Visit #204

I knock on the door of #204. There are four women living here—one who’s 32, two in their mid-20s, and a 19-year-old who appears to be a younger sister. A blonde in a salmon-colored top and white shorts answers. “I’m sorry, we’re all on our way out the door, you’ll have to come back later,” she says energetically.

“Excuse me, I’m Iain Roberts—I’m the new building manager,” I say. I hand the girl my card. “I’m just going around introducing myself to the tenants. My cell number is on there—it’s the best way to get a hold of me if you need me.”

“Oh,” the blonde says, calming down a little. “Well, I suppose you can come in; we have a couple minutes. I’m Jordyn Campbell, by the way.”

“Thank you, Jordyn, it’s good to meet you. One of the things I’m doing is collecting pictures of all the tenants so I can keep everyone straight. I’m taking pictures when I can, but I’ve also had people send me photos.”

“Sure, right here is fine,” Jordyn says. She turns to face me; I snap her picture.

“Hey, that’s a good shot,” Jordyn exclaims in surprise. “Send me a copy? That’s the best picture I’ve had taken of me in quite a while.”

“I’ll be glad to,” I tell her.

I turn to see a busty brunette in an amazing black dress. “You think this looks good?” she asks someone. “I’ve put a lot of effort into this design—I’m hoping it’s going to be my breakthrough. Heaven knows I need one.”

“You look amazing,” a female voice replies. “The only question I have is whether anyone who doesn’t have your figure can pull it off.”

“Well, if that’s the biggest question I get, I can handle that,” the brunette says, sounding relieved. She turns and starts walking toward me before her head has made the turn. “I just—” She sees me and comes to a dead stop. “Who the fuck are you?”

“This is Iain Roberts,” Jordyn says. “He’s the new building manager. Iain, this is Robyn Archer, our resident aspiring fashionista.”

I hand Robyn my card. “It’s good to meet you, Robyn. I’m just going around introducing myself to the tenants. My cell number is on there—it’s the best way to get a hold of me if you need me.”

“Robyn, he’s taking pictures of everyone, and he has a really good eye—and a phone with a really good camera,” Jordyn tells her apartmentmate. “He’s doing it to help remember names, but you might get a good shot out of it.”

Robyn looks at me. “I’m sure it will surprise you to know Jordyn’s in PR,” she says wryly.

“Hey, that’s not fair!” Jordyn responds, blushing.

Robyn waves it off. “I’m just amused, is all. I’m sure you’re sincere. Doesn’t change the fact you’re shilling for our new building manager—and not even as building manager, but as a photographer. In any case,” she continues, turning to face me, “feel free.”

I take her picture and show her the result. Robyn looks at it thoughtfully, then turns to Jordyn. “I take it all back. You were right.” She looks up at me. “Send me a copy, ’K?”

“Gladly,” I tell her.

“Thank you,” she replies. “Now I need to get out of here. Later, owl.”

I turn to Jordyn with a raised eyebrow. She has no trouble understanding me.

“She means ‘all,’” Jordyn says. “It’s just one of her standard jokes. Come on into the kitchen, I’ll introduce you to Amy.” I follow her around a corner to see a woman of evident Japanese descent sitting at the table finishing a mug of coffee. “Amy, thanks for talking Robyn down,” Jordyn says.

“No trouble,” Amy replies, looking inquiringly at me.

“This is Iain Roberts,” Jordyn says. “He’s the new building manager. Iain, this is Amy Murakuma; she’s a QE at a medical-device company.”

Before I can ask, Amy says, “Quality engineer.”

“Ahh, thank you,” I respond, handing her my card. “It’s good to meet you, Amy. I’m just going around introducing myself to the tenants. My cell number is on there—it’s the best way to get a hold of me if you need me.”

“My thanks,” Amy replies.

“You’re very welcome,” I tell her. “Amy, one of the things I’m doing is collecting pictures of all the tenants so I can keep everyone straight. Would it be OK if I took your picture?”

“He’s really good,” Jordyn puts in. “Even Robyn thought so.”

“Go ahead,” Amy says.

“OK, our Jordyn can be a little excitable, but that really is a good shot of me,” Amy comments. “If you’d send me a copy, I’d appreciate it.”

“I’ll be happy to.”

Amy downs the last swallow of coffee and stands. “Time to get back to the plant,” she tells Jordyn. “I have a nasty validation in process; if I don’t have at least one message from the guy in QC who’s doing it, I’ll be very surprised.” She puts her mug in the dishwasher and walks off.

“Kennedy, for fuck’s sake, put on some clothes.” Jordyn’s voice is full of weary exasperation.

“These are clothes,” another voice retorts with blithe self-confidence. “I wear less at the beach. So do you.”

“Yes, but that’s not a bikini, it’s lingerie,” Jordyn says, clearly fully aware she’s fighting a losing battle.

“So because it’s frilly, it doesn’t count?” the voice asks. “Ohhhh, hello, who’s this? He’s hot.” The blonde who’s just come into view (who’s quite hot herself) looks me up and down with frank enjoyment.

I hand her my card. “I’m Iain Roberts—I’m the new building manager,” I say. “I’m just going around introducing myself to the tenants. My cell number is on there—it’s the best way to get a hold of me if you need me.”

“Mmmmmm, I’m Kennedy Campbell,” she purrs. “Getting a hold of you sounds like a terrific idea.” Just yesterday, that would have turned me scarlet. I guess I’m getting used to this sort of thing.

“Iain,” Jordyn says, “this is my irresponsible younger sister, our would-be model. I think she’s hoping Robyn will be her ticket to success.”

“And this is my second mother, who’s so much more of a prude than my first one,” Kennedy retorts.

Jordyn sighs. “Kennedy, Iain is taking pictures of everyone so he can keep our names straight. Would you please put on more clothes?”

“No,” Kennedy shoots back. She looks at me again and licks her lips. “If anything, taking off more clothes sounds like a better idea,” she adds in a sultry voice.

“I give up!” Jordyn snaps. “I have to get back to the office.” She gives me a long look and says, “I’m not going to try to control my sister by trying to control you. She’s old enough to make her own decisions.” She’s visibly restraining herself, presumably from telling me not to take naughty pictures of her sister. After a moment, she throws her hands in the air and stalks off.

“Now,” Kennedy purrs in my ear, “about that camera . . .”