I could see this. I knew Wash Gearson. He was quick to smile, if he saw you carrying stuff into the building, he’d help you with it, he always opened the door and let you go through first and he loved his partner and new, adorable baby. They had a two bedroom on the second floor and I knew Wash got in Steve the landlord’s face regularly. And seeing as Wash was a big, somewhat soft but definitely not a guy you messed with black dude and Steve had messed with him, Wash had messed back.

I didn’t condone violence but I wasn’t going to say no to a security system, an elevator that worked (even though I never used the latter, others did) and lighting in the halls that didn’t make the place look ripe to become a location for a slasher flick.

“I don’t think I’d let Wash hear you call his woman a bitch,” I advised quietly but still grinning.

“He calls her his bitch and we share the same lingo.” This was true enough. Wash’s mouth was even fouler than Charlie’s which was going to make child rearing interesting in the Gearson household. “Think he’d be cool,” Charlie went on. “Especially when I fixed his fridge last week after he called me direct ‘cause Steve didn’t do shit for three days. This could be what tipped him. Though, call Bertha, Bertha to her face.”

Bertha, Wash’s woman, had an unfortunate name. Luckily, her parents gave her glamorous beauty and life gave her a good man who might not make a mint but he loved her so that counteracted her name. I knew this because her smile was as easy as her man’s and she laughed a lot.

“And, get this,” Charlie went on, “monthly schedule. Even if the bulbs don’t need changin’ out, I come in first of the month and change the whole lot.”

I stared at him and whispered, “Really?”

“Really, sweetheart, no fuckin’ joke. Thought I was in an alternate universe when Steve came to see me today. Then again, I saw the results of the visit whoever gave him so I’m also not surprised. You fuck folks around, eventually they’ll fuck back and since no one likes to be fucked unless they wanna be, when they’re moved to do it, they fuck harder.”

Charlie Philosophy. In the five years I’d lived there, he’d delivered it often. It was always liberally sprinkled in curse words. And it was always usually right.

“Words to live by,” I muttered.

“Damn straight, Anya. Fuck only when they wanna be fucked. You never know what’s gonna tip someone and you also never know who you’re fuckin’ knows.”

“I’m not a fuck with people person,” I shared and he smiled.

“Well, just in case you consider a turn to the dark side,” Charlie advised.

“Right, heard, cataloged, filed. Consider your wisdom processed, Charlie,” I assured him and his smile got bigger. I moved as I said, “See you later, honey.”

“Later, sweetheart,” he replied, grabbed his ladder and moved down the hall.

I did the juggling bit at the door to open it, walked through and saw the paper on the floor that had been slid under the door. I closed the door, ignored the paper and walked to the kitchen to dump my totes. Then I walked back, bent to retrieve the paper and turned it to face me. On it was a badly photocopied message.

Dear Tenant,

The building call system has been repaired as well as the security keypad. The new code is 7849. This code will be changed monthly and you will be notified by memorandum as well as emailed with the new codes one week prior to the code changing. If we do not have your email on file, please contact us immediately.

In the next two weeks, Charlie will be installing deadbolts and chains on all the doors. We will attempt to do this at your convenience but would prefer to do this during normal working weekday hours. Please complete and detach the slip at the bottom of this memo and return it to the management office with a time within the next two weeks that would be convenient for you.

As this work takes place, we thank you in advance for your patience.

-Management

I stared at the memo, the first of its kind in my tenure there and definitely more polite than I’d ever expect in a million years coming from “Management” otherwise known as “Steve”, then my eyes drifted to my door. There was one lock, it turned on the knob. I’d never thought anything of it but as I stared at the door, a tingle slid up my spine, the back of my neck and radiated over my scalp.

Knight had stared at that door and what he saw pissed him off.

And now, out-of-the-blue, when I’d never complained about it, though I didn’t know if anyone else did, we were getting deadbolts and chains.

“Babe, please tell me you don’t live on the first floor.”

He’d looked at the elevator. He’d noted the lights.

“Pointless but it’s somethin’.”

That tingle rushed back down and infused my entire body.

“Oh my God,” I whispered.

“I got this.” I heard Charlie say from outside the door.

“I got it.” I heard another voice I recognized as my out-of-work, moron, slightly creepy, didn’t know how he managed to pay his rent, neighbor Dick whose name said it all.

“No, I said… I got it,” Charlie returned firmly then there was banging at my door.

I moved to it, looked out the peephole, saw Charlie and Dick standing out there and opened it because, although Dick was standing out there, so was Charlie.

“Hey,” I greeted and Charlie stuck out a large, bubble wrap lined envelope at me.

“This came for you. Dick accepted receipt,” Charlie announced. “Now Dick’s goin’ to his place, closing the doors, sittin’ his ass down and thinkin’ of baby bunnies.”

I avoided Dick’s eyes, pressed my lips together, understood Charlie’s meaning but considered that if Dick’s thoughts turned to bunnies they would be thoughts of boiling them or torturing them and I took the envelope. The front had a label that was typed and said only, “Anya, 3D”

“Thanks, uh…” my eyes slid through Dick, “guys.”

“Later, Anya,” Charlie said meaningfully, I looked at him, his face told me to close my damned door because Dick was a dick and Charlie didn’t want him around me.

“Right, later,” I replied and did as I wasn’t told but still was.

Then I locked the door that would soon have a deadbolt and chain but my mind wasn’t on Dick or Charlie or deadbolts or sudden activity making my apartment building safer at what had to be a serious cost. My mind was on the bubble wrap envelope that had no address, no last name and I hadn’t ordered anything.

I took it to the kitchen, ripped it open, upended it and a shiny, black box slid out as did a small, business card sized card.

I stared at the box. Then I pulled out the cardboard tag that held it secure, opened the side and slid out the innards.

Then I froze and stared.

In my hand wrapped up shiny and new, nestled in protective foam packaging was a cell phone the likes I’d never seen. Glossy black on its curved shield-shaped outside, the entire front was a screen. I looked at the box and saw the brand. I’d never heard of it. I looked back at the phone and its accoutrement. Then I realized my heart was beating and doing it hard.

I put the box and phone down and tagged the card. It had fallen face down on the counter so I flipped it and stared at the black slashes that formed words.

Anya,

No woman should be without a functioning cell.

K

The tingle came back and it didn’t start at my spine. It just straight out covered my entire body.

I knew no “K’s”. No friend. Definitely no family. No workmates. No one.

Except Knight Whoever.

“Oh my God,” I whispered, my home phone rang and I jumped.

Then I dropped the card and dashed to the one in the kitchen.

“Hello,” I greeted when I put it to my ear.

“Get this, day four almost done, no… fucking… call.”

Sandrine.

I pulled in a breath, tried to shake off what was happening all around me, who I figured was responsible for it and what that might mean and started, “Honey –”

“I helped him clean up for… like, three hours, in, like, the wee morning hours,” she reminded me of something she’d already shared several times. Then told me something that made my breath catch. Something she hadn’t yet shared in her two days of bitching about Nick Sebring. “His brother came back, was a total, freaking asshole to both of us, and I took that, I cleaned and after that I gave him all my good moves which means he got off twice plus twice more on Sunday. He promised he’d call and he hasn’t. Player zone I get, it could take two days. Even three. But four?”

I powered through the knowledge that Knight was Nick’s brother and reminded her, “Sandrine, this guy has jerk written all over him.”

“I gave him my best moves and four orgasms!” she shouted and I winced.

Then I settled in and I did it silently. She had to work this out and I had to let her even though I didn’t have time. I had groceries to put away. I had a freak out about the possibility that Knight had roughed up my landlord and sent me an extortionately expensive cell phone to recommence and figure out my next move. I had to make a sandwich and get on the road so I didn’t miss class. I had things to do.

“Now, I know, I know, no one gave him that,” Sandrine informed me. “No way. And no way he was faking it. I know that too.”

Men, for obvious reasons, couldn’t fake it so I didn’t know why she felt the need to point this out and I didn’t ask. I kept silent.

Sandrine didn’t.

“And he doesn’t come back for seconds? He doesn’t ask me out? He doesn’t do anything?” she asked and kept ranting. “I’ve called him four times and, as you know, this breaks my golden rule of one call only. Four times! Four voicemails! And, I will add, two texts. And nothing.”

She shut up. I gave her a beat.

Then I told her, “Honey, I’m sorry. He’s a jerk. They’re all jerks. And we’ll gab about this but you know I have to get to class.”

“Anya, this guy is The One,” she told me.

“No, Sandrine, he’s an asshole and I’ll point out one of his obvious asshole traits and that was he suggested a three-way with you and your best friend.”

“Guys are into that shit,” she dismissed.

“Yeah, definitely, but guys who could be The One most certainly aren’t.”

She had no reply and never did when I was right.

So I said yet again, “I have to get to class.”

“Fuck me,” she muttered and I recognized she was sliding into self-absorbed, poor me zone. I had to take evasive maneuvers and fast or I’d miss class or be seriously late.

“Sandrine, this weekend, your appointment, we’ll talk,” I promised.

“Right, and maybe we should hit it Saturday night, see if he’s out.”

God, seriously?

“We’ll talk about it while I do your nails on Saturday. Now I gotta go.”

“Four days, Anya,” she whispered, sliding straight into the zone and holding on tight to take me with her.

I pulled in a steadying breath.

Then I said firmly, “Saturday, Sandrine.”

Pause then, “Right, I’ll call Viv. Laters.”

Then she was gone.

God, Sandrine.

As I beeped off my phone, I reminded myself that there were things to love about her.

For instance, when Viv had that bad breakup that she didn’t want to talk about, I was too busy with class and work to give her my attention like I'd want to. But Sandrine called her every day and went over to her house nearly every night to check in, keep her company and she didn’t pry. And when I sprained my ankle badly, it was Sandrine who dropped everything and came to get me at the doctor then made everything easy for me to negotiate at my apartment. And Sandrine not only was a client of mine, she also talked me up to all her friends and co-workers in an attempt to help me build my clientele. And when Viv’s Mom got that terrible, weird pneumonia that didn’t seem to want to let her go, both Sandrine and I were at Viv’s side when it looked like it was going to go south. And we both celebrated with her when it didn’t.

Right, so Sandrine was a pain in the ass. But there were times that pain eased.

I put the phone in its charger and immediately began multitasking. Freaking out about Knight’s possible activities at the same time putting away groceries. Then I freaked out at the same time I made a sandwich. Then I freaked out at the same time I ate my sandwich and changed clothes. Then I freaked out as I walked out to my car and continued to freak out as I drove to class.