The Leed’s Apartments got a facelift. It was still the same crappy roach-infested old building as before, just with a shmancy new awning over the entrance, stating the new name: Chateau Margeaux. This was my sister Du’s first apartment after she moved out of her boyfriend’s place. Also, it was where I came to visit…& never left. Not entirely sure why she allowed me to mooch on her home, but I was grateful nonetheless.

The new manager’s name was Steve, a slimy sleazeball who sized up every female that crossed his path. I’d swear that’s why he took the job, so he could have access to the other 25 or so units, many of which housed young, single women. Just my luck to finally move out of my parents’ house to an apartment on Capitol Hill & have, instead of a nice gay manager, a leering dweeb that tried to impress the ladies with his martial arts exploits. He wasn’t much taller than me, on the wiry side, with reddish blonde hair right out of a 70s swinger flick. Can’t forget the stupid mustache! I doubted many women were swayed by his shtick, but he acted as if he were Casanova.

Though I rather shamelessly insinuated myself into my sister’s apartment, my logic was sound. Why should she get to enjoy the gayness of Capitol Hill when I was the queer one in the fam? My theater & Seattle Gay News classified ads positions, both part-time, couldn’t afford me a place of my own. I gradually brought all my records, turntable, journals & art supplies. & some clothes. Then my twin bed. I was like a reverse thief; breaking in & adding stuff.  

Though it was technically a studio, off the large main room was a huge walk-in closet spacious enough for my sister’s full-size bed, a dresser & nightstand. She didn’t have much in the way of furniture, so my bed tucked nicely in a corner of the main room. I was pretty minimalist at this juncture. Most of my belongings stayed with my parents.

Pest Control would come through every month or so & spray. The cockroaches would disappear for a few days, then come roaring back. Once Du was getting ready for work & discovered one just hanging out on her toothbrush. Like any person finding a bug on something they put in their mouth, she tossed hers & used my roach-free brush. What are sisters for?

Having at this time one of my mental health crises, I’d found a therapist who worked out of her home only a few blocks away. After a mere few sessions, it got weird. She talked (out of the blue) about how it’s normal for people to become attached to their therapists, sometimes to the point of romantic ideation. Then she wanted to delve into my sexual relations. In detail. SO not what I was here for! It increasingly seemed she was the one having romantic ideation. Doesn’t this violate therapists’ rules of conduct? I’d come here to address depression that rendered me less than functional. She vehemently tried to talk me out of quitting our sessions, to the point I feared she’d start stalking me.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch of Chateau Margeaux. I was home alone listening to some James White & The Blacks, trying to decide what I was capable of doing for the day. I gradually became aware that an intermittent noise was coming from the bathroom. 

As I went down the short hall I could see the bathroom light flickering. From the door I looked at the wall-mounted light fixture over the sink while it made popping sounds, dimming & flaring. Above it was a bulge in the wall. To the left of it was an even bigger bulge. It was like the bathroom had developed tumors. In other places the wall was weeping. In a building of this vintage, with decades of wallpaper & layers of paint accumulated over the plaster & lath, it wasn’t hard to figure what was going on. I instinctively turned off the switch, but the light stayed on like it was haunted.

I called the manager. Steve didn’t answer. No surprise there. He often was unavailable when building maintenance was needed. So I went to his door & knocked. I’d glanced out the window on my way up to the 3rd floor & noticed his car parked below. I could hear some lame soft jazz playing within, & heard voices. I’d bet he had a date in there, & he was going to ignore whatever else. So I pounded on his door. The response was a turning up of the music. Asshole!

I then knocked on the door directly above my unit, figuring that’s where the leak originated. There was no one home. Went back to my (sister’s) apartment & called the only number I thought could help: the Fire Department. I knew water & old electrical wiring shouldn’t mix. Next would come fire. Or electrocution. Neither one desired, no matter my depressed mental state.

To the entrance I went to let the SFD in. They pulled up in the largest ladder truck they have, 4 beefy men all suited up & laden with gear emerged. They were huge. I felt tiny. I led them up the 2 flights of stairs to the apartment. Encumbered with all the fireman accoutrements, the stairwell fairly boomed with their tromping the ascent. I imagined the entire building must know something was up. Showed them the offending room & its cancerous growths. The chief (or whatever they call the head guy) took one look & said they needed to check the apartment above mine. I told him I had knocked on that door after I tried to rouse the manager, but no one was home.

“The manager’s here in the building?” he asked.

“I think so. His car’s here & there’s music coming from his apartment. I knocked repeatedly, but I think he has a date in there & didn’t want to be disturbed,” I said.

The fireman’s features hardened into a grim acknowledgement of the situation. “He’ll answer to me.”

All 5 of us stomped up the stairs. This I wanted to see. I led them to Steve’s door, which now took the pounding of its life. Then the chief yelled “Fire Department– open up!”

Miraculously Steve, in a cheesy robe, opened his door with a look that went from annoyed to sheepish in a blink. He fumbled to grab the master key, now so compliant & contrite as the fireman gave him a dressing down for shirking his duties. “Isn’t it your JOB?” the chief laid into him. I could feel the smug expression spreading across my face as I swaggered down the hall behind them. I was loving every second.

Du had come home sometime during the hubbub, poked a finger at one of the tumors & water flowed out. We were both fascinated & repulsed. Steve may’ve gotten his comeuppance, but I wouldn’t have minded locking him in that dangerous bathroom.