Landlord

It was just before five when I came up out of the subway which was two blocks from my building. It had just begun to rain, the drops like gentle kisses on my face as I walked. Gary’s bottle must have been imported from out West, it was the real deal. It had not been an hour and already the clouds cascaded and spread like a bundle of grey bed sheets tumbling in a laundromat. As my building finally came into view, the butterflies materialized in my stomach. Whenever one finds themselves under the influence of any hallucinogen, it begins with a sensation like being in a jet plane that is taking off. Defying gravity, time and space. Your trip begins. Have a pleasant flight.
There was not a soul in sight as the light went red and I watched the the cross walk to my apartment extend ten yards. I took a deep breath and carefully made my way across the treacherous street.
I made it into the vestibule and felt around in each of my coat pockets for my keys. It was not in the inside pocket where I usually put it. I checked all the rest with no success. I looked at the row of buzzers on the tenant directory beside the door. I didn’t know anyone except for Andre, the little French man who owned the building. I rang his apartment.
“Allo?” his voice sounded tinny and space aged through the little speaker.
“Hi, Andre?” my mouth was dry and sounded strange in my ears.
“Who iz zees?”
“It’s Cas, I left my keys this morning.”
“Ah! Bien sur! Un instant.” He buzzed me in and I stepped into the lobby. Andre lived in the basement, I heard the age old mechanisms of the elevator as he rode up to the first floor. “Almost there” I kept saying to myself. The elevator arrived and Andre opened its rusted out gate with a screech that would make a banshee go cold. He was remarkably small, not even five foot with thin dyed black hair, thick framed glasses and thin mustache. He had a generally affable demeanor and was always smiling. This fact may prove him to be the best possible person to be forced to interact with under the influence.
“Bonjour Monsieur Cas!” He was swinging a ridiculous ring of keys in his right hand. The bulk of it seemed enough to put him off balance if he swung his arm too far. “Let’s get you home eh?” he laughed. I managed a smile but could not look him in the eye for long. The sight of his beaming face and small stature was enough to make me fall on the floor cackling like a mental patient.
My apartment is on the fourth floor, I insisted we take the stairs under the guise of claustrophobia. No one used the elevator apart from Andre because it was clearly a death trap. As we ascended the steps they began to make like the cross walk. Ten steps became twenty, thirty, one hundred and the landings grew to the size of airstrips. I knew I had to distract myself, we were only on the second floor landing.
“You’re doing well Andre?” I asked, he appeared to be growing taller as he walked ahead of me, his keys rattling like Jacob Marley’s chains with each step.
“Oui monsieur, very well!”
“Any plans for the evening?” My every step felt like it was onto fly paper, as if the floors were saturated with molasses. My mouth felt strange as if I could taste every word that passed my lips and feel the working parts of my skull, teeth, tongue, larynx, lungs and throat.
“Oui, I am spending ze evening wiz a beautiful woman!” he declared emphatically. The thought of this put me at ease somehow, I smiled.
“Are you taking her anywhere special?”
“Non monsieur, she will come here.”
“Have you known her a long time?” we were just three steps away.
“Oui Cas, she is eh…comme on dit…dominatrice” we reached the door.
“A dominatrix?” His smile now struck me as sinister as he shuffled through each seemingly identical key.
“Yes! Elle m’attache.” He gestured as if he were tying an invisible knot. “Puis elle me bat” he did a whipping motion excitedly, grinning from ear to little ear as he finally landed on the correct key and inserted it into the lock.
Who was I to judge? He was not the only freak standing in the hallway. At that moment he was still more ordinary than I was, I was in outer space. He pulled the key out and pushed the door open.
“Voila Monsieur!” he said triumphantly bowing to me as if he had just pulled off some great illusion. I just grinned awkwardly as intrusive images of Andre being bound and flagellated by a gorgeous platinum blonde Amazon, dressed in black leather and fish nets invaded my mind. He was going to be spending the night with such a woman while I would be alone, head full of acid and the knowledge of the deviant activity unfolding in the subterranean space beneath my building. Perhaps I just envied him.
“Merci beaucoup Andre and…em..bon nuit!” He laughed again, nudging me with his elbow as he winked mischievously.
“Pas de problème monsieur! A tout moment!” He turned on his heels and scampered to the elevator. I watched him get in it and shut the banshee gate before descending into his dungeon of prurience. I could hear the lift mechanisms, the neighbors above and below talking loudly through dim lit, breathing walls. The hallway had become an ominous scene. I backed into my apartment and double locked the door behind me. I carefully removed my boots. As I went to hang my coat on the door, I heard what sounded like loose change in one of the pockets. One of the inside pockets I had checked two dozen times out on the street. I reached into it and found my keys.

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