Trying not to look too flustered, I approach the counter and smile at the barista, whose name badge says “Steve.” He flashes me a grin and picks up his pen, ready to write my name on whatever drink I order.
“Uh, hi.” I take a deep breath, attempting not to sound like the lost, hopeless girl from the middle of nowhere that I feel like. “I was wondering if you could help me?”
He lowers the pen. “Sure. What’s up?”
Well. This is a good start. I’d always heard that New Yorkers are rude and unfriendly, but his warm smile eases my nerves a little. I’m sure everything is going to be okay.
“This might sound a bit weird, but I thought there was an apartment block at this address.” As I speak I can’t help but be acutely aware of the twang in my New Zealand accent and I cringe, feeling self-conscious. “Have you, um, heard of the Wilson apartments?”
Steve cocks his head to one side in thought and I turn and give a sheepish smile to the man behind me, tapping his foot as he waits to place his coffee order. He’s one of those classically good-looking men: early forties, I’m guessing, and easily over six feet tall. His shoulders are broad, his hair is a dark chocolate-brown and cut stylishly, and he has a short, tidy beard. He’s the sort of man I might have pictured myself ending up with when I’m a proper grown-up. He looks like your typical New York businessman with his expensive suit and serious expression. Probably worrying about the merger, or something.
“Sorry,” I mouth. He rolls his eyes and I shrink in embarrassment, quickly spinning back to Steve.
“Hey Dave?” Steve calls to a guy further behind the counter who saunters over. “Do you know the Wilson apartments?”
Dave stops, his brow pulling into a frown. “You’re the second person this week to come here looking for them. But I’ve never heard of them.”
“What? They must be around here somewhere.” A nervous laugh sneaks out of me. “Here, I have this email.” I fish out my phone and pull up the email again, showing it to Dave. “It says it should be right here.”
Dave takes my phone and examines the screen, scrolling down. “Well, it’s definitely not at this address. I’ve lived in this neighborhood for ten years and I’ve never heard of them. And”—he gestures to an image on the screen—“I’veneverseen this building around here. This looks like a stock photo.” He glances up at me. “Did you pay for this?”
I nod. The man behind me in line clears his throat audibly and I throw him a look of annoyance, no longer impressed by his good looks. Clearly, I’m in distress here.
Dave shrugs, handing my phone back. “It might be a scam.”
I stare at him, dumbfounded. A scam? That’s absurd. I wouldn’t get scammed. Although come to think of it, I was pretty hammered when I found the apartment.
“It can’t be a scam,” I whisper.
Dave and Steve exchange a pitying glance and my palms begin to sweat.
“You’ve really never heard of it?”
“No, sorry.” Dave shakes his head again, pressing his lips together. “This sort of thing happens, you know. Where are you from, anyway?”
“New Zealand.”
Dave shrugs again and gently motions for me to step aside so he can serve the businessman behind me who’s about to give himself an aneurysm with his impatience. He glares at me as I shuffle my suitcases out the way.
So that’s it? I glance from Dave to Steve, waiting for them to say something more. But they just make coffee, don’t they? It’s not their fault some random stranger is in here asking for an apartment block they’ve never heard of. They can hardly be held responsible.
Dave gives me a sympathetic look as he takes the businessman’s drink order. “Sorry we can’t help. Good luck.” He turns back to the line of people that has accumulated behind me.
I stand frozen to the spot for a second, unable to process this. A scam? My lovely apartment is a scam? This can’t be happening.
Dragging my suitcases over to a table, I slump into a chair. My gut is churning and I force myself to take a couple of deep, soothing breaths. It’s going to be okay. It has to be. I’m sure this is all just a huge misunderstanding—one I’ll laugh about when I’m snuggled up in bed in my new apartment tonight.
I pull my phone out and scroll back through the email. Maybe if I call the company they’ll set me straight. But as I search the email, then the website, I notice there is no phone number. The only information I can find is an email address. This strikes me as odd and dread prickles across my skin as I send off an email. Because—shit. I hope Dave wasn’t right.
I open my browser and search for the company name along with the word “scam.” And my heart plummets as I read the screen. There it is, in black and white. There is no Wilson apartment block; it’s a scam that has seen dozens of people lose thousands of dollars. I have to read it three times for it to sink in.I’ve been conned.
Fuck.
I drop my phone onto the table with a thud. How could I have been sostupid? Why on earth did I think this was a good thing to do blind drunk? Not only am I out thousands of dollars, I also have nowhere to live. I’ve been in New York for less than two hours and I’m homeless.
Tears prick my eyes before I can stop them, and I raise a trembling hand to hide my face.
Of course I don’t fucking belong here. What the hell was I thinking? My parents were right—it was a fantasy, and it’s only taken a couple of hours for the whole thing to come crashing down.
