I got a surprise call from my landlady the other day.

"Did you know Jake is subletting his room?" she asked me.  "Are you OK with that?"

I gave a verbal shrug.  I mean, what does my being OK with it have to do with anything?  It's Jake's world, baby, we just live in it.  In fact, this was the first I'd heard of it. 

Not that he hadn't mentioned wanting to move, even looking at places in the North End, where he's decided to wreak havoc next.  It would come up every now and again, like: "dude, I'm probably going to move out — it could be, like, next weekend.  Just sayin'."  I certainly wasn't going to beg him — and his snarky new girlfriend Britney, who refuses to acknowledge my existence — to stay. 

I was torn.  On the one hand, I was happy to be getting rid of the little devil, on the other: he was the devil I knew.  Now who would replace him in the Lord Fauntleroy Suite?

I know him well enough to know he didn't care as long as he got as much of the rent covered as possible.  I told him I would place the ad for him — this was back in May.  I had several prospects who'd answered a call for a "gay—friendly" roommate on craigslist, two of which seemed promising. 

But when he didn't find a place in time to move out June 1st he dropped it, and I didn't hear anything again until about a week and a half ago, when he announced he had finally found a place and was moving out at the end of June. 

Boston being a college town, the difference between a June 1st and July 1st move-in date is profound.  Everyone has already gotten situated for summer session by June 1st — no one's really looking for July, and if they are they're looking for a steal.

I went ahead and placed another ad, and... nothing.  I got several inquiries about August and September, but no one was interested in a July 1st move-in.  I gave up.  I told him it was his lease with the landlord, and his responsibility to fulfill it.

So a few days later he tells me there's a couple interested in the Fauntleroy Suite.  One is Japanese , the other German. (With my Italian roots, we could re-enact the original Axis of Evil!  Ideas for theme parties were flashing through my mind!)  He had some notion, which turned out to be dead wrong, that they were a gay couple.  Still, I clung to some hope of two months of World War Two themed threeways.

Dashed, alas, when the female partner showed up to inspect the place. 

Subletters can be very snotty.  They can smell your desperation.  Her English was minimal (a grad student at MIT apparently has no need of spoken language), but she knew how to point at items of furniture and say: "That stay?  That stay?  How much you want for it?"

And the thought of a big, geeky  German boyfriend with about as much charm was not exactly conducive to the sexual fantasy that was going to get me through the dog days. 

Meanwhile, I saw a new side of Jake as he showed her around the place.  He was like a slick-talking used car salesman who knew he had a live one.

In the coming days, no one else came to see the place. 

Then, the other night I come home from the gym, looking like Stanley Kowalski in a sweaty wife-beater, to find the young woman and a young man, who was Asian as well, touring the premises with Jake in high-huckster mode.  It was after nine in the evening and he had put the dog and two britneys who were visiting out on the balcony in the dark, as if hiding them from the SS.

Appalled that he had not bothered to even text me to give me a chance to meet my other likely roommate, I was even more appalled when I introduced myself and they seemed totally uninterested in talking to me.

It was all "This stay?  That stay?  What about the pictures?  Those stay?  How much you want for them?"

I knew I could put the kibosh on the whole thing at any moment by , I dunno, flexing my muscles in front of them, kissing my biceps, and doing my best Jersey Shore impression:  "Here, feel it!  Feel how hard it is!  Come on, don't be shy!"

But I refrained.  They looked harmless.  The young man — Tobias — was actually adorable, damn him.  I thought, OK, I can live with this for a little while.  Better than having Jake bullshit and bitchy (and straight boy bitches are the very worst kind).

So when the landlady called concerned, telling me she could put the kibosh on it — that she'd rather I chose a roommate of my own and stay on — I said don't bother. 

I told her I'd found a place for the fall, and that I felt it was time for me to spread my wings and fly.  Solo.  I may have had my misgivings (mostly about the cost) when I started looking for a place a few months ago, but now I'm sure.  And I owe my certainty to Jake.

But I have a feeling that this last leg of the journey will have its share of turbulence.  I mean, this couple has decided to take the room without a moment of conversation with the guy they'll be sharing the bathroom, not to mention the kitchen knives, with.  Did they check the bedroom door for a lock?  The only hint of uneasiness I heard in the couple of minutes I spent with them as they were touring the place the other night was when Tobias lowered his voice to Jake with a backward glance at me and asked, "so why are you leaving?"

I mean, do you really think he's going to say: "well, Tobias, I'm leaving because of the constant stream of syphilliitic whores who come and go, often two and three times a day, from the room next door.  The orgies are unbearable.  The drugs, the Amy Winehouse clones. The drama.  The blood curdling screams at all hours.  The body parts marinating in the bath tub.  The severed ear I found at the bottom of my coffee cup one morning.  I'm bone tired, Tobias.  I can't sleep at night.  The nightmares keep me up.  When I do sleep, I wake up soaked in sweat.  And semen.  Chained to the bedpost.  I've lost twenty pounds.  Tobias please.  Please, don't make me have to stay here. Please, please help me.  Please!"

No.  Of course not.  You know what he told him? 

"Oh, I'm moving  'cause I'm moving to the North End."  Quote unquote.  Classic Jakespeak.

And Tobias smiled and nodded like he understood.  "Oh yes, I see."

Do I really want to live with someone who would accept that as an answer?  Who would accept me, no questions asked, as-is?  After answering a craigslist ad, for chrissake? 

Whatever.  It'll soon be over.  We're bringing this puppy in for a landing.  But fasten your seat belts, folks, I think it's gonna be a bumpy ride.