Page 8 of The Reluctant Roommate

Chapter 6

Some Hard Nos

Professional queer female, 34, seeks same to share modern town house in West Wash Park. Large bedroom with en suite (rain shower and half bath), queen bed, heat & AC, wall-mounted TV, large closet, new carpet. Share spacious living area, basement home gym, and executive kitchen. No couples, children, pets, or smokers. Must be employed, neat, clean, and quiet. Garage space for small car. Power and high-speed Internet included.

Morgan stared at her ad. Her headache pounded and seemed likely to turn it into a full-on migraine. Surely the ad was explicit enough? But so far, all the applicants were exactly what she didn’t want.

She’d turned down a teenage college student desperate to move out of her parents’ basement. Would Morgan be okay buying her liquor?

Not in this lifetime.

The mid-thirties accountant had seemed promising. She was friendly but polite and had described herself as an introverted neat freak lesbian who liked to binge-watch TV series using headphones. Morgan had been about to offer her the room when the perfect roommate mentioned her girlfriend would also be moving in once her lease was up next month, along with her two ragdoll cats.

Uh, no.

But the real low point had been five minutes ago. For starters, Lawden wasn’t female. He was a cisgender male with aJesus Savestattoo, and his MAGA cap told Morgan everything she needed to know about his likely personality and views on queer people. She kept him on the doorstep as she lied—politely, through gritted teeth—that the room had most likely gone to the last person to see it only fifteen minutes ago.

He tipped his cap back, offered her fifty bucks a month more, then looked her up and down and said he presumed she could cook.

She shut the door in his face and leaned against it, breathing hard. Three busts out of three.

She considered the ad and started to type.Absolutely no males. No MAGA Republicans, no one under thirty. No parties allowed. Queer only.She hitsubmitwith a thump.

~ ~ ~

Heidi pushed open the door of the FlyInn, grimacing when she saw the dirty glasses and plates still on the tables, the ring marks on the bar, and Robert sitting at the counter staring at the TV.

“You’re late.” He didn’t look away from the Denver Broncos game.

“By two minutes.” Heidi made several trips, collecting dirty glasses and plates and putting them on the bar, then returned to wipe.

It was a job, she reminded herself. And despite the vibe she got from Robert that he would fire her the second someone better came along, she was still there after two weeks. Still being paid at the end of every week. She was getting regular evening shifts now, and the tips were much improved. The new cook, Arnie, lived close to the hostel and often gave her a ride home.

Lula had quit in dramatic fashion at the end of the first week, when Robert yelled at her for being too slow.

“The fuck I’m slow.” Lula had ripped off her apron and threw it on the bar. “You need a fucking cook as well as a server. I quit. Find some other sucker to work for you, you lazy bastard.”

Lula had walked into a job as a server at a new sports bar on the southern edge of the LoDo district. She said it was good and that the second a position opened up, she’d let Heidi know. Lula had also moved into a rambling old house near Cheeseman Park with one of the other servers and her housemates.

It was Friday—payday. That was the good thing. The not-so-good thing was that the hostel had a limit on how long people could stay. And Heidi would reach it in two days.

She acknowledged one of the regulars’ tilt of his empty glass, poured him another Fat Tire, and passed on his cheeseburger order to the cook. She poured cheap vodka, opened bottles of Corona, and made a decent gin and tonic for a young couple who had obviously strayed into the wrong bar.

Robert left for the evening, saying he’d be back to lock up, and Heidi breathed a sigh of relief. No more nitpicking—at least for this shift.

Arnie slipped her a burger and a few burned fries, which she ate at the far end of the bar out of sight of the CCTV. She had a job. She had some money. Now she needed somewhere to live.

The roommate site seemed to have a few promising ads, but she quickly found many of them weren’t for her. She’d prefer only one or two roommates and, if possible, her own bathroom. She added a filter for LGBT+ friendly, and the potential list shrank even more. She flagged the possibles and went back to work.

~ ~ ~

Hi potential roomie,

I’m Heidi, 32, a pansexual cisgender woman. I’m Australian, been in the US for a couple of months, new to Denver. I like it here, looking forward to exploring the city and the mountains. I’m working bar five or six days each week. Your place looks great, and I’d love to come over and see if we’re a fit.

Heidi threw the cell phone down on her bed. The dorm was empty apart from two new blokes who presumably thought themselves alone as they debated which beds were more likely to be those of “hot girls,” going by the possessions and neatness.

She rolled her eyes, and, without drawing back the privacy curtain, shouted that all the women here were hot and that all were more discerning than to want to talk to someone like them.