Chapter 10

“Just looking at apartments,” I told him. “Although I could make myself available.” I gave him my most winning smile, which in those days was pretty darn winning.

The handyman turned out to be the first in a long and colorful string of Marzipan’s protégés whom we would meet, and he somehow sensed that we were in his benefactress’s future. He gave me quite a winning smile in return, and explained: “The woman who owns this building, she owns the café across the street, too, and I’d like her to come over and meet you. You kinda seem like her type, and I bet she’d be willing to help you out on the rent.” He had already pulled a cell phone out of his spectacularly butt-hugging jeans and flipped it open. “Can you hang around for a few minutes?”