The Landlady: Based on a True Story

© 2004 David Quattrone. All Rights Reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 11/22/04

ISBN: 1-4208-1461-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4634-7686-1 (eBook)

Printed in the United States of America

Bloomington, Indiana

Contents

Chapter One

LOOKING FOR A PLACE

Chapter Two

MOVING ON

Chapter Three

GOLIATH’S RIDE

Chapter Four

SOME WORK FOR HER

Chapter Five

BEGINNING MY LOFT

Chapter Six

WORK QUIETLY

Chapter Seven

THE GIFT

Chapter Eight

HOUSE OF ANGUISH

Chapter Nine

JAMES IN FLAMES

Chapter Ten

KNOCK KNOCK

Chapter Eleven

WINTER

Chapter Thirteen

SIGNS OF FREEDOM

Chapter Fourteen

GRANDMA’S ARRIVAL

Chapter Fifteen

CONNECTICUT

Chapter Sixteen

THE ESCAPE

About the Author

Chapter One

LOOKING FOR A PLACE

My story begins in a telephone booth. Not that I was Superman, although the little round Puerto Rican lady coming up in this story thought I was. I was just a dude looking for an apartment.

Looking through the glass booth I could see a couple of ladies walking towards the car parked next to mine. It appeared to be a mother and daughter carrying some groceries from the all night Stop and Shop there.

I was watching the daughter, the daughter was watching the mother, the mother was watching me, and Goliath, my pet Doberman, was watching a bag of cheesedoodles balancing on top of an over stacked bag of groceries.

Poor Goliath, I thought, no stranger would ever feed him a cheesedoodle through the window of a car, or through anything else for that matter.

Goliath is a 100-pound Doberman Pinscher with a face like a rottweiler and a slim physique carved out of nothing but muscle and rib. He was also the reason I was having such a hard time finding a place to live. There weren’t too many places that would take you if you have a pet, and even fewer if you happen to own a beast like Goliath.

Anyway, I must keep trying, I thought. So I slipped another quarter into the slot and started to dial the next number on my list.

It rang at least three or four times before some lady picked up at the other end.

Hello?

I answered and sounded just as desperate as I was, I’m sure. Do you have an apartment for rent?

Yes, she replied, and then started the usual third degree.

How old are you and do you have a job? The two most important questions.

Yes, I do work and I’m 28 years old.

What do you do?

Well, I work in construction.

She must have thought I was worth checking out because she gave me directions to her house. I was then I decided to lower the boom and tell her about Goliath, who by now had a bag of my clothes open and was shredding a shirt all over the back seat.

I banged my fist on the glass booth and screamed Hey!!

He stopped shredding and just looked up at me with one of my sleeves hanging from his mouth.

The lady overheard me on the other end of the line and asked me if anything was wrong.

Well, I replied, I have a pet. Do you allow pets?

What kind? she asked in a tone a bit lower than before.

Oh, a dog, I answered.

What kind of dog? she asked with an even lower tone, giving me the impression that the answer would definitely be a no.

Well, I thought I had to be honest about this because she might wind up seeing him anyhow.

He’s a Doberman, I replied. A very good one, I added, looking through the window and noticing he had only half a shirt sleeve hanging from his teeth now.

I’m sorry, but I don’t think my husband would go for that. There are a lot of children in this neighborhood and those dogs have nasty reputations.

She said she was sorry again and hung up.

Ah, shit! I thought. This is becoming quite a dilemma. I felt like opening the door and kicking his little Dobey ass all over the parking lot. But instead I walked over to the Stop and Shop and bought a bag of cheesedoodles, which we split between us while I decided what to do next.

Well, boy, it looks like the kennel for you. I’ll come and get you as soon as I find us a place.

I felt like a real schmuck, and that look he gave me with those soggy orange crumbs still stuck to his pointy black face didn’t help much.

I started the car and pulled out of the parking lot, tossing him my share of the cheesedoodles.

I pulled into the kennel just as they were about to close. The woman who was locking up turned to look at me as I got out of the car.

Well, come on, she said as she turned the key back to unlock the door. We can get him in tonight, but from now on try and get here at least 15 minutes before we close.

Yeah, sure thing! I said as I opened the door and let Goliath walk in. He was very well trained and hardly ever needed a leash.

So that’s Goliath, she said. He’s been here before, hasn’t he?

Yup! I answered quickly. I still didn’t know where I’d be sleeping and I wanted to get going.

He’s not sick or anything? she asked, looking down at him.

No, why do you ask that?

Well, what’s that orange foam around his mouth?

Oh that. Just some food.

Okay, follow me, she said as we walked into the back to find him a cage.

We placed him in a cage between what looked to be some kind of a poodle to the left and, to the right, what had to be the ugliest damn pooch that ever stood on four legs. I cringed at the sight of it. I don’t know what that is but I’ll bet his owner drops him off a lot, I remembered thinking as I walked out and thanked the nice lady for squeezing Goliath in so late in the day.

Okay, now, where to stay? I asked myself. But the first thing that came to mind was food. (Yeah! Food!) Nothing like a good Italian hero with a few beers to wash it down.

I guess most people might have had a spoiled appetite under such stress. Not me! Nope! Stress is my middle name and I am immune to its repercussions.

Yup! Stress is my middle name and Shit’s Creek, USA, has been my mailing address ever since I could remember. Not that I am wallowing in self pity or anything. I am just stating the facts as I lived them. Actually, I’ve always gotten a real kick out of life, with every obstacle becoming a new challenge.

Speaking of challenges, I had to find a place to live, and fast. I didn’t have much money left and I knew I was going to need a month’s security in advance, or at least half a month’s security. Hopefully I can bullshit my way into a place with only that. And of course the first month’s rent to go along with it.

I’m sure things would be a lot more comfortable for me if only I hadn’t been born with this terminal disease. I medical terms it is pronounced: Hole-lee-poc-ets. In any other terms it just means that whatever money I might have manages to slip through my pockets.

Anyway, I had a few more numbers to call on my list for apartments and thought I might have better luck tomorrow. I figured I’d hit a motel for the night.

I’m sure anyone might be a little bit curious as to why I had to spend the night in a motel with my bags in the car, instead of switching apartments like any normal person might do. The reason is simply this: I am and probably always will be a person who acts on impulse and not on common sense. Just this morning I managed to impulse myself right out of my apartment on the account of it being just too damn small. It was so small that when I turned on the light the room temperature would rise to about eighty degrees.

I’ve heard of people converting their attic or even a spare bedroom into an apartment but my last landlord had succeeded in renting me some of this old closet space for the past two months. I was sure of it.

I pity the poor asshole that will have to live there next. It will probably be some unlucky fool with an oversized hound such as myself. That’s the reason why I got trapped inside the matchbox for half the spring. I can remember a few claustrophobic nights in that place when I felt like shooting Goliath’s brains out, but then with my luck I would probably only wound him and be stuck with all the hospital bills.

Anyway, I really wouldn’t want to hurt the beast, he’s been such a good friend. He has also been a real wise guy ever since the day he was born. His natural strength and dexterity gave him that privilege, and he was quite aware of it.

One of my sisters owns two dogs. What they are I have no idea. Just two little puffy white mutts of some kind and maybe it’s the perfume or something, but whenever they’re around Goliath he lifts his leg and pees on them, leaving them with a yellowish tint look.

He also manages to steal anything that’s not tied down and then hides it, resulting sometimes in a 20-minute search for your shoes in the morning. A search in which he will sit quietly observing from the corner of the room.

But let us get back to my dilemma. I needed a place, and fast. I managed to find a roadside motel for the night, and even in the dark I could see the rotten landscaping. Nothing but dead trees and a brown lawn. I noticed the brick steps leading up to the main office were broken in many places, forcing me to leap two steps at a time to avoid breaking my leg. I walked into an empty lobby and rang the bell on the desk.

The desk was chipped, and old dusty furniture sat in the corners. I wouldn’t be surprised if fucking Lurch came walking out of the back room to ask me if I rang. I waited only a few minutes before a little dark lady with a red spot between her eyes came out. I knew right away she had to be some kind of an Indian. Either that or she just popped a pimple. Then two little brown kids came walking out from behind her. Their foreheads were clear. I guess they weren’t old enough to have spots yet.

Anyway, she seemed to be a nice enough lady and she spent a few minutes giving me directions to my room. (It probably would have only taken a few seconds if she spoke some English.)

I found my room and fell right asleep. Morning came, with the sun