The Ultimatum

I packed my stuff and we drove in silence to Emilie’s home. I wasn’t sure what to think at this point. I was in total limbo where my life was concerned with no clue as to where I was headed. I put forth a plan that I didn’t know I could actually act on, but I certainly hoped for the best.

 

I stole a glance at Emilie as she stood next to me in the elevator that would take us up to her apartment. I did it as discreetly as I could. She definitely looked great for her age. She was someone I once had a crush on but wasn’t sure I could imagine anything happening with us, not that I expected it to. Emilie really seemed burdened by me and definitely didn’t seem to like me. It was all about the money for her. But that was fine with me. If I could have a roof over my head and food in my stomach, she could hate me all she wanted as long as she didn’t harm me in any way, and I didn’t see why or how she would.

 

Funny how we don’t always see things beforehand, isn’t it?

 

She brought me straight into the guest room to drop off my stuff and said, “Let’s sit in the living room and discuss the rules before you unpack anything. We need to make sure you agree with my guidelines first.”

 

“No problem,” I said, following her into the living room. She kicked off her shoes in a corner of the room and then went into the kitchen that was off the living room to pour herself a glass of wine. Without offering me a single thing, she took a seat on the couch and I sat on the loveseat across from her in the same spot Isabel sat the first time I came to the apartment.

 

“How much money do you get a month?” Emilie asked. “And please don’t lie to me. Remember, I’m an accountant. I’m not only very good with numbers but I’m also just as good at finding these kinds of things out.”

 

I wasn’t sure how she could find out how much money I had but I didn’t see the harm in telling her the truth and so I did.

 

“You’ll clean the apartment thoroughly once a week and take care of the bathrooms and kitchen as needed. On weekends you’ll do the laundry. I prefer to do my own cooking. I’ll take $200 a week,” Emilie stated in a tone of voice that suggested she wasn’t open to debating the subject.

 

I just stared at her for a moment.

 

Was she serious?

 

“Emilie, that would only leave me with $400 left over each month. While that would be plenty for me to eat on, do you know how many months it would take me to save up just for a plane ticket, let alone a place to live? Forget about months. I would be here for years. Certainly, you don’t want that.”

 

“Well, certainly you wouldn’t prefer the streets, would you? Because my offer is non-negotiable and stands as is. Either take it or hit the streets, Marguerite. It’s strictly your choice.”

 

“You said your rent is a little over a grand a month. This way I’m paying for more than half of the rent plus I’d be cleaning and doing laundry. Forgive me if I don’t see the fairness in this arrangement. Am I missing anything here?”

 

“No,” Emilie said looking straight at me. “Not at all.”