Lucy
I’m hallucinating. It’s the only explanation.
New York fades away, all the smells and sounds of the city. All that’s left is me and the six-foot inflatable doll in the storefront window. Perfect plastic tits and red lips puckered in an O of perpetual surprise.
She gazes at me from her perch, right where the bakery used to be. Right below my apartment where the smells of warm bread and buttery pastries wafted through my bedroom window every morning.
My mouth drops open, matching her O.
My inflatable neighbor presses her palms to the glass, bright red panties smooshed against a neat stack of cock rings and furry handcuffs. The flamboyant pink wig sits lopsided on her head with a curled fringe dropping seductively over her eye.
“Is that a sex shop under my apartment?” The words whoosh out in a gulp of air. “Where’s the bakery? Where’s Eddie’s Cinnamon Rolls?” My voice fades to a rasp. I spin to face the girls. “Please tell me this is a pop-up, for fuck’s sake.”
But no one’s laughing.
Priya clears her throat, trying to sound calm and lawyerly. “Actually, Luce, it’s… more than just a sex shop. It’s a… brothel.”
I almost choke on my own spit. “Come again?”
“It becomes a brothel at night.”
“Oh my God.” I look at her like she has two heads. “I feel faint.”
Priya grips my shoulders, turning me to face her. “You got through this before. You can do it again. The bakery closed after you listed your place. The brothel moved in shortly after.”
“But… but… that can’t be legal,” I whisper. “Can’t I just call the cops?”
Priya shakes her head, smiling sadly. “It’s operating under a ‘massage parlor’ license. There’s nothing we can prove unless someone’s caught pants down. And it seems some of the local cops might be… patrons.” She trails off, shrugging helplessly. “Sorry, Luce.”
In horror, I look between the girls and the plastic temptress.
“Sex sells,” I say, struggling to swallow. So this is what I’m suppressing. How stupid does my subconscious think I am? Didn’t it think I’d notice a full-sized sex doll under my apartment?
“But why didn’t I just sell?” I shake my head, bewildered. “Why would I stay here?”
“You didn’t choose to stay, Luce,” Priya says in a soothing voice. “It was just… crappy timing.”
Realization hits me like a ton of dicks. “My apartment’s been on the market for a year. It didn’t sell because of this.”
It takes all my willpower not to blubber as I take in the doll, the cock rings, and a long pink metal rod for God knows what.
Of course it didn’t sell. Who’d want to live above this?
As the dam of emotions breaks, the first sob escapes me like a burp. “W-what the hell is happening?” I bawl, as the girls wrap their arms around me in a hug. “I woke up in some messed-up alternate universe. This year is screwed up.”
“You’ll get past the shock,” Priya reassures me, gently wiping my cheek. “There’s always a way. You were looking into a company that might be able to help. Nab Your Pad.”
“Nab your… What do they do?” My nose drips unattractively as I groan. “How do they work?”
“Ehm, they buy homes for a fraction of the asking price.”
“Like, how big of a fraction?” I throw up my hands. “No, don’t tell me. I can’t handle this now.”
I inhale through my nose, reminding myself to breathe. No wonder I wanted to forget. No wonder I woke up looking like the girl from The Exorcist. My life needs a fucking exorcism.
I must have launched myself down those Plaza stairs head first, hoping to lobotomize my prefrontal cortex on impact. And the only reason I know it’s the prefrontal cortex is because of all the damn hospital pamphlets.
“You used to stay in Vegas a bit with work. You sent poolside pictures.” Priya links her arm through mine, smiling warmly. “It’s not all bad. Come inside, and we’ll get you settled in.”
I shake my head in disbelief as I trail behind her toward my front door. “Surely it can’t get any worse than this.”
Trudging up the stairs behind Priya with Libby in tow, my mind runs rampant. All I need is a nice hot bath with a cup of hot chocolate, some time to think this through, and then everything will be okay again.
This is Manhattan, for God’s sake. People want to live here. Of course I’ll sell the apartment.
“They can’t be that loud when they’re having sex downstairs. You don’t expect to get much sleep in a city that never sleeps anyway,” I mutter more to myself than the girls, trying to convince myself of the situation’s bearability.
Maybe being above a brothel can even be a selling point; it might attract sex addicts looking for convenience. The agent can market it that way.
I fumble with my key in the lock. It’s stiffer since last year. Nerves take over at the thought of what I may find. What if I’ve done a full reno and hate it? What if I don’t know where anything is?
I shove the door open, dropping my bag.
“It’s so good to be-” I cut myself off with a scream as I gawk at the strange guy with the wild beard sprawled on my couch, balancing a pan on his crotch.
He glances up, chewing. “You’re back,” he mumbles through a full mouth.
“Shit,” I hear Priya mutter behind me.
“We totally forgot about Spider,” Libby chimes in. “I can’t keep up with what you know and don’t know. A year goes by so quickly.”
Spider?
I’m rooted to the spot, smack dab in the middle of the kitchen. “You’re my boyfriend?”
As if in slow motion, I watch an avalanche of oats plunge down his beard.
“No,” Priya interjects hastily. “He’s your roommate.”
“Huh.” The bearded guy looks at me, still chewing, flicking oat bits in his beard. “So the memory loss is for real? I thought your friend Matty was high.”
I stare in disbelief, hoping he’ll vanish with each blink. How did I end up with this random, bearded dude as my roommate? I can’t stand sharing my living space.
Priya touches my arm gently. “You needed help with the mortgage.”
“You don’t think a little warning about this would have been good?” I hiss. “That’s a big thing to omit.”
She throws her hands up in defeat. “Look, sorry. We were so preoccupied with worrying over how you’d respond to the sex shop that I completely forgot about Spider here.”
“It’s okay. It’s not your fault.” I sink onto the bar stool beside the kitchen island, and my gaze falls onto crumbs that I credit this guy for.
“But I always had my mortgage under control.” I turn to Priya, aghast. “Always.”
“Well, you had a bit of a rough patch, Luce. And unfortunately, Spider was the only one who wasn’t put off by all the cock rings downstairs.”