Chapter 17: Apartment
Jameson's reaction caught everyone off guard.
"Thank you, Mr. Jameson."
"Go get your pay, Peter." Jameson closed his eyes halfway and waved him off, signaling for both him and the assistant to leave.
"Follow me," the assistant told him.
Peter walked alongside Jameson's assistant on the way to the Daily Bugle's finance office. All along the hallway, he could feel curious eyes on him. Reporters glanced his way, confused about why a kid in ragged clothes had shown up in their newsroom.
"You're really lucky," the assistant remarked.
"What?" Peter wasn't sure he heard that right.
"The boss has never given anyone an advance. You're the first."
"Maybe my luck finally bounced back. Yesterday was awful, so I guess today the universe is cutting me a break."
Back in Jameson's office.
"Jonah, I never thought a miser like you would actually approve an advance for the kid," Ben commented.
"I'm just in a good mood today. Call it his lucky day. And I'm not a miser, just… careful with money," Jameson countered, turning away.
"When will you ever learn to be honest?" Ben sighed.
He knew Jonah approved the advance because he genuinely wanted to help Peter.
"I'm always honest," Jameson grumbled stubbornly.
Outside the Bugle building, Peter stepped out feeling lighter than air.
An intern earned only two thousand dollars a month. After adding the hundred fifty he made from the Spider-Man photos, he now had a total of $2,150 to his name. Not much, not even close to New York's average monthly income, but for Peter, it was the first real money he had ever earned in this universe and in his entire life.
He first returned to the small alley to retrieve his Spider suit and the Iron Spider Armor. With money on hand, he stopped by a street stall and picked out new clothes. After some hard bargaining, he spent fifty dollars on a full outfit and a pair of leather shoes.
Next, he hurried to buy a secondhand camera for a hundred dollars. Even if funds were tight, a photographer needed a camera.
"Clothes handled for now. Time to think about housing. I'm not spending another night on a rooftop. Sleeping up there is worse than sharing a bed with Hulk… actually, no, it's still better than sharing with Hulk," Peter muttered after imagining Hulk's size.
He didn't have much money left, so the only option was some rundown apartment.
Fortunately, New York had no shortage of those. He soon found a shabby unit for rent in Queens.
Looking at the rental sign on the door, he dialed the number listed.
"Beep… beep… Hello, who's this?" a voice answered.
"Hi, I'm Peter Parker. You have an apartment in Queens for rent, right?" Peter asked.
"Queens… oh, right. Yeah, I do have a place there," the person replied after thinking it over for a moment, finally recalling the extremely barebones unit.
"So, are you looking to rent it?" the person asked.
"Yes," Peter confirmed.
"Stay there and wait. I'll be right over."
The person on the other end hung up before Peter could respond.
"…Okay then." Peter stared at the disconnected call with a helpless sigh.
Five minutes later, a middle-aged man pulled up in front of the building on a motorcycle.
He spotted Peter waiting under the apartment almost immediately.
"Peter Parker?" the man called out tentatively.
"That's me." Peter quickly stepped forward.
"I'm Iverson Smith. Just call me Iverson."
"Mr. Iverson, I'd like to rent your apartment."
"Let's talk inside."
The unit Peter wanted was on the fifth floor. Iverson pulled a key from his belt and unlocked a room that had clearly been sealed for a long time.
The place was in terrible shape. Old furniture, peeling walls, cramped space—problems everywhere.
"Cough, cough." The thick layer of dust forced Iverson into a fit of coughing.
He glanced around the room. He had intended to walk in and give Peter a tour, but after seeing the dust swirling in the air, he stopped at the doorway and refused to take another step.
"This is the apartment. You sure you want it?"
"Honestly, Mr. Iverson, it's already better than where I stayed before," Peter replied, looking at the room.
It was awful, yes… but still better than sleeping on a rooftop.
"Your previous living situation must have been truly awful," Iverson muttered.
"My apartment is as you see it. How much can you offer me?"
"How about $1500?" Peter suggested.
"Peter, the place isn't great, but it's still property in New York. That price is a little too low," Iverson objected with a frown.
"But I only make two thousand a month. I really don't have more," Peter admitted.
Iverson studied the kid's worn clothes and sighed.
"Fine. I'll take a small loss. Final price: 1600 a month."
"Okay." Peter could tell that was as low as Iverson was willing to go, so he accepted.
With visible reluctance, he pulled out his entire two thousand and counted out sixteen hundred to hand over.
"The place is yours." Iverson took the money without hesitation and handed over the keys.
"Good luck. And remember, rent's due on time every month."
After making sure the amount was correct, he left with brisk steps, not looking back.
Peter stared at the remaining four hundred dollars in his hand.
"Four hundred to survive the month… can things get any worse?"
He exhaled, then tried to encourage himself.
"Alright. It wasn't smooth, but I finally have a room of my own. At least I have a place to stay in this universe."
He glanced around the dusty mess.
"Cough, cough. First task: Clean this disaster."
Peter retrieved cleaning supplies from the cluttered room.
It took him the entire afternoon, but he finally managed to get the room into a livable state.