It was a rat hole, and that was putting it kindly. Actually, it would need to undergo a major renovation to reach the classification of a rat hole. No self-respecting rat would be caught dead here.
An oscillating fan was blowing hot air around the matching beanbag chairs that served as living room furniture. It was also circulating the stench of leftover pizza that had congealed inside its box on the small table that, along with a two-burner hot plate and a sink, comprised the kitchen.
“I was in the shower.” Indeed, Roark had answered the door sopping wet. His only nod toward modesty was a hand towel clutched around his hips.
“I thought maybe you’d gone homo,” Todd said querulously.
“Come on, you gotta see this.” Roark turned and headed toward an open door that led into another room.
Todd was so angry he could barely suck the stifling oxygen into his lungs. His deposit money had been squandered. If Roark had signed a lease on this place, then he could eat it for all Todd cared. He would flatly refuse to be responsible. Obviously his friend had suffered a mental lapse, or had lost their pooled money along the way, or had gotten it stolen, or something.
No rational person, no one who wasn’t absolutely destitute and desperate, would voluntarily take shelter in this building. Being homeless had more stability than this, because unless the sky fell, a homeless person wouldn’t have to fear being crushed to death by a loose plaster ceiling.
“Roark, damn you!” Todd struck out after him, shouting his name. “Roark! What the fuck?”
The door led into a small cubicle of a room with twin beds. One was groaning under the weight of Roark’s belongings, most of which were still packed. Articles of clothing had been pulled from the crates and were spilling out over the tops of them like entrails.
On the other, Roark had been sleeping. And working, apparently. A computer terminal and keyboard were on the bed itself, the tower and printer were on the floor beside it.
“A computer?” Todd exclaimed. “You got a pc? When?” They had wanted word processors the way most collegiates covet TransAms. Roark had said nothing to him about buying a computer. “Is that what you spent our money on?”
“My uncle gave it to me for graduation,” Roark called in a stage whisper. “Now will you shut up about that and get in here? Hurry.”
Todd turned toward the opening where a door should have been. Instead, the detached door had been propped against the adjacent wall. Todd had a fleeting thought that it might have been placed there to provide the wall with additional support.
Through the opening was a bathroom. What differentiated this one from the communal bathroom in the fraternity house was that the one in the frat house had been cleaner and more sanitary—tobacco spit cups, shower fungi, and unattended fixtures notwithstanding.
But even more appalling than the condition of the sink and toilet was the sight of his friend, who had dropped the towel and reentered the shower. He was standing beneath the spray and staring out an open window.
“What uncle? Why didn’t you tell me your uncle had given you a pc for graduation?”
Roark glanced over his shoulder. “Are you coming, or what?”
“I’m not getting into that filthy shower with you. I’m waiting for you to tell me what the—”
“Just shut up and come here. Quick. Before they go inside.”
Roark’s excitement was contagious and compelling. In spite of everything else, Todd was intrigued. He slipped off his sneakers and stepped into the shower fully clothed. Pushing Roark away from the window, he peered through the rusty screen.
On the second-floor roof of the neighboring building, three naked girls were sunbathing. Naked meaning completely nude. Not just topless, but mother nekkid. All they had on was a glistening layer of suntan oil. In fact, while he stood there stupefied, one of the girls was languidly spreading the oil over her torso.
“That one’s name is Amber,” Roark whispered.
Amber was rubbing her breasts now, smearing the oil over nipples as large and red as strawberries. Todd gulped. “You know them?”
“Hell, yeah. To speak to and call by name. Our buildings share a parking lot. They dance at a strip joint.”
Which explained why they were visions of the most carnal variety. This was no trio of ordinary-looking women. They were spectacular. Their tits probably weren’t the ones they’d been born with, but who the hell cared?
“The one with the shaved crotch is Starlight,” Roark informed him. “For her grand finale it glitters with this sparkly stuff.”
“Her pussy glitters?”
“Swear to God. They aim the spotlight right at it.”
“Damn.”
“The brunette is Mary Catherine.”