Flowers and Financiers by Alina Jacobs
9
Amy
“That’s what she said,” I retorted, then realized that was a bit of a dirty joke, as Sebastian looked at me, horrified.
“Er…I’ll be right back with your drinks…uh…” I looked at his date’s empty spot. “Drink.”
“Did you just throw out one of my patrons?” Zoe asked me incredulously.
“She insulted the bread,” I insisted. “Also, she’s clearly a gold digger. Sebastian doesn’t need that in his life.”
Zoe’s eyebrows rose into her bright-pink hairline. My friend liked to experiment with hair color. “Someone is territorial.”
“I’m just doing my civic duty!” I protested, grabbing a piece of the bread then stuffing it into my mouth.
* * *
I really should not have been soconcerned with Sebastian’s future. What did I care?
I had bigger problems to worry about, one of which confronted me when Baxter and I, loaded down with local food from my favorite restaurants in town, heaved open the door to my narrow Manhattan apartment-closet.
On top of the pile of mail on the floor was a notice from the landlord.
“I paid rent,” I lied to Baxter, who neighed at me reproachfully.
I hadn’t paid rent. I had bought seedlings instead. Like I said, I had terrible decision-making skills. I had been late on rent before, but if you paid a late fee, the landlord didn’t care.
I tore open the envelope, and my heart sank as I read it.
Notice to residents:
The building will be sold in six weeks. All residents are advised to be moved out and find other accommodations.
I sank to the ground, tears pricking my eyes. “I can’t leave…” I gasped. “My garden.”
I ran outside and thought of all the flowers, the plants, the hundreds of hours, and all the money I had sunk into it. What was I going to do?
Amy:They’re going to take my garden!
Ivy:Who?
Amy:I’m being evicted!
Elsie:Go to the landlord and tell him you have rights.
Ivy:Did you pay your rent?
Amy:No. But I’m certainly not going to now.
Grace:Even so, he can’t just kick you out.
Amy:They’re selling the building.
Brea:Ouch.
Sophie:Try bribing the landlord! Bake cupcakes!
Ivy:And pay your rent! Maybe it’s a joke.
I was too mad to make cupcakes. I slammed my apartment door and huffed down the block to the landlord’s office.
Bang! Bang!
He opened the door wearing a bathrobe, dirty sweatpants, and last night’s dinner.
“You can’t sell the building!” I yelled at him, trying and failing to keep calm. “I live there. People live there. That’s my home.”
“I have several offers.” He sniffed.
“Well, I’m not leaving,” I told him, crossing my arms.
He smirked at me. “Of course you are. You already received your notice.”
“You can’t just randomly evict someone like that.”
He laughed, exposing yellow teeth. “You have lease violations that haven’t been corrected. In fact, everyone in the building has lease violations or hasn’t been paying rent or lives in an uninhabitable unit. And some people, like you, have all three.”
“I always pay rent! Sometimes not on time, but I always pay! And that’s a lie. Nothing’s wrong with the units,” I said hotly.
“I already have lawyers working on the case,” he said with a shrug. “Either you’re going to move out, or I’ll have you evicted, and good luck trying to find another place to rent in this city with an eviction on your record.”
He slammed the door in my face.
I pounded on the door again.
He opened it a crack.
“You have to provide notice of lease violations,” I said. “You can’t just say there were some and not give a person time to correct them.”
“Rest assured I have a paper trail.”
“I never received anything,” I shot back.
“You did. I have video footage of me putting it in your apartment,” he retorted. “Good fuckin’ luck fighting a judge on it.”
The nerve.
I stomped back home. What was I going to do? I had literally tons of dirt and plants in the courtyard. I couldn’t just pack it all up and move it. I had spent years nurturing the plants, coaxing them to grow in the harsh urban environment. But I also couldn’t afford to have an eviction on my record. I literally wouldn’t be able to find anywhere else even halfway decent to rent.
I angrily searched through the tiny apartment. I surely wouldn’t have missed a lease-violation notice. But even though the apartment was small, I had still managed to pack it full of stuff. After half an hour of searching, I found a stack of letters stuck behind the fridge, and in the stack were several notices, which I had assumed were late-rent notices.
“Shoot,” I said as yet another bad decision came around to throw a pie in my face.
I didn’t like dealing with bills or bad news and tended to file those types of letters away to be dealt with when I had been fortified with chocolate and wine. That hadn’t happened, and with all the craziness of the start of wedding season, I had practiced out-of-sight, out-of-mind self-care.
I opened the slightly moldy letter and scanned it.
Amy Reynolds, this is your fourth notice of the following violations: an illegal animal, unauthorized plants, unauthorized pet fish, and junk in the courtyard that must be removed immediately.
“That rat-faced bastard.”
Amy:I’m going to be homeless.
Elsie:Get a lawyer.
Amy:Can’t afford one.
Amy:Also, he sent a ton of notices I ignored.
Ivy:I told you to stop shoving your mail behind the fridge.
Amy:I have a problem!
Sophie:I’ll bake you cupcakes. You can go bribe him.
Amy:It’s hopeless.
Amy:He said he would evict me if I didn’t move out.
Ivy:Low blow. You’ll never be able to rent again!
Grace:You can move in with my grandmother, if you don’t mind her candle making.
Amy:Is she still making candles that smell like her vag?
Grace: *sigh* Yes.
Amy:Hard pass.
Amy:Maybe I should move back to Harrogate. Maybe this is a sign.
Ivy:But we need you here!
Amy:I could come to Manhattan part-time, I guess.
Amy:Harrogate might be nice. You know, more space. I could be closer to the flowers. I would have a real bed.
Elsie:Our standards are so low.
Sophie:You might not want to make any decisions until after the town hall meeting. You always say you’re not moving back to Harrogate after you’ve been through a town hall meeting.
Amy: At least they serve free alcohol.
