to be empty. Her search turned up blog articles on the deplorable situationfor rental owners that was a good opportunity for renters to lock in a long-term contract at that year’s lower-than-average rents.
The rental office lady smiled at Flicka as she emerged. “So, what do you think!”
The woman had a distressing habit of making every sentence sound imperative and thrilling, but Flicka liked her, nevertheless. She had lived among the reserved British and dour Europeansfor so long that enthusiasm amused her.
“I’m not sure,” Flicka said, smiling back. “I think I’ll look around a bit more.”
“Oh, you don’t want to do that,” the agent said. Her teeth were white and straight, very American teeth, and she wore her makeup well. “I can tell that a young thing like you is just starting out in life, and I understand if you need a little incentive, Gretchen.”
Flickahad supplied Gretchen Mirabaud’s passport to the woman for identification, but every time she used the name, Flicka’s stomach felt a little sick.
“Oh, really?” asked Flicka. Hope gripped her for the first time. “What can you do?”
“You can have your pick of the five units,” the lady said, conspiracy coarsening her voice. “I’ll even give you the corner one. It’s got twenty-six more square feetthan the other ones.”
“Well, that’s very tempting.” Flicka looked at the ceiling. “We do have a toddler.”
“Any pets?” the lady asked, pulling a piece of paper out of a clipboard she carried.
“No pets,” Flicka confirmed.
“Good, then we can cut the deposit in half.”
Nowthey were talking. “Just one toddler.”
She bit her lower lip. “Small children can be hard on apartments.”
“Alina is a verytidy child, very quiet. She likes to look at books and play with stuffed animals.”
“I think we have a toddler bed we can put in the second bedroom for you.”
“She will be at daycare all day while we work, also.” Flicka had no idea whether any of that was true in the slightest.
“Yeah, but,” the lady said, bobbling her head from side to side. Her long, black ponytail swished over her shoulder.“Kids can cause damage.”
“Not Alina. Her grandmother calls her ‘the angel child.’ She’s perfect in every way.”
“She’s your daughter?”
“Step-daughter, and even I think she’s perfect.”
The lady bobbled her head again, her eyes a little wider. “You’ll have to pay for any damage before you move out, but I can knock another five hundred off the deposit. That will bring it down to a manageable level.”
Flicka nodded “The deposit that Desert Gardens is asking is six hundred less than that, though. We’re strapped for cash right now.” All that was true, but the other apartment’s rent was higher.
The woman pursed her lips and stared at the paper for a full three seconds before she said, “All right, we can match that.”
