“I thought you said the girl was not Michael’s girlfriend,” Mrs. Stephanopolis said as she joined her husband at the door.
“I’m not,” Brett hurriedly said, stepping away from Michael and the spell he seemed to cast on her. “I’m the new building supervisor.”
“In my time a girl did not do such work,” Mrs. Stephanopolis replied with dark disapproval.
“I’m just glad the hot water is working again,” Mr. Stephanopolis exclaimed. “I almost froze my privates off this morning.”
“This girl does not want to hear about your privates,” his wife declared with frosty fire.
As the bickering between husband and wife continued in Greek for a few moments, Michael was taken aback at the amused look that Brett shared with him. Her face had this glow that raised his blood pressure, among other things.
Brett surprised him further by breaking into Greek herself—a feat that provided momentary silence from the couple before both broke into speech once more.
Mrs. Stephanopolis’s earlier disapproval melted as she put her arm around Brett and ushered her into the apartment, leaving Michael standing on the threshold as if he were an unwelcome in-law.
Half an hour later, when he and Brett left their apartment, she’d added a bottle of ouzo to her collection of goodies.
“You’re lucky to have such great tenants,” Brett told him.
“Yeah, right.”
“So who else do you want me to meet?”
“There’s only one more apartment left. The Lincolns live next door. Since you’re getting on so well with everyone, I’ll just leave you to it. Clearly you don’t need me to hold your hand.”
The concept of him holding her hand had a sudden appeal—for its own sake, not because she was afraid to be alone. Being alone was one of many things Brett was very good at. Meeting strangers was another. “Okay. And then after I introduce myself to the Lincolns I’ll go get my things, so I can start working on that faucet like I promised Frieda and Consuela,” Brett said.
“Who?”
“Frieda Weiskopf and Consuela Martinez.”
“Oh.” Somehow Michael had never thought of the two women as having first names. To him they were simply the dragon-women next door. “Right.”
“So I’ll see you later then. Thanks again for being so sweet and introducing me to the other tenants.”
“Sweet is my middle name,” he mockingly drawled.
No, Brett thought to herself. Sexy was his middle name. Watching him take the steps two at a time, she noticed he appeared to be in a hurry to get away. She also noticed the way his jeans fit like a glove. “Nice buns,” she murmured wickedly, hoping that saying the thought aloud would minimize its importance.
She almost fell through the floor when he paused on the landing and looked at her over his shoulder. Surely he was too far away to have heard her soft words. God, she hoped so!
Turning around, she hurriedly knocked on the door to the Lincolns’ apartment.
A second later a young black woman, her long wavy hair gathered in a rubber band, yanked the door open and then yanked Brett inside. “I need some help in here!” the woman exclaimed. “I can’t get the water faucet in the bathtub to turn off. We’re talking Noah and his ark here if we don’t get this damn thing turned off!”
Moving quickly, Brett dumped her goodies by the front door and followed the woman into the bathroom.
“My husband knows how to work that damn thing but he’s working a double shift at the hospital today—he’s a nurse—and with the hot water finally on again, I couldn’t wait ‘til he got home to take a bath.”
As Brett managed to coax the stubborn fixture into the Off position, the woman made a high-five sign. “You saved the day, girl! Thanks! Now who the hell are you again?”
“I’m Brett,” she replied with a grin. “The new building supervisor. I’ve just been hired to fix things around here, like this faucet. Next time it gets stuck, just open the drain to let the water out.”
“I didn’t think of that. I’m Keisha Lincoln and, even though you don’t look nothing like Denzel Washington, you’re the answer to my prayers. I been telling the new owner this place needed fixing up big-time.”
“Sorry I don’t look like Denzel.”
“It’s okay. Tyrone, that’s my husband, will feel better if Denzel stays in Hollywood. Lord, I could use some caffeine after that scare. How ‘bout you? Want some cafE au lait? I’ve got an aunt down in New Orleans who sends the real stuff to me, so I can make it up right. Ah, I see you’ve already hit the other neighbors,” Keisha noted with a glance at the bottle of ouzo and containers of sauerkraut and salsa Brett had set by the front door.
“Everyone’s been so nice,” Brett said.
“They haven’t been all that welcoming to us, but then Tyrone and I have only lived here for a year and a half. The other tenants have been here decades. Except for the new owner. He only moved in a few weeks ago and now he’s stuck with this old dump.”
“I think it’s a beautiful building.”
“That’s ‘cause you don’t live here.”
“I do now. I’ll be moving into the basement apartment this afternoon.”
“You move fast.” Keisha nodded .approvingly. “I can relate to that. I moved fast when I met my Tyrone. And I know what it’s like being a woman workin’ on a man’s turf. I’m a security guard down at the main branch of the C.P.L.”
“C.P.L.?”
“Chicago Public Library. Anyway, it’ll be nice having someone else my age in the building. How about that caffeine?”
“Sounds good. But what about your hot water for your bath?”
“The way that water was steaming, it’ll take ten minutes before I can get in there. So tell me, what do you think of your new boss? Is he prime or what?”
The phone was ringing as Michael reentered his apartment. He picked it up on the third ring. “Hello?” All he heard was loud static. “Hello?” he repeated, louder this time.
“…it’s…your father…calling.”
“Where are you? Are you okay?”
“We’re fine. I’m at a pay phone. They aren’t too good in Bali…” More static filled the line. “Your mother made me call…wanted to make sure everyone there was fine.”
“We’re fine. I spoke to Gaylynn yesterday.” Michael’s younger sister was a teacher in Chicago.
“Good, good.”
Sensing that his father was about to say goodbye, Michael said, “Wait, Dad. I need to know something. What’s the deal with this family-curse stuff?”
Michael’s only answer was static…punctuated by his father’s voice saying, “What?”
“I asked if you knew anything about a family curse,” Michael repeated.
“Purse?” his father said, clearly unable to hear him very well. “No, your mother hasn’t lost her purse yet, thank heavens. I’m keeping a close eye on her.”
“Not purse,”