My Roommate Is a Vampire(4)
Yours in good health,
Frederick J. Fitzwilliam
I stared at that name at the end of the email.
Frederick J. Fitzwilliam?
What kind of name was that?
I read the email again, trying to make sense of it as Marcie pulled out her phone for her daily Facebook scrolling.
So, the person listing the apartment was a guy. Or, at least, someone with a traditionally male name. That didn’t faze me. If I moved in with him, Frederick wouldn’t be the first guy I’d lived with since moving out of my parents’ house.
What did faze me, though, was . . . everything else. The email was so strangely worded and so formal, I had to wonder exactly how old this person was. And then there was the weird assumption that I might be willing to move in sight unseen.
I tried to ignore these misgivings, reminding myself that all I really cared about was that the apartment was in decent shape and that he wasn’t an axe murderer.
I needed to see the place, and meet Frederick J. Fitzwilliam in person, before making up my mind.
From: Cassie Greenberg [[email protected]]
To: Frederick J. Fitzwilliam [[email protected]]
Subject: Your apartment listing
Hi Frederick,
I’m super glad it’s still available. The description sounds great and I’d like to come see it. I’m free tomorrow around noon if that works for you. Also, could you send me a few pictures? There weren’t any with the Craigslist ad, and I’d like to see some before stopping by. Thanks!—Cassie
Once again, I had to wait only a few minutes before receiving a reply.
From: Frederick J. Fitzwilliam [[email protected]]
To: Cassie Greenberg [[email protected]]
Subject: Your apartment listing
Hello again, Miss Greenberg,
You are welcome to visit the apartment. It makes perfect sense that you would wish to see it before making your decision. I am afraid I will be indisposed tomorrow during the noon hour. Might you be free sometime after sundown? I am typically at my best during the evening hours.
Per your request, I have attached photographs of two rooms that you would likely use with frequency should you move in. The first is of my spare bedroom as it is currently decorated. (You may, of course, change the decor however you wish should you decide to live here.) The second photograph is of the kitchen. (I thought I had included both photographs when I placed the advertisement on Craigslist. Perhaps I did it incorrectly?)
Yours in good health,
Frederick J. Fitzwilliam
After reading through Frederick’s email I clicked on the pictures he sent me, and . . .
Whoa.
Whoa.
Okay.
I didn’t know what this dude’s deal was, but he clearly did not live in the same socioeconomic sphere as me. It was also possible we didn’t live in the same century.
This kitchen wasn’t just different from every other kitchen in every other place I’d ever lived.
It looked like it belonged to an entirely different era.
Nothing in it looked like it had been made within the last fifty years. The fridge was oddly shaped, sort of oval at the top and much smaller than most fridges I’d ever seen. It wasn’t silver, or black, or cream—the only colors I’d ever associated with fridges—but rather a very unusual shade of powder blue.
It perfectly matched the oven beside it.
I vaguely remembered seeing appliances like these in an old colorized episode of I Love Lucy I saw when I was a kid. I got an odd, disoriented feeling when I tried to reconcile the idea that an ancient kitchen like this existed in a modern apartment.
So, I decided to stop trying and moved on to the picture of the bedroom. It was big, just like the Craigslist ad said. Somehow, it looked even more old-fashioned than the kitchen. The dresser was gorgeous, made of a dark wood I couldn’t identify, with ornate curlicue carvings along the top and on the handles. It looked like something you might find at an antique show. The large, floral, probably homemade quilt covering the bed did, too.
As for the bed itself, it was an honest-to-god four-poster bed complete with a lacy white canopy hanging above it. The mattress was thick and looked sumptuous and comfortable.
I thought of all the shitty, secondhand furniture in my soon-to-be-former apartment. If I moved in here I could dump it all at a consignment shop.
These pictures, and the emails, suggested that while Frederick might be a lot older than me, he probably wouldn’t steal all my stuff the day after I moved in.
I could handle an awkward roommate who was maybe in his seventies as long as he wasn’t going to rob or kill me.
Then again, you could only tell so much from tone in an email.
From: Cassie Greenberg [[email protected]]
To: Frederick J. Fitzwilliam [[email protected]]
Subject: Your apartment listing
Frederick,
Okay, those pictures are amazing. Your place looks great! I definitely want to see it, but I can’t come by in the evening tomorrow until around 8. Is that too late? Let me know, and thanks.—Cassie
His next reply came in less than a minute.
From: Frederick J. Fitzwilliam [[email protected]]
To: Cassie Greenberg [[email protected]]
Subject: Your apartment listing
Dear Miss Greenberg,