Mark Kelly moved as quietly as he could down the first floor hallway, hoping to make it to the stairs without running into any of the other tenants or, more importantly, Mrs. McGill, the owner of the three story rooming house. The odds of running into the former were slim, seeing that four of his fellow students had scored tickets to the third game of the newly instituted National League Divisional Playoffs down in New York City. The upstart New York Mets, who had finished the '68 season in next to last place, were leading the Atlanta Braves two games to none in the best of five series and could earn a World Series slot if they won this afternoon. No, there was little chance of running into that group, seeing as they had caught the early train into the city.
Passing Mrs. McGill's apartment, the crew cut nineteen year old literally held his breath, not daring to exhale until he was well clear of it. He was already two weeks behind in his rent, and even though the sixty-two year old widow was said to be pretty understanding about the occasional financial problems of 'her boys', as she liked to call them, he wasn't anxious to put that assumption to the test. It had only been three months since he'd moved in and it wasn't that he was just going to be late with the payment, he couldn't even see it being on the horizon.
Looking back now, Mark had to admit that it had been a mistake to bet the rent money on the full house he'd drawn at Delta Gamma Phi's end of the month poker game. What were the odds, he had told himself at the time, that someone would have a better hand? As it turned out, they hadn't been as long as he'd believed, since one of the fraternity brothers had been holding four of a kind and won the pot.
Reaching the base of the stairs, Mark had just placed a foot on the bottom step when the sound of his name from behind caused him to jump, almost losing his balance in the process. After regaining his footing, the sophomore turned and found Jimmy Banks, a senior, coming out of his room at the back of the hall. Jimmy had been invited to go to the game with the others, but declined, saying it wasn't worth cutting class for. He was a lifelong Yankees fan and didn't buy into all the 'Miracle Mets' hoopla.
"Hey Mark," he said in a voice much too loud, from the younger man's perspective, "how's it going?"
"Keep it down, will you!" Mark said in an urgent but hushed tone.
"What's with you?" Jimmy asked, a perplexed expression on his face.
In the same low tone, Mark explained that he was late with the rent money and he was trying to avoid Mrs. McGill. The older student listened intently, nodding his head as he did.
"Mrs. McG is usually pretty cool about things like that," Jimmy, who had lived there for three years, said. "Just talk to her - I'm sure she'll give you time to get it together. She's really quite understanding."
The story that had been around for longer than any of the tenants had lived there was that Marion McGill's late husband, who had passed away nearly twenty years before, had left her well off financially, and that she only rented out rooms because she liked to surround herself with good looking young men. No one really knew if that was true, but what was undeniable was that McGill's Rooming House was the best off-campus housing around.
Only a block away from the campus bus stop, or a half hour walk in nice weather from the campus itself, the three story walk up housed a half dozen students at a cost that wasn't to be believed. While most landlords in the area charged whatever the market could bear, Mrs. McGill was content with whatever the University charged for a room in the dorm. Hence the assertion that she really didn't need the money. So it was hardly surprising that every term there was a waiting list of hopefuls in case one of the rooms became available.
"I'm not just a little late," Mark clarified, "I don't have it at all. I lost it playing poker at Delta Gamma the other night."
"That's not good," Jimmy said, his tone reflecting Mark's earlier concern that there were limits to their landlady's generosity, "but you realize that you're going to have to talk to her sooner or later."
"Better later than sooner," Mark replied, ever hopeful that something unexpected would turn up to solve his problem.
Jimmy slowly shook his head, but wished Mark good luck nevertheless. Then he headed for the front door and his ten o'clock class as Mark resumed his journey up the stairs.
-=-=-=-
Reaching the top floor, Mark let out an audible sigh of relief as his room, situated at the far end of the landing, came into view. That feeling of relief, however, quickly faded, first to frustration, then visible panic as his key failed to open the lock. It was only on his third try that he noticed that the lock cylinder had been changed, the one now in place shiny and new.
It was clear that there were indeed limits to Mrs. McGill's patience and he had indeed exceeded them.
"I'm fucked!" he exclaimed under his breath as he realized that later was suddenly now.
Mark stood silently before the door to his now inaccessible room for a very long minute, recalling the various efforts he'd made to secure the rent. Hoping that in his review he'd find an option he'd overlooked.
The first solution that came to mind was also the simplest, calling home and asking for an advance on next month's funds. That had been quickly rejected once he realized that would mean explaining to his father what he'd done with this month's check. It had only arrived the morning of the game and he had cashed it that afternoon - which was why he had so much cash in his wallet at the time. Before rejecting the idea, he'd briefly considered simply saying he'd lost his wallet, but knew full well that lying to his father would be worse than having lost it in the game.
Over the last week, he'd also made the rounds of his friends in the hope that one or two could afford to loan him the money. Unfortunately, few had any cash to spare and the rare ones that did had learned from previous experience that when it came to paying people back, Mark had a well earned reputation for not always being prompt.
Finally, in desperation, he'd approached his boss at Mario's Pizza, where he worked part time on weekends, asking him for a salary advance. He might as well have asked a brick wall, because Mario's response was to ask aloud why he paid Mark at all, considering how little work he believed the teenager actually did. So no solution there.
His mental review hadn't offered anything new, it simply confirmed that he had nowhere else to turn. With that realization came the prospect that he might very well find himself back in the dorms by next week. After living there during his freshman year, Mark couldn't think of anything more depressing.
-=-=-=-
Feeling like he imagined General Lee felt when he set off to see General Grant, the American history major resigned himself to his fate and headed back down the stairs to face the music. Standing once more in front of the door to Mrs. McGill's apartment, he allowed himself one last shrug of resignation and reached for the brass knocker on the wooden door.
Long seconds passed, stretching to nearly a minute, and no response came. He tried the knocker a second time, then finally heard the sound of footsteps from within. Then they abruptly stopped, long enough for him to take another deep breath, before the door swung open to reveal the silver and grey haired landlady.
A few inches shorter than his own five seven, the slightly plump woman in the pink and white flowered housedress always reminded Mark of an actress in a popular sitcom he'd grown up watching, the one about the residents of a small North Carolina town. In both look and mannerisms, Marion McGill highly resembled the aunt of the town's sheriff.
"Ah, Mr. Kelly," she said with a friendly smile, "I thought I'd be seeing you today."
'As if I had a choice,' Mark thought but didn't say, replying instead with a silent smile.
.
"Won't you come in," she continued, "we have a bit of business to discuss, do we not?"
