by Meg Wolfe
autumn theme, including Halloween and Thanksgiving. As Charlotte walked up, one of the items moved, and she stopped to look more carefully. It was a large black cat—a real one, and when it turned to face her she saw it had white tuxedo markings on its chest and paws. It yawned and stretched, then sat on his haunches and tilted his head as he sized her up. Two small girls ran up the sidewalk ahead of their mothers and tapped on the window to get the cat’s attention. He touched the glass with his nose, then abruptly turned and jumped off the display ledge, disappearing into the store.
Charlotte once loved The Good Stuff as a young newlywed, completely smitten with the cheerful, colorful selection of lamps, posters, crockery, and other accessories assembled by the original owner. But now, the sheer mass of items was overwhelming—not unlike the pawn shop, she thought, as she went inside and became reacquainted with the place. There seemed to be a zillion small things on various display units, handmade jewelry, tiny bottles of essential oils and packets of incense, wind chimes and sun-catchers hanging in clusters along the windows, stacks of tablecloths and napkins, shelves of stuffed animals, party-favor toys, dozens of greeting card displays, and several aisles of kitchen and bathroom gadgets, garden ornaments, and pottery. It was three times the size of the original store, as well. Charlotte assumed the content changed because this was the stuff that sells.
There were quite a few customers and clerks milling about. Charlotte recognized Larry’s voice from the phone call, and followed it to the far end of the long checkout counter, where he was talking to a woman holding a pan for baking madeleines. He was slightly shorter than herself, very tubby, and bald on the top of his head. He was wearing a bright blue t-shirt with large white letters that proclaimed: The Good Stuff.
She got his attention after the customer left, and introduced herself. He beamed at her with a toothy grin framed by his bushy mustache, every inch a man happy to sell things to customers. They shook hands, and he told the staff he’d be back in a few minutes. Charlotte followed him outside and then through the door to the apartment, which opened to a long, narrow foyer with stairs immediately to the right. He reached up and pulled on a lamp chain, which lit up a space that reminded her of the foyer in the first apartment she had in college. The old-fashioned floral carpet runner on the stairs looked much the same, as well. As she followed Larry up to the apartment, her nose twitched at the mustiness and faint herbal notes that might have been from weed, but it didn’t distract her from the glow of sunlight at the top of the stairs; she felt excited by the implication of many windows. Would they turn out to be as pleasant as all the windows at her house?
Well, she thought as they reached the top and she got her first view of the place, they are and they aren’t. The three large windows across the wall that faced the street reached from three feet off the floor to nearly the twelve foot high ceiling. But Larry hadn’t been exaggerating about the condition of the place: the walls were dirty and loaded with the remains of papers and posters that had been taped to the walls, the carpet was old, ratty, and stained, there were a couple of broken chairs and an ugly card table, and there were large plastic bags of trash cluttering the kitchen area. The upper part of the windows didn’t look too bad, but there were fingerprints and other grime on the lower panes. One wall was painted black, another purple, the rest were a dingy white. Papers and old t-shirts littered the floor. A tall stepladder was propped up against the wall near the stairwell, along with a bucket and cleaning supplies.
But there were a couple of surprises. One was a huge, old-fashioned library table with legs like balustrades. Another was a well-worn Chesterfield-style sofa in oxblood red leather. Both were as grimy as the rest of the place, but seemed to be in one piece.
“Does the furniture stay?” she asked Larry, pointing at the sofa and table.
“I sure as hell hope so,” he moaned. “Do you have any idea how heavy that sofa is? That stuff belonged to the grandfather of one of the law students. He was a lawyer, too. I don’t know how they got this stuff up here, but it’s mine now. Along with the crap.”
Larry threw up his hands in defeat. “I’ve been up here a couple of times to clean, but I don’t really have much time, and frankly, I wonder what’s the use—the next people will probably trash the place, too.” He went over and opened up a window, and Charlotte was glad to see that it wasn’t painted shut. The sounds of traffic flooded the room, along with the mixed scent of exhaust and pizza.
They made the usual landlord/prospective tenant conversation; she told him she was a writer, an empty-nester, and in the process of selling her house. He confirmed there was cable Internet available, but that it wasn’t included in the rent, which she had expected. The area behind the apartment was storage for the shop, and he and his wife lived in the large apartment on the floor above. She wandered around to get a closer look at the kitchen area—it needed a good scrub and sanitizing. There was an under-counter refrigerator and a small stove. They both needed cleaning, too, but seemed to be in working order. The bathroom had a large claw-foot tub and pedestal sink, similar to the ones at Olivia’s house. Both begged for a hit of disinfectant. The place was a mess and needed a good cleaning, but it wasn’t absolutely squalid. Back in the main area, she lifted up a corner of the carpet and saw there was a reasonably intact wood floor underneath. It gave her an idea.
“Larry, I’ll be upfront with you. The rent is actually too high for me, even with the utilities.”
He nodded and put up his hands to stop her. “I know it’s high for a studio. I was trying to discourage students and lowlifes, to be honest.”
“I see. Would you consider giving me a break if I get this place cleaned up and redecorated for you?”
He looked surprised, but intrigued. “What do you have in mind?”
“If you provide the supplies, I’ll paint it and get it squeaky clean again. It would also help if you could get this nasty carpet out of here, too.”
Larry thought about it for a minute, walking around with his hands in his pockets, sucking his lower lip, then turned to her. “I tell you what. You get rid of the carpet and the rest of this garbage, you can use the dumpsters out back, and I’ll provide the paint and brushes and stuff, in exchange for three months’ rent.”
So far so good, thought Charlotte. “But then what will the rent be?”
“Take a third off. I like you. It’ll be worth it to have a nice, quiet lady writer living up here, someone who won’t scare away the customers.”
It was an offer she couldn’t refuse.
Helene’s condominium building still looked like a church on the outside, complete with steeple and stained glass. Charlotte wondered if people who visited the town after many years away were ever confused by the changes. Did the residents have many strangers at the door on Sundays, for instance? Strangers pulling at the locked doors, banging on them, even, wondering what was going on? She rang the bell, and as she waited for it to be answered she looked down the end of the block at Olivia’s house. The yellow crime scene tape was gone, thankfully. What was going to happen to the place now? And the project? Helene answered the door with a smile, and Charlotte could smell a light touch of perfume. Such a light touch compared to Olivia’s, certainly.
She admired her friend’s never-failing elegance and ageless appearance, the beautiful cheekbones, the white swept-back hair. Helene wore one of her signature outfits, a dark gray cashmere tunic-length sweater over a slim camel-colored wool skirt, with the long sleeves of the sweater pushed up to three-quarter length. A silk scarf in off-white, gray, and tan with a tiny bit of black softened the neckline; a silver and polished stone bracelet and low-heeled camel tan pumps completed the look. The shoes were custom made. Charlotte realized that even on days like today, when she made an effort on her appearance, she looked scruffy by comparison to Helene, but that didn’t seem to matter. One felt lifted up around her.
They sat down at the little table in the kitchen, with cups of lemon tea. Helene pl
aced a hand on Charlotte’s arm, said, “So, how did you like Martin? Isn’t he the most reassuring person you’ve ever met?”
“Oh, yes, undoubtedly. I felt so much more relaxed with him, and felt so much better about myself and my stuff. It’s hard enough to go through this without feeling like your whole life amounts to little more than a tag sale.”
“Even if something doesn’t bring as much as you hoped, you can be sure it brought as much as could reasonably be expected, especially these days.”
“Now I need to decide what I’m going to sell and keep. But I’ve got more news.”
“There’s more? You’ve been a busy bee.”
“I’ve found an apartment!” She described it, Larry, and the terms of renting it.
Helene marveled at Charlotte’s good fortune. “I’m thrilled! You’ll just be four or five blocks away. But won’t it be an awful lot of work?”
Charlotte nodded. “It will be, I won’t kid you or myself about that. But I think it will be cathartic. Other than making sure I’ve selected everything I want to keep, the estate liquidators don’t want me involved—they will do it all. It will help me a lot to have a place to move things to, to help me decide what to keep, and what I can’t
