Catharine Bramkamp - Real Estate Diva 05 - A 380 Degree View (19 page)

“Maybe we have each other?” She suggested tentatively.

He held her hand and gave it a tug. “Come on, let’s review the damage.” 

The apartment where Ben and I camped was an after thought. Grandpa converted the space above the already-converted dance studio to a handy apartment where the dance instructor could live. A dance studio is not terribly practical, but he and grandma wanted to give their friend, Rachael, a chance to turn her life around and Rachael had once danced in the Sacramento Ballet and so, a dance studio. They paid her to give me lessons, which validated the program and they encouraged other mothers to follow. A good dozen families offered up their daughters on the altar of good intentions.

It didn’t last long, but grandma and grandpa never found another use for the space. The large dancing space, the practice bars, a full wall of mirrors were all still there, with a fine layer of dust on the walls adding to the nostalgia. Nostalgia is always dusty or sepia colored.

I moved around the floor remembering the ballet, tap and modern dance classes grandma enrolled me in. Was I good?  No, but I was busy   I think Prue convinced Mom that I could dance my way to a more beautiful, slender body.  But even at a rate of a class a day, the workout made no dent in my solid figure. I was better at playing the rock in a modern dance number than I was dancing any number of snowflake positions.

I raised my arms, took a few running steps and executed a perfect tour jete landing so heavily the whole barn shook.

“Tell me again why your ballet career was cut short. Shin splints?  Tragic love affair?”  Ben lounged against the doorframe, arms crossed.

“More tragic that I was encouraged all those years.” I retorted.

The last of the spring sunset illuminated Ben.  The windows, dirty and opaque, filtered the light so it was rose and gold, beautiful.

“You ran away again.”  Ben looked calm, sounded calm, but I knew he was agitated. If he were a king in the Middle Ages, his name would be Big Ben the Agitated.

And who was responsible for his bulging eyes, wild hair and heart palpitations?  Me, and I wasn’t even in trouble yet.

“You have to stop running away.”  He raked his hands through his hair.

“I’m not running away, I’m helping my grandmother.” I held my hands before me in a pious position.

He ignored me and slipped off his shoes, took a quick couple of steps and slid across the wood floor. Two even tracks in the dust followed his progress.  “This is what wood floors are for.” 

“There is usually furniture in the way.”  I agreed.

“Yes, there are often many things in the way when all you want to do is slide freely across the floor, unfettered, alive.”

“Is that a metaphor?”

He circled the dust with his toe  - his own crop circle. “I’m staying until we fix this.” 

“You know, you are wonderful.” Why don’t I just acknowledge that Ben is the best thing that ever happened to me?

“Yes I am.  Which means you should just marry me and get it over with.”

“What?”  I stopped admiring my lifted arms in the mirror and let out all the air I was sucking in to be thinner with a big whoosh.

“We will. You know you love me, and God help me, I love you. Let’s just get married, after Carrie and Patrick of course, let them be first. I’m tired of introducing you as my serious girlfriend who I will probably marry someday but not right now because she can’t make up her mind over a fucking house!”

“You have a point.” I said breathlessly. “But I’ll be more trouble as your wife than as your girlfriend.”

“Keep your name. In case of an emergency I’ll pretend I don’t know you.”

Was that the answer?  First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes Allison pushing a baby carriage? No.

“We’d have to choose a place to live together, that’s what married people do, live together.” He pressed his advantage.

I paused; I couldn’t see my reflection in the fading light.

“But where?” I finally blurted out.

He gave me an astonished look.  “Oh my god, that’s your problem?  It’s not me!” His relief was palpable.

I considered that for a minute or two, he may be right.

              “Would you like to live here?”  He finally suggested.

“But what about your business?”

“Rock Solid guys can live anywhere. And you already have business here, right now, which is impressive.”

“I don’t know.” I admitted.

“Let’s sleep on it,” he suggested.

              “When do you need an answer?”

“After you find Lucky’s killer of course.”

              “Look what I found!”  Raul dashed into the kitchen clutching his laptop.

The screen came up to reveal Lucky and Summer standing by the theater stage. The quality was not as good as the video of the actual production.

“Years ago,” Raul muttered as if reading my mind.  “Equipment is so much better now. I replace those cameras twice, you know, upgrades.”

“What do you care?” We watched a jerky Lucky Masters as he tore down a colorful quilt off the stage. “I’ll pay top dollar for it, and you get the money.”

“But it’s so beautiful, it’s art. You don’t destroy art.”  Summer protested.  Her hair was blond in this video, I wasn’t sure if it was a better look for her or not.

Lucky bundled the purple, red and black colored quilt into a large awkward bundle, he staggered a bit under the weight but didn’t let go.

“It’s stupid, it’s like those isolated Amish women with nothing to do but to make stuff people don’t need.”

“I’m surprised you even know that.  It’s a respected art form, some end up in museums.”

“The Amish?  I bet they never made a dime. My daughter is an idiot for wasting her time on something that doesn’t matter.”

“Art always matters.”  Summer said quietly.

“Only if it gets you what you want.”  Lucky staggered out the door with his heavy burden leaving Summer in the empty theater. She clenched her fists, and then burst into tears.

“That is all.” Raul exited the program.

“But what does it mean?” I protested. “We already know Lucky was mean to Penny and now he’s rude to Summer, not that big a revelation.”   

“She always won at the fair but no one could ever buy her work.” Prue leafed through a magazine on the top of the pile designated for the library.  “Lucky always came in and bought all her quilts before the fair opened. I should read that article.”  She pulled the magazine and tossed it towards her place at the table.

“I have one.” Raul said. “I bought it before the fair, she was happy to sell it to me.  We usually don’t talk.” He mused. “She does not like me.”

My phone chirped.  It was the office.

“Have you seen the inspection papers for 305 Skilling Court?”  Inez said without preamble.

“In my office computer, probably on the desk top.”  Patricia keeps copies of all that information, Inez did not need to call me.

“I’m working on two sales and two listings. And I may have two more.” I announced instead, knowing that was the real reason for her call.

There was some silence at the other end of the line. “That is good.”

“I thought so.” I confirmed.

“Then you’ll be up there for a while.”

“Just until I get these in escrow, I’ll come down soon and check in.” I promised.

“No, as long as you’re working.  Stay up there as long as you need to.”

I looked around the kitchen. Raul was working on the computer. Brick opened the wine and Carrie and Prue hovered together in a tete-a-tete over the newest issue of
Brides Magazine.
The scene was begining to feel familiar: it was staring to feel like home.  

“Okay,” I took Inez up on her offer.  “I’ll stay as long as it takes.”

Sarah surveyed room number 245. “This is nice.”

“You’ve never been here?” He pulled in her stuffed duffle bag and an old hard sided brief case containing her computer. 

“Why would I stay in a hotel in my own home town?”  She waited for him to push her luggage inside, then followed.

              He moved the briefcase to the low table by the window, next to his own lap top. “I’m sorry about your grandparents.”   He opened his hands in offering, as if it was the best he could do.

She knew it was probably
was
the best he could do and accepted his gesture for what he meant rather than whatshe thought should be expressed. Her grandmother had always insisted that people say and do things the way SHE thought they should be done.  And she was always disappointed.  “Thank you.  Is it all right if I take a shower?”

He gestured to the bathroom and she scurried quickly in as if he may suddenly change his invitation

“I’ll just be a few minutes.”

“Take your time, they told me we have hot water.”

The shower started up, but it wasn’t loud enough to muffle her sobs. He understood and didn’t try to come in and hold her, or get into the shower fully clothed, any of that. She needed some privacy.

Scott rubbed his face and allowed the warmth of the room to sink into his bones. True to her word Sarah was quickly out of the shower. The whine of the hair dryer started up.

What was he doing? Did he even want a house here?  How could he support himself?  He shook his head again; he didn’t have to worry about supporting himself. He could sit right here, in this room forever, not do anything at all. Except now that supporting himself was no longer an issue, it was exactly what he wanted to do.  That must be Dad’s ghost extolling Scott to take action. What kind of action?  Scott had no clue. 

“You just lost your dad.” Sarah stepped out of the steamy bathroom dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt that was too big for her, but made her look pretty wonderful.  He realized, as he gazed at her, that no matter what she showed up wearing - oversized shirts, crappy stained sweats, she would always look wonderful.  

“Was he old?”  She lifted her still damp hair and expertly wound a rubber band around it, without even looking.

“No, he died while building an indoor water slide.”

She dropped her arms to her side. “At least that’s interesting.”

“More than you know.”

“I was thinking.” She tossed the towel back into the bathroom, hesitated, then ducked in, picked up the towel and smoothed it over the rack.

“I was thinking I could sell the house and use the money to help you.”

“I thought your mother wanted half.”

She emerged from the bathroom, considered what she would say next, then blurted it all out anyway.  “Two minutes after you dropped me off at my house, my mother insisted on going right back down to the bank. She figured I was up to something, I’ll give her credit for that much consciousness.  We got there just as it was closing.”

“What did your mother find?” He had no idea what had transpired in the bank vault, just that his real estate agent looked pretty happy with herself, and Sarah was decidedly relieved.  He felt the less he knew, the better for Sarah.

Sarah, for her part, knew she’d eventually tell Scott what transpired between she and this remarkable woman, Allison Little.  But for now she reiterated the official version.  Her grandfather saved his stocks in Lucky’s company - totaling as close to $250,000 as she and Allison could count out. Later that afternoon, as she and her mother gazed into the now familiar safety deposit box, Lizzie had reacted exactly as Sarah predicted.  She pulled every stock certificate out and just tossed the insurance folders at Sarah.

“Here, that’s for you. Keep the house, I’ll take this.”  She fanned out the certificates and waved them as if to cool herself.

Sarah nodded and pulled out a release form dotted with arrow shaped sticky notes pointing to where her mother was to sign and initial.  After Lizzie signed over the house to Sarah, Sarah in turn, gave her mother the name and number of a stockbroker in Auburn.  Lizzie and Jack loaded up in the Oldsmobile (the TV just fit in the back seat) and  soon to be richer beyond their most wild, drug fueled, dreams, they drove into the sunset.

“We think the certificates are worth about $250,000.”  Sarah explained to Scott, omitting that she held the other $250,000 in certificates, not to mention all the loose cash.

“That’s more than half your house value.”  Scott felt he was qualified to make that call, having hung out for almost a week with a Realtor.

Sarah laughed.  There were wads of hundred dollar bills in her backpack, more at Prue’s house.  Allison took the rest of the stock certificates to give to a friend who would invest the whole amount into something completely different.  Sarah didn’t understand how different, but she’d get income from the investment, more than the income from Lucky’s company, that was for sure.

“Don’t worry about it.  Should I sell?”

“Where do you want to live?” Scott asked reasonably.

Sarah stopped laughing.  “Here. With you.”

For my next big project, I was presented with more buyers. A new and very happy couple looking for new digs, that it was still Scott Lewis and he was just still looking for a place of his own reduced the excitement somewhat, but what else was I doing?  Nothing. I still had calls out for sale possibilities on Gold Way, but so far, no response.