The Appendix Conjecture

chapter i

Imogen's POV

"To Miss Imogen Bland: Please give me your rent money ASAP. You've been a lovely tenant so far but if you do not pay, I will have to consider kicking you out. Sincerest apologies, Superintendent Richardson."

I read the letter delivered to me aloud to myself in my small apartment. Mr. Richardson was planning on kicking me out if I didn't pay? I've been nothing but pleasant, I'm not loud. I have carpets laid everywhere so I'm certain I don't stomp too loudly.

"I have to do something," I mumble to myself, grabbing the army green cargo jacket I had draped over an armchair. I'm going to pay a visit to dear Superintendent Richardson.

His office was situated in the basement, which was only accessible by staircase. The elevator brings me down to the lobby, and from there, I climb down the dingy stairs to meet a door with a plaque with Mr. Richardson's full name imprinted on it.

Superintendent Dale Richardson. Please Knock.

I roll my eyes to myself and knock gently on the door.

"Please come in," he says from the other side.

I open the door and take a seat on the chair in front of his desk.

"Hi, Imogen, what is the service you are seeking?" he politely asks me. I roll my eyes to myself.

"Not to be rude, but you know very well why I paid this visit to you today," I retort sassily, licking my lips.

"Ah, so I am presuming that you received my letter."

"Your presumption is correct."

"What you read is true. Us building owners, no matter how friendly or great a tenant is, we have to stick to our codes. And our codes say that each tenant has to pay rent or they get kicked out. End of story."

"But, you see, Mr. Richardson-"

"Please," he waves, interrupting me, "call me Dale. I dislike my last name."

Oh, that's too bad, since your last name is such an accurate description of you! You son of a dick. I thought to myself.

"Okay, Dale," I smile with contempt, "I have been caught in some tough situations. My company had severe budget cuts, and therefore I was let go. Give me two more weeks extension and I swear to you, I will be back on my feet. I will pay two months rent in advance, even."

"Two months rent in advance, you say," Mr. Richardson says, mostly to himself. "Fine. I will allow you the two weeks extension, only because I understand budget cuts. Tough times, am I right, Imogen?" he laughs.

"Yes," I mentally cringe, "Dale, you are absolutely right."

"Ah, I know. But, anyway, two weeks exact. If the check does not reach me before my meeting times close, which is at five P.M., then you are hereby no longer a tenant of mine and you must move out within a week. Do you understand, Miss Bland?"

"Of course, I did sign the contract."

"Okay," he says, cocking an eyebrow, "have a good day, Miss Bland. If you could please show yourself out." He motions to the door.

I nod and leave the awkward atmosphere, fleeing up the stairs and quickly hopping into an elevator.

How will I get the money-and quick? I think to myself.

The apartment is how I left it when I enter it again, stale smelling and small. Some of my canvas paintings are hung up on walls, a by-product of my art hobby. The paintings are of still-life mostly, because I am absolute crap at portraits.

"I need someone to talk to," I groan loudly, calling somebody on my trusty phone. I click speaker-phone, letting the dial tone ring loudly.

"Hey!" Sadie's voice says.

"Sade, I'm gonna get evicted, I'm so nervous," I pace around my coffee table nervously.

"Calm down, what happened?"

"Okay, so my rent's like a couple weeks late and my landlord was angry and he was like 'I'm gonna kick you out, Imogen' and I was like no! And I gave him a weak excuse and he gave me a two week's extension but I'll have to give him this month and next month's rent together in trade for the extension. I can't do this, Sade, I've been out of a job for two weeks, I've been eating straight fast food for the last week and a half," I ramble, figuratively tearing out my hair out of stress.

"Gen, Gen, calm down. You can crash at my house whenever. It's fine," Sadie assures me, though it's not doing anything.

"That's not the point! I'm going to be technically homeless-homeless, Sade. Homeless!" I yell, slumping onto the couch. "I need the money and I'll be good for two months and by then I'll get a job or whatever but I need the four G's by the 22nd."

"Four thousand? Gen, I can't loan you that much money, I would if I could."

"No!" I exclaim. "I'm not asking for a donation, Jesus, I need advice. What can I do, I'm broke as hell and I can't find a job this quickly, Sade," I groan into the mic, dragging out Sadie's nickname.

"Um...your paintings are good. You could sell your paintings or something," she suggests.

"I'm not good enough, and besides, it's just a hobby."

"You could sell some of your diamond jewelry. You have a lot."

"That's not an option, Sadie, they are precious." I scream into a pillow. "We're getting nowhere!"

"Calm down, Imogen. And besides, you could always sell your unnecessary body parts through the black market!"

The imaginary light bulb goes off atop of my head.

"Yes! Sadie, you are a genius!"

"Imogen, I was kidding, don't tell me you're gonna sell a kidney to a terrorist."

"If that's what it takes."

"That's stupid! You can crash at my apartment-hell, just move in! We're very good friends, am I right?"

"I'm never moving out, Sade, even though I love you. If I do, it'll probably be to my boyfriend."

"You've been dating for a week now, Imogen, you're being ridiculous! I'm coming over now to get you healthy food so your mind can work clearly."

"Okay, fine, only because you offered free food. But I'm gonna sleep on the idea."

"You're ridiculous, but if you do end up going through the black market, I know someone."

"Sadie, honestly, I love you, but the fuck?"

"I'll tell you later. I'm coming over anyway."

"Fine, goodbye," I grumble.

"Bye."

She hangs up and I scream into the pillow again. Two thousand was already high enough rent for me, though it was pretty cheap in Manhattan. This is a load of crap. I don't need tricks or games, I need real money - and fast.

I decide to go off of the "black market" suggestion, though not seriously. The Google Search bar prompts me:

"What would you like to know?"

I enter my request: "Google Search: Which organs don't we need?"