Not-Kris

As far as I know, my landlord doesn’t live in our building. At least, we mail our rent checks to a residential address in a suburb of Chicago. But from time to time, he will stay in the “Office” on the first floor of my building. I don’t know what that office looks like, but I like to imagine it’s a dimly lit room with a cot, a sink and a hotplate. Sort of like the “Cold Water Flats” I’ve read about in books about New Yorkers in the 1920’s.

The only way I know he stays in this office is because every once in a while, when I’m waiting for the elevator late at night after a night of festivities, I’ve seen him peeping out of the blinds of the interior window. Presumably, to see who is coming in so late. When I turn to see him looking, he quickly moves away from the window. I’ve also noticed steam on that same interior window. Probably a result of cooking beans on the hotplate.

My landlord is a nice guy. This makes me a lucky tenant. I’ve had my fair share of questionable landlords. Like that seemingly nice, responsible couple who failed to repair the lock on our mailbox—even after months of my complaining. My roommate at the time had her identity stolen as a result of one enterprising thief who noticed that our lock was broken and started stealing our mail. They finally fixed the lock—2 weeks after we threatened legal action. And it took them a week to repair our 1 and only toilet. Needless to say, that wasn’t the most hygienic week. I am lucky that my landlord knows how to fix things himself. Like my leaky sink last year. And that he takes pride in the fact that he takes great care of our building.

I get the feeling that my landlord is married with children. At least, all of our notices come signed from “Andy and Kris”. I am directed to call Kris with all lease questions. She is a very nice woman with a thick Polish accent—just like Andy.

Recently, my landlord has been staying in the Office quite regularly—every night to be exact. And he’s been seen around our building with a mysterious blonde woman. She is an attractive woman, middle-aged. A sharp dresser, she is always wearing lots of gold jewelry. I have overheard them speaking Polish in the laundry room.

I don’t know if this is Kris or not. From the way this woman looks at the floor and stealthily sneaks around the building, I’m beginning to think that it is not. Also, this woman has distaste for me. At least, whenever I see her she will quickly turn any smile on her face to a full-fledged scowl. And then she’ll look at the floor, scowl still intact. Kris would never do that.

I have made up a scenario in my mind wherein Andy is cheating on his wife and brings this Not-Kris to his little “office” love nest. He cooks Beefaroni for her on his hotplate and they spend their nights cuddled up on his twin cot. She is happy with him, but insanely jealous and fearful that she will loose him. Hence the scowl on her face whenever she sees me. Not-Kris thinks Andy is cheating on her with me. She doesn’t know that I’m engaged and live with my boyfriend. She thinks that I am just some little harlot with a penchant for sweet Polish sausage cooked on my landlord’s hotplate. I try to flash my ring to Not-Kris. As an assurance that I’m happy with my American Hot Dog, but I don’t think she buys it.