The Homeless Millionaire

The Noyces woke me up. They arrived just before seven in the evening and had an argument the moment they entered the house: my sleep was broken by Dave shouting at someone to get out of his sight. I came fully awake just in time to hear the hurried thudding of little feet on the stairs. The two witches scampered into their room and shut the door and became almost totally silent. Almost, because I thought I could hear muted sobs.

It definitely didn't sound like one of those joyful homecomings where people cry out how happy they are to be back home sweet home. I was reminded of my plan to give the Noyces my notice that evening, and resolved to put it off for a day; if worst came to worst, I'd pay them for an extra week.

But then I had to use my pissbottle, and it made me angry. I'd had the bathroom to myself for a while, and losing that little luxury really stung. I also found out that I'd failed to fill the kettle: I couldn't even make myself a fucking coffee. It felt like fucking Middle Ages with all those pilgrimages to the communal well.

I ended up having a glass of Johnnie Walker with my wake-up cigarette, like a hardcore alcoholic. It made me determined to just cut through the bullshit regardless of cost. I tidied up my room and aired it out while smoking by the open window and listened to an exchange between Birgit and Dave: they were unpacking in their bedroom and they'd opened the window there, too.

I couldn't understand all that was being said but I got the idea they'd left stuff behind in Barbados, and were now in the process of assigning blame. It sounded as if Dave was losing that battle.

I put my cigarette out, and went to rescue Dave.

Their bedroom door was open and Dave actually stuck out his head when he heard me coming down the stairs.

"Happy New Year, Dave," I said, approaching him. I held out my hand and he had no choice but to step out on the landing to shake it.

"Happy New Year, Birgit!" I called out, looking over Dave's shoulder.

"Happy New Year," she called back, and slammed a drawer shut really hard. It was clear she wasn't about to show her smiling, happy face. I looked at Dave and said:

"Dave, can I invite you for a drink? I need to talk to you about something."

He seemed bewildered, so I winked at him. It confused him even further. He gave me a weak smile and popped back into the room to tell Birgit he had to confer with the tenant. She answered him with silence heavy enough to sink a ship.

I led the way upstairs to my room and wasted no time in pressing a very big Johnnie Walker into Dave's paw.

"No ice," I said. "Should I run down and get some?"

"No need," said Dave, looking at the contents of his glass. Then he drank most of them in one go, and said:

"Oh man, I needed this. Michael, this has been a day of unspeakable horror."

"Drink up," I said, reaching for the bottle. I refilled his glass and finally had a drink myself and said:

"What I don't understand is why you didn't get oiled on the plane. Duty-free alcohol and all that. It would've done wonders for your well-being."

He shook his head.

"I couldn't," he said. "Not after what had happened."

"And what—sorry, that's none of my business."

"This is strictly between you and me," Dave said, giving me the heavy eye. I nodded.

"I lost my wallet," he said. "I mislaid it somewhere at the New Year's Eve party at the hotel. It was seeing plenty of action at the cash bar, but the guys there swore they hadn't seen it. Birgit gave me fucking hell. And Julie lost her fucking doll."

"She lost Charles?"

"Yes," said Dave, flinching noticeably at the name. "I've been promising her I'll buy a replacement at least once an hour all fucking day. It's been fucking hell."

Downstairs, the phone began to ring. Dave made a move towards the door and checked himself and said:

"What the hell, Birgit can deal with that shit. It's probably her goddamn parents calling to find out whether we've arrived safely."

"Your own parents don't call to find out whether you've arrived safely?" I said, the scotch making me flippant.

"No," Dave said. "I threatened them with death a couple of times, and they finally agreed to cease and desist. Thank you for the drink, man. I appreciate it. Now, you said there was something you wanted to talk about—"

"Dave!" screamed Birgit downstairs.

"Excuse me." Dave moved to the door, opened it, leaned out and yelled:

"What? I'm busy here!"

"They found your wallet!"

"What?!"

"They found your wallet! And all the money is still there! They are calling to find out whether you want them to send it by courier. You'll have to pay for the courier if you do."

"Yes, yes, yes!" shouted Dave.

He was beaming when he turned around and shut the door.

"They found it with the money still there. Oh man. Amazing," he said.

"I think this deserves a drink," I told him.

Twenty minutes and two drinks later, I gave the Noyces my notice.

Birgit had joined us by then, and had been treated to a double punch from Johnnie Walker. There was a festive, celebratory atmosphere—after all, we were celebrating the New Year, the Noyces' safe arrival, the recovery of Dave's loaded wallet—there was no shortage of things to celebrate. It was amazing how quickly things could change for the better.

I changed them for worse again when I said:

"Guys, I regret to tell you that I'll be moving out."

"What!" That was Dave.

"Where?" That was Birgit.

"Pretty far from here," I said. "North-western Vancouver. The street's called Fulton Avenue."

This wasn't what Birgit had in mind. She wanted an idea of the place I was moving to, wanted to know its advantages. I could see that, so I added:

"It's the bathroom thing. It has a private bathroom. I'm really sorry, guys. I mean if it wasn't for that, your place would be perfect."

I almost choked on that lie. Fortunately, they didn't notice. They were too stunned.

"Wow," Dave said, as if to himself. He finished his drink and looked at me and said:

"You'll be moving on the first of February?"

"That's correct," I said. "If this puts you in a bind, I'm ready to pay another week's rent."

"No, no," said Dave. "That's not necessary. It's just that, well, we'll be sorry to see you go."

"I can understand you," Birgit said unexpectedly. "A private bathroom is very important. We've been planning to put one up here, but Dave's brother hasn't come through with it yet."

"What the hell are you talking about," said Dave.

"I'm talking about John," Brigit said, giving him a pointed look. "He's been promising to fix this for us for at least a couple of years."

"Jesus, Birgit. He'll do it when he's got the time. You know the guy will be doing it free of charge, we just pay for the materials. You can't expect him to give up paying jobs to do ours."

Within moments, they were deep into selected family dynamics and it was up to me to break it up. I did that by taking out my bag of pot and rolling a joint, successfully distracting Dave and Birgit from their bickering.

"Not for me, thanks," Brigit said when I held the burning joint out to her.

"Not for you?" Dave said. "Don't you realize you have to go to work tomorrow?"

She tried to look cross, but couldn't quite pull it off. She ended up giggling and taking the joint from me.

They both stayed until the witches below started wailing for food. That forced Birgit to move, and Dave followed a little while later. He turned round in the doorway, and said:

"I'll be really sorry to see you go."

"Look on the bright side, Dave," I said. "I'm here for another, full month."

It made him grin.