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At nine o'clock she put in her appearance at the Lazy Wren. Taft Eaton, somber in his dirty apron and work trousers, was sweeping the sidewalk. When he saw her he pretended first to ignore her. "What do you want?" he demanded finally. "You always mean trouble."
"You can do me a favor," Mary A
"What kind of favor?"
"I want to rent a room."
"I'm not in the rooming business."
"You know all the property around here. Where's a vacant place? Just a room-something cheap."
"This is colored around here."
"I know. It's cheaper." And, in her state of mind, she needed the comforting presence of Negroes.
"What's the matter with what you got?"
"None of your business. Come on-I don't have all day. I'm not going to tramp around looking; I don't have time."
Eaton considered. "No kitchen. And you know it's colored. Yeah, that's right; you like to hang around with colored. What for? What sort of kicks do you get out of it?"
Mary A
"On account of you, Carleton's in trouble with the law."
"It's not my fault."
"You're his girl. Anyhow, you were, once. Now it's that big blonde. What'd he do, get the taste?"
Patiently, Mary A
Eaton picked up his broom and began tugging bits of fluff from it. "There're a lot of rooming houses around here. I know one place; it's not so hot, though. One of the fry cooks lives there."
"Fine. Give me the address."
"Go ask him; he's inside. No," Eaton said, changing his mind as the girl started toward the door. "I'd be just as happy if you kept out of my place." He wrote a note, tore it from the imitation-leather pad, and presented it to her. "It's a dump; you won't stay there. Full of drunks and sewer rats. You ever seen those big sewer rats? They swim in from the bay." He indicated with his hands. "As big as dogs."
"Thanks," Mary A
"What's the matter?" Eaton said as the girl started off. "Don't you have somebody to pay your bills? A nice girl like you?"
He shook his head and resumed sweeping.
The building, she discovered, was as Eaton had described. Narrow and tall, it was wedged between two stores: a surgical supply house and a television repair shop. A flight of unpainted steps led up to the front porch. There she found a chair and an overturned wine bottle.
She rang the bell and waited.
A tiny, dried-up old colored woman with sharp black eyes and a long, beaked nose opened the door and inspected her. "Yes," she shrilled, "what did you want?"
"A room," Mary A
The name meant nothing to the old woman. "A room? No, we don't have any room."
"Isn't this a rooming house?"
"Yes," the old woman said, nodding and barring the door with her ski
"Great," Mary A
The old woman started to close the door, then stopped, reflected, and said: "How soon did you have to have it?"
"Right away. Today."
"Usually we rent only to colored."
"That makes no difference to me."
"You don't have many boyfriends, do you? This is a quiet house; I try to keep it decent."
"No boyfriends," Mary A
"Do you drink?"
"No."
"Are you positive?"
"I'm positive," Mary A
"What church do you belong to?"
"The First Presbyterian." She picked it at random.
The old woman pondered. "I try to keep this a quiet home, without a lot of noise and goings-on. There are eleven people living here and they're all decent, respectable people. All radios are expected to be off by ten o'clock in the evening. No baths are to be taken after nine."
"Swell," Mary A
"I have one vacant room. I'm not certain if I can rent it to you or not ... I'll show it to you, though. Do you care to step inside and see it?"
"Sure," Mary A
At nine-thirty she arrived at the redwood apartment that Joseph Schilling had acquired for her.
With her key she unlocked the door, but she did not go inside. The smell of new paint drifted around her, a bright, sickening smell. Cold morning sunlight filled the apartment; bands of pale illumination spread over the crumpled, paint-smeared newspapers scattered across the floor. The apartment was utterly lonely. Her possessions, still in pasteboard cartons, were stacked in the center of each room. Cartons, newspapers, sodden rollers still oozing from the night before ...
Going downstairs to the companion apartment, she rapped sharply on the door. When the owner-a middle-aged man, balding-appeared, she asked: "Can I use your phone? I'm from upstairs."
She called the Yellow Cab people and then went outdoors to wait.
While she was supervising the loading of the cab, the landlady showed up. The meter ticked merrily as she and the driver carried the pasteboard cartons downstairs and piled them in the luggage compartment; both of them were perspiring and gasping, glad to get the job finished.
"Good grief," the landlady said. "What does this mean?"
Mary A
"So I see. Well, what's the story? I think I have a right to be informed."
"I've changed my mind; I'm not renting it." It seemed obvious.
"I suppose you want your deposit back."
"No," Mary A
"What about all that trash upstairs? All those newspapers and paint; and it's half-painted. I can't rent it in that condition. Are you going to finish?" She followed after Mary A
"What are you complaining about?" The woman a
"I've got a good mind to call your father," the landlady said.
"My what?" Then she understood, and at first it seemed fu
Sliding into the front of the cab, she slammed the door. The driver, having loaded the last carton in the back, got in behind the wheel and started up the motor.
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," the landlady said.
Mary A
When the cab driver saw the room she was moving into, he shook his head and said: "Girlie, you're nuts."
"I am, am I?" She put down her armload and started back out of the room into the dusty, water-stained hall.
"You sure are." He plodded alongside her, down the hall and down the stairs to the sidewalk. "That was a swell apartment you left-all those redwood panels. And in a classy neighborhood."
"You go rent it, then."
"Are you really going to live here?" He picked up two cartons and began lugging them up the steps. "This job is going to cost you plenty, girlie. What's on the meter is only the down payment."
"Fine," Mary A