Larceny and Old Lace by Tamar Myers

worst apartment building in all of Charlotte to call home. Don’t get me wrong: the neighborhood itself is fine. It’s Susan’s building that is guaranteed to give you nightmares. I am convinced that in its better days it served as a training school for slumlords.
    A small resident rat, or possibly a large visiting cat, ran out into the street when I opened the lobby door. The combined odors of urine, vomit, and boiled cabbage rolled over me like waves, nearly sweeping me back into the street along with the rat. No wonder the poor thing was in such a hurry.
    The fifteen-watt lightbulb in the stairwell was a blessing. The obscene phrases scrawled on the wall were hard to read. Unfortunately I could still make out the crudely sketched body parts—most of which exuded fluids—but someone had kindly scrubbed several feet off the top of a giant, erect penis. I hoped it was Susan.
    I had to walk up to the third floor. There was an elevator in the building, but as usual, it was occupied. I don’t mean that someone was using it as a means of conveyance. I mean someone was living in it.
    There wasn’t any lightbulb on Susan’s landing, the third, so I felt along the wall counting doors. I would have kicked myself for not bringing a flashlight, but I was still wearing my pointed-toe shoes. I knocked on the third door to the right. After five minutes and sore knuckles someone responded.
    â€œYeah?” The man who opened it was wearing only gray sweatpants, cut off above the knees. His calves were hairy, hisbelly was like a sheepskin, and he had very few teeth.
    â€œI’m here to see Susan Timberlake.”
    He stared at me as if I had spoken in Mandarin Chinese.
    â€œI’m her mother.”
    The door closed. After five more minutes and a sore right foot it opened again. Susan was standing there, clutching a bathrobe. Apparently she couldn’t find the belt.
    â€œMama!”
    â€œThe very one. The same one who carried you through nine long months—during the hottest summer the Carolinas have ever had, mind you—endured seventeen hours of excruciatingly painful labor, sat up with you—”
    â€œDo you want to come in, Mama?” Susan was always more deferential over the phone than in person.
    It was a difficult choice. I couldn’t figure out which was the frying pan and which was the fire. Foolishly I chose to see what I was getting into.
    The apartment looked like it had been stripped. The brand-new sectional sofa Buford had bought for her at Sofas on South was missing. All the furniture was missing. The only thing in the living room was a decrepit mattress on the floor, only half covered by a twisted sheet.
    â€œSusan!”
    â€œNow chill, Mama. Don’t get all bent out of shape. It was only stuff.”
    I took a deep, chilling breath. “Stuff your Daddy paid for. Stuff your roommates—speaking of which, where are they?”
    Susan shrugged. It was the first gesture she ever learned.
    â€œI guess Lori’s living with her boyfriend. Tanya joined the National Guard, I think.”
    â€œWhat?” I needed to sit down, but I wasn’t about to sit down on that mattress. The lobby carpet had less stains on it.
    â€œMama, these things happen. It just didn’t work out rooming with them, that’s all. It’s no big deal. Everything’s fine, honest.”
    â€œBut you can’t live here like this. Not by yourself.”
    She clutched the robe tighter across her chest. “I’m not alone, Mama. I have Jimmy.”
    â€œJimmy?” Cerebral lightning hit. I wish it had knocked mebrain dead. “ That was Jimmy? That pathetic old mange bucket was Jimmy?” Fortunately the man in question had retired to another room. Probably the bathroom.
    â€œMama! I’m not going to talk with you if you’re going to say things like that.”
    I took a deep breath. Somewhere in the universe somebody went without air