RichEisbrouch
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Less than a month later, I discovered the UCLA girls – Annette, Teri, and Veronica – were moving out. “The place is impossible,” Teri told me. “And it keeps getting louder. We thought about staying, now that we’ve finished school, but...” “We graduated! How about that!” Veronica sounded just a bit surprised. “We almost have jobs,” Annette added. “And Mack’s a creep.” “In what way?” I asked Teri. “He’s like something out of Stephen King.” “You’re not
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With Sally and Mack, the problems started quietly and never let up. We all knew she didn’t trust him. But I didn’t realize how much he scared her. “He’s always asking for things,” she told me. “The kind of easy things you do for any neighbor. Like could I watch Gini for a minute? Have I seen the dog? Do I have change for the washer? But it frightens me just to talk with him.” “Why?” She had no rational answer. “Where’s Joni through this?” I asked. “Taking Kyl
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Vic cracked first. “Gave notice this morning,” he told me. When I got home from work, he was sitting on our landing, I think waiting for me. “Couldn’t you ignore them?” I asked. “Don’t wanna.” “It’s that bad?” “It’s more than the noise. It’s Mack. He’s bad news.” “What about the ‘Eviction Bonus?’” I joked. “I never thought you’d give that up.” Obviously, this was important, because for a moment he considered. “It’s not worth it,” he finally said. “
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Our first newest neighbors took Apartment 5 – the two-bedroom. Apparently, the building owners – quickly learning from their bout with Younger Brother and the band – felt it again wise to offer half the higher rent to get “experienced managers.” That was the phrase used in their latest letter. “I hate seeing these letters on our doors,” Sally told us. “I’m always sure the next one will evict us.” “We’re under lease,” Vic reminded her. “Though not if they pay us off.” That rainbo
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While Bret and Lola were fighting, something as strange was happening across the courtyard – the New York women were having their own dirty little war. Lisa – the one with the baby – wanted to marry Dale – the mechanic who shared a place with Lonnie. All through the randy summer – and despite, it appeared, her roommates’ raunchy objections – Lisa and Dale had managed to stay together. “He’s the guy I want to be with,” I heard her tell Teri, possibly hoping for more sympathy from the
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Bret lost his first job within a month. Not as apartment manager – his full-time job. When the new owners described him as a “chef,” it was another small lie. He was actually a short-order cook. Lola’s “in advertising” more precisely translated to “working for a sign company.” “The problem with people,” Bret told me – soon after his, apparently latest, “lay-off” – “is they’re real selfish. Always thinking of themselves. Never thinking what I might need.” “What happened?” I ask
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Bret and Lola – the new manager and his not quite wife – “We lied a little” – moved into Apartment 10, a downstairs one-bedroom. The owners apparently no longer wanted to waste a two-bedroom apartment on hired help. “Gotta pay for those lilies,” Claire joked. Bret was slightly overbuilt and rode a dinged Suzuki. Lola drove a proper four-door Honda, but something in her walk lured Vic’s leers back to the courtyard. “The girls stopped swimming anyway,” he sulked. “We’re only
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For most of the summer, Claire urged Sally to complain about the noise. “You’ve been here longest,” she said. “They’ll listen to you.” “I doubt it,” Sally replied “Why?” I asked. The three of us were standing near the mailboxes. “The new owners want to tear out my garden,” Sally said. “What!” Claire was outraged. “When did they say this?” I asked. “No one told me,” Sally whispered. “I overheard.” “Who?” Claire demanded. Sally tried to calm her
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Romantically, Kevin – the band’s bass player – began the summer games by making the first pass at Teri, from UCLA. He’s Black Irish. She’s Tuesday Weld. This was stuff soaps were made on. One afternoon, several weeks after they’d been seeing each other, I caught her whistling at him from the pool. It was mid-June, the water was warmer, but Teri was merely sunbathing in something shy of a bikini. Kev quickly joined her, soon there was a splash, and he was shivering – fully dressed – ne
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Sometime in March – around the ides – we all woke one Saturday to find envelopes taped to our doors. They were also taped to the doors of the three empty apartments, so at first I figured it was just another hit by the local rug shampooing company. Nope: the building had been sold. Our new owners were Fantasy Realty, perhaps not the best name even for Southern California. Our rents would stay the same if we signed new one-year leases (enclosed). Utilities remained as they were: gas a
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Of the nine buildings on the block, this was the one with four empty apartments – now three. “We haven’t run ads ‘cause of the cheap Heldigger brothers,” Gabe said. “They want to sell the place so badly, they forget it looks better with people in it.” Vic had different thoughts. “Nah, the fewer stiffs they’re stuck with, the less they have to pay off.” Sally said she couldn’t imagine what Mrs. Heldigger was thinking. “Though she is somewhat older than I am.” “No one’
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Sally was the owner of the piano that played in the apartment under mine. She was cheerfully white-haired, nearly eighty, and small – though admittedly almost everyone seems short to me. Once in a while, I’ll find myself in a supermarket, staring into some guy’s shoulder, thinking, “Now this man is tall.” Sally was as friendly as you’d ever want your grandma to be. “I hope you didn’t hear me playing last night,” she apologized, the first time we met. I laughed. “I liked it.”
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My other apartments always centered on my bedroom. I passed through the living room, kept snacks in the fridge, but my computer, stereo, phone, and TV were all within inches of where I slept. If I could have showered there, I might have – warm water and lying down being two of my favorite things. I read, ate, wrote, graded papers, and paid bills in bed. It’s part of being six-four: only my mattress is scaled to size. And it didn’t hurt that I could have company. When I moved to LA, I
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The building was called Montalvo Palms, the name written in black plywood script tacked at an angle out front, just above the ground-floor stonework. There were only two palms. Once there may have been more. Each rose forty-feet, less majestic than spindly. The first was in the courtyard, and its raggedy twin anchored the bramble fronting our curb. Rumor also had several dogs buried there. Montalvo was the street. Long before it was sheared into suburban dead ends – “Cul-de-sacs” a real
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Actually, it took longer than overnight to move. For one thing, I’d already paid January’s rent, and Doug, not unreasonably, worked from a no-refund base. He also recycled beer cans by the pound, though not because he loved being green. But that night, even before pocketing my keys, I told him I was going. “Figures,” he muttered. “My luck.” “Nothing personal,” I lied. My grandmother would be shamed. “It’s just that seeing family again, and so many friends, it made me realize I
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A Quick Introduction From 1993 to 2001, I informally chronicled some of the activities in the small Los Angeles apartment building where I lived. I sent letters annually to a group of my friends, and they seemed to enjoy them. In fact, no matter what I’ve written since, most of my friends say, “You know what I always liked best of yours? Those apartment letters. They were really funny.” Buoyed by that, when I started to write full-time, I wrote a novel based on the letter
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Dirty Doug was sitting in his grey lump of a chair, watching football with the sound off, the headset from his huge, silent stereo looped around his neck, a cheap beer in one hand, and a bag of Ralphs’ Best Chips in the other. He might have been sitting that way for three weeks. He might have been dead. He was just as I’d left him when I’d flown east for Christmas. He wore a grey sweatshirt – the color of the chair – missing sleeves and its chest logo through overuse or malice. His w
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There was no mistaking Conor’s return. Partway through The Hollywood Reporter one up-to-that moment uneventful morning, I came upon that fully-embarrassing childhood photo my father had sent him. Conor had spared me a caption, so I could still find work among strangers. And though I wasn’t clearly recognizable, I knew all my friends would know. He’d tell them. I called him at home, expecting to get the machine. “Hi,” he said, as though we’d spoken moments before. “Why didn’t you hold out for
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In April, my parents mentioned what was coming to be their annual visit. I begged off, still without explaining Conor: “A lot’s happened this year,” I said. “I want to loaf.” “You deserve that,” Mom agreed. “But think about a house,” Dad added. “Be a great tax write-off.” “It’s something to consider.” Especially since I no longer had a sometime home on Wilshire Boulevard. The last I’d actually heard from Conor was his February phone message. Two months later, I s
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Conor stayed gone. His agent quickly told the producers he wasn’t coming back, and an assistant arrived to pack up his office. No one’s calls were returned. I went to his apartment, but they wouldn’t let me up the elevator. I left my key at the security desk with a note. I called. Nothing. This wasn’t even industry news. For one thing, it was television, below film. For another, it was sit-com, below hour-long episodic. Finally, Conor was a second-ranked writer on a
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At work, our offices were quickly reassembled – we were in business to make money. Nothing had really been lost, just jumbled. “Good thing you were here to check,” one producer quipped. “Why were you here?” his partner pursued. “Looting!” I grinned. “Funny man.” Well. Yes. Actually. Despite my busy schedule, I hadn’t entirely forgotten my summer promise to myself – about writing. In August, waiting for Conor on hot nights, I’d slowly pieced together a half-hou
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For my thirtieth birthday, Conor didn’t even try to sneak up a surprise party. Instead, he gave a terrific dinner at a great restaurant inviting nearly everyone from work and a mess of our other friends. Afterwards, he took me to Molokai for a week. “How’d you get us the time off?” I asked. “I blackmailed the producers.” I hoped he was kidding. My parents sent me a watch – gold, fancier than anything I’d ever owned or would buy, though not so flashy I wouldn’t wear it.
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At work, our show started a new season with two nice surprises: I got a promotion – one I almost didn’t take. And Conor was nominated for an Emmy. Either would have been great news, Conor’s especially. But he was up against “The Master Of My Domain” episode from Seinfeld. “Talk about being jerked around,” he cracked. I needed to be supportive – though given the choice, I would have easily voted for Seinfeld. “Maybe there’ll be a backlash,” I consoled. “Right! Most
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The next time I saw Donna, Garth had flown back to Arizona. She said, “He really liked you guys! Can’t wait to see you again.” “Great!” I said, wondering if I sounded convincing. “He said we should all go to Hawaii.” Right: Garth. Conor. Sand. From Here To Eternity without me. “He’s harmless, you know,” she went on. “He can flirt all he wants, but he won’t follow through. Not when I’m around. Half the time he doesn’t realize he’s flirting.” I wanted to tel
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In April, our show went on hiatus. That should have given me a break, if unpaid. But our producers had a pilot picked up. “More work,” Conor moaned. “More money.” “There is that.” He brightened. “We gotta think how to spend it. How about a quick trip to Europe?” “That would be great, but there are things I need first.” “Like a new car?” “Not as new as you’re thinking and not as slick. But yeah.” “Then buy it.” When I got home from car shoppin
