Page 114 of The Happy Month
That was a little nerve wracking. ‘I have something I want to show you’ often resulted in our spending hundreds of thousands of dollars on a piece of property.
“Are you feeling up to a walk?”
I was supposed to, doctor’s orders, so I said, “Yeah, I guess.”
We walked a block to 1st Street and then turned west toward our co-op. I hoped that was where we were going, it wasn’t that far. We chatted a bit about this and that, then as we were walking by Bixby Park I asked, “How are you feeling about your mother?”
“Who?”
“Don’t joke about it. It was an honest question.”
“I don’t feel much about her. It’s been coming for a long time. One of us has to change and I’m not expecting to wake up heterosexual one morning, so I think it has to be her.”
“Just to go on record, I would be very unhappy if you woke up heterosexual one morning.”
“I should hope so.”
When we got to the El Matador, we walked into the courtyard and then up the stairs to the co-op. I was healing, so I very nearly walked like a healthy person. Ronnie took out his keys and opened the front door.
Immediately, I saw that the living room was completely decorated. The paint job had gotten finished somehow and was a lovely, mottled honey color. Theceiling was a crisp white. Someone had painted the beams with a pattern I assumed was at least similar to the original.
The room was completely furnished. Without telling me, Ronnie had made the deal with the Karpinskis for the Melchor/Gill household. I recognized the sofas from storage. One of them was the tufted leather sofa—later, Ronnie explained it was called a Chesterfield. Across from it was the other, a gold sofa with swatches sitting on it. The black-and-brown plaid wingback chairs were sitting with the sofas, completing the grouping.
“There wasn’t enough time to get anything covered,” he said. “I haven’t decided about those chairs. They almost work.”
“How did you get this place painted?”
“John helped me.”
There was a Deco chest between the doors to the Juliet balconies that was set up as a bar—complete with a selection of liquor and a mirrored tray. He’d even hung velvet drapes in a deep brown velvet. Pointing, I asked, “Were those in storage?”
“No. Linens ’N Things.”
And there was artwork. Sketches and a couple of oils. “And the pictures?”
“Ivan’s. Worth a little. More curiosity than art.” He’d been doing some research.
Then I looked into the dining room. There was a gorgeous dining table with scrolled legs and six matching chairs. “I don’t remember that.”
“No, it was buried. Rosewood. Deco. That’s worth more than the artwork.”
“Did we rip these people off?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. I had to go up to fifteen thousand. But I made half that back selling thepiano.”
The dining room had been painted by painters. The color went with the living room but wasn’t mottled. The coved ceiling was a different complementary color.
The kitchen was nearly finished. The tile was on the counters. It was busy. Pretty but busy. I’d get used to it though. There were still empty places where the stove and refrigerator would go.
We walked down the hallway to the bedrooms. The smaller bedroom had been turned into an office, the walls a deep green. In the center the partners desk I’d searched through. One side for me, one for Ronnie. It was then that I realized there was no place for guests or roommates. I have to say, I was happy about that. It would be just us.
“This is basically it. We still have a lot of work in the bathroom, and I can’t decide what color to paint the bedroom.”
I hugged him and kissed him. Then I whispered in his ear, “It’s a beautiful home.”
I sat down at the desk; the chair was leather and tufted like the sofa in the living room. Remembering something, I opened the bottom drawer to my right. It hadn’t been cleared out yet.
“I haven’t gotten rid of everything. I was going for impact.”
