Nicole arrived home from the morning shift at the coffee shop to find her belongings—what few she had—piled outside the door to her apartment. Her clothes were stacked in a heap on the front stoop. A large duffel bag with wheels stood upright on the edge of the driveway. Lying on the grass were a pillow, a deflated air mattress, and a plastic grocery bag from Vons filled with various health and beauty products.

Elena had told Nicole that she would give her one more day to pay the rent. Apparently she’d changed her mind. Not that Nicole could blame her roommate—she was already two months behind, and owed Elena over a thousand dollars. Elena had been lenient; she knew how hard it was to settle in Los Angeles, especially for someone who had moved out from a small town and was unaccustomed to how expensive city life could be. But Elena’s patience—and budget—had its limits.

Nicole had driven out to California the previous August. In October, her car—which had barely survived the journey west—had broken down. With no money to fix it, she’d left it on Washington Boulevard where it slowly accumulated parking tickets until the city finally had it towed.

Without a car, she’d been forced to quit her waitressing job at a high-end restaurant in Santa Monica. Instead, she’d taken a job at the coffee shop. It was within walking distance of her apartment, but the pay wasn’t much above minimum wage.

Nicole weeded through her clothes, choosing the most versatile outfits and stuffing them into the duffel bag. She sifted through the grocery bag, picked out a few key items—shampoo, soap, toothpaste and a toothbrush, a bottle of Motrin, a hairbrush, and tampons—and packed them into one of the duffel’s side compartments.

Once she was satisfied that she had all she needed, she pulled out the duffel bag’s retractable plastic handle. She slung her purse over her shoulder, picked up her pillow, and rolled the bag down the driveway, leaving everything else behind.

"You’re back?" Joe said when Nicole entered the coffee shop, dropping her bag and pillow just outside the door.

"I need to use the Internet," Nicole said.

"You just used it before you left."

Joe had only recently been promoted to manager, yet he acted like he owned the place. Ignoring him, Nicole walked over to the three computers lined up along the back wall. One of the regulars, Greg—a pudgy man who worked at the 7-Eleven down the street—was seated at the middle terminal, but the other two spots were empty. Nicole smiled at Greg and sat down to his left.

“The computers are for customer use only,” Joe yelled, leaning over the counter. Nicole turned and flashed him the finger. Joe glared back, but eventually looked away.

“Asshole,” Nicole said under her breath.

Greg let out a chuckle.

Nicole launched a browser and typed in the address for Craigslist; the classifieds site loaded. She clicked the apts / housing link, bringing up a long list of apartments for rent. She scanned the prices: almost all of them were over a thousand dollars a month, and the few inexpensive ones were in places like San Pedro and Torrance where she had no desire to live.

“Fuck,” Nicole said after searching through five pages of listings and finding nothing appealing. She jumped to the Rooms & Shares section, hoping to discover something more reasonably priced. The rents were lower, but still not low enough. Not that she was surprised—she had learned how expensive it was to live in LA. Her last apartment had been a lucky break—and she hadn’t even been able to afford it.

What should she do? Moving back to Nebraska wasn’t an option. She couldn’t show her face in her hometown again—at least not until she had some success to speak of. Before she left that hellhole, she’d bragged to everyone that she was going to make something of herself in LA. The moment she returned to the rural town of nine thousand seven hundred and forty-two the gossip would start; soon the entire town would know that she had come back a failure. And they’d be happy to see her fail. Because they’re jealous, she told herself. They wish they had the guts that I have.

A listing caught Nicole’s eye: $25—Cheap place to share for a new girl in town. She clicked the link and read the description:

New to town and looking for a place to live? Not enough cash to put down a deposit? Did you come to LA looking for your big break? Need help getting on your feet? I’m a professional male in his late twenties looking to share my one-bedroom apartment in Santa Monica with a qualified young lady. I work constantly and need someone to take care of my place in exchange for cheap rent. Must be open-minded.

Nicole reread the posting, lingering over the last line: Must be open-minded. It wasn’t hard to guess what the writer meant. This guy must be desperate for a woman, she thought, snickering.

“Hey,” Joe yelled, “there’s a twenty-minute time limit on computer use. I know you know that, Nicky.”

Nicole glanced around. “Um, I don’t see anyone else waiting,” she shot back.

“Just make it quick.”

Nicole sighed. She slid the mouse pointer over the Back button and was about to click it when she hesitated. She read the posting over a third time.

Let’s see what this guy’s deal is, she told herself. If nothing else, it could provide some amusement.

She logged into her email account and typed a response.

***

Matt had been drunk when he posted the listing. He’d only planned to stay at the bar until the end of the basketball game, but by the final buzzer he was working on his fifth Corona and flirting with the cute bartender. And so he found himself stumbling home at a little after two in the morning.

Now he winced as he read over the words that he’d written. Must be open-minded? What had possessed him to write such a thing? He remembered watching Josh scan the listings in the Therapeutic section on Craigslist looking for a masseuse that said she was “open-minded,” so he could get a massage with a “happy ending.” Matt had claimed to be disgusted by Josh’s behavior, but a few days later he’d called the number listed in one of the ads Josh had picked out, hanging up as soon as a whispery female voice answered.

Yesterday morning he’d been reading the housing listings and come across a posting in which a forty-something male was offering to share his one-bedroom condo with a “cute” and “cool” girl twenty-five or younger. He wondered who would possibly respond to such an ad. Evidently last night he’d decided to find out.

He’d asked the bartender on a date, hasn’t he? His memory was fuzzy. It slowly came back—yes, he’d asked for her number as last call was nearing. She’d told him that she had a boyfriend. The disappointment he’d felt was magnified by the large quantity of alcohol he had consumed. Claire had dumped him more than six months ago, but she was still on his mind, and every time another woman rejected him, it re-aggravated the old wound. When he’d gotten home he’d posted the listing on Craigslist—just out of curiosity, he’d told himself at the time. Not surprisingly, no one had responded.

Matt glanced at the time in the corner of his computer screen. It was a little before noon and he had a headache. He got up from his desk and kicked a pile of clothes out of the way, wading through the mess that was his bedroom. He grabbed a bottle of Advil from the top of his bureau, along with a glass that was half-filled with water. He surveyed his room as he took four pills, one-by-one, chasing them down with the water. He was twenty-nine, his college years nearly a decade behind him, yet his apartment still looked like a dorm room.

Matt sat back down at his computer and scanned the Rooms & Shares listings. His posting had already been pushed halfway down the page by more recent ads. Soon it would be bumped to the second page of listings, lost in the bowels of Craigslist.

He closed the browser window and switched back to his email. His company had a beta release coming up of a new version of their most popular application and he was going to be busy the rest of the weekend fixing bugs in the code; last night had been his only respite. Now it was almost afternoon, and he hadn’t started work yet. His mailbox was filled with emails from various junior team members asking questions of him.

He was triaging his email, deciding whom to respond to first, when a new message appeared in his Inbox. The familiar to him, and he would have dismissed the email as porn spam if the subject line hadn’t caught his attention: Craigslist posting.

He opened the email and read it:

I saw your listing on craigslist. I’m interested in your place. Can I stop by some time to take a look at it? How do I get in touch with you? Thanks. Nicole.

The email looked genuine—but such a response would be easy to fake. Was it someone fucking with him? An enraged feminist, or perhaps a bored college kid? And if it was sincere, what kind of girl would respond to such a posting? Common sense told him it was a trick—or someone overweight and desperate. His index finger slid over to the delete key. It would be best to trash the message and forget he’d ever left the posting.

Yet he was intrigued. He fantasized about a cute, young girl who had recently arrived in Los Angeles to pursue an acting career. Ready to do anything to make it. Why not respond to the message, take it a bit further and see what happened? It could add some excitement to what was going to be a long day.

But no—he was still untraceable at this point, having used an anonymized email address created by Craigslist in lieu of posting his actual contact information. If he responded now, he’d be sending out his real email address to whomever nickygirl5634 was. He could be exposed, accused of trolling the Internet for desperate women to take advantage of.

Yet he wouldn’t really be taking advantage of her, would he? Los Angeles was full of scum—guys that used and then dropped woman without a second thought. He was much nicer—and certainly more honorable—than any guy who would seriously post a listing such as his. He’d be better than anyone she could reasonably expect to leave such an ad. And if she was desperate enough to respond, what else was she willing to do? He could save her, stop her from getting herself into serious trouble.

He wrote a quick reply and then started his work for the day.

***

Contrary to what most people assumed, Nicole hadn’t come out to Los Angeles to be an actress. Yes, she had the look—a slim waistline, blond hair that hung just past her shoulders, perfect teeth, and a killer smile—but Nicole’s motivation had been simpler. She wanted to escape the harsh Midwest winters—and her family. Her mother and father had lived their entire lives in the same town where she’d grown up. Both her sets of grandparents still lived there, along with a slew of aunts, uncles, and cousins. Her father had been pestering her to take a job working at the car dealership he owned—two of her brothers were already employed there—and she had been running out of reasons to say no. She was still living at home three years after graduating from high school, and her parents were getting as sick of her as she was of them. So, a few days after her boyfriend broke up with her, she’d bought a 1982 Ford Escort that had been sitting for months in a neighbor’s driveway and headed out West.

The reply came quickly. Five minutes after responding to the Craigslist ad, a new message appeared in Nicole’s Inbox:

Nicole,

Let’s talk. What’s your phone number? I can give you a call.

Matt

There was no way she was going to send her cell phone number off to a random stranger who probably wasn’t looking for anything more than a cheap lay. Still, she was intrigued. It was a seemingly benign response, with no sleazy or suggestive overtones. Perhaps the guy was cute? Unlikely, but the idea of not having to pay any significant rent was appealing. The two of them would have to be compatible, of course. And the odds were that they wouldn’t be. But if they met and there was a spark, why not go for it? All her economic problems would be solved. And if after a time things didn’t work out, she could just move on—and maybe by then she’d have a better job, or at least some savings, that would allow her to afford her own place.

***

Matt had only managed to respond to one of the emails from his coworkers before receiving a new message from in his Inbox. He told himself not to read it, to wait until he’d gotten further along in his work. But his restraint only lasted a couple of minutes, and soon he opened the email from Nicole:

Hey. Call me right now… (310) 555-3742, Nicole.

He told himself again that this was a bad idea—it probably wasn’t a real girl. It was either some guy fucking with him or, even worse, someone trying to entrap and expose him. And yet at the same time he knew he’d come too far—his curiosity was aroused to the point that he had to follow through. He hadn’t gotten laid since Claire left him—what if this really was some young starlet willing to do anything for a break?

He picked up the phone and dialed the number.

***

Nicole walked behind the counter and poured herself a cup of coffee.

“What now?” Joe asked, looking up from the sandwich he was preparing.

“Nothing.”

“Get out of here. Go home. Your shift is over.”

Nicole took a sip of her coffee.

Joe sighed and turned back to his sandwich, laying a slice of deli ham on a crusty French roll. The coffee shop phone rang. Nicole answered it before the second ring.

“Hello?”

“Uh, hello,” said the voice on the other end of the line.

“Yes?” Nicole said.

“Is Nicole there?” the voice asked.

“Is this Matt?”

“Yeah… Nicole?”

“This is Nicole.”

Nicole glanced at Joe; he was staring at her, exasperated.

“So… you’re interested in the apartment?” Matt asked. Nicole noted a wavering in his voice.

“Yes,” she replied. “I’m very much interested.”

“Cool. Umm, what is there to tell you about it? It’s in Santa Monica. About five blocks from the beach. It’s on the second floor and has a deck. It’s completely furnished: I’ve got a couple couches, a table and chairs, and a fully-equipped kitchen. The building has a laundry room. The place is pretty nice…. How does that sound?”

“Good,” Nicole answered. Silence hung on the line.

Finally, Matt continued speaking. “Oh, yeah, well, I guess I should tell you a bit about myself. I’m a programmer. I work for a company in Marina Del Rey that develops animation software for film companies. My hours are pretty crazy. This is one of the first Saturdays that I’ve been home in a while. And I’m still doing work from here.”

Matt paused. Nicole said nothing.

“Um, you understand that we’d be sharing a… a bedroom?” Matt asked.

“Yes,” Nicole replied. But would we be sharing a bed?

“You see, as I said, I work a lot. I make decent money. I can totally afford to pay the rent on my own. But I need someone to take care of the place for me, because I don’t have enough time myself. So that’s why I’m offering the place for so cheap.”

Why not just hire a cleaning woman then? Nicole wanted to ask. He was obviously nervous. Was he wondering if she was for real? Was he trying to picture what she looked like—did he worry she was some fat cow, desperate to get a man any way she could? In that case, he’d be pleasantly surprised.

“I guess the next thing to do would be for us to meet, to see if we get along,” Nicole said.

“Uh… okay. You want to stop by my place sometime?”

“Sounds good.”

“What day works for you?” Matt asked.

“I’m free this afternoon, if you’re around.”

“I’ll be here. What time?”

They made plans to get together. Matt gave her directions to his place. She’d need to take the bus, but she didn’t mention that to Matt; she didn’t want to let on that she lacked a car.

“I’ll see you around three then?” Matt said.

“Sure,” Nicole replied.

As she hung up the phone, Nicole realized that Joe was hovering behind her.

“Who was that?” he demanded.

Nicole flashed him another dirty look and then turned away. She marched out of the coffee shop without another word.

***

Matt couldn’t quite believe what he had just done. She’d be here in less than two hours and his apartment was badly in need of cleaning. Work was going to have to wait until later that evening.

He gathered up the dirty clothes littering his bedroom floor, shoving as much as he could into a worn-out laundry bag. When he had filled the bag, he hauled it outside and dumped it all—whites, lights, and darks—in the washing machine in the back of his building; the machine took four quarters and he only had three, so he left the clothes in the washer without starting it. He returned to his bedroom with the empty laundry bag and stuffed the remaining dirty clothes into it. He threw the bag in his closet and shut the door.

Next he tackled the living room, collecting the old newspapers, magazines, and junk mail strewn across the coffee table and tossing them into the trash. He took the various computer reference manuals scattered about the room and managed to fit them in the wooden bookcase in the corner. Post-It notes, bills, and anything else he deemed important enough to keep were piled together and stashed in the desk in his bedroom.

He sprayed the bathroom sink and counter with tile cleaner and then wiped them down with a sponge, applying a little muscle to get up the soap and toothpaste guck that covered the basin and faucet.

He took out a broom and swept the kitchen floor, collecting the crumbs and dirt into a small pile. Lacking a dustpan, he carefully brushed the dirt onto a piece of paper, rolled the paper into a ball, and chucked it into the trash. He loaded the dishwasher with the dirty pots, pans, plates, and silverware that were stacked in the sink, tossed in some detergent, and started it up. He gave the counter a quick wipe-down, and then returned to his desk to attempt to work until his guest arrived.

***

Nicole got off the bus—still lugging her bag and pillow—a few blocks from Matt’s apartment. She trudged down the sidewalk, scanning the street numbers until she came to Matt’s building. It was a two-story structure, painted pastel pink with a green trim. A concrete pathway led along the left side, closed off by an iron gate. Nicole pushed on the gate and it opened; as she walked by she noticed that the key lock that had been built into it had long since been removed.

Just inside the gate, four mailboxes were mounted to the wall. Nicole set down se left her pillow and duffel bag there. She didn’t want Matt to realized how desperately she needed a place. Halfway down the building there was a passageway with a door on either side. Past the doors, a set of stairs led up to a landing.

Nicole climbed the stairs. There were two more doors at the top. She knocked on the one with a gold-painted metallic four screwed into it. She waited, staring at the peephole, wondering if Matt was watching her from the other side. Was he studying her, debating whether to let her in? She did her best to appear calm. Shortly, the bolt clicked and the door opened.

He was more attractive than she’d expected. She’d been ready for anything, picturing a stereotypical acne-covered computer geek, with a gut spilling out from under a black concert T-shirt. But Matt was slim and cleared-skinned, dressed in khakis with a navy-blue polo shirt. He wasn’t going to be modeling anytime soon, but she’d dated guys worse-looking than him before.

She felt better, yet was also more suspicious. She was glad that he wasn’t an ogre, but this was a guy that shouldn’t have too hard a time picking up girls—why did he feel the need to leave such a posting on Craigslist?

“Nicole?” he asked; his voice sounded higher than it did over the phone.

“Matt?” she replied.

He nodded. “Yeah, come on in,” he said.

The apartment, like Matt, exceeded her expectations. The door opened into a spacious living and dining area. On the left there were a couple of couches, a glass coffee table, and a large entertainment center. A small table with four chairs sat in one corner. The furniture was new and modern. The entertainment center was substantial—not a K-Mart particleboard special—and was stocked with an array of electronic equipment, including a high-definition television. There was a bookshelf on the far side of the room. The coffee table was bare except for a copy of The Los Angeles Times, neatly folded.

“This is it,” Matt said.

Nicole was impressed with how tidy the place was—it didn’t look like the apartment of bachelor who was supposedly in need of a housekeeper. Was this really how the place normally looked, or had he cleaned it up before she arrived? She walked around the room. Examining it closer she saw that the shelves of the bookcase were covered with dust, and that clumps of dirt and carpet fuzz had collected along the base of the walls. But Nicole had seen much worse.

Matt led her into the kitchen. It was small, but the cabinets and appliances were all relatively new, and the counter was clean and bare. There were no dirty dishes piled in the sink, though Nicole noticed that the dishwasher was running and wondered what the room had looked like earlier in the day.

“I’ve got a pretty big collection of dishes and cooking stuff,” Matt said, opening a cabinet to reveal a full set of matching plates, bowls, saucers, coffee cups, and the like. In another cabinet was an array of glassware including wine goblets, pint glasses, and general-purpose tumblers.

“I don’t use the stuff much. I’m at work a lot—I tend to order in, or cook something up quick,” Matt said. “But I’d like to change that.”

He showed her the bathroom next. It was clean, much to Nicole’s delight. Her ex-boyfriend’s bathroom had mold and mildew everywhere. Whenever she took a shower, the tub had filled up to her ankles with soapy water, the drain clogged with hair that had accumulated over the years.

“And here’s the bedroom,” Matt said finally, opening the door across from the bathroom.

It was quite large compared to what Nicole was used to. Two bureaus, a desk and a chair, and a king-sized bed with a nightstand fit without difficulty. The room was in similar condition to the living room—neat and uncluttered, but in need of a good vacuuming and dusting.

Nicole’s eyes went to the bed. Might she soon be sharing it with the man standing next to her?

***

She was hot. Or at least more attractive than any girl Matt had dated before. He stood behind her in the doorway as she looked around his bedroom, checking out how nicely her jeans fit her. He studied the way the shirt she wore was tapered to show off her slender body. She was wearing a black bra—he could see the strap through the light yellow of her shirt. Could this girl soon be living with him? What was she thinking as she studied his bed?

Nicole turned around and Matt quickly looked up. She nodded her head. “Yeah, looks good,” she said.

“Looks good? You mean—“

“Let’s talk,” Nicole said.

“Okay.”

They went back into the living room. She sat on one of the couches; he took the other.

“So, has anyone else looked at the place?” Nicole asked.

Of course no one else had—he wasn’t even really looking for a roommate. But he couldn’t admit that.

“No,” Matt replied. “You’re the first, actually.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. So, are you new to LA?”

“Yep. I moved out here about six months ago.”

He was about to ask her if she had come out to pursue an acting career. All the young and attractive girls who relocated to LA came out in hopes of becoming movie stars, and he had developed enough contacts within the film industry to potentially help her out. But he decided to keep his question broad. “What brought you out here?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Just wanted to get away from home.”

“Oh.”

“You thought I was an actor, didn’t you?” she asked.

“Yeah, but don’t take it personally. Everyone that moves out here wants to be an actor.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“Thank God,” Matt replied. They both laughed.

“Are you from LA?” she asked.

“No. I grew up in Northern California. Near Sacramento. But I’ve been down here for the past six years.”

“You like LA?”

“There are good things and bad things about it.”

There was an awkward pause. Then Nicole spoke. “So, what kind of arrangement are you looking for?” she asked, staring at him pointedly.

What was he looking for?

“That’s a good question,” Matt replied. Nicole glanced over at the bedroom, laughing nervously, which put him even less at ease.

She doesn’t have a place to stay, Matt thought. She’s broke. I can help her. He could make her life better. That evidently hadn’t been the case with Claire. What had Claire said to him the day she left him? That he didn’t pay enough attention to her? That he worked too much?

And now this girl sat across from him in his living room—a girl much more attractive than Claire—and he had what she wanted, or at least what she needed: a place to live, a bed to sleep in. Things his money could buy. So much easier than what Claire had demanded.

He eyed her breasts: they were perfect, at least from his perspective. Not huge—probably just a B cup, maybe a C—but perky, accented by that fitted yellow shirt she was wearing.

He looked up. She had caught him staring—yet she appeared more amused than angry or embarrassed. He remembered she was waiting for him to reply. What was he looking for? A live-in prostitute? Nothing more than having that pair of breasts next to him each night? What was he doing? How low had he fallen?

“I’m sorry,” he said at last, “I don’t think this is going to work.”

***

Not going to work? He’d had her come this far, and now he was saying it wasn’t going to work? She’d caught him ogling her chest—he must be attracted to her, mustn’t he? Why wasn’t it going to work? Why the sudden cold feet? Was he sizing her up, comparing her to some other girl he’d met earlier in the day? Was she not pretty enough?

She looked past him and out the window. It was clouding up. Rain was a rarity in LA, but wouldn’t it be just her luck, a downpour on the one day she could be living outdoors? She didn’t want to have to traipse back down to the street, hauling her pillow and bag with her.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated.

“Why? What’s the problem?”

“Nothing, nothing at all…” he started. “I, well, I just don’t think it’s going to work out between the two of us.”

“Not work out?”

He shook his head. “No, I’m sorry.”

Nicole was about to tell him that it was okay and make a graceful exit. But, instead, she decided to try something. She yawned, clasped her hands over her head, and stretched backward, puffing out her breasts like her friend Theresa Bloom—who always had her pick of the guys—used to do back in high school. She kept her eyes firmly fixed on him, watching as he struggled to hold her gaze. His eyes darted briefly down to look at her chest before flicking back up to her. She leaned toward him, smiling wider now, resting her hand on his. “Can’t we talk about it some more?” she asked.

His hand tensed when she touched him. He could no longer look directly at her. She was sure now that he wanted her—he couldn’t hide it. He was lonely—he must be lonely, why else would he post such an ad? He lived by himself, worked all the time. He needed companionship. She could provide that. She could make him happy.

***

She knows how to play the game, Matt told himself. She wanted to seduce him. He has a place for her to stay, and she was willing to give herself up in order to have a bed to sleep in.

Was he supposed to make a move now? Could it really be this easy? It all came so naturally to her. Had she responded to similar ads? Had she already used her body to endear herself to other men, and would she toss him by the wayside when she found someone else who better served her needs?

She gripped his hand. “I was thrown out of my apartment today. I really, really need a place to stay,” she said.

This was wrong, wasn’t it? But if he said no, if he sent her away, where else might she go? If she was willing to reply to his posting, whom else would she reply to? Did she already have other appointments lined up for later in the day? He was a good person, but there was no telling what the next guy would be like. He could provide her with shelter—not only a safe place to sleep, but also protection from all the others who would take advantage of her misfortune.

***

“I suppose we could discuss it more,” Matt said.

“Great.”

“How about talking over coffee? There’s a Starbuck’s just down the street.”

“Sounds good,” Nicole said. “I left some things outside. Can I bring them in?”

“Oh, sure, let me get them for you,” Matt said.

“Thanks. There’s a bag and a pillow downstairs. By the mailboxes.”

“No problem,” Matt said, heading for the door.

Nicole got up and took another look at the bedroom. She opened the closet door—it was a huge walk-in closet, cluttered, with an overflowing laundry bag in the corner. But there’d still be plenty of room for Nicole’s stuff. She walked over to the bed and sat on it. The mattress was firm but comfortable.

She heard the apartment door open. Matt peered into the room.

“Is this all?” he asked, holding up the duffel bag and pillow.

“Yep. That’s it,” she said. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

“So, coffee?” Nicole asked.

“Sure.”

“Let’s go then.”

Nicole got up off the bed and followed Matt out of the apartment and into the hall. As he closed the door, she glanced back inside, at her potential new home.

THE END