Interlude: Nick Hollistan

I’m not sure whether it’s some kind of sciencey nonsense or just all in my head or both, but these last couple weeks have felt frustratingly long. I carefully clamber out of bed. I call it bed, it’s basically a futon sitting in a glorified walk-in closet. My life right now really isn’t that glamorous. Not that I mind. It’s temporary, and Maurice and Mister T let me stay for free as long as I help out sometimes. Well, Mister T likes me helping out, Maurice is just fine with it as long as I don’t bug him when he’s trying to do something. Besides, I just have one more year of High School, then hopefully I can get good scholarships to some college and only remember this place as my hometown where I met some interesting people, where my old friends are from. Oh yeah, and if I’m entirely honest, where I met the boss lady.

Speaking of helping out, I get myself dressed, functional, and ready for the day. I like to get the helping out stuff done early, so in the afternoons and evenings I can hang out with my friends. I know, I know, It’s summer and I’m a kid, I should probably be going to some kind of camp or something. And Mister T would definitely give me some leeway if I really wanted to go to camp. But camps’re a little harder to deal with when you don’t really have much in terms of disposable income. At least, not the sort of income you can really report. And besides, I can totally bullshit this helping into sounding like some kind of property management internship thingy on my college apps, so who really needs camp. Dressed for the day, I shove my bathing suit, a pad of paper, some flip flops, and a book into my drawstring bag to be ready for anything, then head over to the office. Maurice’s apartment is on the first floor, so it’s super easy.

Beside and adjoining Mister Thomas’s apartment is the small office for the apartment’s management. Basically nothing more than a couple desks, one computer, a request box that’s always empty because what kind of person would file a paper request in this day and age, a lock box that I’m not allowed into, and some folders for keeping the leases. My sort of job is simple. For starters every few days I read through all the requests and complaints, then check them out to see whether they’re easily fixable by Mister T and his actual paid assistants, or whether he’ll need to bring in expert help on the problem. Nine times out of ten, it’s just some small thing that I could even take care of if I was paid and had the time and wanted to. Then, after checking out all the problems, I write them down in a list by how irritating the problem is and leave it on the desk. The computer desk, that is.

I check the paper request box. As expected, it’s empty. I move over to the computer. Checking the complex’s email, I see just one. Olivia Littleton. I recognize the name, she must have emailed a few times. Says her hot water isn’t working. I move over to the filing cabinet, thumbing through to Littleton. She’s in apartment 307. I definitely recognize that number. I want to say I visited her apartment earlier this week. I check the old lists. Sure enough, sitting on the last list with a checkmark by it is 307 Littleton Hot Water Not Working, Basic Plumbing Check. And the same thing on the list before. And the one before that. Either someone’s using up the hot water all the time and not telling Ms. Littleton or something’s seriously wrong. Either way, probably should have an actual plumber come in to be sure. That said, I still need to check it out. Locking up the computer and the filing cabinet, I head out of the office and to the stairs.

The half indoor stairwell connecting all four floors of the complex is hot. Every time I forget how warm it actually is, since I only need to use it about once a week. Fortunately, it’s summer time, so I’m prepared for the heat. Heading up two flights of stairs, I walk over to apartment 307. I knock on the door. Three sharp raps. A woman, looks in her mid thirties maybe, opens up. “Yes?” she begins before looking out and seeing me, “Oh, Nick, you’re here to check in on the water?”

I nod. “Yes ma’am,” I say politely.

Ms. Littleton shakes her head. “You don’t need to be so formal,” she says with a chuckle as she lets me in. “I don’t know what’s wrong with it, after you guys came through last time it worked for a few days, then it was gone again.”

I pause in her entry hall, uncertain whether it’s even worth moving further in. “Just in the bathroom, or all the hot water in the apartment?” I ask.

“All over,” she says.

I nod and smile. “Okay. We’ll be back with people who can actually fix this.”

She looks a little confused through her smiling face. “You don’t want to check out the water heater.”

I shake my head. “I’ve done that every other time. If it’s still a problem, I’ve clearly been missing something,” I reply honestly.

“Fair enough.” She nods.

I give her my best smile. “Well, hopefully we can give you a timeframe this afternoon, and it’ll actually be fixed for longer than a week this time.”

She chuckles. “Hopefully,” she says.

“Bye, Ms. Littleton,” I add as I head back for the door.

She smiles and waves. “Have a great day, Nick,” she replies.

I head back down to the office. Mister Thomas is already up. “Mister Hollistan, you’re already up,” he says as I walk in, “How are things?”

I shrug. “Alright. I checked and I’ll write it down, but the only request was Ms. Littleton again.” Mister Thomas chuckles. “I agree, it’s been three straight weeks,” I say, “Either we’ve been missing something or there’s some user issues going on. I figure we might should call an actual plumber just in case it’s the former. If the plumber confirms it’s not a real problem and the reset we’ve been doing is all he does…” I trail off. I don’t want to say we ignore it, because we really shouldn’t, but we just don’t worry as much about it might be okay, right? I write down the note and put it on Mister T’s desk.

“I can see that. I’ll think about it,” Mister T replies, “Other than the work, how are you doing?”

I smile and shrug. “I’m doing okay, all things considered. My dad has reached out through my friends to check on me, so progress. And don’t call it work, there’s child labor laws we don’t want to be dealing with.”

“Nope, you’re seventeen now, so I don’t have to worry about the child labor laws anymore. I’m just circumventing normal labor laws,” he jokes.

I laugh at that one, shaking my head. “Illegal’s still illegal. That’s why we call it ‘help’, not ‘work’.”

“Unless it’s on a college or job application, remember. Then you call it an internship and I agree wholeheartedly if they try to contact me,” he reminds me. He doesn’t need to, but he always does. I think he can tell I don’t want to be in town and supports me in that. Or he just wants the homeless squatter gone. Either way, I still appreciate it.

“Enjoy your day,” I add, “Anyone else coming in today?”

“Don’t think so, why?” he replies.

I shrug. “I have some summer reading to take care of, and it’s Friday.”

“Maurice is back from whatever thing he left for this time?” he asks me.

I nod. “Yeah, so I’m pretty sure he’s going to restart his study group thing. So I figured I could stop here this evening to do it and not worry about them bothering me or me bothering them.”

Mister Thomas nods. “Sure, I guess,” he says.

“Great, thanks,” I reply, “See you then.” I head towards the door.

“See you?” he replies, though it sounds like a question not a statement.

I’m already heading towards the mall. Or I would be. Except as I come to the corner of the complex’s parking lot, a woman walks out from leaning on a lightpost. “Mister Hollistan,” she says. It’s unnerving in a very unique way, which gives me a gut feeling I know what this is about. Different, but the same as the boss.

“Yes?” I say.

She smiles a thin, cold smile at me. Or at least in my general direction. “I’m an acquaintance of a… friend of yours.”

“Our friend hasn’t been around. I assumed she graduated,” I reply.

The woman nods. “She did. Doesn’t mean your friendship has to end, if you don’t want it to.”

It is suspicious, but the right amount of suspicious. Still, I should call her on the sussiness of this whole situation. Shouldn’t I? “So, acquaintance? You’re not her friend?”

“Not exactly, no.”

“Can I trust you?”

She pauses. Really thinking about it. Then she answers simply, “Depends.” Honestly, makes me trust her a little more, because that is the exact sort of non-answer the boss’d say.

“Does she trust you?” I press.

She thinks again. “More than she probably should,” she answers. Then, as though to demonstrate that fact, she pulls out one of the boss lady’s envelopes. Except, from the look on her face I don’t think she realizes exactly how far that’ll go in convincing us friends of Therese that the boss trusts her. “Whether or not you trust me, if you want to continue your friendship with her, I’ll facilitate that.”

I nod. “I do.” I pull my book out from my bag, opening it to the bookmark. As she places the envelope in the book, I add, “Though it hardly seems fair that you know my name, and I don’t know yours.”

She pauses for a fraction of a fraction of a second, but smoothly deposits the envelope and returns to her leaning position. “If you must call me, you may call me Fadila,” she says.

I chuckle. “Wouldn’t help much if I must call you,” I reply with a smile.

She just looks at me. It sends a shiver down my spine. I know that look. It’s the you’re-not-as-funny-as-you-think look. Therese used it all the time.

“By the way, you and she should probably know, the brother of a friend of mine works in the city council’s office, and he says that they’re, if nothing changes in the near future, likely going to vote against the college’s attempt to buy up more land for expansion.” It’s only fair I tell her. I don’t know which way they want the vote to go, but they should know the leaning. It’s what us friends are for. In this specific context, not most others.

“Thank you for the knowledge,” this Fadila says flatly. I can’t tell whether she likes my info or not.

“See you again soon?” I say as a question. I assume once her and my school years start up again, it’ll grow more consistent, but much like everything else, summer makes the timing nebulous.

“You might well,” she offers a nonanswer to my vague question, then she turns on her heel and walks down the road.

I shake my head and put my book back into my bag. I know what’s in the envelope, and I don’t need it really. Not yet, anyways. I’m going to the mall. I’m going to buy myself some coffee and brunchy food. Then I’m going to meet up with my school friends for something entertaining. Like swimming in the river or watching a movie or playing laser tag. The benefits of being friends with Therese can wait until this evening. Because, while the boss lady might find secrets a fun way to spend time with friends, and honestly I do sometimes too, sometimes you just gotta let yourself forget the world around you and relax with people who know you well enough to know that you’re there to forget the world and relax.