Rent Man Tales

Just so you don't have to crank open your Funk and Wagnalls, an ecdysiast is one who removes their clothes on stage for the entertainment of others.

I’ve had a number of these as tenants over the years. I’ve had positive experiences for the most part. They are appreciative. Most other property managers will not approve them no matter what. I like them. They are all greatful that I was willing to give them a chance. They pay me on time and with cash. They usually lead a very low profile life at home.

I have never had one who was working her way through college and would give up the trade once she graduated. Most were not that bright. One wrote on her application for her occupation, innertainer. At least she could write. More about her later.

Miss X and her boyfriend were good as gold and had paid on time for over a year. Then one month the rent didn’t come in at all. I kept driving out there trying to catch them in. It was obvious they were still there and hadn’t bolted on me. Finally, one afternoon they were home. I knocked rather loudly on the door. She opened the door and invited me in.

“What’s going on here?” I asked. “I hadn’t heard a word from you in six weeks!”

Her boyfriend was lounging in the corner chair. He never spoke much. He was a computer geek and reserved. I looked at her expectantly.

“Oh, you haven’t heard?”

I shook my head. “I’ve heard nothing from you and the rent is late. What is happening?”

“We were carjacked, and I was shot!”

The incredulity had to be evident on my face.

“Really,” she said and proceeded to whip off her tee shirt. Lifting her left boob, she showed me a bandage. She then turned around and showed me her back. It was half covered with a bigger bandage.

All this time her boyfriend just sat there like this was an ordinary thing. For me, not so much.

“We were coming out of the club after work one night, late and these two guys ran up to us and held us up. I screamed and one of them shot me. Several men ran from the club, shouting. That’s when I fainted.”

She continued to tell me how close to dying she came. It seems like the bullet hit her ribs and fragmented. They couldn’t remove all the pieces. One was too close to her heart to risk it.

She assured me that they would pay the rent. She was getting victim of crime assistance from both the state and the federal government, but the checks hadn’t arrived yet.

She and he had always been good tenants and I took a chance on them. It took them months to get caught up, but they did. The story doesn’t have a happy ending for as long as they rented from us. Because of the location of the fragment, she could no longer dance for a living. She couldn’t even wait tables in the club. Her doctors told her even bending over could cause the fragment to pierce her heart. She ended up on disability at a fraction of what she used to earn. They left us under good terms completely caught up on the rent. It was their choice to move. I wished them well.

Back to the innertainer story. I found out from a couple of the neighbors that she had moved in a boyfriend, violating her lease. I called her and had a discussion about this with her. He was not on the lease, he could not live there. She said she understood. That same day, I got a call from the boyfriend who threatened me he said if I stuck myself into their business, he would have to take it out in the street with me.

It so happens that we had a friend who served felony warrants for the Sheriff’s Department. He used to visit our office between jobs when he was in our area. He was a really nice guy. I never understood how he could do his job. He seemed so quiet and mild mannered. The next time I saw him I told him the ‘take it out in the street’ story, and my God! He turned into the hulk in front of my eyes!

He swelled and got fiery eyed, “Where is he!” He bellowed, fists clinched.

I told him and gave him the address. I never knew what he did or said, but I never heard from the bad boy ever again.

One last vignette about this young lady. First, I must tell you, I never understood why anybody would want to pay her to take off her clothes on stage. She was in her twenties but had the body of a child. I guess I lead a sheltered life and don’t understand about these things.

One year we had the Super Bowl here. It was a boon season for all the dancers in town from what I heard. She told me she made so much money, she didn’t know what to do with it all. I suggested she save some of it and put it into a bank account in her name. It never made it near her radar. Instead, she decided to buy some new boobs. I guess it could be considered a business expense, I don’t know. This girl was quite shy and modest off stage. She never flashed me her new purchase but, it was evident that she had not spent nearly enough. Considering her line of work as an innertainer, you would think she would buy a pair of Dolly Parton’s or something, but no, she bought a lot lower in the alphabet soup of boob choices. This story did have a happy ending. Her stepmom purchased a house from me about a year later and they all moved in together, and lived happily ever after.

One final vignette along this same vein, although this girl child wasn’t a professional dancer. I had a young woman in her early twenties who rented half a duplex from us in Suitcase City. I have mentioned this charming section of town before. One day while I was out there being the Rent Man, I went to her place. She told me she didn’t have all the rent. I wanted to know why and when she was going to have it.

She was sitting in an armchair in the living room. I was standing by the front door. She smiled at me and said, “Maybe we can work this out some other way.” She peeled off her tee shirt, still smiling up at me.

Now this poor child’s boobs looked like two fried eggs hanging on nails.

I had the sheriff remove her from the premises permanently. And such is the life of the Rent Man.