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Show Woodworth/82 sit at each desk; slouched, leaning forward, chin on palms, legs sprawled under the desk, or crossed and swung to the side. "Hey, Rach," Rachael's friend calls. He is built square, his lips perfect, abnormally red. Before he shakes her hand, Marty smells cologne. "Mike McKinley," he tells her. "So. Rach here tell me you're looking for a place on the hill. Com' on over to the desk, and let's show you what we've got." Marty follows him, relieved when Rachael picks up her chair and follows them to the desk. "Kind of a formality. Fill this out." He hands her a sheet with tiny type-written questions on it. "Need a pen?" He hands her a rapidograph before she has a chance to reach for her purse. "So. Where you been keeping yourself?" he asks Rachael as Marty fills in the blanks. "How much you want to spend on a place?" he asks Marty. looking over the completed questionnaire. "About $200." "Well, I give it to ya straight. You aren't going to find much on the hill for that price." "How much would I have to spend?" "That depends on what you're looking for." "I'd like one bedroom. With lots of windows. And a fireplace. I don't want to live on the ground floor. Or in the basement, because I'm going to be living by myself." "Right. Right you are." Mike starts flipping through a rolodex, pulling a few cards, making notes on a piece of paper. Marty notices a beige, crusty place on his nose where he has tried to use make-up to cover a pimple. "Pets?" he asks. "No." |