"Yo! Kim! Where do you want this?"
Kim Addams looked up from rummaging through her purse and shouted back, "With all the other boxes, stupid!"
Cal, Kim's older brother, grunted as he dragged the biggest box out of the world's oldest U-Haul that their mother had bought pre-Pulse and carried it to the stack of at least a half-dozen more boxes. Kim continued emptying the contents of her baby-blue faux Prada, searching desperately for the keys to her new apartment in Foggle Towers.
She was excited about this new place and excited about Seattle. All her life she had been cute little blonde Kimber-Leigh Addison of Darby, Idaho. But Kim was one of those people who never liked to stay in one place for very long.
As soon as she could drive, she dyed her hair brown, cut and curled it, changed her name and hightailed it out of Darby and went to Hollywood, California where she was almost totally convinced she could be an actress. All she took with her was her one good friend, Gabrielle Finch, and nothing but four hundred dollars and one suitcase each. The only downer was that Gabrielle, once they had arrived in Hollywood and saw the cheap apartment Kim had gotten them, floored it back to Darby, taking her share of the money and Kim's "baby", a 1999 white Toyota, with her.
It was a long and slow process but over a period of three years, Kim had gotten enough money to buy a new car—though she missed her Toyota "like nobody's business", as she usually said—and go back to Idaho, only leave six months later, this time heading to Seattle.
"You are staying right here, young lady!" Kim's mother exploded as she watched her 19-year-old daughter speed off in a blue Chevrolet with the U-Haul attached and the CD player blasting Madonna's "What It Feels Like For A Girl".
Kim never looked back.
Her only connection to her home was Calvin, her older brother by four years. They were as close as brothers and sisters could get, though they were quite a pair—Kim was 20, delicate, barely five and a half feet tall and weighing in at 109. Though she was born with blond hair that was almost white, she was now a brunette, which made her feel "sexier". Cal, age 24, was very muscular, well-built and athletic—he made lifting some of the heaviest things as light as a feather—at six foot eight and 165 pounds, still with downy blond hair and a smile that made several girls melt. Kim always thought she had so many friends because they were all in love with Cal.
Kim had found Foggle Towers in the newspaper only a few weeks ago. Up until this point she had been living in the Americana Motel in Sector 9. As soon as she saw the building, she wanted to live here badly. It was a little pricey but she was due for a promotion at the Harbor Lights Hospital where she currently held a position. When the landlord dropped the keys to her new apartment in her hand, she jumped for joy and hugged him.
Now it was the very same key she was searching for as she dumped the contents of her purse onto the concrete.
"Found it!" she exclaimed, holding up the two small brass keys dangling from a jump ring.
"Good job," Cal replied. "Now will you help me with your boxes?"
"Yeah, sure," Kim grumbled as she put the keys in her pocket and stuffed everything back into her purse—tissues, lipstick holders, loose change and maxi-pads were scattered everywhere. She yelped as she scraped her finger against the rough pavement and immediately stuck the wounded nail in her mouth as it drew blood.
"Kim, you're such a mess," Cal said sympathetically. He knelt to gather his little sister's items back into her purse as she nursed her wound.
"Thank you, Calvin, I'm aware of that," Kim replied, her finger still in her mouth and standing. She looked upwards toward Foggle Towers. She squinted against the harsh sunlight—a rare treat in Seattle. "God. It's so damn big. You'd think structures like this would have been the first to go during the Pulse."
"Even I'm ashamed of our economy," Cal winced. He held out Kim's purse to her and she slung it through the open passenger window of her Chevy—her new baby, of course.
"Why?" Kim asked as she sauntered into the U-Haul and grabbed two of the littlest boxes, stacked one on top of the other and carried them out.
"Please, Kimmy," Cal sighed, sweat dripping from his brow as he lifted four boxes, each the size of a full-grown Great Dane and most likely twice as heavy. "People who live here were once rich snobs who ate caviar and drank with their pinkies in the air. What do you want to bet they all have Persian rugs and ten million dollars worth of electronics equipment?" He made his way inside the building and towards the elevator. Kim hurried to catch up.
"Well…I don't know," she said, helping Cal drag the boxes into the elevator when it arrived. She was awed at the size. It could easily fit all the contents of the U-Haul in one shot but was certain if they tried, the cables would snap.
"It's disgusting, Kimmy. These people are living in the lap of luxury while nearly fifty percent of the nation starves to death. The people in pre-Pulse India probably had it better than we do."
"Oh, please, Cal. I'm sure that's not true."
"Trust me. You'd be surprised at the stuff I know."
"I'm surprised you know what you do now."
Cal scoffed and shook his head. "What floor?"
Kim's eyes rolled up to the ceiling in thought. "Thirty-four," she said when it came to her. "Almost at the top!"
"Cool," Cal replied, amazed with his sister's fascination of heights. As a kid, she went nuts on rides the hurled her all the way up in the air. On Ferris wheels she got a kick out of rocking the cart until she nearly fell out. For her seventeenth birthday, she went bungee jumping. It was, on the other hand, one of Cal's greatest fears.
"I hope I have lots of windows," she said as they started to go up.
There was silence while the elevator made it's way towards Kim's future. Then, all of a sudden, Kim gave Cal's shoulder a punch.
"What was that for?" asked Cal, who had barely felt it but was impressed at the red mark the punch had left.
"Calling me a rich snob who eats caviar and drinks with my pinky in the air."
Cal shot his little sister a smile, who returned it with a scowl. "I was kidding, Kimmy."
"No you weren't. You said that the people who live here are rich snobs who eat caviar and drink with their pinkies in the air. I remember it like it was yesterday."
"It was today, silly."
"Well, I'm not gonna be like that," Kim swore. "I'm gonna hold wild parties every night where drinking and tawdry sex takes place in every room."
"Quite an ambition."
"Oh, that's not all, my friend. I'm gonna hire the chicks from that old Coyote Ugly movie Mom liked to serve up the drinky-poos and then dance on the coffee table and set it on fire."
"I think your landlord may have a problem with that."
"Well, I'll invite him and have Piper Perabo give him a lap dance. Then maybe he'll forgive me."
Cal roared with laughter as the elevator doors opened up to Kim's floor. They dragged the four boxes—six if one counted the two small ones Kim had retrieved.
"Here we are," Kim said, stopping about three yards from the elevator, which was quite a trip with six hundred pounds worth of boxes. "Number G2-69."
"Look, Kim, your favorite number," Cal roared as he leaned against the wall.
"Very funny," she scowled. She withdrew the keys from her pocket and twirled them on her index finger.
Cal apologized. "Come on, now, Kimmy. Open this mother up. I wanna see what this place looks like."
"Okay, okay…here goes…" Kim felt a rush of excitement run up her spine as she stuck the key into the door. She turned it…felt the click…and opened the door to her new life.