Twelve Rooms With A View Part 5

"What?" I said.

"What," she asked, impatient, "is this?" With her toe, she nudged a small wooden toolbox, placed neatly against the wall beside the doorway to the mossery.

"Oh, that's Len's," I said.

"Len," she repeated, looking at me as if she knew that once again I had slept with someone I shouldn't have.

"He was a friend of Bill's and Mom's, that's his moss in the kitchen. They let him grow it there, he's some kind of botanist person, he lives in the building," I explained. "He was here when the phone got cut off, and he, you know, he said I should go get a cell phone." Lucy flipped the light switch. Nothing happened.

"Yes, I see," she sighed. "And what did you do once you bought the cell phone? Did you call me at work, as I asked you to, and say, Lucy, the phone has been cut off and they're probably going to try to cut the electricity as well and maybe change the locks, could you come over and help me handle this? Did you do that?"

"No, I didn't do that," I started.

"No, you didn't," she said, continuing to flip the useless light switch for effect. "You went shopping."

"Why would I a.s.sume this guy was going to do all that stuff you said? We don't even know these people."

"Tina, honestly, would you try to think for once? h.e.l.lo, Monica, hi." She was on her cell now, firing on all jets. "I'm going to need you to call Keyspan and Con Ed, the gas and electric got turned off in my mom's apartment and we need to get it turned back on right away, and I mean now. My sister is living here, and she obviously can't stay if there's no gas or electricity, so if you need to run down to their offices, then do it. I left three copies of the will on my desk, take them with you so if they give you any trouble you can prove we have the right to put the accounts in my name. You can also give them the number of the building, tell them the doorman can verify that we've taken possession. What's his name?" she asked me.

"Frank," I said.

"Frank," she said to the phone, and then she rattled off the Edgewood phone number, which of course she knew even though I did not. She finished up the call by snapping her cell shut and then continued to explain things to me as if there had been no interruption at all. "I checked in with Stuart Long, the lawyer, from yesterday?"

"I remember, Lucy, could you not talk to me like I'm an idiot?"

"Don't get snippy, Tina, you almost completely blew it today-"

"I told you, I didn't know."

"No, you didn't think; you just took off for three solid hours on a shopping spree, and I'm not going to ask where you got the money because I don't care. But while I don't think Doug Drinan has any sort of legal claim on this apartment, I don't necessarily think he is a liar. Did you find money here?" She waved her hands idly at all the shopping bags I had dumped on the floor.

"I didn't have anything to wear," I said, trying to get to the beginnings of a defense. She was not interested.

"You listen to me," she snapped. "If I hadn't gotten worried about not hearing from you, and showed up, what would have happened?"

"I don't actually care what would have-"

"You'd be locked out. We all would be locked out. We would not have access to the apartment or the building, for that matter, for months. We'd have to go to a judge to get an injunction for permission to even look at the place, and by that point the Drinan brothers would have filed to legally contest their father's will, which, depending on how long that took to get through the courts? Would cut us off for years. Years. I checked this out with Daniel's friend the real estate lawyer, who a.s.sured me that contrary to what that idiot told us yesterday, a scenario like that leaves us with virtually no standing whatsoever. If they can prove that Bill was of unsound mind and Mom was of unsound character, and none of us had ever met Bill and had never set foot in this apartment, it is not that far a leap to claiming that Mom tricked him into changing his stupid will and that we have no right to this place. And that is what they are going to try to do. So do me a favor and don't make their case for them, would you? We put you here for a reason. Stay put."

"You expect me to never leave."

"Not unless you pick up your handy new throwaway cell phone and call me first and let me know that you have to go out for two hours and that Alison or I need to come by and be on site while you traipse about."

"Well, so how long-"

"As long as I say! If you don't like this deal, let me know. Let me know, and you can go back to Darren and the trailer park and the Delaware Water Gap now instead of later. Because if you don't help me make this work? That is where you're going to end up anyway."

I really thought Lucy was overreacting and being a total nightmare, but her argument made an impression on me. Even though I couldn't follow all the dastardly legal turns she had worked out about where this situation could go, it was pretty clear that if we didn't pull this off, it was in the cards for me to get booted out of there and back to cleaning houses in New Jersey.

"Okay okay okay," I said.

"Not okay okay okay!" she snapped. "I don't want to hear some sort of snotty okay! I want to hear, Yes, Lucy, I Will Do Whatever You Say."

"Well, I'm not going to say that," I snapped back. "I'll do it, but I'm not going to say it."

"Fine," she said, clearly sick of me. "Now, what's the story with all this moss? This is actually here for a reason?" Look, I find it impressive when she does that. In the middle of all that arguing, she remembered the one thing I had told her about the moss.

"Len, it's Len's moss, he lives on the top floor."

"Well, Len is going to have to get his moss out of here," she said, shoving his little toolbox with one of her slick black heels.

"I don't have his number," I said. "But I could go downstairs and get that doorman to buzz up and see if he's there."

"That's a good idea," she said, only half paying attention.

"Maybe I should get the keys copied while I'm down there."

"Now that, actually, would be useful," Lucy noted. She dialed her cell, then popped it to the side of her head while she held out the keys, which I took. "Listen, don't panic, there's nothing to get upset about," she said, so I knew she was talking to Alison. "But I'm over at the apartment. There's a lot going on."

Now, you do have to wonder why someone like Lucy believes people like me when we suddenly cave and agree to all sorts of nonsense in the middle of an argument. Because really, I had no intention of calling Len and telling him he had to move his moss. Instead I went downstairs, waved to Frank, walked over to Columbus and found the one bodega that inexplicably hovers there, and I bought myself a box of Dots. Then I walked around the block, ate the Dots, and thought about what I was going to do next. I wandered around the Upper West Side until I found a crummy little hardware store, where they made some new keys for me. While I was there I bought a few more choice items. Then I went back home, feeling more and more that I had every right to think of it that way.

5.

"THE MOSS GUY ISN'T IN. FRANK BUZZED HIM ABOUT EIGHT TIMES, but he didn't answer," I told Lucy. "So I asked for his phone number, but it's unlisted and the doorman isn't allowed to give it out. Anyway, I left a message with the doorman for Len to call as soon as he gets in, and I'll tell him we need him to move all that stuff. Here, I got a set of keys for you and also an extra one, in addition to the ones I have." Soaring right through the lie about Len, I started fumbling with the keys. She didn't even look up as she took them from me.

"You didn't leave my number as well?" she asked, pecking away at her laptop, which she had set up on the coffee table back by the TV. There was a whole mess of doc.u.ments and file folders falling out of her briefcase on the couch, so I knew she had decided to spend the rest of the day there. I felt like I had been invaded.

"He and I got kind of friendly, so I thought it would be better for him to call me," I said.

"You thought it would be better if I let you handle it," she said, making this sound like a stupendously idiotic idea. I looked at the floor and acted like I was really sorry that I was such a stupid person, which worked, because that's what she thinks I am anyway. It's easy to fool smart people about really stupid things. It's all about the a.s.sumptions.

The door to the bathroom behind the laundry room swung open, and a woman appeared. I just about jumped out of my skin, but Lucy kept on tapping at her keyboard.

"Fantastic," the woman said, smiling at me like we were old friends. She had blond hair very close to her head and she was exceptionally tan. She was wearing a tight beige microsuede pantsuit-pants and a jacket made out of synthetic beige polyester-and actual panty hose and boring-looking low brown heels. I'm sure that everything she was wearing cost more than I made in a month of cleaning houses, but frankly I don't understand why people dress like that.

"This place is fabulous," she informed me, striding over and holding out her hand for me to shake. "Hi, I'm Betsy Hastings. Did I hear you saying something about the moss in the front kitchen?"

"We haven't been able to get hold of the guy who owns the moss," Lucy announced, "but it's being handled."

"No worries, no worries," said Betsy. As opposed to my sister, she couldn't have been nicer. "This whole place is amazing. It's incredible when a place like this comes on the market. Just thrilling."

"You're the real estate person," I said, guessing.

"A lot of people are interested, Tina," Lucy informed me. "And a lot of questions need to be answered. Things are very preliminary at this point."

"No question, no question," Betsy agreed. "I would love it if you would let me handle this. I have a number of corporate clients who would pick it up immediately, as is. I don't think you need to worry about anything-the moss, the carpets, the appliances-you can let the buyer take care of all that. Even in this market, which, as we know, has cooled considerably in the past couple years. But you don't have anything to worry about; this place is amazing."

"We've noticed," Lucy observed.

"Absolutely. Absolutely." Betsy Hastings nodded, running her hand over the pocket doors. "A property like this, my advice would be to let a professional pick it up and do the renovation, even at eleven or twelve million it's going to be considered undervalued, which is good; you want them to see the potential for a fast turnaround and a big profit. You don't want to get involved in the level of renovation a place like this would need, to pull in the really big numbers. There are agents out there who will tell you that you could take in twenty or even twenty-two on this, but that's going to require an enormous investment on your part up front, and I would say, let someone else take care of that."

"Why don't you put together a strategy and call me tomorrow," Lucy said, holding out her card and not even looking at Betsy. She did everything but tell Betsy to her face that her wild enthusiasm had put her out of the running.

"That's not to say, if you're looking for the bigger numbers, I can work with that too," Betsy explained, taking the card with a little shrug. "This end of the market, it's always a question of how long you want to wait. If you can afford to take the time and put a few million into it yourself, then we're talking about significantly larger numbers. It's just a different approach. As I said, I'd love to work with you on this. Really, it's a great place. Just the size of it, and the details! I love it when these old places open up. New York. There's no place like it, there really isn't, you just get such a sense of history. Fantastic. Fantastic. I'll give you a call tomorrow, we can go over a couple of different plans."

I had to give it up to old Betsy Hastings; it was pretty inspired bulls.h.i.+t. I mean, everything she said was true, and I totally agreed with her excitement about the apartment. But obviously she was mostly talking about money, which contributed to making everything she said sound kind of fake.

So Betsy took off, and then this sw.a.n.k young Indian character showed up, who went into overdrive explaining how if we could take a year and sink a million into the joint and break it down into three spectacular separate apartments, we could pick up twenty-two easy. Which made me like Betsy better, because she totally called that, that some other agent would tell us this version of events, and then that happened within the hour. And then this older white guy came by, wearing an extremely expensive suit, and he just looked around and acted like the place wasn't so great after all. The fixtures were all inappropriate, and the appliances were from the seventies, and he would have to think about whether he was interested in taking this on even if we could work out the legal difficulties. He was the only one who brought up the "legal difficulties," which perversely seemed to cheer Lucy up. She just shrugged and said something like, that would be up to you. They were quite snippy with each other. He may have thought his approach would make us want him more, which didn't make much sense, because clearly we were sitting on the mother lode in real estate terms, legal difficulties or not. Anyway, by the end of the day, when Daniel and Alison came by so we could have a powwow over Chinese food, it all felt very nerve-wracking.

"There's no way we can push through a sale before they slap a cloud on the t.i.tle, if that's their intention, and it sure as h.e.l.l would be mine," Lucy explained as she picked pieces of chicken out of the little white carton. "It's going to cost a fortune, and the legal tangle will be considerable. What'd your friend tell you, inheritance taxes are due within the year?"

"Six months," Daniel said. "Although it's apparently not much of a problem getting an extension when the will's being probated. We can get Wes to file for us if it becomes necessary."

"When," said Lucy. "When it's necessary-there's no use being naive about this."

"How much is this going to cost us?" asked Alison, all worried as usual.

"Much more than we have," Lucy admitted. "The only way we're going to be able to afford this is to get into a partners.h.i.+p with a real estate agency. I'm going to talk to Sotheby's about it tomorrow."

"That guy from Sotheby's was an a.s.shole, he was the least interested of anybody," I pointed out.

"That's how I can tell he wants it," Lucy said, spearing a shrimp with slas.h.i.+ng efficiency. "We need someone who's willing to work around the legal problems. Those other two were too spooked to even mention it. Losers."

"What if Sotheby's gets behind the Drinan side of this?" I asked.

"I sent over a packet of the doc.u.mentation. They'll look at it and decide, but it's pretty clear we're going to win." Lucy shrugged.

"How can you be so sure? I just don't see how you can talk about all of this like you know what's going to happen. How can anyone know what's going to happen?" asked Alison.

I thought this was a pretty good point, but Lucy didn't even respond. Daniel reached for some beef and broccoli, not bothering to answer Alison either.

"These legal situations aren't sure. They never are," Alison persisted. "And if we spend all our money and it isn't enough to cover the costs if the costs go through the roof-instead of everything, what if we end up with nothing?"

"Alison," Daniel finally snapped. "I spent the day on the phone with four different lawyers; all of them gave us the same answer. This is a no-brainer. We're in the clear."

"If it's so totally clear that we're going to win this, how come it's all such a surprise to those Drinans?" I said. "I mean, they knew he was leaving it all to Mom."

"They told you that?" said Lucy. "Wait a minute. They told you they knew he was leaving the place to Mom?"

"They didn't say it, I just kind of figured it out," I said, looking over the remains of all that Chinese food. "Anyway, they definitely knew."

"That he was leaving the place to Mom."

"Yeah, they knew that part. But they totally didn't know that we would show up and get it. Like, why would they know that part but not the other part?"

"What else did they say?" asked Daniel in a tight voice. When I finally looked up, they were all staring at me. For a second I considered lying some more, because Lucy and Alison and Daniel were acting like such unbelievable sharks. But I didn't see any point in protecting those Drinans either. Already it was hard to know whose team I was on, and we had only been at this for a day and a half.

"They were just sad and drunk and kind of mad, that's all," I said, opting for a nonanswer. "One of them talked about all the furniture being gone, like it was so sad. He was a little surprised that so much of it was gone."

"Why would that surprise him?" Alison asked.

"Not totally surprised. But sad. Like they hadn't seen the place in a while, and they knew what it was like in here but not all the way. Sort of like that."

"They probably weren't allowed in very much." Lucy stared into her spicy shrimp, putting it all together. "Apparently Bill was a Howard Hugheslevel freak. Then, when he died, if Mom didn't want his sons around, she didn't have to let them in. Maybe she was afraid they'd kick her out. They probably would've tried that-they haven't been exactly civil, have they? Anyway, it was only three weeks ago, they didn't have a ton of time to figure out a game plan. Maybe they didn't even know they needed a game plan. Most people don't think ahead."

"What was only three weeks ago?" I asked.

"When Bill died."

"Bill only died three weeks ago?" I blurted.

I honestly do not know why I didn't know this. But I didn't; the situation with my mom was that screwy. A few years ago she was living in Hoboken and working at some H&R Block office, filing tax returns; then all of a sudden she was getting married and moving to Manhattan. And then it was all "Bill's private, he doesn't see a lot of people," or "we're really busy this month, maybe the fall would be better." The fact is, I hadn't even spoken to her since the three of us took her out to dinner a year and a half before all this. Mom suggested it, and then, when it looked as if it would happen, she made a big deal about not going too far from home, because Bill might get upset if she did. Alison said Daniel didn't want to come all the way in from Queens on a Sat.u.r.day, and then Lucy got bent out of shape about finding a place we could afford, since she a.s.sumed we'd be treating Mom, and she didn't want to split the bill two ways with Alison because she always got the short end of the stick in these situations-"Alison" included Alison and Daniel, which meant that Lucy was stuck paying for me as well as half of Mom. So even a not-so-expensive place quietly got really expensive from her point of view. Of course, she was completely blunt about all this, which I took exception to, because even though I'm consistently strapped it's not like an occasional nice dinner out is a complete impossibility. But Lucy was right-we ended up at a place that charged twenty-two bucks for a plate of spaghetti with red sauce, which made everyone, especially me, uptight.

So that set the party off on an unfortunate foot. Mom had a vodka tonic, which I think cost fifteen dollars, and the rest of us drank tap water. Lucy, as usual, monopolized the conversation, blathering on about the big corporations she did PR for and how difficult it was to work with corporate jerks and none of them really want to talk to a woman and they're all in love with themselves and their own power and she really thinks they're all closet cases anyway. Alison got on the bandwagon about the prices on the menu and kept letting us know how worried she was about the money, and then she got Daniel to keep a running tab on the paper tablecloth, which he did methodically, with a mechanical pencil. I told them all I was going to move out to the Delaware Water Gap with Darren, and how he had this business plan set up-so many really wealthy people had summer homes out there, and he was putting together a company that would do caretaking year-round, and he already had six or seven clients and I was going to help him with the bookings and also do personal services for people, like shopping, say.

So that was the dinner. And Mom was fine, really. Maybe a little too perky, like she was trying too hard to seem happy. But how can you know something like that? She didn't say anything at all about Bill or how it was going with him, even though Lucy made a couple of stabs at it.

"So are we ever going to meet our so-called stepfather?" she asked, sipping her cappuccino. Since none of us had wine with dinner, Daniel and Alison had relented and let us order cappuccino and biscotti after the expensive spaghetti.

"You're all grown, you don't need a stepfather," Mom said, laughing a little and looking at the last traces of her second drink.

"Wait a minute. You guys haven't met him yet?" I asked. This had somehow gotten by me. I a.s.sumed I hadn't met Bill because I was the last one who still lived in Jersey. The fact that Lucy and Alison, who lived close by in Brooklyn and Queens, hadn't met him caught me off guard.

"He's so private. I told you, sweetheart. That's just the way he is. Someday we'll make it work out," Mom said, patting my hand.

"You live like right around the corner from here, right?" Lucy persisted. "Let's do it now. He's home, right?"

"I don't think he'd like that."

"We won't stay. We just want to come by and see where you live!"

"I'll tell him. Maybe we can work something out for next month."

"Is it a dump? Are you living in some sort of crazy dump?"

"No, not at all. He's just private."

"He's crazy is what it sounds like."

It was pretty uncomfortable for all of us, frankly; Lucy's questions to Mom made the situation sound as creepy and weird as we worried it might be. Mom just shrugged a little and looked down, and then she sighed, like this was all too much.

Lucy took offense. "It's a fair question, Mom," she pointed out, kind of edgy. "You've been married to this guy for almost two years-why can't we meet him?"