Baksheesh Read Online Free Page B

together, or at least most of myself.
    I dressed colourfully in a green blouse that revealed a bit of cleavage, a sand-coloured skirt with a slit at the back and red slingbacks with ridiculous heels. I looked like a girl on the make again, but this time with orange hair. I felt the orange hair gave me more chance of finding a man to grow old with.
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    As soon as I left the house, I realized I wasn’t quite together enough. It was obvious, because I could hardly keep myself upright.
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    I felt blood oozing down my legs as I walked towards my car. Warm and sticky. Alarmed, I felt my legs with my hand. It was just sweat. Sweat! A physical reaction to mental or emotional suffering. Whenever I was in that sort of state, I would feel as if some part of me was starting to bleed, but of course it never did.
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    I got into the car and put my foot down on the accelerator. There were four addresses to find. I needed to keep focused on apartments. I could do it. One of the addresses Kasım Bey
had given me the previous day might turn out to be my future home. If I didn’t like any of them, my money wouldn’t be wasted of course, because he would keep finding others for me until I found one I liked.
    â€œWe’re not conmen, miss,” he had said with sincerity. Should one believe the assurances of a civil servant who accepts bribes? The truth is I didn’t know. Paying bribes wasn’t a daily occurrence in my life. I had no occasion to do it. Why would the owner of a little bookstore need to bribe anyone?
    Contrary to expectation, my stomach had not heaved as I handed over the bribe money. I hadn’t felt any self-disgust when I gave the wad of money to Kasım Bey. Many of my acquaintances paid bribes – maybe that was the reason.
    Selim!
    With superhuman effort, I stopped myself from letting my thoughts get locked around that name. I needed to find an apartment to keep my mind focused. An apartment that would mean using up all my savings, selling my car, getting loans from my mother and brother. Yes, an apartment.
    Look at me. Had I even thought of buying an apartment until a few days ago? Hadn’t I been looking for a place to rent? How quickly I’d warmed to the idea of buying property, stacking up debts all over the place and putting down roots in this city.
    I was in no mood to get stressed about finding a free parking place, so I decided to pay up and leave my car in a little car park close to my favourite tea garden in Kuledibi. From there, I went on foot to find the addresses. The first two buildings looked very disappointing from the outside. But the first was better than the second. It was a detached, narrow-fronted house, probably with a garden at the back. I’m talking about a proper house, not an apartment block. A family with countless children was living in it, which would mean having to force them out if I were to buy it.

    The third address was just behind the second, in Papağan Street, one of the streets that opened onto Kuledibi Square. I’d passed it countless times, not just the street but this very building, and each time I’d gazed longingly at it. How come I hadn’t realized that one of the addresses on Kasım Bey’s list belonged to this building?
    I thought I was going to break down in tears at the front door.
    That was another surprise.
    Such is life.
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    I didn’t manage to see my very own future apartment, because I couldn’t get anyone to open the door, but I did see an apartment on the floor below when I went back to the building ten minutes later. I blurted out some silly words in convincing tones to the man who opened the door, saying that I’d heard there was an apartment for sale around there and did he know of one in that building.
    He had Mongolian-type features, probably a Tatar, and he was clearly less amused by my patter than I was.
    â€œYou’re too late, madam. This one was sold a month ago,” he