Dream Trilogy (15 page)

“Gee, and here I thought it was cool common sense.”

“Why shouldn’t I make a business out of selling my things?” Margo demanded. “What’s wrong with turning humiliation into an adventure? Just because I hadn’t thought about applying for some stupid tax number doesn’t mean I can’t pull this off.”

Sitting back, Kate tapped her fingertips together. It wasn’t an entirely insane idea, she mused. In fact, it had some solid financial merit. Liquidation of assets tied to old-fashioned free enterprise. Kate decided she could help iron out some of the details if Margo was truly set on giving capitalism a try. It would be risky, certainly, but then Margo had always been one for taking risks.

“You’re going to be a shopkeeper?”

Eyes bland, Margo studied her manicure. “I’m thinking of it more as a consultant position.”

“Margo Sullivan,” Kate marveled, “selling used clothes and knickknacks.”

“Objets d’art.”

“Whatever.” Amused, Kate stretched out her legs, crossed them at the ankles. “It looks like hell has finally frozen over.”

Margo stood in front of the storefront on busy Cannery Row and knew this one was it. The wide display window glinted in the sun and was protected from the elements by a charming little covered veranda. Its door was beveled glass decorated with an etched bouquet of lilies. Old-fashioned brass fittings gleamed. The peaked roof was topped by rows of Spanish tile softened to pink by time and weather.

She could hear the tinny tune from a carousel, the harsh cry of gulls, and the busy chatter of tourists. Scents of cooking from the stands and open-air restaurants of Fisherman’s Wharf carried on the strong breeze flying off the water. Bicycles built for two clattered by.

Street traffic was a constant snarl, cars desperately seeking a parking spot they were unlikely to find in this busy tourist haven. Pedestrians strolled along the sidewalks, many with
children who were either all eyes and grins or whining crankily.

There was movement everywhere. People and noise and action. The little shops lining the street, the restaurants and attractions, drew them day after day, month after month.

All the other buildings, the narrow storefronts, the empty storage rooms she’d viewed had just been steps, she thought, leading to this.

“It’s perfect,” she murmured.

“You haven’t even been inside,” Kate pointed out.

“I know it’s perfect. It’s mine.”

Kate exchanged a look with Laura. She had a pretty good idea what property rented for in this location. If you’re going to dream, she thought, dream big. But then, Margo always had.

“The realtor’s probably inside by now.” Arriving late was part of Margo’s strategy. She didn’t want to appear too eager. “Just let me do the talking.”

“Let her do the talking,” Kate muttered and rolled her eyes at Laura. “We’re going to have lunch after this one, right?” She could smell the frying fish and spicy sauces, aromas wafting down from Fisherman’s Wharf. Dull, nagging hunger pangs attacked her stomach. “This is the last one before lunch.”

“This is the only one.” Shoulders squared for battle, Margo stepped up to the door. She had to force herself not to snatch the For Rent sign away. Little frissons of possession were already sprinting along her spine. She didn’t question them, or the fact that she had certainly walked past this building countless times before and felt nothing.

She felt it now, and that was enough.

The main room was wide and empty. Scars were dug into the hardwood floor where counters and display cases had been ripped out. The paint had faded from white to something
resembling old paste and was pocked with small holes where the previous tenant had hung wares.

But she saw only a lovely archway leading into an adjoining space, the charm of a set of iron tightwinder stairs spiraling toward the second level, the airy, circling balcony. She recognized the signs in herself, the quickening of her pulse, the sharpening of vision. She often felt the same when she walked into Cartier and saw something that seemed to be waiting just for her.

Sensing trouble, Laura put a hand on her arm. “Margo.”

“Can’t you see it? Can’t you just see it?”

“I see it needs a ton of manual labor.” Kate wrinkled her nose. The air smelled of . . . incense? Pot? Old candles? “And fumigating.”

Ignoring her, Margo walked over to a peeling door and opened it. Inside was a tiny bathroom with an aging pedestal sink and chipped tile. It thrilled her.

“Hello?” The voice echoed down from the second floor, following by the quick tap of high heels on wood. Laura winced.

“Oh, God, not Louisa. Margo, you said your appointment was with a Mr. Newman.”

“Well, it was.”

The voice called out again, and if there had been anywhere to dive for cover, Laura would have used it.

“Ms. Sullivan, is that you?” The woman appeared at the top of the stairs. She was all in pink from her flowing swing jacket to her clicking heels. Her hair was the careful ash blond that hairdressers often chose to hold off gray, and it was styled ruthlessly into a helmet that curved around pink cheeks. Gold rattled on her wrists, and an enormous sunburst pin exploded over her left breast.

Mid-fifties, Margo estimated with an experienced eye, and holding desperately on to forty. Very decent face-lift, she
mused, smiling politely as the woman picked her way down the circling stairs, chattering all the way. Regular aerobic classes to keep her in shape, possibly aided by a tummy tuck and lipo.

“. . . just refreshing my memory,” Louisa continued, bubbling like a brook. “I haven’t been in here for several weeks. Dear Johnny was supposed to show you through, but he had a teeny little accident with his car this morning.” When she reached the bottom, slightly out of breath, she offered a hand. “So delighted to meet you. I’m Louisa Metcalf.”

“Margo Sullivan.”

“Yes, of course you are.” Her raisin-colored eyes glinted with interest and carefully applied bronze shadow. “I recognized you right away. I had no idea my one o’clock was
the
Margo Sullivan. And you’re just as lovely as all your photographs. They’re so often touched up, aren’t they? Then you meet someone whose face you’ve seen just hundreds of times and it’s such a disappointment. You’ve led such an interesting life, haven’t you?”

“And it’s not over yet,” Margo said and had Louisa tittering with laughter.

“Oh, no, indeed. How fortunate to be so young and lovely. I’m sure you can overcome any little setback. You’ve been in Greece, haven’t you?”

“Hello, Louisa.”

She turned, laying a hand over her heart. “Why, Laura dear. I didn’t see you there. What a delightful surprise.”

Knowing the routine, Laura met her halfway and the women exchanged quick air kisses. “You look wonderful.”

“Oh, my professional mode.” Louisa smoothed her jacket, under which her bosom was heaving happily in anticipation of gossip. “I so enjoy dabbling a few days a week in my little hobby. Real estate takes you into such interesting places, and you meet so many people. With Benedict so busy with his
practice and the children grown, I have to have something to do with my time.” Those glinting eyes sharpened. “I don’t know how you manage, dear, with those two lovely children, all your charity work, the social whirl. I was just telling Barbara—you remember my daughter, Barbara—how amazing I thought you were. Managing all those committees and functions, raising two children. Especially now that you’re going through such a trial. Divorce.” She whispered it as though it were a dirty word. “Such a heartbreak for everyone involved, isn’t it? How are you bearing up, dear?”

“I’m fine.” More out of desperation than manners, Laura tugged Kate forward. “This is Kate Powell.”

“Nice to meet you.”

Kate didn’t bother to tell her that they’d met at least half a dozen times before. Women like Louisa Metcalf never remembered her.

“Are you interested in the building, Laura?” she continued. “I understood that the caller was looking to rent, but if you’re wanting an investment now that you’re on your own, so to speak, this would be perfect for you. A woman alone needs to think about her future, don’t you agree? The owner is willing to sell.”

“Actually, it’s Margo who—”

“Oh, of course. I do beg your pardon.” She pivoted toward Margo like a cannon bearing to aim from the top of a tank. “Seeing an old friend again, you understand. And the two of you have been friends for years, haven’t you? So nice you can be close by during our Laura’s time of trouble. It’s a wonderful building, isn’t it? A clever location. You wouldn’t have the least trouble finding a suitable tenant. And I can recommend a very reliable management company.”

Buy it? To own it. Margo had to swallow the saliva that pooled in her mouth. Afraid that Louisa might see the territorial light in her eyes, she turned away and wandered. “I
haven’t actually decided whether to rent or buy.” She rolled her eyes gleefully at Kate and Laura. “Who were the last tenants?”

“Oh, well, that was a bit unfortunate. Which is why the owner is considering selling out. It was a New Age shop. I don’t understand that business myself, do you? Crystals and odd music and gongs. It came out that they were also selling drugs.” She whispered the last word, as if saying it might addict her. “Marijuana. Oh, my dear, I hope that doesn’t upset you, with your recent troubles.”

Margo sent her an arch look. “Not at all. Perhaps I could see upstairs.”

“Certainly. It’s quite roomy. It’s been used as a little apartment and has the most adorable doll’s house of a kitchen, and of course the view.”

She picked her way back up, chattering about the delights of the building while the others trailed after her.

“You can’t be serious,” Kate hissed, grabbing Margo’s arm. “You couldn’t afford the rent in this location, much less the purchase price.”

“Just shut up. I’m thinking.”

It was hard to think with Louisa’s incessant chirping, so Margo shut it out. Shut out everything but sheer delight. It was roomy, surprisingly so. And if the banister circling the second level was shaky, so what? And the pentagram painted on the floor could be removed.

Maybe it was hot as a furnace, and the kitchen alcove was only big enough for one of the Seven Dwarfs. But there were quaint eyebrow windows peeking out, offering teasing glimpses of the sea.

“It has wonderful potential,” Louisa went on. “A bit of cosmetic work, some pretty paper or paint. Of course you know that property in this area rents by the square foot.” She opened the briefcase she’d left on the narrow kitchen counter,
took out a file. “This building has six hundred and twenty-eight.” She offered papers to Margo. “The owner has kept the rent very reasonable, considering. Of course, the utility fees are the responsibility of the tenant.”

Kate turned on the tap, watched gray water sputter out. “And the repairs?”

“Oh, I’m sure something can be worked out there.” Louisa dismissed Kate with a wave of her hand and a jangle of bracelets. “You’ll want to look over the lease, of course. I don’t want to pressure you, but I feel obliged to let you know we have another interested party coming through tomorrow. And once it’s officially known that the building’s for sale, well . . .” She let that lay, smiling. “I believe the asking price is only two hundred seventy-five thousand.”

Margo felt her dream pop—an overinflated red balloon. “That’s good to know.” She managed a shrug, though her shoulders felt weighted. “As I said, I’m not sure if it’s just what I’m looking for. I have several properties I’m considering.”

Scanning the lease, she saw that Kate—damn her—had been right. Even the rent was well out of her reach. There had to be a way, she thought.

“I’ll be in touch within a day or two.” She smiled again, politely and dismissively. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Metcalf, for your time.”

“Oh, no trouble at all. I so enjoy showing off places. Homes are more fun, of course. You’ve been living in Europe, haven’t you? Terribly exciting for you. If you’re thinking of buying a second home here in the area, I have the most fabulous ten-bedroom on Seventeen Mile. An absolute steal. The owners are in the middle of a vicious divorce, and . . . oh.” She looked around to make a tittering apology to Laura, but her eyes continued to gleam. “She must have gone back downstairs. I
wouldn’t want to upset her by talking about divorce. Such a shame about her and Peter, isn’t it?”

“Not really,” Margo said dryly. “I think he’s scum.”

“Oh.” Her color fluctuated. “You’re just being loyal to your old friend, aren’t you? Actually, no one could have been more surprised than I was when I heard they had separated. Just the most charming couple. He’s so well mannered, so attractive and gentlemanly.”

“Well, you know what they say about appearances? They lie. I think I’ll just poke around for a bit longer, if you don’t mind, Mrs. Metcalf.” Firmly, Margo took her arm to lead her back to the stairs. “It might help me make up my mind if I spend a little time alone.”

“Of course. Take all the time you like. Just lock the door behind you. I have the key. Oh, and let me give you my card. You be sure to call if you want to breeze through again, or if you’d like to see that wonderful house on Seventeen Mile.”

“I certainly will.” Margo didn’t see either Kate or Laura on the first floor and kept marching Louisa toward the door.

“Oh, do tell Laura good-bye for me, won’t you? And her young friend. I’m sure I’ll see you and Laura at the club soon.”

“Absolutely. ’Bye now. Thank you so much.” Margo closed the door with a quick rattle. “And do be a stranger,” she muttered. “Okay, where are you two hiding?”

“We’re up here,” Kate called out. “In the bathroom.”

“Jesus, it’s really tacky for two grown women to hide in a bathroom.” Once she’d climbed the steps again, she found them. Laura sat on the edge of the old clawfoot tub with Kate facing her from her perch on the john. In any other setting, Margo would have said they were deep in some intense and serious discussion. “I really appreciate you leaving me alone with that nosy magpie.”

“You wanted to do the talking,” Kate reminded her.

“Nothing really to talk about.” Discouraged, Margo joined Laura on the edge of the tub. “I could probably squeeze out the rent, if I didn’t eat for the next six months. Which isn’t that much of a problem. But I wouldn’t have enough left over to handle the start-up costs. I want to buy it,” she said with a sigh. “It’s exactly what I’m looking for. There’s just something about it that tells me I could be happy here.”

“Maybe it’s the leftover aroma of stale pot.”

Margo sent Kate a withering look. “I only smoked it once when I was sixteen. And you had several hits yourself on that memorable evening.”

“I didn’t inhale,” she said with a grin. “That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.”

“Then explain why you claimed you were doing a
pas de deux
with Baryshnikov.”

“I have no recollection of that event—and he told me to call him Misha.”

“It’s a damn good thing I only wheedled two joints out of Biff.” Margo blew out a breath. “Well, this, unfortunately, is reality. I can’t afford this place.”

“I can,” Laura said.

“What do you mean, you can?”