The Trickster Diaries/Epilogue, Part 4
After texting or personal messaging Laura on Facebook or something, Melissa got back. Yep, it was true, the house I’d lived in for only 4.5 months was being sold. “But she wants to talk with you about another place, or multiple places she’s got available. So call her.”
“That’s… encouraging, I guess.”
Melissa: She’s a good person, just an airhead sometimes.
Me: Those types are difficult to trust. I don’t trust her.
Melissa: Yeah, I know. I know how you must feel. But call her, check out what she’s got in mind. I’ve only been looking online so far. No luck.
Me: I will. Thanks, doll.
Melissa: Listen, I know it’s hard right now, but try and give her another chance. I’ve known her a long time and none of this was some kind of evil plan she’d concocted to screw you. It just happened. But you’ve got to come to some arrangement about that A/C unit. Whatever happens she needs to compensate you for it, somehow.
Me: Right. That’s what Jones was saying too.
For the first time in our friendship I found myself questioning Melissa’s ability to accurately access another's character. I hadn’t told her the full story. Hadn’t mentioned that the locks on the backdoor and sliding glass door STILL hadn’t been fixed, not even looked at, though I’d reported those problems to Laura upon moving in. There was more, but to me the lock situation alone equalled serious landlord neglect.
Would Melissa continue to defend her if she knew?
Then there was the airhead thing, which, according to Bob, my neighbor—also about to get thrown out of his home—was an act, pure and simple.
Was it an act M had bought into?
Had I bought it, initially?
Could it be possible that Davis, my old queer boss from three decades ago, was somehow tangled up in the game, maybe even in cahoots with Laura, sweet little baby bird-voiced Laura? I had, after all, screwed him out of several prestigious, lucrative accounts.
Difficult, maybe even unanswerable questions, all. Except for this last one, which was deeply personal: Was I paranoid, or had I finally tossed out my rose-tinted specs?
However I chose to answer that question was, sadly, irrelevant.
Asking it meant I no longer trusted anyone.