Stolen kisses

The Rent Goes Waaay Up

Jesse kept looking at that guy the whole time we were eating**. She was **off at college now**, but she was **in town for the weekend**. Just after the guy arrived, two other guys met him at his table. Jesse was excited about his friends, too, but it was really that first one who caught her eye. We thought one of them looked like **JoAnn Benson's older brother, Todd**, but we weren't sure. They talked to each other the whole time. Honestly, I wouldn't have noticed them, but I couldn't help it because Jesse was obsessing about them and **giving me a play-by-play**.

I was mostly distracted, thinking about the future studio. The whole place had **beautiful wood floors** that I was hoping to have refinished for a perfect dancing surface. I envisioned dancers dressed out and lined up in an orderly row with **artwork displayed on the walls**. I was planning on painting the studio a soft, neutral color, either **gray or tan**.

"You're lost again," Jesse said, waving to get my attention. She had her purse on her shoulder and was sitting on the edge of the seat, ready to stand up.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I was thinking about the wall color in the studio. Mom said there are some good whites out there, but I just keep picturing it gray".

"I say paint them gray, then. Do what you want," Jesse advised.

Jesse put her arm in mine as soon as I stood up from my place at the booth. "Come with me to the restroom," she said. I was about to protest, knowing I didn't need to go, but I realized she was just looking for an excuse to walk by that table of guys. We said goodbye to Maggie as we walked toward the restroom for the unnecessary pitstop. It was crowded in the diner, and Jesse managed to stare at their table without them noticing at all.

After leaving the diner, I headed toward my apartment building to prepare for the big meeting. Just past my aunt and uncle’s hardware store was where my building started. The entryway for the Seabreeze Apartments was marked by a door with an awning that opened to the stairs leading up to apartments 201, 202, and 203. Mine was apartment 201.

Right next to that entrance was the old jewelry store. Windows lined two sides of the building, but the store's door was on Bank Street, near my apartment door. I would literally have to walk ten feet to work. I glanced inside the now gloriously vacant store, imagining it with bars and mirrors instead of the huge u-shaped counter currently taking up the floor space.

I walked up the stairs and circled back to **apartment 201**. It was the best of the three apartments, overlooking Bank Street and the corner. It felt like a dream come true to live here and own the business downstairs. I was just getting started with all of this, and it already felt like I had **everything I could ever want**.

I decided to stay in my apartment for ten minutes so I wouldn't be too early for the big meeting. I took a few things with me: a camera, some photos of my old dance studio, and photos of ideas for the new one. I even made him a **little booklet to take back to Tennessee** so he would know exactly what was going on in his building. I was as prepared as I'd ever be.

After checking my reflection several times, I walked downstairs. The clock downstairs near the mailboxes told me that I was **three minutes early**, which seemed perfect. I hadn't seen William Harper when I walked by a few minutes before, but I hoped he'd be there by now.

He wasn't. I tried to open the front door of the store, and sure enough, it was locked. My father’s name was William, and so was my brother’s, though they went by Billy and Will. I thought it was a cool coincidence that they shared a name with my landlord, and I planned to use it as one of the first conversation points. I peered into the storefront, smiling and planning how it would all go down.

**"It's closed,"** I heard a man say from behind me. I turned. It was the man from the restaurant—the one Jesse had been checking out.

"Oh, I know it's closed," I said. "Are you talking about the jewelry store? I know it's closed. I actually have a meeting in here. I'm waiting for the guy who owns this building".

"I'm the guy who owns this building," he said, with an easy smile. He was young, wearing jeans and a t-shirt with sandals. I smiled, knowing he was kidding around, though it crossed my mind that he was hitting on me since I was all dressed up.

"What's your name, then?" I asked.

"**Trey Harper**".

"I’m here to meet William Harper. Are you his son or something?".

"Yes. But technically, I'm William, too," he said. "It's just nobody ever calls me that". He casually walked up to the door and unlocked it. **My heart pounded as I watched him**. It wasn't that he was young and handsome; I couldn’t care less about that. It was that he was the owner of this building. **My ever-loving fate was in his hands**.

"I thought I was meeting Mrs. Harper's son".

"I am Mrs. Harper's son," he said, cutting his eyes at me playfully. "But the Mrs. Harper you're thinking of… **Joan Harper**… the lady who used to live here… **I'm her great-grandson**. Her son was the first William. I'm the third. Hence the name Trey".

"Huh," I responded. I still wasn't understanding if he was the actual owner of this building. I walked into the empty store, and he followed me, turning on lights even though a lot of light was coming in through the windows.

"Is your dad coming?" I asked.

"My dad's playing golf in **Brentwood, Tennessee** right now. Why?".

"Oh, I thought he was my landlord. William. Is he the owner, or—".

I tried not to seem mortified as I asked, "Oh, so, are you going to make changes?".

"Oh, yeah, absolutely," he confirmed. **"I knew the rent had to go up when I first got here, but I wasn't sure how much."** He admitted he didn't know much about the market in Galveston. "But I was just talking to a real estate agent who said I could get at least **double** what I was getting for these places".

"Double for what places?" I asked.

"This storefront and the apartments upstairs. There's three of them up there".

"I know," I said.

"Oh, you do?".

"Yes. I live there".

"You do?".

"Yes, I, I thought you knew that. I'm a tenant upstairs, but I'm also here to talk to you about renting this space down here".

"Oh, well the price just went **waaaay up**," he said. He was being happy and lighthearted, and I felt more like I was lightheaded.

"I, I'm Tara Castro," I said, trying to switch gears, sound confident, and distract him. "I live upstairs. I rent apartment 201 right there". I pointed upward since I was standing under my bedroom. "I'm a long-standing member of this community. I love this city, and especially this block we're on right here. My dad is a boxer. His gym is—".

Trey cut me off with a defeated sigh. He mentioned Stan, a tenant who had been living in his apartment for **ten years** and only paying **three hundred dollars a month**. He wished he had come sooner. He felt the tenants "had been raking me over the coals this whole time!". I countered that Stan had been living there for ten years. "Exactly," Trey replied, confirming Stan was only paying $300 a month. Trey said it was no wonder Stan didn't leave. He assured me he would give Stan first dibs on signing again, but the rent was **unquestionably going up**. He stated that he could get **double the rent** in the condition the whole building was in, and with a few renovations, he could get even more, according to Justin.

"What about down here? The jewelry store?" I pressed.

He said Justin suggested **fourteen to sixteen hundred** in the shape it was in, or more if they fixed it up.

"What, so, you're just going to kick us out if we don't agree to pay the higher amount?" I asked.

He gave me a sideways look, smiling a little like he must be missing something. **"That's usually how it works,"** he said slowly.

**I felt utterly heartbroken**. This was only the first three minutes of my meeting with Mister Harper—if you could even call it a meeting. Basically, **he was nonchalantly informing me that I was being kicked out of my apartment**. I was so frustrated that I could barely even think about not getting to rent the business; I didn't have a plan B.

***

*This confrontation felt like receiving a carefully wrapped gift, only to find it contained shattered glass—the fragile hope of a business and secure home instantly broken by the reality of property economics.*