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Give me the money now, Momma. There’s a pen on the countertop. Write me that cheque.’
    And Dina Kane held out her hand.
    The apartment was vile. It was tiny, cramped and filthy. The bathroom had a stand-up shower in it with a dead bug resting against the drain. The paint was peeling and the kitchen alcove was barely big enough for a refrigerator and a hot plate. A rickety double bed took up most of the rest of the space. There was a chair wedged right up against a large TV, one closet and stains on the green rug. Plus, you had to walk up eight flights of stairs to get there.
    ‘Are all the apartments in the building like this?’
    The realtor sniffed. ‘Honey, you couldn’t afford any of the others. This used to belong to the super. He was from Mexico.’
    ‘So, for him, it was a palace?’
    She shrugged. ‘Don’t give me any of that equality crap. You want it?’
    The building itself was in a backwater, but it was secure and it was Manhattan. And Dina wouldn’t have to share.
    ‘Not at this price,’ she said.
    Ten minutes and a five-hundred-dollar discount later, Dina Kane had a deal. As she folded up her copy of the lease papers, she took note of the landlord’s address.
    As soon as she got the keys, Dina moved in. She called a handyman to remove everything in the flat and dump it into storage. Next, she got on the subway to a cheap furniture store in Midtown.
    She looked around, thinking carefully about what to buy. After two hours, she was satisfied with her purchases.
    ‘We deliver,’ the saleswoman said. ‘Twenty-four hours’ notice.’
    ‘See you tomorrow.’
    ‘You getting everything delivered?’
    ‘All except this.’ Dina held up a sleeping bag.
    Next, she headed to the local grocery store. She bought bleach, roach traps, dust cloths, mops and several pairs of bright yellow rubber gloves.
    Long into the night, Dina was on her knees, cleaning. The stench was so bad, she had to stop twice to throw up. Heaving, she managed to open a window; warm air floated up from the alley below, but at least there was some oxygen in it. The stale odour of booze and sweat and sex dissipated under her assault – washing, scrubbing, mopping, till the place smelled like a hospital.
    She showered in her clean stall, clambered into her sleeping bag and lay down on the floor.
    The filthy net curtain on the single window had already gone into the trash. The bright lights of Manhattan streamed into her apartment. But Dina was content.
    She was in the big city now.
    In the morning, Dina woke early. She had no choice – her curtainless window got her up with the sun.
    She showered, dressed from her suitcase and raced to the nearest hardware store. A few more dollars for brushes and paint. White – that was all she needed.
    Dina painted with rollers and brushes. She wasn’t her dad, and she had no practice, but the colour was basic, and forgiving enough that she did a reasonable job.
    Besides, she was motivated. This was home. In a way, it was her first.
    She was finished by eleven. Starving, she headed out to eat – anywhere, as long as it was cheap.
    Dina had about two thousand dollars left in the account, and it had to last her. There was a Greek place across the street, the Olympia Café. She picked it because it was the closest, and she was so tired her legs could hardly hold her up.
    She ordered a pork gyro. It would be hot, and she needed the iron. She waited and waited, but it didn’t come, so she meekly flagged down a waiter.
    ‘Jeez, baby, I’m sorry.’ His shirt was open and he looked stressed. ‘Girl’s off sick again. I’ll bring it right now.’
    Dina ate the pita; it was nothing remarkable, but she was so hungry, and it tasted good. As she chewed, she thought hard.
    ‘Check, please.’
    ‘Nothing else? No coffee?’
    Coffee was a dollar fifty. Dina shook her head. The tap water came free.
    ‘You got it.’
    ‘Your waitress often sick?’ she ventured.
    ‘Sick? No, honey; it’s a Sunday.