Two Doors Down
TWO DOORS DOWN
By Don DuPay
The knock at the door was insistent, demanding and annoying. Lucille stubbed out her cigarette in the old Pagoda restaurant ashtray which she had stolen, the last time she had egg foo young there. The knocking continued and she wondered which tenant wanted her attention now. Someone was always knocking on the manager’s door, but it was now after six pm and she was officially off duty.
She pushed herself up out of her Lazy Boy easy chair and walked to the door, slowly opening it. It was the Police. Lucille was surprised but at the same time not surprised, as the police were often in her building looking to haul off one of her miscreant tenants.
“We’re looking for Amanda!” said officer number one, pausing to look at the notebook in his hand, “Yes, it’s Amanda…” he said moving his eyes from the notebook to Lucille. “Amanda Bright!” he repeated. “So, what apartment does she live in?”
Officer number one was an older officer in his middle forties who looked comfortable in his slightly worn blue uniform. A ball point pen was in his hand and another was sticking out of the top of his shirt pocket. A blue ink stain showed where the pen was clipped. “What you want with her?” asked Lucille. “Because if she’s in trouble, I won’t tell you. She has enough problems already and she’s a nice girl.”
“She’s not in trouble,” said the officer blandly.” Officer number two stood behind the older officer and appeared to be a newbie as his uniform was freshly pressed like he had just put it on from the cleaners. He was shaking his head in agreement, looking uncertain and a little childish. “She’s not in trouble,” he echoed quietly. Lucille thought Officer number two looked like a high school boy and wondered if he was even old enough to be a cop.”
“Why are you lookin’ for her then?” Lucille insisted.
“Well, she inherited a lot of money. Our Sgt. found out and asked that we notify her and let her know.” Said officer number two smiling broadly showing perfect teeth and sneaky eyes.
“How much?” asked Lucile, sarcastically, chuckling to herself. “Maybe I can borrow some?”
“We’re not sure, but I think it’s a lot,” said officer number one. “The attorney handling the estate contacted the police department, well our Sgt. specifically and asked us to help locate her. We’re between radio calls but we decided to try and find this…Amanda person now and get it over with.”
“Is it more money than you can stuff in a bread box?” Lucille asked, her eyes open wide now.
“Like more than a truckload of bread boxes!” officer number two said, excited. “She’s rich!”
“Son, don’t talk unless I tell you, too.”
“Okay, coach. Sorry.”
“Well, Amanda’s not home from work just yet but she gets off soon. You guys can come back or you can come in and wait.”
“Is that coffee I smell?” asked officer number one.
“Yeah,” replied Lucile. “I just made a pot and was settling in to enjoy it when you guys knocked on my door.
“We’ll come in for a bit then if you don’t mind,” said officer number one, good naturedly. Officer number two politely removed his shiny billed police cap and held it in front of him waiting to see where he would be sitting. It had been a while since lunch and the coffee sounded good to him, too.
Lucille offered them the couch to sit on. It was soft brown leather, the luxury model bought by her husband when he was making a lot of money working at the jewelry store. It was comfortable but had seen better days.
Lucille gave each officer a fold out tray table and set a cup of fresh coffee out for each officer. “Cream or sugar?
“No, just black. I’ve gotten used to it over the years working the graveyard shift. Junior here, gets another week with me and then he’ll be working graveyard, too!”
Officer number two looked less than enthused but nodded his head before sipping his hot fresh coffee.
Officer number one looked at his surroundings. The small Manager’s apartment appeared comfortable. One wall had flowered wallpaper from many years ago, with faded yellow rosebuds. The other walls had also been papered but had been painted over at least twice. He could see two colors of paint at the very edges along the door frame. The light fixture had been removed and replaced with a combination light and ceiling fan. The place smelled like coffee and cigarettes.
“A comfortable apartment,” commented officer number one. “How long have you been doing this kind of work? I know you’ve been in this building for a while.”
Lucille sipped her coffee and was counting in her mind. “Six years,” she said. “That’s how long my asshole ex-husband has been in prison.” Lucille’s silver-shot hair was pulled back in a bun and piled on top of her head, secured by a single wooden chopstick. Her ample middle was visible behind the apron she wore. Without lipstick the age lines showed on her upper lip and became even more exaggerated when she took a drag on her Marlboro.
“What did he do?” the two officers asked almost in unison.
“He worked in an upscale jewelry store and was making good money. That’s when we bought the couch you’re sittin’ on. But he went nuts and got greedy. He stole all the jewelry in the showcases and left town.”
“Left, just like that?” asked officer number one.
“Yep. He didn’t tell me what he was doing or even say Goodbye. I saw him again though. The cops brought him back to town in handcuffs and an orange jumpsuit. I had to take care of myself and so this works out well for me. I don’t pay rent. But sometimes I get pestered by cops at the door.”
Lucile laughed and the officers did too, looking a little perplexed, not knowing how to take the old woman. Was she sincere, or a grifter? They couldn’t tell. .
“I think my ex had a girlfriend someplace and he thought he could strike it rich and live happily ever after. Funny” Lucile sighed, “he’s not payin’ rent either.”
“You must know a lot about the tenants?” said officer number one, by way of changing the conversation from what seemed to be a difficult topic for Lucile.
“Yeah, I’m a cross between mother when they’re lookin’ for an ear and a bitch for the man when I have to kick them out. All low-income people here mostly on welfare or some government support. All except Ms. Bright. She works and pays her rent on time, every time. There’re ten apartments on each floor. This is number two, next door is four and Amanda is number six, two doors down, then eight and ten. The odd numbers are on the other side of the hall, three, five, seven and so on. Three floors total. Rent is due on the first, late on the fifth and I’ll see you in court if you don’t pay up by then.”
Lucile removed a cigarette from the half empty package of Marlboro Longs on a small table next to her easy chair. She looked at both ends as if to make sure they were both there, then lit it with a paper match from a match book that read The Pagoda. She took two long drags before speaking again. The faint tendrils of bluish-lavender smoke from the cigarette drifted upward and was dispersed by the slow-moving ceiling fan.
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“Well, we have to go to court a lot too,” said officer number one. “So, I guess we have something in common there. Junior here when he gets on graveyard will learn how tough it is to work all night then spend a half a day in court after that.”
“That’s all on overtime though, isn’t it?” asked officer number two.
“Yeah,” said his partner. “But where else can you get paid for trying to stay awake.” Lucile got up from her chair and refreshed all three cups of coffee before returning to her chair and picking up her cigarette again.
Officer number one sipped at his coffee and looked around at the apartment again. He too was bulging at the middle, straining the buttons on his blue uniform shirt. His leather gunbelt had lost its shine and some fine cracks in the leather showed when he took a breath, which strained the gunbelt at his middle. He was partially bald as his forehead extended about halfway on the top of his head. What hair he had was grey and wisping, no longer held in place by his police cap.
“Seeing how comfortable you are makes me wonder if I could get a job as an apartment manager when I retire? Not paying rent… sounds huge to me. Six more years to go before I can hang up this gold badge — and the headaches that go with it. If I didn’t have to pay rent my pension would be enough. Six more years to go. Junior here is just getting started. He has only 24 years and 9 months until his retirement.”
“What can you tell us about Miss Bright?” asked officer number two hating to think how long 24 plus years would be. His fresh face seemed to fit his blond crew cut hair. Lucille thought he must have been in the military not too long ago.
“Well, she’s the prettiest girl on the planet,” said Lucille. “Natural platinum blond hair, a bikini body, ample in the boobs department and a peaches and cream complexion with a smile that will melt your shorts, boys.”
“Wow,” said officer number two, “I can hardly wait to see her.”
“You’re too late for that. She doesn’t look like that anymore. I’ve seen the pictures though,” Lucile replied, smirking.
“What happened to her?” asked officer number one.
“Yeah, what happened?” echoed officer number two.
“Well, as she tells it she was just too beautiful. She worked as a model for awhile but men were just pawing all over her all the time. Men never saw her as a person with a good mind,” she said. “All they saw was a beautiful woman — too pretty to be taken seriously as a person. So she rebelled, quit modeling, changed her appearance drastically and got a job working as a maid in a hotel downtown.”
“What does she look like now?” asked both officers.
“I’d say her look now is what I would call 1920’s cleaning lady. She dyed her hair dark brown, bought clothes at Goodwill that hang on her like a sack, hiding her body and she stopped wearing any makeup.”
“This huge inheritance is going to change her life,” said officer number one. “She’ll be able to buy the hotel she’s workin’ in and live there if she wants.”
Lucille snubbed out her Marlboro and contemplated what might happen to Amanda with a huge amount of cash dumped on her. “Maybe she’ll buy this building?” mused Lucille. “And fix some of the things that need repair, like replacing two of the washing machines in the basement laundry room which don’t work, painting the hallways a brighter color or fixing the loose stairs on the fire escape.”
“Doesn’t the Fire Marshal inspect things like fire escapes?” said officer number two. “He’s ordered the Fire escape repaired twice in the last year, but the building owner has so far dragged his feet, and nothing has happened. He don’t care and besides he lives in California, comes here twice a year,” she replied.
“I’ll bet I could put a bug in the Fire Marshal’s ear!” said officer number one. “Being a cop, I think I could get some attention to something as important as a Fire escape.”
“That would be so appreciated!” said Lucille. “My apartment is only fifty feet from the front door, so I don’t personally worry about getting to the fire escape. I could just run — well, I used to be able to run — hurry out the front door, is more like it.”
“It’s amazing how fast a person can move when there’s a fire behind them!” said officer number one “I’ve seen it happen in the past on fires I had to cover. People will jump out a window when they know they shouldn’t if their ass is on fire and they’ve run out of options.”
Officer number two nodded in agreement, but he was fantasizing about what it would be like to be the rich Amanda’s boyfriend and what kind of car they would buy. He saw himself driving a long black Cadillac sedan with a continental kit on the back. Officer number one could see the young man was daydreaming and poked him in the ribs bringing him back to reality.
“Maybe you should hold back on talking to the Fire Marshal,” said Lucille. “If he really did a thorough inspection of the building, he’d condemn it. There’s a leak in the roof at the back corner of the building which leaks into the last apartment up there and the water has ruined the wall and the hardwood floor. We can’t rent that one, anymore. And the electrical system is old and unreliable. There is at least one plug in in each apartment that doesn’t work. The fuse box in the basement is old, the kind of fuses you screw in. No modern circuit breakers in this dump.”
Lucille stared at the cold coffee in her cup and hoped there was one more paper match in the matchbook to relight what was left of the last cigarette she had butted out.
“If the building is condemned then what would become of me?” Lucille said worrying out loud. “This little apartment is all I have. All my things are here, my old pictures, my books, my letters, all my little trinkets. What little I have is all in THIS room.” She decided the cigarette butt was too small to relight and fished the last Marlboro out of the pack, stuck it in her mouth and crumpled the empty pack in her hand, stuffing it into her bathrobe pocket.
Again, officer number two was only half listening, nodding when he thought it was appropriate, but he was still thinking about being Amanda’s boyfriend, the new wealthy boyfriend. They would eat at the finest restaurants, particularly that expensive one at the top of the tall building downtown and go to some new places he’d heard about from his buddies. They would tip lavishly and after dinner he would enjoy a fine expensive cigar in the lounge.
“I’d never be able to find another job,” lamented Lucille, the fear was clear in her voice. “I’m not the looker I used to be as you two gents can plainly see,” she said, pulling her apron up over her belly and smoothing back her wisps of hair. “Besides, what about the others? We’re like a family here. I’m the mother some of them never had. Sure, sometimes I have to throw one out, but that’s the same as a lot of other families.”
Officer number one was feeling bad now that his suggestion to bring in the Fire Marshal had caused Lucille so much anguish and he put his hand on her forearm, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“Don’t worry. Can I call you Lou?”
“Sure, officer, sure.”
“Don’t worry about the Fire Marshal, Lou. Mums the word from us. We don’t want anything to happen to ya.”
Lucille decided not to light the cigarette just yet and placed it in the ashtray. “Amanda’s home now I think, I just heard her door close.”
“You have good ears, Lou. I didn’t hear nothin.”
“I can hear this old building breathe!” she sighed. “I’m pretty sure she’s home anyway. She’s just two doors down.”
“Two doors down,” echoed officer number two, placidly.
“We’ll be on our way now,” said officer number one. “Thanks for the coffee, Lou and conversation. Remember, if you ever need anything just call. My badge number is #354. Just ask for me. You know my name.”
“Thanks so much!”
Both officers were eager to get a glimpse of the newly rich Amanda Bright and were poised to knock on her door when their pack set radio interrupted. “Car 49, are you clear to take a possible homicide?” Both officers ran for the front door as the radio cracked again. “Check out the dead body at….
Lucille lit the Marlboro she had laid in the ashtray and sat back in her chair, as the door to her apartment slammed closed. She watched the smoke from her cigarette drifting up at the ceiling fan, and watched as it dissipated — not knowing Amanda, her old friend two doors down, was still unaware that she was now newly rich.
