by Amy Craig
Wylie looked at the right side of the street and exhaled. The address Nolan had given her had brought her to a newly constructed contemporary home guaranteed to have views of the Pacific. She counted three levels and eyed the spacious rooftop deck, wondering how many neighbors had been pissed off about that feature.
Unsure about where to park or how to turn around without driving to the top of the hill, she put the SUV in park and took a deep breath. There’s no way a room in this house is seventeen hundred dollars. What is it? The maid’s closet?
Nolan and Rikard pulled up behind her in the green Bronco and she used the rearview mirror to watch Nolan reach for a garage door opener. She turned to face the house and confirmed her suspicions when the door rose and revealed an empty parking space next to a sleek Corvette.
She leaned out of the window to say she’d changed her mind, but Nolan gestured for her to claim the open spot. Wylie hesitated, wondering if she would be able to reverse her commitment, but she heard Nolan’s yell through the open window. “Don’t worry. You’ll fit.”
Wylie eyed the commune once again. “I doubt it,” she said, but she closed her eyes for a moment and pulled into the garage as Nolan parked his custom job on the steep and exposed street.
Chapter Six
“The basement level includes a large media and game room, laundry facilities and Antonia’s bedroom. She’s been the only woman roommate in the house for the last year or so. We attempt to give her some privacy, for what it’s worth.”
Wylie followed Nolan’s gestures, but her comprehension failed to advance past the amenities of the media and game room—a drop-down projection screen and a semicircle of eclectic seating that filled the majority of the space. On either side of the impromptu theater arrangement, a ping-pong table graced one wall and a bar setup worthy of a magazine spread anchored the other wall. She saw her bedraggled reflection in a mirror behind the shelves of liquor bottles. I’m in way over my head.
“Are you coming?” Nolan asked, one hand on the stair railing leading to the next floor.
She swallowed and looked at the collection of recliners like a streetwise Goldilocks. Could I be at home here? Boxy, overstuffed chairs looked straight out of nineties sitcoms, but she could see herself sitting in them, her bare feet tucked in the corners as she mindlessly ate popcorn.
At the edge of the grouping, a masterpiece of molded plywood and red leather looked like a relic of the 1950s. She shook her head, knowing she would never be comfortable in it. For a moment, she wondered if the owner had a white cat or a pretentious rosewood tray to rest on the matching ottoman. “I don’t own any furniture,” she admitted. Nolan and Rikard looked at each other and she felt the need to clarify. “My last place came furnished.”
Rikard’s face remained expressionless, but Nolan shrugged and put a hand on an autumnal-colored loveseat with velour fabric and scrolling dark wood trim. The piece looked like a relic from grandma’s 1970s basement and she wondered if it smelled of old smoke and subtle mold. “You can have the seat of honor until you pick out one of your own.”
She looked at the brown-tone floral fabric. “Thanks, I think.”
“The main level has an open floor plan with a European kitchen, dining room, living room and large sliding-glass doors.” Nolan climbed the concrete steps. “We do a lot of seamless indoor-outdoor living and entertaining on this floor. When the weather’s nice, we tend to leave the doors open and use the pool decking as an extension of the room.”
“Pool?” She scrambled to follow his lead as he disappeared around a corner at the top of the stairs. She raced to the top step, eager to keep track of him in the unfamiliar house, then stopped in the formal reception space on the main floor. An infinity pool filled the small backyard and disappeared over the horizon, leaving her with breathless views of the hills and the distant ocean.
Rikard climbed the stairs and bumped into her.
She finally closed her mouth. “Sorry.” She looked at the expanse of the living area and found three people sitting at a large table with ballpoint pens and blank white forms.
“It’s a nice house,” she muttered, looking for refuge on the main level.
The seated committee members eyed her with unsuppressed interest. A woman with short brown hair smiled, but the expressions on the two men ranged from critical evaluation to dazed disinterest.
Wylie raised her hand and waved, forcing a smile to her face. “Hi,” she said, “It’s nice to meet you guys.”
She looked over her shoulder and located Nolan, his lips pursed as he waited for Rikard to join the congregation on the landing. “Busy texting while we were at the tow yard?”
Rikard smiled and claimed a fourth chair near the roommates. “We agreed to evaluate every potential roommate on the same criteria.” He gestured to the open edge of the table. “Wylie, have a seat.”
The room’s occupants looked alert as she swallowed and realized Rikard’s approval had not been the only thing standing between her and a good night’s sleep. She turned to look at Nolan.
He took a step forward then hesitated.
The tic in his jaw suggested a simmering frustration and she realized his roommate’s decision to summon the group and stage the coup had surprised him. She watched him rub the dried sweat from his trimmed beard and glare at Rikard. The line between his beard and sideburns might be a sign of control, the precision cut a warning instead of an omission. He’s more than capable of making the two ends meet. She waited for him to react to Rikard’s challenge.
She replayed images of Nolan presiding over his food truck and leading the group of protestors to Rusty’s bar. His lips might have melted beneath hers, but she realized he carried an intent behind everything he did. Why did he find me this morning? Why did he take up my cause?
The man shifted his weight.
She turned to face the three roommates who were waiting to judge and evaluate her. Isn’t this the reason I decided to skip out on corporate America? Taking a deep breath, she chose a seat at the table and took matters into her own hands, offering a smile to each of the roommates. “I’m Wylie Winidad.”
The woman with short brown hair raised her hand and waved it from side to side like an excited child. “Antonia.”
“Jack,” the intense man said with a brief nod. Bold glasses hid warm brown eyes and Wylie wondered what circumstances had brought him into the group.
The man who had greeted her arrival with dazed disinterest blinked like he had trouble focusing without artificial light. “Neil.”
“Hi, Neil, it’s nice to meet you.”
Rikard cleared his throat. “So, let’s get down to business.”
Nolan approached the table and pulled out a chair. Its wooden legs skimmed the polished floor, summarizing the tension from Rikard’s ambush.
Rikard rolled down his sleeves and waited until everyone refocused on him. “Upstairs we’ve got a fabulous master suite, three large guest rooms and seventy square feet of living space masquerading as a sixth bedroom.” He looked at Nolan for a second then turned his attention back to her. “Don’t worry. It’s also got a lock on the door, a window and a wardrobe.”
Wylie smiled as the banal description sent relief flooding through her system. Then she wondered whether Rikard’s humanist concessions might be a trap. She envisioned a space built for a nanny or a home office, but reasoned the room at the top of the stairs would be infinitely more comfortable than the front seat of her automotive haven. “That explains why it’s so cheap.”
“Pretty much,” Antonia said. “The last person who rented it got a loft bed from one of those big-box stores that designs and sells ready-to-assemble furniture. They set up their computer desk below the bed.”
“I don’t have a computer. I just use my phone.”
Jack and Rikard looked at each other but held their comments.
Antonia made a note and looked up from her rubric. “What do you do for income?”
Wylie smiled, more comfor
table on familiar ground. “I teach yoga on the beach every other morning. I’m working on my official certification.”
“That’s awesome,” Neil said, his droll tone conveying the enthusiasm adults maintained for artwork students carried home from elementary school.
She nodded, pleased to get a response from the man. “It is pretty cool. I love watching my clients progress and improve their physical and mental wellbeing. As soon as I complete my training with the national organization, I’ll be able to get a full-time job with health benefits.”
“Are you still going to keep your beach class?”
Wylie spread her hands on the table. “I’m going to try. Full-time doesn’t have to mean nine-to-five, but I don’t want either endeavor to suffer.”
“Good call.”
“So, Nolan described this as a commune?”
The question hung in the air without any takers.
“What does that mean, exactly?”
Antonia smiled. “It means we work together and try hard to be there for each other through thick and thin. It means we don’t pass judgment and bail on each other based on whims.”
Oh, Dottie, you wouldn’t last a minute in this house.
“We try to dine together and gather on Thursday nights for something we call ‘the Games’. It’s a no-holds-barred opportunity to call out each other’s moral and business failures, but also to offer support. Nobody in this house has the right to be passive-aggressive, selfish or avoidant with other roommates.”
“That sounds intense.”
The woman laughed. “It’s not like you’re facing down men the size of linebackers screaming ‘Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!’”
“I would pee in my pants.”
“Smart woman,” Neil said.
“The Games have their benefits,” Rikard admitted, “but they can feel contrived if nobody’s honest about their motivations.”
Wylie frowned and worried the man’s questions about Oregon cults had preceded some other household obligations the occupants had yet to explain to her. Then she remembered Nolan’s advice to add something to the community as a way to gain their acceptance. “I could lead house yoga sessions. It’s always helpful to work through poses with friends and share notes on modifications that you find helpful.” She thought of Nolan showing up shirtless and turned away from the table to hide her blush. I could definitely get behind group sessions, jack up the heat in the open-concept living room and lead a few sessions of hot yoga. I wouldn’t mind seeing them all these men in their running shorts.
She turned back to the table and found Antonia staring at her. She swallowed, wondering if the other woman would be foe or friend. Wait? Who says I’m even doing this?
Jack cleared his throat. “Structured exercise could benefit everyone, but we’re not living together because we want to spend our days chasing peace, love and harmony. Just so you’re clear… This isn’t a household that’s used to extensive recreational drug use and hooking up with multiple partners.”
Wylie focused on the man and tried not to look at Nolan. “I understand you’re all trying to incubate new businesses.” The warning about good behavior felt too close to home, given her thoughts on household eye candy. Look, but don’t touch, she told herself. Especially Nolan. I’m the one who told him to keep it professional.
“But you’re not. Do you think you can empathize with a bunch of stressed-out entrepreneurs?”
She scanned the group and met every person’s gaze. “I respect what you’re trying to do. It’s hard to run a small business—or a large one. I know how important it is to manage your brand and make sure you deliver a consistent and high-quality product.”
Rikard nodded and his small smile reminded her of the relaxed man who had turned his face into the wind. “Don’t be fooled by Jack’s pragmatism. The freezer’s full of tempeh burgers, Neil hung a bunch of macramé plant holders by the pool and Antonia’s got a wax pool from the drip candles she’s been nursing for three years.”
Neil cleared his throat. “I mean, Rikard’s right. It’s not a hacker house. StartupHouse in San Francisco might have gained national attention, but people have been living this way for a long time. The Glint closed, but I think the Rainbow Mansion and Blackbox Mansion are still going strong. Who knows? I’d have to check the blogs.”
Wylie nodded like she understood any of Neil’s references. She looked to Nolan for clarification and he steered the conversation back to the logistics of running this household. “I told you we vote on everything from toilet paper ply to the size of our grocery budget. Each roommate also has a sphere of influence to help the household run seamlessly. It’s a method of governance that cuts down on duplicate expenses and builds a sense of community dependence.”
Clapping her hands in excitements, Antonia bobbed in her chair. “I have the socials. I organize theme parties and invite speakers who might appeal to everyone in the house. We use a messaging app to keep up with daily chatter. You can just connect your calendar if you download an extension from the app directory.”
Wylie thought of her phone’s calendar and the sparse series of appointments it helped her maintain. Yoga instruction, yoga certification and birthday reminders for people I hardly ever see. The occasional job interviews and doctor appointments. Who would be interested in that level of detail? She smiled at Antonia and hoped the warm expression covered the sense of isolation that had begun to creep into her consciousness. “Works for me.”
Jack jerked his head toward Antonia. “She does a good job with soft skills. Laundry falls under her purview as well, but that just means she counts the bags before the laundry service picks them up. I manage the cleaning crew, but that doesn’t mean I do it.”
He looked at Wylie with raised eyebrows and she smiled as she envisioned him hauling a mop and bucket between the three levels. “No, of course not.”
“You ought to try planning dinner for thirty, Jack. It’s not all soft skills.” Antonia leaned back in her chair. “Nothing’s worse than feeling alone in a room full of people.”
The man shrugged but declined to take her bait.
“I’m on groceries,” Neil chimed in. “Put your name on anything you buy that you want to keep to yourself. The rest is up for grabs. Let me know if you have any dietary restrictions.”
Wylie nodded and turned to Rikard.
He looked at her and took a deep breath, his head cocked in consideration.
Stuck on your misgivings from our first impression?
The man exhaled. “Accounts payable. We have a house credit card, but all the bills and reimbursements go through me. I also collect rent.”
Nolan broke the ensuing silence and saved Wylie from defending her ability to pay on time. “I handle maintenance issues. So each resident’s sphere of influence makes the household run more smoothly. We’ve all tried living on our own and found ourselves bogged down with logistics when we wanted to focus organizational energy on managing our businesses.”
His deep voice surprised Wylie and she smiled, hoping the benign gesture would hide her response. She had been working so hard to give roommates equal attention that she had overcompensated and almost forgotten him. “What does that leave me?”
They exchanged looks.
“Neighborhood relations,” Antonia said.
She considered the clarification. “I don’t get it.”
“You’re used to working with the public, right? We need someone to go to the community meetings and stay abreast of any council changes or code amendments.”
“Is that what the last roommate did?”
Antonia nodded. “He probably took it a little too far. He’s living at the top of the hill with a cougar named Beth.”
Wylie bit her lip and tried not to laugh, but Neil cracked first and all six of them began to smile.
“So, you think you can do this?” Nolan asked. “It’s not a big room, but it comes with a lot of perks.”
“And responsibilities,” Rikard
added.
“Yeah,” Wylie said, “I think I can do this. I think it would be a lot of fun.” She took a deep breath and added her conditions. “But I want a year’s lease. I want something in writing. And I kind of want to see the room.”
“Of course,” Jack said. “We won’t hang you out to dry.”
Uneasiness twisted her stomach. I don’t have anything but their word and my intuition about Nolan. She thought of Dottie’s passive-aggressive eviction and wondered if it had been the best thing that could have possibly happened to her this year. “Okay. And maybe a thirty-day clause to change my mind? Call it a probation period in case this whole dream-house-thing is a façade and you’re all a bunch of freaks and geeks.”
Nolan laughed, but the other four roommates looked at her like she had personally insulted their mothers. “I’m sure it will be great,” she added to cover the faux pas. “Assuming you guys are good to go, I’m in.”
“We’ll vote on it while you go upstairs and see the room.”
She rose from the table and followed Nolan up the stairs to the third floor, conscious of the four sets of eyes following their movements. “Which one of you has been here the longest?”
“I have,” he said without stopping.
Just keep your hand on the railing and your eyes off his butt. She followed him to the landing, where he ignored a window-filled hallway and a glass-paneled door leading to a rooftop deck. The other side of the hall led to the smallest bedroom she had ever seen. White particle-board furniture filled the space, but the loft bed and freestanding wardrobe looked perfectly at home. She stepped inside the room and imagined unrolling her yoga mat in the remaining space. Then she looked up and gauged the sturdiness of the overhead beams. It doesn’t matter whether the beams are strong enough. I doubt an aerial swing would fit.
“What do you think?” Nolan asked from the hallway.
She turned to face him and stopped mentally organizing two duffel bags full of clothes. “I mean, my old room was bigger, but this house has got way better amenities.”
He nodded but stayed in the public foyer. “I’m glad you like it. Do you want to see the deck or some of the other rooms?”
