Chapter 28

Beck's view:

I'm Rebekah Weismann and I'm astounded.

Background: I'm thirty-one, Jewish, married, mother to what I thought was the smartest eight year old in the world. My husband, Simon, agreed with me.

He got a position at Auburn as an associate professor with a lock on the tenure track. His parents were impressed. My own were happy, although my own mother secretly harbored the idea that I was supposed to marry a doctor whose name was on a bronze plaque in a big Northeastern hospital instead of doctor who's been published in several journals that aren't affiliated with the AMA. My Sim, PhD, not MD.

So we moved down here when my daughter Rachel was five, and for three years we lived in a pretty nice apartment and I took a position as an administrator.

We had a nice apartment in a nice building and one might think one has secured some certain stability, but in a college town, especially a town with a MAJOR college, one might be mistaken. Several of the apartments were leased to young scholars whose parents had money enough to insure that their offspring had more upscale lodging than the college dormitories.

Those students held some epic parties. Sim and I did not participate, but there were nights, usually Fridays and Saturdays, where the music was entirely too loud. Further, more often than I wish to recount we found passed out partiers strewn about the grounds, not to mention bottles, bongs, clothing, and other little gifts of their activities, many of which required protective equipment to remove.

One particular Sunday morning I left the apartment with Rachel in tow, headed out shopping and found one of our young scholars passed out across the sidewalk, his head in the shrubbery, having obviously and graphically soiled himself. He was unresponsive. I sent Rachel back into our apartment, examined the young man, found respiration and a pulse but he was totally unconscious, so I called 911 and waited until an EMT team carried him off. I went back into the apartment and told Sim that we HAD to move.

Then I sat down with him and my daughter and answered her questions.

"Was he DEAD?"

"No, baby. He probably had too much to drink."

"Why would he do that?"

"Sometimes young people experiment with things," Sim told her. "Alcohol is one of them."

"We have wine in the house. That's alcohol. And beer. That's alcohol." Like I said, smart kid.

"And there's nothing wrong with having a little of it, little one," I explained. "But too much is a bad thing. You CAN die from it. It happens."

We looked at more apartments. We looked at rental houses. The ones that fit our budgets held similar issues. We considered dipping into Sim's inheritance, but that was our nest egg, our rainy day money, so we soldiered on. Both of us put feelers out, though, hoping that something would turn up on any of several grapevines entangling our academic world.

Sim's the one that came home one day with a phone number.

"Where'd you get it?"

"I asked somebody who knew somebody in real estate. There was an apartment building that was under construction and the original developer had some business setbacks. A group bought it up. Six brand new apartments. Four of them are already occupied with families."

"New? How expensive?"

"Not bad, for new," my husband said. "But the report says that the owners are the ones occupying the place and I've been told they're unusual."

"Uh, Sim," I said. "I am not quite as open-minded as I was before we brought Rachel into the world. I've gotten a lot more conventional. What exactly does 'unusual' mean?"

"Three couples..."

"Hetero?"

"Yes. But with age differences. Older guys, younger wives."

"Fourth?"

"Older guy. His daughter. Young wife."

"Anything else?"

"The guys just opened an engineering house. The girls are students at the college."

"Ooooo-kayyyyy," I said. "That's not bad."

"One of them is fourteen. One is fifteen. One is seventeen. One is eighteen."

"Wait," I said. "Fourteen. In college. Who is it that talked to you?"

"Doctor Patel in Engineering. She's been working with them on their college placement."

"But fourteen? In college?"

"Doctor Patel says that we really need to meet them before we write the place off."

I thought for a second. "We'll do it, you and I. Rachel will be at Sarah and Jacob's."

"Rebekah, Doctor Patel said we shouldn't jump to conclusions, that we really need to meet them.

The next day Sim and I went to a brand new strip mall and entered a door that said 3Sigma Engineering where we were greeted by one Dan Richards. He introduced us to another Dan, whom he laughingly called 'Dan 2.0', Dan Granger, and Alan Addison. "One more of us, Jason Ellerbee, but he and his wife are working at a substation an hour out from here. Mizz Patel told us you might call."

"You know Doctor Patel?" I asked. That's when things got strange.

The voice of a young girl said, "Mizz Patel is one of my all-time favorite people. Hi! I'm Cindy Richards!"

"Hello, Cindy. I'm Rebekah Weismann and this is my husband Simon."

"Sim, please. You're Dan's daughter?"

"Oh, gosh no," Cindy said. "He's my husband." She smiled. Her whole face smiles.

Two more young ladies, obviously teens, showed up with a blonde girl child who appeared to be Rachel's age.

Cindy did the introductions. "This is Nikki Granger, wife to Dan 2.0. And this is Tina Addison and her evil stepdaughter Terri. They belong to Alan here. Guys, this is Mizz Rebekah and Mister Sim Weismann."

"Doctor Patel said you were an unusual group," I said.

"Numbers," Dan said. "The age thing. That's what people see. That part's not nearly what astounds me. This bunch will graduate college in two years."

"Except me!" Terri chirped. "Do you have any children?"

Her smile was innocent and genuine, but there's a sparkle in her eyes like there's a furnace burning back there somewhere. "Yes, I have a daughter, Rachel. She's almost eight."

Squeal! "So am I! I hope you like the apartment. I would love to have a friend my age."

Okay, that's a selling point. "Can we look at the apartment?"

"Certainly," Dan said. "Let's go. We can walk out though the back door. It's across the rear parking lot."

We trooped across the space. I swivelled my head, trying to catch as much data as I could gather on the trip. When we exited the back of the building I noted the small sign on the door we'd just closed. It said "3Sigma Office". Next unit over said "3Sigma Laboratory". A third unit was blank and the fourth unit at the far end said "Desai Restaurant". 'Desai'?

The grass on the other side of the parking lot had obviously been freshly sodded, but was looking like it was being properly tended. The apartment building looked new, not flashy, none of the architectural 'features' meant to convey some idea of a French chalet or a Cotswold cottage or any of the other imaginative excursions into manufactured fantasy that we'd seen. In fact, the place had no name at all.

"Most apartments have names. What do you call this place?" I asked.

"Home," Cindy said.

My dear husband laughed. I was trying to be objective, and HE was getting swayed by a little redhead who was, in my estimation, in an improper relationship. And HE was supposed to be the sociologist.

"We never intended it to be a commercial enterprise," Cindy continued, "but when the corporation bought it, we found ourselves with a couple of extra units. We didn't advertise. We were hoping that we'd find some responsible and compatible occupants." She smiled again.

Yes, I noted that those words came from a fourteen year old who looked like something out of a fairy tale.

"Cindy nailed it," Dan said. We have a three bedroom and a two bedroom unit open. We'd prefer a long-term lease. Water's paid for. You pay your own gas and electricity. You can lump your cable and telephone and internet package together, or if you want, you can access the Nikki Network.

"Nikki Network?" Sim asked.

"Yes, when we bought the place, we knew we'd need a pretty stout Internet presence as well as a local area network. The place is wired. Nikki and Cindy worked it up themselves, ran it past Nikki's husband, that's Dan 2.0, and that's what we installed. You're welcome to use it, but you do understand that it's going through our router. Cindy or Nikki can set up your access."

"Your network is designed by a fifteen year old and a fourteen year old. Really?' Sim asked, a bit incredulous.

"Yes," Dan said. "Nikki's husband made sure it would AT LEAST do what we needed. We have a pretty good system, I think."

I looked at Cindy. She was smiling. Over the weeks that I've known her since that first glimpse, I find it difficult to imagine Cindy without the smile. I didn't know that then.

We looked at the apartment. It was brand new, thoughtfully laid out, a larger than normal kitchen. I commented.

"Three Cajun men, two Cajun girls among us. We like kitchens."

I didn't say anything about the baths, but the master bathroom had a large shower. Sim saw it too, though, and raised an eyebrow at me with a little smile.

"Everything's painted white. I learned that in Germany. You rent it white, paint it like you want, and when you move out, we can decide if it goes back white again. If you have color choices, we can have rooms painted to your choice."

I looked at Sim. "We'll take that into consideration."

"If you'd like to see one that's lived in, I can show you ours," Dan said. "It's a two bedroom."

I saw that auburn-headed girl peer in the door. "Uh, Dan, I can show ours. It's a mirror image of this one."

"If you don't mind, uh..." I said.

"It's Tina," she said. "I'd be glad to. Terri's room might be a bit of a..."

"I know how young girls can be," I said.

We entered their apartment through their door. It's in the same alcove as this apartment's door. The alcove, like the rest of the building, was tastefully done in a neutral green with off-white trim.

I was impressed. I don't know why I was harboring any notion that I would be dissatisfied, but when I walked in, I noted that there seemed to be a cohesiveness to the decor. "Nicely done," I said. "Gives me ideas. Did you do this, Tina?"

"Oh, no ma'am. I just made sure that Alan DIDN'T do it. Our home in Louisiana is in the textbook called Home Decorating for Engineers and I wanted something a bit more aesthetically pleasing. Susan's mom helped us out."

"Susan? Did we meet her?" Sim asked.

"Oh, no sir," Tina said. "She's on a project with her husband today since we didn't need to be on campus. She'll be back after four. Her mom has some measure of decorating skill."

"It is well done. Doesn't do that 'I'm decorated' overstatement. Just tasteful and friendly."

"Thank you," Tina said. "I will pass that one on. Mizz Kathy will be happy to hear it."

The rest of the tour of their apartment showed a well done, clean, functional selection of furnishings. The child's bedroom was NOT done up in pink and filled with colorful stuffed animals. I noted the laptop computer open on the kid-sized desk, and the selection of books that I could see were not the normal things one would expect to find in a seven year old's room.

The third bedroom looked like a home office.

After the tour, we were invited to the office for coffee.

"We have a pretty standard lease agreement," Dan said. "You can take a copy with you if you want to read it. I'd recommend that you do. Sim, you're a professor at the college?"

"I am," Sim said. "Associate. I'd like to be tenured, but that's In the future. I do have a chance, though."

"Sociology?"

"Yes," Sim said. "Almost like a real science."

"And you, Mizz Rebekah?"