Message
"Hey! Ms. Barrett! A word, please?" It was the landlord -- er, property manager. Places like The Willows didn't have landlords.
"Yes?"
"A man parked a car in the visitor lot, said it was yours?"
"Oh! Yes. I'll move it -- let me get my key." She started to go back into the apartment.
"Oh, Ms. Barrett? One other thing?"
"Yes?"
The manager came halfway up the stairs, so he could speak more quietly. "There was a problem with the rent."
"Oh, well Mr. Truman should have-"
"Yes, I know. He sent me a check with the lease papers, but the bank just called, and apparently the check is damaged and they won't take it."
"I'm sure Mr. Truman will send you another one."
"Yes, well, that's just it. I can't seem to reach him. The number he gave me is disconnected."
"Are you sure you have the right number?"
"It's the number he gave me on the lease papers."
"I'm sure there must be some mistake."
"I'm sure there must be." He waited there, halfway up the stairs, his hands folded neatly in front of him.
"Hold on, I may have another number for him." She started to go back into the apartment.
"Oh, Ms. Barrett?"
Angela turned around yet again. "Yes?" She tried to maintain a polite tone.
"Could I trouble you to call him directly, and explain the situation. Have him send another check -- a cashier's check this time, it's our policy in case of any payment problems."
"Certainly."
"Thank you, Ms. Barrett. Have a good day." He retreated back down the steps and ambled off toward the office.
"Hi, this is Jason. Leave a message. [beedle-beedle-beep]"
"Hi, Mr. Truman, are you there? It's me, Angela." She waited a moment to see if he would pick up. "Okay, I guess you're not there." Another expectant pause; nothing. "I just talked to the manager here and he said there was some kind of problem with the check. He says you need to send a cashier's check right away. Please call me when you get this." She almost hung up, then realized he might not have her number. "Oh! The number is 595-580-0807."
The furnished apartment's generically upscale living room clock stared down at the impatient girl.
Almost two hours.
Angela picked up the phone. There was a dialtone, just like last time. She dialed her own number. She got a busy signal, just like last time.
Angela, do you have to borrow the next door neighbor's phone just to call yourself to see if it rings? Relax. The phone works.
Well if the phone works, how come nobody's calling?
You've had the phone two days. And only two people even have the number.
And both of those two people should be calling me.
Okay, so Truman should call, but he's probably busy. Maybe he's in a meeting. He does have other clients, you know. Paying clients.
So what about Dino?
What about him?
After last night, I thought he would call.
It hasn't even been twenty-four hours. Are you addicted to him or something?
But it's Friday.
So?
So I thought...
What? You thought he'd take you out again? Don't you remember, his boss is in town checking things out. He probably has to entertain the man.
Still, I thought he'd call me to let me know how it went.
Calm down, woman, you're not his girlfriend.
Well, no, but... he should know I'm just sitting here...
He told you to line up job interviews.
Well the paper just has the same old jobs I looked at on Tuesday.
So do something else.
There's nothing else to do. I already ironed everything. There's no TV. I'm bored!
So go out.
And miss their calls? No way...
Angela caught her hand trembling. Was it time for her next pill? No, not for another hour at least.
Yeah, tell that to my hand.
It wasn't just her hand. Already she could feel the anxiousness growing again.
Was she building up a tolerance? That wasn't supposed to happen, was it? She wished there was someone she could ask, but she didn't have insurance, and she sure couldn't go back to Dr. Ward...
The Xanax was only supposed to be temporary, to get her over the hump, to smooth her out until she settled down and the nightmares and panic attacks stopped. But in a way she seemed to be getting worse, not better. She should probably stop taking them.
I don't care. I can't stand feeling like this.
Thank God Truman had gotten her that refill. She was almost two weeks into it now.
She grabbed the bottle and smacked another one of the peach pacifiers into her palm.