Twelve Rooms With A View Part 8

"Well, I'm not saying it will work. But if she can convince a developer to put down the money up front in exchange for right of first refusal to buy the place from her estate when she dies, that might be of interest to any number of speculators."

"People do that?"

"That's actually a fairly tame and sensible scenario. For instance, it doesn't involve homicide, although if Delia made it into her nineties I am sure there would be some discussion of poison. Even in the most catastrophic of markets, a twelve-thousand-square-foot apartment with park views on the Upper West Side will never depreciate. It's win win win win win for everyone. Oh yes, I'm sure all of these options have been considered by now. And not merely by her."

"Who else?"

"It's an old and elegant building, Tina. People have lived here a long time."

"What does that mean?"

"It means it's an old and elegant building and people have lived here a long time," he repeated mysteriously.

"Well, if any of these 'people' want to buy our apartment they should call Sotheby's. Why is this woman sucking up to Pete Drinan in the middle of the night if what she really wants is to buy the stupid apartment?" I was getting a little peevish. I turned back to the cappuccino machine, thinking I'd make another round, even though I was so caffeinated I thought my head was going to explode.

"Is something wrong?" asked Len.

"All these rich people make me nervous. She has a zillion rooms herself, and she wants our place too? But she doesn't want to pay for it? That's just incredible. Plus you should have heard her going on about how horrible it all was, we're horrible, Mom was horrible, like we're just crazy s.k.a.n.ks from Jersey or something-and meanwhile she wants to take over our apartment just because she's lived on the same floor for a bunch of years. That's cla.s.sic, it really is."

"It wasn't your place at all, I might remind you, until three days ago."

"It was my mom's. When she died, the deed was in her name, was it not? Was it not?"

"So I'm told," said Len.

"So I'm told too. By lawyers. My mom lived there, oh and by the way, she died there too. That doesn't give us rights?"

"I don't imagine that Delia Westmoreland thinks so, no. I don't believe the Drinan brothers think so either. And I have a suspicion that the co-op board will not feel that it gives you rights."

"Well, they don't get to say, do they? The law says. The LAW says we own, it's ours by law."

"That's not going to do you any good if you can't sell it, Tina. And if you can't sell, how will you pay the inheritance tax? Have you asked yourselves any of these questions?"

"We are going to sell it."

"Not if the co-op board can stop you."

I truly didn't know what he was talking about, but it had that peculiar sound of a true thing. "Okay," I said, trying not to get too worked up. "Okay, so tell me what the problem is with the co-op board. I don't even know what a co-op board is."

"They are the twelve residents of this building who will inform you and your sisters-repeatedly, I am afraid-that even if the courts decide that you do own the apartment and that you very much have the right to sell it, in fact they will not permit you to sell it."

"They can't do that."

"Alarmingly, yes they can."

"Why would they do that?"

"Because they don't know you. You're an outsider. Your mother was an outsider. It's an offense to everyone here that you and your sisters think you can just come in and take over that beautiful old apartment. You and your sisters can talk to Sotheby's all you want; every offer they put on the table will be rejected out of hand until someone, or more than one person, in the building has been permitted to make an offer."

"They can't do that. They said, that lawyer said, there isn't a cloud on the t.i.tle. It means, that legally means-"

"I know what it means, Tina, and I'm afraid there is very much a cloud on the t.i.tle, whether it is a legal cloud or not."

"I have to call Lucy," I said, digging into my pocket for my cell phone.

"She knows all about this, Tina, I'm sure."

"No, she doesn't, she didn't yesterday-"

"Does she tell you everything?" he asked me pointedly. I looked at him. He was considering me like I was some kind of interesting plant that was growing in odd directions, or my leaves were drooping and gray, and he couldn't quite understand why.

"Why-why are you telling me all this?" I finally asked. Truly, none of this was good news, but it wasn't like he was trying to scare me off. If he had had a watering can, I was pretty sure he would have been pouring it over my head.

"Well," said Len, looking around. "You did fix the cappuccino machine. Besides which, I had pneumonia last year, and I ended up in the hospital for two weeks, and your mother took good care of my moss. There aren't many people who would have bothered."

"You're nice to me because my mom saved your moss?"

"There are worse reasons, Tina Finn. She was a nice woman. She was a caretaker at heart. I'm sorry you didn't know that about her."

"I did know it," I said.

"Well, then you should have visited her more," he replied, turning away and putting our dishes in the tiny sink. The air from the greenhouse drifted through the kitchen, a little chill now, and he looked up as if someone had spoken. "Oh, the rain-drip mechanism is off again in the deciduous room, I'm sorry, you'll have to go," he told me.

"But-"

"I have a lot of work this afternoon. Thank you for coming up and telling me about the spring bolt; when I need to come down, I'll be sure to check with you first, so I don't startle you."

"You don't startle me," I said, a little confused at the change in him. "I just-"

"I'm sorry, but I really do have work to do-is there something else you need?" He was seriously impatient with me now. I had no idea what had happened. We had been doing so well.

"Why are you mad at me?" I said.

"I'm not angry-I have no feelings at all," he said, like that was going to make it better. "Are you crying?"

"I just don't know what to do," I said, and the fact is, I had most definitely teared up. It was really mortifying. "If everybody hates me just because I'm here, what do I do?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake. Get a grip," he said. "If n.o.body likes you, the thing you need to do is make friends."

8.

THE WHITES' APARTMENT WAS ON THE NINTH FLOOR, DIRECTLY above me. Like mine, it had way more hallways and rooms than you could figure out or follow, but unlike mine there were people in all of them. There was Mrs. White, who wore really cute jackets and skirts and panty hose and short heels, so she looked great while she ran around like a lunatic, shouting at everyone and carrying books and piles of laundry and stuffed animals and spoons and forks and empty juice boxes everywhere. Then there was a cook-actually two cooks, who came on different days-and a Polish woman named Anna, who was always doing laundry, and a Hispanic woman, Magda, who seemed to clean the bathrooms constantly, and there were lots and lots of girls, little girls and big girls, mostly wearing pleated plaid skirts and dark green cardigans. The Whites had six kids, all girls. It took me more than a few days to learn all of their names: Louise, Jennifer, Gail, Mary Ellen, Katherine, and a two-year-old named Barbie. They actually called the kid Barbie, which I thought was a mistake, but I figured she would grow up and tell them to cut it out, and that would be the end of that.

A week after Len gave me my instructions, when I went up to 9A to introduce myself to the chaotic Whites, I had no idea what I might find there. After he had kicked me out, I went back to my apartment and poked around the kitchen and the laundry without knowing what I was looking for. I put a call in to Lucy, but her a.s.sistant told me she was in meetings all afternoon and would not be able to return calls until the next day. I thought about arguing with her and telling her there was an emergency at the apartment, but I was pretty sure Lucy would not consider my musings about the devious co-op board and the greedy Mrs. Westmoreland an emergency, so I said thanks and hung up. I thought about calling Alison, but that didn't seem likely to calm me down, and then I picked up the clicker for the television and thought about channel flipping for a while. In previous times I had spent entire days aimlessly trolling basic cable for traces of common sense or answers that never appeared. Then I considered throwing the f.u.c.king clicker against the wall but decided just to set it down on the coffee table, which is where I found the card for Stuart Long, Esq. And when I got up the nerve to call a couple days later, he actually got on the phone as soon as his receptionist told him I was on the line.

"h.e.l.lo, Tina, how are you?" he asked, all kind and concerned. "Are you still in the apartment?"

"Where else would I be?"

"Well, I heard from the Drinans that they'd prefer for you to stay elsewhere, because they are planning to litigate," he observed sagely, as if this were big news.

"Listen, Mr. Long, I actually called about a slightly different question. The co-op board over here, they could make it difficult for a sale to go through when we try to sell this place, is that right?"

"They will have to approve the sale if or when it gets to that point, of course. I don't think it's anything you need to worry about now, though. You have a lot of hoops to jump through before that."

"That's not what Lucy thinks. She's already had real estate agents coming through here, she thinks we're good to go."

"Your sister is clearly someone who likes to move quickly; I noticed that when we met," Long agreed. "Nevertheless, I'm sure she doesn't expect this situation to resolve itself overnight. Probating even a simple will takes months, and this is far from simple. The courts have not yet probated Mr. Drinan's estate, and the deposition of that will bear directly on your situation."

What he said made almost no sense to me, so I stuck with the subject at hand. "Yeah, well, what about the co-op board?" I asked.

"Have they contacted you?"

"Is that what happens next?"

He paused for a moment, with that kindly concern. "Tina-your sister indicated to me that you are employing other counsel. Are you aware of that?"

"No, she didn't mention that either. Sorry, Mr. Long, I didn't know, I'm so-uh, look, could you just tell me who's on the co-op board, and I'll take it from there?"

"Well, that information is included in the doc.u.mentation about the apartment, which I gave to your sister."

"So you don't have it anymore?"

"Of course I have it. I represented Bill Drinan for thirty years, I have everything on file."

"Could you give me those names?"

"You don't want to ask your sister for them?"

"Well, since I have you on the phone I thought it made more sense just to get them from you." I did not want to get into a discussion of my problematic sister with this nice man, especially if he wasn't going to represent me anyway.

There was a little silence on the end of the line, and then he sighed. "Let's see what we have. Here we are. There are twelve people on the board. It's a rotating board, of course, but this slate was elected last spring, so it should be current. Alice White, apartment 9A. Roger Masterson, 11B ..."

Twelve people to suck up to and make friends with. One of them was Len, which I did think he might have mentioned when he brought the subject up in the first place. I found that to be a worrisome oversight on his part, but I couldn't dismiss the commonsense idea that I should try to present a good face to the people in this fancy building and start pretending to the neighbors that I really did belong there. I thanked Stuart Long and hung up.

A couple days later I had a plan. I decided to start with the Whites because they were the closest, just one floor away.

"Hi, I'm looking for Mrs. White," I told the edgy teenager who answered the door. Her plaid skirt and green cardigan looked terrible on her, as it would on any reasonably attractive person.

"Mooooom!" she yelled. "There's some lady here!"

"Louise, don't shout, please," shouted Mrs. White from two or three rooms away. Louise shrugged and walked away; I had no choice but to let myself in and watch her pa.s.s her mother in the hallway. Mrs. White was carrying a baby, and had a crying child glued to her leg. But she was wearing a really cute pink suit that looked terrific on her.

"Who is it?" she asked Louise, looking toward the other end of the apartment, as if I might be back there. I think she was confused for a moment about where the front door was.

"I don't know her name. I think it's that lady who moved in downstairs," said curt Louise, not even bothering to pause as she answered the question.

"Oh, that's ridiculous," said Mrs. White. "You didn't ask her name?"

"It's Tina Finn!" I called, trying to be all friendly. "My mother was married to Bill? My mother was Olivia? Did you know my mom?"

Mrs. White was too startled to answer this at first. She just stared at me. I took a step in and held up the bottle of wine, like a trophy. "I wanted to come introduce myself and say h.e.l.lo. I'll be staying downstairs for now, so I wanted to say h.e.l.lo." I was hoping this didn't come off as ridiculous and dopey as it sounded in my head. If it did, Mrs. White's manners were really just too good to let me know.

"Of course!" she said, trying to unpeel the kid from her s.h.i.+n and take a few steps toward me in the foyer. "Yes, I did see you the other day, didn't I? Downstairs in the lobby, I think-sweetie, let go of my leg, Mommy needs to say h.e.l.lo to the lady."

"Tina," I repeated.

"Yes, Tina, it is-lovely-to meet you," she agreed, reaching a bit to shake my hand. I took the last few steps in to make it easier for her, at which point the kid on the floor lost her footing and started to go down.

"Katherine, be careful-Katherine-oh, thank you, thanks," Mrs. White said, as I scooped the child up.

"Wow. That's your name, Katherine?" I asked the kid. "You're so pretty." At which point the baby started to wail.

"Now, now, Katherine, don't bother the lady," Mrs. White instructed the kid, who was now glued to me. "Thank you for the wine."

"She's not bothering me," I offered, ignoring her not so subtle hint that I should leave. I had made it through the door, which was farther than I ever thought I'd get, and I wasn't going to give ground so quickly. As the baby got going, wailing and writhing with that peculiar rage that comes out of nowhere to really little kids, Mrs. White was suddenly helpless.

"Barbie-Barbie-oh, for heaven's sake, sweetie. Barbie!" She turned to me. "I'll be right back." And she scooted off with the baby, down one of those endless hallways, leaving me and Katherine staring at each other.

"Do you want to see my toys?" Katherine asked.

"Sure," I said, following her down another hallway to a room so far back in the building I would have gotten lost if I had to try and find it by myself. There was a comfortable daybed covered with a pink-and-yellow bedspread, and on the wall behind it was an enormous quilt cross-st.i.tched with little pictures for the different letters of the alphabet. The walls were yellow and the rug had a big rainbow on it. Itty-bitty wooden and plastic people were clumped in small groupings everywhere, like they were having discreet parties in every corner of the room. Some were standing around toy plastic playground sets or, in one corner, beside a little wooden castle.

"Wow," I said, flopping on the daybed casually so I could sneak a glance out the window. It looked out on an alley I had never seen before, which convinced me that there was another room in my own apartment that I had not yet found. "Is this your room? It's so cute."

"This is my bed, and these are my animals," Katherine said, pulling about seventy stuffed animals out from behind the sweet little trundle bed that sat tidily in the opposite corner. "This is Blackie. This is Lulu. This is Betty."

I climbed down to the floor to get a closer look at the dogs and cats and rabbits and bears and ponies and ducks and sheep and llamas pouring out from behind the bed. We were deep into some game that had to do with animals living in the forest when one of the teenagers finally found us. It was not Louise, the one I had met at the door, but a slightly younger one who seemed even more unhappy about wearing that hideous school uniform. Her hair drooped all over her head as if she couldn't be bothered with it, which was a shame, because it was that great dark blond color with streaks of red that only teenagers get to have, and only for a little while. She had pretty gray eyes, but they were narrowed together under suspicious eyebrows. The kid definitely needed a makeover.

"Who the f.u.c.k are you?" she asked, a tad hostile, from the doorway.

"You said the f word, you owe me a dollar," Katherine announced without looking up.

"f.u.c.k f.u.c.k f.u.c.k. f.u.c.k," the hostile teen replied.

"Jennifer!" Katherine gasped, truly appalled by this outrageous breach of decorum.

"It's better for you, now I owe you a five," Jennifer announced as she picked the kid up and kissed her, then set her back down in the middle of her animals with a move that was both careless and careful at the same time. "Are you the person who moved into 8A?" she asked, flopping on the daybed.

"Yeah, my name is Tina," I started.

"I know your name," she announced, utterly bored. At least she was acting bored, but I know plenty about teenage girls, having been one, and I was well aware that she was completely desperate for information about me and the empty apartment beneath our feet.