Room For Rent

Thornton walked slowly up the front steps with his hand on the wrought-iron railing. He reached out and rested his hand on the weathered doorbell for a moment before ringing it. The doorbell made a deep gonging sound. Thornton took a step back and gripped the railings alongside him with either hand. Nobody came to the door. Thornton rang again. He extended his arm and gave his sleeve a shake to expose his watch. The time read 1:45. Thornton shook his head and rummaged in his coat pocket.

He pulled out a cigaret, lit it, and took a drag. Presently he flicked the end down and ground it out with the heel of his boot. He bent down, untied and re-tied his boot, and was getting back to his feet when the door opened. A man stepped out and regarded Thornton. “Can I help you, sir?” he asked.

Thornton cleared his throat. “I’m here about the room for rent. We had an appointment at 1:45.”

“What’s your name?” the man asked.

“Thornton,” Thornton said. “I responded to the advertisement.”

“I see,” the man said. “I remember you now. You said you were coming at 1:45 on Sunday. Today’s Saturday.”

Thornton looked puzzled. “Saturday?”

“Yes, Saturday,” the man said. “Christ, I wasn’t prepared for this, you know. I was just about to walk down to Grover’s, get me a sandwich and soda. Late lunch.”

“Grover’s?” asked Thornton.

“Old Grover himself knew my uncle,” the man said. “He told me to come by before the grass got any greener under my feet. Said he’d put it on the house.” He stepped back into the doorway. “Well?”

“Hm?” said Thornton.

“Aren’t you coming?” said the man.

“Coming?” Thornton said. He felt in his pocket for his wallet, eased it open to feel for bills. Payday wasn’t until Monday, but he might could afford a hamburger steak and potatoes. “To Grover’s?”

“Who said anything about Grover’s, sir?” the man said. “Do you know him too? Aren’t you here to see the room?” He took a step back into the house. “Or are you going to keep standing on the doorstep and letting out all of my heat?” He giggled.

Thornton walked up the rest of the steps and came into the house. It was a squat affair from the outside, faded bricks and some crumbling places where the mortar was falling away. There were two windows in the front, and one was missing a shutter. The shutters that were there were green, what Thornton’s father would have called pea-green. There were two more windows on the second floor. Above it all was a chimney with smoke leaking upwards. The smoke trailed into the cloudy sky and eventually disappeared.

Inside, the doorway opened into a small sitting room with two chairs and a small sofa. There was a painting on the wall of a woman bathing in an clawfoot bathtub. She was holding a small scrub-brush in her right hand and using it to wash her back. She was looking over her shoulder with a small smile. Her chest was just covered by the crook of her left arm. The man waved his arm vaguely across the room. “Living room,” he said. He walked through the room and motioned to a door. “Kitchen,” he said. “We’ll see it later.” He opened another door and beckoned Thornton over. “Here’s the room.”

The room’s walls were painted gray. Paint was peeling in several places. There was nothing on the walls except a small mirror hanging on the back of the door. There was a dun-colored square of carpet in the center of the room about four feet to a side. There was no window. The bed was set towards the back wall. It had an iron frame and a lumpy mattress on it. There was just room for a dresser with four drawers and a small white chifforobe. The chifforobe’s door was partly open and Thornton could see clothes inside. He walked into the room and sat on the bed. The mattress shifted and squeaked under his weight. He pushed down onto the mattress with both hands and looked back at the man. “Where’s the bathroom?” he said.

“You’re getting a fine deal here, sir,” the man said. “Already furnished. And it comes with all the clothes you see in there.” He nodded towards the chifforobe.

Thornton got up and opened the doors of the chifforobe. It was bulging with all sorts of clothes. Thornton turned back to the man, who was framed in the doorway. “Where did you get all these?” he asked.

“Rent is a hundred per month,” the man said. “I’ll need the first month when you sign, plus fifty dollars as a security deposit.” He leaned against the doorway. “Lease is month-to-month. I just ask for 30 days notice before you leave.” He cocked his head. “So, what’s the word?” When Thornton didn’t answer, he tapped his foot and said, “The word, man! I don’t have all day.”

Thornton had turned back to the chifforobe and was thumbing through the clothes. He saw a claret-colored smoking jacket with wide lapels. He saw a pair of pleated slacks with a belt loop missing. Then, his fingers brushed against a dusty rose blouse with shoulder pads. He felt the fabric between his fingers. Muslin, probably. He brought his nose down to the blouse and sniffed it. It wasn’t nearly as dusty as he had expected. There was a slight fruity scent, a whiff of perfume. Thornton smiled.

“The word, sir!” The man had come up behind him and was tapping his shoulder. Tap, tap. “Are you in or out? Christ, do you think I’m made of time?”

Thornton turned to face the man. He kept his voice calm. “Would you give me five minutes? Just five. I promise I’ll take no more of your time.”

Thornton kept himself still until the man shut the door. As soon as the door clicked closed, he threw himself onto the bed and began lugging off his boots. He unclasped his belt and dragged off his pants. Then he threw off his coat and unbuttoned his shirt. At last he was wearing only his undershirt, shorts, and socks. Quietly, he strode over to the chifforobe and began leafing through it. He took the rose blouse off of its hanger and put it on over his undershirt. Next, he took a pair of white stockings and pulled them up each leg. Then he found a charcoal paisley knee-length skirt and stepped into it. He moved nearer to the door and looked at his reflection in the mirror. He smoothed back his hair and wet his lips. He took a couple steps and made a turn. He could feel his heart beating. He went back to the bed and took up his jacket and felt in the inside pocket. He pulled out a flask and took a long sip. Then he found his pants and put them back on. He bunched the skirt up around his waist and loosened his belt a notch, then cinched it. Next, he buttoned his shirt up over the blouse, put on his coat, and laced up his boots over the stockings. He smoothed down his coat and walked firmly to the door.

In the living room, the man who sitting on the sofa, staring at the picture on the wall. He started when Thornton walked into the room. “Well?” he asked. Then, as Thornton moved past him across the room, he stood up and stamped his foot. “Insolence, sir! I’ll not be treated this way, for Christ’s sake. For the last time, are you in or out?”

Thornton was at the front door. He looked over the shoulder at the man. He gave a small smile. Then he opened the door and began making his way down the front steps. He gripped the wrought-iron railing with his right hand as he descended. His chest was just covered by the crook of his left arm.