“Dad, I told you not to call me that anymore. I’m not a kid.” I remind him, lowering my voice.
“Best locksmith or my baby bear?” he asks with a chuckle, “and to look at you now. You’re not the baby bear that came to me when you were little. You’re Huge. But I couldn’t help it, Max. I already told her you’d go over. Do it for me?” he asks pleadingly.
I groan out loud, a mixture of nostalgic pride and more than just a little annoyed at the old man.
He never could say no to anyone in need and I remind myself to never forget that either.
“Alright, alright,” I tell him, not wanting him to even start on the fact that maybe there’s a ready-made grandchild just waiting for him if she turns out to be ‘Miss Right’.
Since I was old enough to have kids of my own, dad has wanted me to start a family of my own. A real family.
Something neither of us ever had until he decided to adopt me as a kid when he found out he could never have kids of his own.
“Text me her details, Dad.” I sigh. “Look, I gotta go,” I tell him, hanging up before apologizing to my clients, who might or (most likely) might not be interested in finalizing the deal later on.
Would I commit to a guy who took a call and then bailed mid-meeting, would I hand over a nickel to that guy?
Probably not.
I should be mad, should have just said no.
But something in the way dad said she could be in trouble. Something about the whole thing just tugs at me for some reason.
Phoebe Gold.
I scroll through to my dad’s message in the elevator on the way down to my car. Wondering if I still have some lock picking tools and master keys in the toolbox in the trunk.
Ha. Sounds like a stage name. Maybe she’s an exotic dancer? Sounds like trouble might follow someone in that line of work.
Ah well. I tell myself that everything happens for a reason, that may be the deal I almost just made is better off on ice for a while. That maybe there’s nothing wrong with helping people out once in a while either, even if they are complete strangers.
The address is familiar too. Makes me smile to myself as I remember.
Made an offer to the owner/landlady years ago for her crumbling art deco apartments.
Not for the building, but for the downtown plot of land. A cool million. A pretty generous price, all things considered.
“It’s a little thin, isn’t it?” I remember her asking as she held up the check, examining it by the light.
“Excuse me?” I asked, astonished she wasn’t impressed by the amount on offer. More than enough for her to live comfortably for the rest of her days.
“I mean, it’s a little thin. Even if you rolled it up,” she went on.
“I don’t follow,” I confessed.
“A little thin to go fuck yourself with!” she yelled and slammed the door in my face after tearing the check up into confetti.
Same building alright. And not looking any more stable or more valuable since I made that offer years ago.
The owner’s probably long gone by now, but I wonder how much she’d take for it today if I made the same offer.
Times change, people change. Or do they?
It’s not a bad smell once I step inside, just old. Like a museum or ancient library.
The creaking boards under my weight and the ancient smell of the place take me back to that day, to what feels like the exact moment that old woman really stuck it to me.
I can’t help but smile again.
Reminding myself why I’m here, I hustle up the stairs to the second floor, half expecting to see cops or the fire department prying the front door open.
Maybe hoping more than expecting.
But there’s no one. Just an empty hallway, making me double-check the address in my dad’s message before I sense someone behind me.
But it’s not so much who is behind me, rather what.
Turning to see her for the first time, and I instantly develop the gift of future sight.
I can see it all so clearly in a split second.
Me and her. Together.
Pretty sure I flunked chemistry in grade school too, but it doesn’t matter. Everything they were trying to teach me was wrong.
I understand chemistry perfectly now. I’m witnessing its magic right here in someone’s apartment block hallway.
My god but she’s perfect.
I know without even asking this isn’t the Phoebe Gold I’ve been sent to help.
It can’t be.
Her long, flowing locks of golden hair, crystal clear blue eyes, and curvaceous body all belong to someone too beautiful. Too stunningly perfect to exist, let alone live in a building like this.
There’s no way this angel on earth has had a child either. And if she has-