I never expected to become the disciplinarian at the townhouse I lived in. In fact, it might've seemed a bit odd, in that I was only 25. On the other hand, I somehow conveyed a sense of authority even when I wasn't particularly trying to. My work was probably part of that. I'd been promoted at the engineering firm quickly after putting in long hours my first year there.
The townhouse had five apartments. The landlady, Nadia, lived in the largest one, which took up the first floor and basement. She was an attractive brunette divorcee in her mid-40s. Then on the second floor there was an apartment shared by a married couple, Tom and Rachel, who were in their mid-30s. On the third floor, there were two apartments, each with a loft platform. I rented one, and in the other lived my blonde neighbor Shannon, 22 and a recent college graduate. Shannon was the daughter of a couple of Nadia's friends, who lived in another city.
One Saturday afternoon, I came home from doing some weekend catch-up at the office and was about to go upstairs when I saw that the door of Nadia's apartment was ajar. I was about to knock and call out "Anyone home?" as Nadia and I sometimes shared a drink on weekend afternoons. Before my hand reached the door, though, I heard her voice, in a scolding tone, say, "It's unacceptable, and your behavior has to change."
"You're not my mother," came the answer. It was Shannon's voice.
Whatever was going on wasn't any of my business, and I turned to head upstairs. Before I got to the first step, Nadia called out: "Is someone there? Is that you, Peter?"
"Yes," I said, trying to sound casual, and not like someone who'd been listening in.
"Come in, Peter," Nadia said firmly. "You can help us with an issue."
I walked in and turned to see the two ladies in the dining room. Nadia was sitting at the wooden table with a pile of what looked like bills. Shannon was standing on the table's other side, a little closer to me. She was wearing a short skirt, as she often did. I always tried not to be too obvious about looking at her legs, but it was a difficult temptation to resist.
"What's going on?" I said. At that, Shannon kind of huffed, as if I were intruding. Nadia looked at her and then at me. "What's going on," Nadia said, "is that Shannon's having some adjustment issues, in terms of being a responsible tenant. For example, there's been loud music playing late at night the last few nights, as I'm sure you've noticed."
I thought about that for a moment. I'd been working late many nights, and now and then I'd heard Shannon's music blaring as I arrived home. The truth is, it hadn't bothered me much, but after Shannon's little huff, I wasn't immediately inclined to defend her. "A little," I acknowledged.
"There've been issues with the trash, the mail, leaving the front door unlocked and more," Nadia said, sharply. "And last weekend, she brought some guy home from a bar, and they were making the craziest noises that night and early the next morning," she added. Shannon gasped at that, and I didn't know what to say. How oblivious was I to things that went on in the townhouse?
"That is none of your business," Shannon railed at Nadia. "And even less any of his business." She tilted her head toward me, her blonde hair falling past the spaghetti strap on her blouse. I looked at that and then downward at her legs.
Nadia seemed slightly bemused, which I wasn't sure was about Shannon's response or my perusal of Shannon's legs. The landlady fixed her gaze on her unruly tenant, and said, in an authoritative voice, "Young lady, I want a responsible tenant, like Peter here. Perhaps you should get some lessons from him."
I smiled awkwardly at that, not sure where any of this was going. Then, to my surprise, Shannon looked at me with a sneer. "I don't think Peter's up to the task of giving me lessons," she said in a snotty tone. "He works all the time and wouldn't know a woman unless she came with a blueprint."
"What?" I replied, dumbfounded. How had this become about me? "Listen, I should get upstairs," I said, my voice trailing off.
