Page 15 of Keeping Denver

"Then come on in, and I'll show it to ya." The man disappears inside the building passing the three men as we make our way up the stairs. The first thing to hit me when I walk in is the smell of urine and stale cigarettes. "The studio is on the third floor. The elevator is out, so you have to take the stairs," the man tells me. "Name's Harold, by the way."

"Nice to meet you, Harold." I fake pleasantries.

"Here we are." Reaching what I assume is the studio apartment, Harold fishes a set of keys from his pocket and unlocks the door. He steps into the apartment first and I take a hesitant step behind him, leaving the door open and a few feet of space between us. I don't need to go any further because the place is small. To my left is a kitchenette, and to my right is an area large enough for a bed and possibly a tiny sofa. Shuffling forward a bit, I notice a door. I open it to reveal a bathroom. The appliances look to be older than me and the floor is an awful yellow linoleum. As drab as the place seems, all I can do is smile. "I'll take it."

"You got the money for the deposit and first month's rent on you? Because I'm not looking to waste my time. I got two other people interested in the place."

"I have the money. You said it was thirteen hundred a month with a five hundred deposit. Right?"

Harold smiles, showing his yellow stained teeth. "That's what I said."

Reaching into my bag, I pull out the exact amount of cash needed and hand it over. Harold stuffs the payment into his front pocket and passes me the key to the apartment in exchange. "The previous tenants are still in the process of gathering the rest of their things," Harold points to a pile of boxes beside the door. "And the gas won't be on until tomorrow. Will it be a problem for you to wait until tomorrow to move in? Wouldn't want you to freeze in here."

I shake my head. "No. Tomorrow is fine. It gives me time to get a few things for the place."

"Alright then, girly. You got yourself an apartment. Have a good day."

Harold goes to leave, and I stop him. "Wait. Do I need to sign a lease or anything?"

"Nope. You're all set."

I find it strange Harold doesn't require any written agreement, but this is my first time renting an apartment on my own. What do I know? Besides, by the looks of the building and the neighborhood, the people here don't look like they put much stock into formalities.

* * *

The next morning, after stopping at the store to buy a twin air mattress, I hop on the subway again with the biggest smile the whole hour commute to my apartment. When I arrive at my apartment building, no men are sitting on the stoop. Maybe because it's seven o'clock on a Sunday morning? Either way, I shrug and make my way inside and up the staircase. Using my key, I insert it into the lock, only to discover it doesn't fit. "What the hell?" Pulling the key out, I stick it back in and let out a nervous giggle. No! This is not happening.

I try knocking on the door in hopes the former tenants are still here and have a spare key. I bang on the door three times with no answer before trying the key once more. This time it breaks off in the lock. "Shit." There must be a mix-up. Harold must have given me the wrong key. I knock on the door again, this time a little harder. "Hello! Is anyone there?"

"Hey! Knock that pounding off, girl. You're going to wake up the whole damn building." A lady with a Latino accent chastises and I give her my attention. The woman is rail-thin with a weathered face and the kind of red hair that comes from a box.

"I'm sorry. But this is my apartment, and my key broke off in the lock. I was hoping the former renters were still here."

"No way is this your apartment, Chica. I'm the building manager, and I sure as hell, don't remember renting it to you."

"You're the manager?" My good mood suddenly vanishes.

"That's what I said. I should make you replace that lock you just broke, girl." The woman gripes with a cigarette hanging from her fingers.

"I…I rented this place from Harold. He's the one who answered the phone when I called about the online ad."

"Dios." The lady shakes her head. "That bastard Harold is the guy who lived in this apartment. I served him eviction papers a week ago. The son of a bitch scammed you. I'm going to bet you aren't the only person either."

"What!" I shout. "That can't be right. Please. I met him here yesterday. He showed me the apartment and took my money." I panic.

"I'm sorry, Chica. You got swindled. He and your money are long gone."

My body slumps against the wall as the contents of my stomach threatened to make an appearance. The lady looks on with pity and sighs.

"Look. I can see you're in a bind. I can't get your money back, but I can still rent the apartment to you. Going to need eight hundred for the place." She pulls a drag from her cigarette, leaving red lipstick on the filter.

"Eight hundred!" I snap my head up. "I gave Harold eighteen hundred."

The woman nearly chokes on the cigarette she's smoking. "Eighteen fucking hundred. Shit, girl. Why the hell did you think a dump like this would go for that much?"

At this point, there is no stopping the tears from flowing past my cheeks. "I was thinking I was tired of living in the shelter and needed a home."

The lady places her hand on her hip. "I get it. But business is business, and I can't let you have the place without payment. I'm sorry." There is a hint of sympathy in the woman's eyes but not enough to waver on her deal.