In my first few years after college, when I was finally living my dream of working and living in the city, I bounced around a lot between different apartments, always "leveling up" into places that were somehow both nicer and more affordable than the previous one. The best one of those without question was the sublet I practically stole from my college friend Dan. He had a really nice one bedroom in the hip neighborhood I always wanted to live in, and it was newly rehabbed with all the cool modern finishes of the time. But the ultimate feature of this unit was its access to a large rooftop terrace with one of the best skyline views I had ever seen. The terrace was available to all tenants of the building, but in all the times I hung out at Dan's place, I never saw anybody else use it.
After only about six weeks of living in that apartment, Dan was offered a job in another city that he just couldn't pass up. He asked if I would be willing to sublease the apartment from him for the final ten months of his lease, but I knew there was no way I could swing it on my salary.
"Dude, I love your place but I just can't afford it," I told him. "I'm probably only paying half of what you are right now."
"I thought about that," Dan said. "But listen, at my new job I am going to be making a lot more money, and rent is going to be so much cheaper there. If you can afford to pay 60% of the rent, I'll cover the other 40%. I just want someone cool to have it."
I was stunned. This was basically my ideal apartment, and it could actually be mine for the better part of a year.
"I'll even keep the electric in my name," he added, as if he needed to sweeten the deal.
"I fucking accept."
It was sometime in the middle of April when I took over the apartment. I technically still had until June 1 at my other place, but I could not get all my stuff into the new one fast enough. Completely over living with roommates, and eager to call that sweet new apartment with the rooftop terrace my home, I rented a truck and moved all my meager possessions over there on a Saturday afternoon. Fortunately Dan left some of his furniture and even his TV for me, so I didn't really have all that much moving to do. I spent the next couple of weeks setting it up to my personal taste, with some original art that talented friends of mine had made, and some indie band posters and whatnot. In one corner by the window I set up my turntables and little record collection, promising myself that I would work on my shitty DJ skills more now that I had my own place.
Just about every night I would sit by myself out on the terrace in an old folding camping chair that Dan left for me. I would drink a beer or two or six and look out at the city and marvel at how lucky I was. I got in the habit of smoking a single cigarette as I sat out there, but not because I particularly enjoyed smoking. It just seemed like the right thing to do outdoors in nice weather with a view like that.
In May, some new neighbors moved in across the hall from me. They had movers bringing everything up the stairs and into the apartment, so I didn't actually get to meet them in the hall. But I got a peek through the doorway and saw what appeared to be a couple about my age, attractive, and most likely Indian. They seemed nice enough, though I hoped to myself that they wouldn't discover the terrace we shared, not wanting to disrupt the peaceful moments of solitude I was beginning to covet.
A few days later, I walked out to the terrace on a Friday night with a couple tall cans of beer and was a bit disappointed to see that I wasn't alone. My new neighbors from across the hall were sitting in some newer chairs, drinking a red from some oversized wine glasses. Both were smoking cigarettes, and both turned to face me when they heard the door open.
"Hi there," said the man.
"Hope I'm not interrupting anything," I replied.
"Not at all. Have a seat if you like."
I sat down in my ratty old chair and introduced myself, cracking open my can of beer.
"I'm Raj," my neighbor said politely. "And this is Nisha."
Raj was a pretty handsome guy, tall with rugged, movie star-like looks and hair. He had a warm smile that made me feel immediately comfortable. And Nisha was absolutely gorgeous, petite with long black hair and eyes that sparkled. She didn't smile but I felt welcomed by her as well. They were dressed casual and hip, in the neighborhood uniform of the time, which was something like dark skinny jeans and v-neck American Apparel t-shirts.
"Have you lived here long?" Nisha asked.
"I moved in just a few weeks ago actually," I replied.
"We were wondering if anybody ever actually came out here," Raj said.
"Honestly I have no idea why, but nobody else ever does," I said, pulling a cigarette out of a pack I bought two weeks prior.
Nisha handed me a lighter.
"Well I hope you don't feel as if we've intruded. We really love it here," she said.
"Not at all," I assured them.
The three of us, plus an occasional friend of mine or theirs spent a lot of time together on that terrace as the weeks went by and spring evolved into early summer. We were getting to know each other pretty well through the conversations held over lots of beer, wine, and cigarettes. Raj had some kind of finance job, while Nisha's job had something to do with one of the major advertising firms downtown. It turned out that we all went to the big state college together, even taking many of the same classes. But our circles did not intersect at school. While I had a large group of diverse friends, mostly musicians and artists, bartenders and baristas, Raj and Nisha it seemed only really hung out with other well-off Indian kids.
Raj became somewhat of a good friend, and started making a habit out of trying to impress me with some new band or rapper he had just discovered, insisting we listen to it right away on the crappy iPod dock speaker he always lugged out there. Of course, he was way behind on most of the stuff he was trying to introduce me to, but I usually played along, nodding approvingly whenever he played the hot track off that new album that I already had the leaked version of months ago.
Nisha I didn't connect with as closely, but we were certainly friendly with one another, and honestly she was just so easy on the eyes I would still probably like her if she never said a word. As the weather got hotter, her shorts and skirts got shorter, and it became harder for me to try to avoid staring at her legs. The outfits she wore on weekend nights while pre-partying for a night out at the bars were sometimes a bit too much. One such night, when she wore a skin-tight, dangerously short navy blue dress, I decided I needed to say something.
"I think I've decided I like Indian girls now," I said playfully. "When are you guys going to hook me up with one of your cute friends?"
Raj and Nisha both laughed.
"We actually have a group of friends coming over tonight actually. And Ritika is single. Let me know if you think she's cute and I'll set you up," Nisha offered.
Raj scowled at me and shook his head, letting me know Ritika was probably not the one for me.
Within an hour I think six or seven people showed up on the terrace to party with Raj and Nisha. All of the couples were similar: gorgeous young Indian women and sort of average looking but very well dressed young Indian men. Nice people, obviously pretty well-off, but sort of painfully boring. It was clear Raj and Nisha were the cool couple in their friend group.
"Nice place! Surprised I didn't get stabbed outside though," joked one of the guys in reference to our still-gentrifying neighborhood. I absolutely hated comments like that. I made a mental note to try to steal that guy's girlfriend.
When Ritika showed up, I understood immediately why Raj had made that face. I wouldn't call her fat, but she was a lot curvier than her other friends, to put it politely. And lots of makeup, accessories and jewelry could not disguise the fact that she just wasn't as naturally pretty as her other friends. Still, when Nisha introduced her to me, I feigned interest and ended up talking with Ritika for most of the night. I read once somewhere that if you give the most attention to the least attractive female in a group, that the others will take notice, making you more attractive to them. Plus, Ritika was very easy to talk to, and she was stroking my ego just the right way by laying the flirt on as thick as her thighs.
The more we drank, the more Ritika seemed like a viable option. Sure, compared to the other four gorgeous models on the terrace, she wasn't much to look at. But she was the only single one, and was at least engaging and had some pretty nice boobs. And maybe if we hooked up, word would get around to her friends that I was a good lover with a big dick, which might increase my chances with one of the hot ones down the road. This is the type of perverse chess game only a drunk me could play.
