Sharing Space (The Complete Series) Read Online Free Page B
Author: Nina Perez
shirt and a black pair of five-inch stilettos completed the look. It was official: She wasn't moving in for fear of a late night raid from the fashion police.
"Hey, girl, this place is nice!"
"Thank you."
I followed the same routine. It was a good thing I had begun to memorize the speech throughout the tour because it was hard to concentrate over LaKeera continuously popping her gum. In fact, she was chewing on the gum so vigorously I figured she must be hungry, but no matter how many times I offered the poor child something to eat, she was unfortunately content with the gum. After the tour, I suggested we sit in the living room and chat.
"Well, I live in Brooklyn,” she said. "I'm a dancer here in the city and moving here would sure make things easier on me."
"Oh, are you in any shows I might have seen?"
"Shows?" She looked confused.
"Off Broadway..."
"Oh no, girl. I work at Goldy's."
"Goldy's?"
"I'm an exotic dancer, and don't worry, I pull in enough bank to afford this place."
I didn’t know how to explain to Miss Thang that her bank account was the least of my worries. "Yeah, I don't wanna be doing that forever, though,” she continued. "I plan on going to school for cosmetology."
LaKeera left soon after, but not before giving me her cell number and a reminder not to call from a blocked number so that she would know it wasn’t some guy she was dodging from the club.
At three o'clock I had just about given up. I plopped down on the couch and hoped Cynthia Becker would just pull a no-show. Just when I was beginning to think shaking my ass at Goldy's wasn't such a bad idea—at least I could afford the rent alone—someone knocked on the door.
Cynthia was white, in her mid-fifties, going through a painful divorce, and sweating up a storm even though she was dressed in khaki culottes and a black tank top. She clutched her purse as if someone would jump out of the shadows suddenly to take it. One of the first things she said when she walked in was "Is it hot in here or is it just me?" It was definitely her—the air conditioner had been on all day.
After I showed her the apartment we sat down to talk over iced tea. Cynthia explained that she was going through a divorce after she’d found her husband of twenty years sleeping with his secretary. She was in the process of working out a very lucrative settlement. She had no real work experience, as he had always been the breadwinner. Several times during our conversation it seemed she fought back tears, and she commented on the heat more than that. It was rough to hear how she’d put her life on hold to be a housewife and support her working husband building his career, only to have it thrown in her face.
"I'm a very good housekeeper. You wouldn't have to worry about that. I can also cook anything. You name it, I know how to cook it. When Tom would bring his business associates over, I served the best meals. They always asked who I used as a caterer and they were surprised when I told them I did it all myself. They said I gave the best dinner parties. Too bad my husband wasn't as appreciative as his co-workers. You would think after twenty years of marriage... My, is it hot in here?"
"Umm, Mrs. Becker—"
"Call me Cynthia."
"Cynthia, please don't take this the wrong way, but it sounds to me like you pretty much have your husband dead to rights. There's not a court in this state that wouldn't award you a nice settlement and alimony payments for a husband who’s been caught cheating. With that said, why would you want to share an apartment with someone like me? I mean, with our age difference, and not that it’s a problem, but with the difference in mind and the money you're sure to get, wouldn't you rather get a nice home for yourself?"
"Chloe, I have missed so much being married. I met Tim when I was twenty and married him at twenty-two. I was a virgin, hadn't dated
"Hey, girl, this place is nice!"
"Thank you."
I followed the same routine. It was a good thing I had begun to memorize the speech throughout the tour because it was hard to concentrate over LaKeera continuously popping her gum. In fact, she was chewing on the gum so vigorously I figured she must be hungry, but no matter how many times I offered the poor child something to eat, she was unfortunately content with the gum. After the tour, I suggested we sit in the living room and chat.
"Well, I live in Brooklyn,” she said. "I'm a dancer here in the city and moving here would sure make things easier on me."
"Oh, are you in any shows I might have seen?"
"Shows?" She looked confused.
"Off Broadway..."
"Oh no, girl. I work at Goldy's."
"Goldy's?"
"I'm an exotic dancer, and don't worry, I pull in enough bank to afford this place."
I didn’t know how to explain to Miss Thang that her bank account was the least of my worries. "Yeah, I don't wanna be doing that forever, though,” she continued. "I plan on going to school for cosmetology."
LaKeera left soon after, but not before giving me her cell number and a reminder not to call from a blocked number so that she would know it wasn’t some guy she was dodging from the club.
At three o'clock I had just about given up. I plopped down on the couch and hoped Cynthia Becker would just pull a no-show. Just when I was beginning to think shaking my ass at Goldy's wasn't such a bad idea—at least I could afford the rent alone—someone knocked on the door.
Cynthia was white, in her mid-fifties, going through a painful divorce, and sweating up a storm even though she was dressed in khaki culottes and a black tank top. She clutched her purse as if someone would jump out of the shadows suddenly to take it. One of the first things she said when she walked in was "Is it hot in here or is it just me?" It was definitely her—the air conditioner had been on all day.
After I showed her the apartment we sat down to talk over iced tea. Cynthia explained that she was going through a divorce after she’d found her husband of twenty years sleeping with his secretary. She was in the process of working out a very lucrative settlement. She had no real work experience, as he had always been the breadwinner. Several times during our conversation it seemed she fought back tears, and she commented on the heat more than that. It was rough to hear how she’d put her life on hold to be a housewife and support her working husband building his career, only to have it thrown in her face.
"I'm a very good housekeeper. You wouldn't have to worry about that. I can also cook anything. You name it, I know how to cook it. When Tom would bring his business associates over, I served the best meals. They always asked who I used as a caterer and they were surprised when I told them I did it all myself. They said I gave the best dinner parties. Too bad my husband wasn't as appreciative as his co-workers. You would think after twenty years of marriage... My, is it hot in here?"
"Umm, Mrs. Becker—"
"Call me Cynthia."
"Cynthia, please don't take this the wrong way, but it sounds to me like you pretty much have your husband dead to rights. There's not a court in this state that wouldn't award you a nice settlement and alimony payments for a husband who’s been caught cheating. With that said, why would you want to share an apartment with someone like me? I mean, with our age difference, and not that it’s a problem, but with the difference in mind and the money you're sure to get, wouldn't you rather get a nice home for yourself?"
"Chloe, I have missed so much being married. I met Tim when I was twenty and married him at twenty-two. I was a virgin, hadn't dated
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