She dropped the towel when she saw me. “Oh my God,” she said. “What day is it?”
“It’s Saturday.”
“Oh, shoot. I was supposed to move out, then.” She spoke with a very slight Quebecoise accent. I would later learn that she’d grown up in a small town in Quebec called Tadoussac and had spoken exclusively French until she started school at six years old.
“Yeah, I’m supposed to move in,” I said, trying to sound polite and easygoing while actually feeling tired and annoyed.
“Oh no, I’m sorry. I totally lost track of what day it is.”
“Okay…”
“I do that,” she said. “Don’t worry. I’ll make this place clean, no problem.”
I was trying hard not to look impatient, but the long travel day hadn’t put me in a great mood. I just nodded and shuffled my bags down.
“You want an apple or anything? I’m Lisette. Charlie was letting me stay here for a few days, but I was supposed to get out once she rented the place. I’m sure she reminded me but my brain does this. It refuses to process dates and times.”
“I’m sorry to kick you out, I don’t have anywhere else to go…”
“I’m not sure I do either,” said Lisette thoughtfully. “I was supposed to ask Paul but then I forgot. I have another friend Ray who I dog sit for when he’s out on his boat, but I don’t want to stay at his place when he’s actually home. He keeps trying to hit on me, you know?”
I nodded warmly, pretending I had my own dog-sitting sexual harassment problems. This was my first introduction to Lisette’s chaotic energy. She has a tendency to bound around the room like an untethered electron, but she is nearly impossible to dislike. I watched as she dragged a large Army/Navy style duffle bag out of the bedroom and plopped it into the middle of the living room floor.
“All my stuff fits in one sack, don’t worry,” she said, her slim neck hunched as she rolled up a pair of jeans. “I had to leave my boyfriend in a hurry a few years ago, and since then I’ve kept stuff really compact. Not that I had a lot to begin with. I had six older brothers and sisters. My whole childhood was hand-me-downs. Do you ever watch those shows where the lady has a walk-in closet just for her shoes? That’s my dream.”
I nodded. “I think I’d need a house first.”
“You and me both. Once I pack, I’ll call Paul. He’ll let me stay with him. Unless his mother is staying with him, but I think she’s gone home. She was there for a couple of weeks. Can you imagine your mother coming to stay and not leaving for weeks? Not that my mom would, my mom was great. Until she died.”
“I know what you mean.” I thought of my mother who had never showed up on my doorstep mostly because she couldn’t be bothered to travel that far. Two hours on a bus to New York was two hours when she wouldn’t be chatting up single men at her favorite bar.
“I’ll pull the sheets in the bedroom and then you can settle in there and I’ll take care of cleaning the rest of the apartment.”
I looked around. “Actually, do you know where I could get a cup of coffee? I really just need a coffee. I can bring you back one if you like.”
Lisette put down the pile of clothes she was carrying and looked straight at me. “I make the best coffee.”
A few minutes later, I was seated at the dining table with a mug of coffee that said, ‘I don’t spit, I swallow’ on it in a gleeful comic font. Lisette did not make the ‘best coffee,’ but it was very drinkable, and it put me in a much better mood. I finally had a chance to take in my new apartment as Lisette wandered around picking up random items. There was the living room with a distant view of the main harbor, a small comfy sofa and some hanging plants on what looked like fishing net baskets. The kitchen area formed the center of the apartment, with pale wood cabinets and a bright blue counter that opened up into the living room space. The bathroom was a tiny closet with a miniature shower, small enough to compete with some of my New York tenement apartments, tucked into the hallway near the front door, and the back of the house was made up of the large bedroom, which would be pleasant and bright once Lisette had finished her whirlwind of cleaning.
“So Paul is your…?” I asked politely.
“Paul’s the best,” Lisette replied as she walked by with a toothbrush. “And he has way more space now that his wife left him. He’s in my improv group.”
I said nothing. I knew from my college years that as soon as you inquired about somebody’s improv group, you would immediately get invited to a show, so it was best to feign temporary hearing loss.
“You should come to one of our shows!” she cried, unprompted. “We’re really good. We’re called the Newfingers.”
“That’s fun.”
“Paul’s the best one of us, but Mark’s pretty good, too.” She rattled on about the strengths and weaknesses of these two men whom I had no intention of meeting, let alone watching on some tiny stage doing prop comedy about their sexual misadventures. I wasn’t paying strict attention by this point. She had cleared out the bedroom, so I walked inside to start arranging my stuff.
“Those sheets come with the apartment!” she called, referencing the pile on the floor. “I’ll wash them in the basement.”
“I can get the wash started.”
Lisette stuck her head in the bedroom. “Sure, that’d be great. Just don’t let Mrs. Mahoney bother you.”
“Charlotte told me.”
