He steers the car back on the road ... pissed off.
"You feel me?" He asks.
I nod. Roman is saying all the right things, all very assuring things, but I worry that he's looking at me in a new light. I'm not sure why his opinion even matters to me, but it does. Maybe he thinks differently of me now. Maybe he feels sorry for me. Maybe he realizes that I'm dumber than a doornail, because let's be honest, only an idiot would miss the fact that her boyfriend was a frackin' drug addict?
"Is that it?" He points to the management office of my old building while he unknowingly pulls into a parking space directly in front of my old apartment.
Roman is dressed in a slightly loose vintage ringer tee and worn jeans with a different pair of black hard bottomed boots on. His tats are very much visible today, and his height and width make him appear even more formidable. His shirt softly hugs his solid edges, and I gaze in amazement at what I already know is a six-pack rippling underneath. With a core that strong, I can't help but daydream about how easily it must be for him to lift a woman up and flip her over.
Good grief, I have issues.
"The black door." I instruct. "Use the knocker. The bell doesn't work."
I move to open the passenger side door but Roman shuts me down with four simple words in an I'm not bullshitting tone of voice.
"Stay in the car."
I don't argue. I can feel the hostility rolling off of him like a dark thundercloud. I'm not even sure why he's so angry. The apartment manager didn't have anything to do with what happened, but I'm still worried because the apartment manager is an asshole, and Roman doesn't seem like he has a lot of patience for assholes.
Roman reaches inside the compartment area between the two front seats and pulls out a bag of plain M&M's. He rips the bag open, shakes a few in his palm, then tosses a few of the hard-shelled candies one by one in his mouth as he exits the car.
"Be right back," he says confidently.
He doesn't use the knocker, but uses one of his massive fists to pound on the door three times. My old apartment manager Owen answers the door with irritation across his face. His normal look.
"Can I help you?"
"I'm here to collect Elizabeth Hill's security deposit and the rest of her things. She has a couple of boxes in the basement."
"And you are?"
"The person who is here to collect Elizabeth Hill's security deposit and the rest of her things."
"Funny, but she needs to do it. I can't turn anything over to you legally. I don't know who the hell you are."
"Are you a lawyer?" Roman snidely asks.
"Are you?" Owen stiffens but Roman's body language remains the same. Relaxed.
"Are you a cop?"
"ARE YOU? Listen I don't have time for this." Owen scans the area and spots me sitting in the car biting my nails.
"Oh Miss Hill." He drawls my last name out. "I highly suggest you forget about getting that security deposit back after the state you left my unit in."
"No, I highly suggest you shut the fuck up and go get what I asked for. I don't want to ask again."
I motion to get out of the car to try and talk some sense into Owen, but I stop when Roman speaks to me again. He doesn't even turn around when he says it. He doesn't need to.
"Stay in the car Elizabeth."
So I stay put.
He pops another few candies in his mouth and speaks with a deadly calm to Owen as if he's holding on to his last bit of restraint.
"My cousin is in that car. You see her right? She is here for her security deposit of ... what is it Elizabeth?" He calls out.
"Nine hundred and fifty dollars." I answer meekly.
"Damn! Now that's a high ass security deposit. What is this the Trump Towers? Okay, so I'll need you to get nine hundred and fifty dollars cash and her remaining boxes. She doesn't need to get out of the car to sign anything, or talk to you, or whatever the fuck. That's why I'm here. Hand everything over to me in the next five minutes and we'll be square. You don't want to cooperate then we're going to have a major problem, because I didn't drive all the way the hell over here to leave empty handed."
Roman cracks his neck.
"You feel me dickhead?"
Chapter Fifteen
Elizabeth
TODAY IS TURNING INTO A full blown crash course in Roman 101. I've learned that five minutes in Roman's world, really means exactly that. It was five minutes on the dot when Owen handed over my security deposit in cash and the key to the storage garage. I was shocked that he even had that much money on hand. Who does that? Oh wait ... I used to (baha!). Anyway, after he handed over the cash and the key, he went inside his apartment without another word and locked the door.
After Roman and I loaded my four plastic containers of treasures (photos, journals, sweaters and other trinkets) in the back of his Rover, we decide to stop for lunch. I suggest that we eat at Brown's Diner. One of Philadelphia's legendary last remaining family-owned diners and one of my favorite places on earth.