A Room With A View

Chapter Thirty-Two - Phineas

October 9th, Monday

Phineas sat perched on the edge of his seat. He was looking over the year's financials when there was a knock on the door. It startled Phineas so badly he spilled his tea.

"Come in!" he called, using a wad of tissues to mop up the spreading chamomile.

The door opened and a mass of curly hair poked inside. "Do you have a moment?" Madeline Mills asked. Her voice was rough and there were circles below her eyes that were not there before.

"Yes." Phineas dropped the wet tissues into the trash bin and righted the teacup on its delicate saucer.

Ms. Mills came slowly inside, wringing her hands together and darting nervous glances at Phineas. She took a seat in the chair across from him at the carved wooden desk.

They sat in silence for a moment. Phineas was at a loss for how to begin the conversation.

He had been spending some time with Shaina since their first improv class, and Shaina had mentioned that Phineas wasn't always tactful when speaking with others, so he had promised her that this week he would make an effort to be a more winsome communicator. 

So far he had failed.

Thankfully, Ms. Mills spoke first, breaking the tension. "I don't think I've ever complimented you on this," she said, running a hand along the desk's beveled edge.

Phineas leaned his elbows against the leather blot pad. Yes, it was a marvelous desk. It had belonged to Franklin Delano Roosevelt. Phineas's great-grandfather had received it as a gift to commemorate the first renovation of the Watley.

But Phineas sensed that Ms. Mills wasn't there to compliment the décor, although he greatly appreciated the gesture.

"Is something on your mind, Ms. Mills?" Phineas asked, forcing his tone into something mimicking concern.

Ms. Mills's hand stilled against the polished mahogany.

"It's been a full month since we talked," she said, her gaze fixed firmly on the wood grain. "My rent's due."

Ah. Phineas had nearly forgotten their conversation of a month ago. He had asked Ms. Mills to get her affairs in order within the span of three months. Although, if Shaina had been there, she might have said that Phineas had told Ms. Mills to get herself in order, rather than asked her. In his defense, he had the Watley's reputation to uphold. Plus, with the increasing property tax and utility payments to make, he couldn't afford to let his tenants slip in their rent. He, quite simply, needed the money.

Ineas—(that was Shaina's nickname for him)—damn the reputation. Just speak to her like a normal human being, and you'll sort this all out. Don't hold onto the nostalgia of the Watley too hard or you'll squeeze all the air out of it. Shaina's voice rang out in Phineas's mind. At least it seemed like the sort of thing Shaina would say.

Phineas saw Ms. Mills open her mouth, and realized that he had let too much time pass while he was internally conversing with himself. Ms. Mills must think he was expecting some sort of answer or excuse.

"Wait," Phineas said, holding up a hand. "I have something related to this." He reached into the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a creamy envelope. He shook out the blue check from within and slid it across the table toward Ms. Mills. She didn't pick it up.

"What is this?"

Phineas could barely hear her.

"It's your last month's rent. A woman named Len came by yesterday to drop it off." Phineas wrinkled his nose at the mention of Len's name. The woman had walked through the lobby, bold as brass, in nothing but a leather corset and thick tights. He'd had half a mind to throw her out immediately, but she had sweet-talked her way into a meeting.