The doorbell rang. I hoped it was my personal chef with my meals for the next few days. I was starving.
“I need to hire a butler,” I decided as I walked to the front door. I peered in the viewfinder of the tablet I had hooked to the camera that watched the private elevator lobby.
“Grace?”
I swung the door open.
She gave me a wan smile and fidgeted with the strap of one of the many camera bags hanging around her.
“Hey, Chris.”
I crossed my arms. “Did you forget one of your giant onion-ring pillows?”
“Er…” More fidgeting. She shoved her glasses back up her nose. “I actually wanted to talk to you.”
I narrowed my eyes at her, suspicious. “About what?”
Was this it? Was she going to give me some sob story about a sick dog and her needing money? Women were all the same.
The elevator door dinged then opened, and a half-naked senior citizen with a giant parrot stumbled out in a cloud of gardenia scent.
I sneezed.
“Bless you, asshole!” the cockatoo squawked.
“Gran, I told you to wait,” Grace said, exasperated.
“I’m getting a yeast infection from the wax spill,” the old woman insisted. “I can feel it setting in. Besides, the doorman said I was scaring the building tenants, and Ron has his daughter’s ballet recital.”
“Who is Ron?” I asked, sneezing again.
“It’s the plague!” the parrot squawked.
Grace handed me a napkin.
“Ron is the mover,” her grandmother said impatiently. “Keep up, boyo.”
She shoved past me into my penthouse and whistled. “Nice digs! You’re going to have to start calling me Batgran since I’m living like Bruce Wayne up in here! And look at this kitchen!”
Grace ran after her, her camera bags bouncing.
“You cannot make candles in here!”
“I know how to behave as a guest.”
My eyes were still watering. The elevator dinged again, and the movers began to unload all of the boxes they had just packed up back into my penthouse.
“Why are you here?” I asked Grace demandingly as the movers piled the boxes haphazardly in my living room.
“I need a favor,” Grace said.
“No.” I set my jaw. “I already explained our arrangement.”
“Dickface!” the cockatoo screeched.
“That’s right,” Gran said, soothing the parrot. “But he’s handsome, so we’ll let it slide.”
“You must have lost your mind. I will not allow you to move in here,” I snarled at Grace. “And I especially will not allow you to move the local crazy lady and a pigeon into my penthouse. This is a very expensive property.”
