North Coast: A Contemporary Love Story

by Dorothy Rice Bennett

  Beginning to relax, Valerie warmed to telling about her home. “This is not a true Victorian, as several houses are in Eureka, but it is an older house, with lots of angles and steep roof lines and plenty of oak and redwood in the moldings and trim. The original builder put a lot of love into this house. It had two floors and a large unfinished attic at the top. But an owner at some point decided to convert the attic into a master suite with bath. That set of stairs at the back goes to the top.”

  Gina gazed at the rear stairs with obvious curiosity, and Valerie surprised herself by offering to show her the room. “Come on up. It’s unusual, but I love it.”

  The two mounted the second, less ornate flight of stairs to Valerie’s room, and Gina was clearly impressed. “Wow, you can get the sun from both the east and west and you can hear something. Is that the bay or the ocean?”

  Valerie grinned with amusement. “Most likely traffic on the 101. But, I’ll admit sometimes early in the morning, when Old Town is still deserted or when the wind is just right, I feel like I’m hearing tide sound. Can’t prove it, but I love imagining it.”

  The room had no regular corners because the roof line ran down almost to the floor on two sides. The area was spacious, however, and Valerie had decorated it attractively with white furniture and a bright blue comforter on her king-sized bed.

  When they had returned to the main hallway below, Val asked carefully, “You said you are new in town. Do you have a job?”

  “Yes,” Gina volunteered, her eyes now sparkling. “I start working tomorrow at Ritchie’s Grill on the 101 highway. I have a lot of experience waiting tables, so I’ll do fine there.” She patted her jeans pocket, pulling herself to her full height. “I have cash for a deposit, or whatever you require.”

  “Where do you come from?” Valerie was almost sold but was still not certain how trusting she felt toward this person who seemed a tad unkempt and rather transient. And who couldn’t, or wouldn’t, she reminded herself, talk on telephones.

  “I’ve been in Arizona for several years going to school, but I’m from the Midwest, originally,” Gina replied without defensiveness. “I’ve always wanted to be in California so here I am.” Apparently sensing Valerie’s uncertainty, she quickly added, “If you need references, I can get them. I have some phone numbers in the car for people I’ve rented from before. They’ll tell you I paid my bills and wasn’t any trouble.”

  Valerie considered this option for a moment and then shook her head. She instinctively felt that if references were offered voluntarily, they would be good ones. “I don’t think that’s necessary,” she said.

  There was one possible stumbling block left to cover. Val needed to get it over with. “Now my ad said that I’m renting a room. I’m not sharing the house. That means there will be no kitchen privileges, nor watching TV in the living room. I know that may seem harsh, but I do have a life of my own and I don’t want it totally disrupted,” she said, her jaw tightening. “And there’s no Internet here. I don’t even own a computer.”

  Gina’s blue eyes widened just a bit but otherwise her face revealed no concern about these restrictions. “No problem,” she said quickly. “I’ll be able to eat dinner at Ritchie’s and I don’t spend much time watching TV. And if I need to use the Internet, I can take my laptop to a Starbucks. The room and use of a bath are fine. That’s all I really need.”

  Still unsure of herself as a landlady—having had just one tenant before this—Valerie could not think of anything else to qualify Gina. When, after a second’s hesitation, nothing came to mind, Val capitulated. “Okay, then,” she said, “if you want the room, it’s yours.”

  “Thanks.” Gina smiled with obvious relief. She quickly pulled out a roll of currency and peeled off several bills. “Here’s the first month—$300, right?—last month, and an extra $100 for a deposit. That’s $700, total.” She carefully handed the bills to Valerie. “I’ll be getting a local checking account right away, but I thought you might want cash at the beginning since you don’t know me yet.”

  Val took the money, thumbed through the bills, and then nodded. It was a done deal. She shook Gina’s hand again, this time with relief. Then she remembered, “Oh, the keys.” Valerie went into the kitchen, cozy with its redwood cabinets and latticed glass doors. She took two keys from a drawer under the counter, returning with them to the hallway. “This one opens the front door,” she explained, “and this smaller one is for your room, for your privacy.”

  “Thanks,” Gina said, looking carefully at the keys. “I’ll just get my things from the car.”

  “Do you need help?”

  “No, thanks. I don’t have a lot of stuff. I can handle it.”

  A few minutes later, Gina came back into the house with a duffle bag over her shoulder, a box of books under one arm, and a laptop computer bag in her other hand.

  Valerie stopped her at bottom of the stairs, offering her a receipt for her rent and deposit. “Oh, I forgot—that door over there,” she said, pointing, “goes to my studio. If you need anything or have a question and you can’t find me around, I’m probably out there. Please knock first, but don’t hesitate to come and get me.”

  Gina nodded. “Just stick the receipt in this pocket,” she said, shoving one hip forward. Valerie flushed at the unexpected intimacy but pushed the receipt down into Gina’s rear jeans pocket. Gina smiled disarmingly. “Thanks,” she said and took her small number of belongings up the stairs to her new room. Val stood for a second watching her, noting her long legs, her nicely rounded butt, her bouncing pony tail. Valerie’s breath caught, and then she shook her head. “Not for you,” she murmured to herself as she refocused her attention on the painting project that awaited her. Sam, too, had watched Gina from the hallway but now wagged her tail and followed Val out into the studio.

  Gina shut the door and leaned against it, eyes closed. “Thank you, God,” she whispered to herself. A place to stay, no more hunting, or worrying about where she would sleep tonight. She knew she had been very lucky.

  She found her new abode roomy compared to the last tacky studio apartment she had rented in Tucson. She grinned as she dropped her box of books on the floor and tossed the duffle bag onto the queen-sized bed. This would do fine. Her new landlady, this Valerie Stephans, was an attractive older woman, yet she seemed a little uptight. Gina considered that briefly. Well, maybe there were reasons. Whatever they were, Gina figured she could handle the situation. She’d certainly known worse.

  When she surveyed the room more closely, she felt satisfied that the oak dresser was large enough, the one bookcase would certainly hold her small treasury of paperbacks, and the little wood desk would work well for her laptop. There were even some hangers in the closet. She was thankful that, for the moment at least, the bathroom across the hall would be hers alone.

  The large bed looked so good to her that Gina was tempted to just drop onto it and go to sleep. She was exhausted from a long drive before dawn, an interview at Ritchie’s Grill at 9 a.m., then the hunt for the women’s center at Humboldt State, where she had obtained a list of possible rentals. Then the tense initial encounter with Valerie.

  Gina actually rolled the duffle bag off onto the floor and stretched out on the bed, luxuriating in the clean fragrance of lavender and comfortable support. It was a good bed, topped by a soft quilt with a brightly colored nautical design. She felt wonderful just lying there. What a relief to have a job and a place to stay, all in one day! Last night there had been so much freeway noise at the funky little motel where she had stopped somewhere north of San Francisco that she had slept little and was now bone tired.

  After a moment or two she stirred reluctantly, uttering a deep sigh. She wouldn’t be able to sleep just yet.

  No, she had to make this place hers. She had to become truly at home here, as quickly as possible. Winter darkness would come early. Tomorrow she would start the job at Ritchie’s, and she still had to go find something to eat before she went to bed. Another cha
llenge, when she didn’t know Eureka at all.

  Reluctantly letting go of the pleasure of lying across the bed, she sighed as she got up and opened the duffle bag, pulling out items and placing them in piles on the comforter. Underwear and T-shirts would fit in the drawers. Two pairs of jeans would go on hangers in the closet. One nice pair of pants and a jacket for dress, also to be hung up. A raincoat, a winter parka, and a fleece jacket to go on hangers. Two pairs of shoes on the closet floor. A couple of baseball caps to be put on the top shelf of the closet.

  Then books in the bookcase. She had such a painfully small collection, not much to show for nine years of college and three degrees. She sighed. Oh, well. As she slipped them onto the shelves, she lovingly touched each volume—poetry by Sylvia Plath and Emily Dickinson, novels by Virginia Woolf, a slim tome on dreams by Sigmund Freud. Finally, a bound volume of her doctoral dissertation. All that work, only to end up a part-time waitress? In her exhaustion, she could hardly remember a line of Sylvia Plath’s beautiful poetry. Gina shook her head. Don’t go there. All this would end eventually and she’d find a way to use what she had learned.

  The laptop went onto the desk. She looked inside the desk drawers and found that someone had left a notepad and pen. She grabbed both gratefully and made a list of personal items she would need to buy as soon as she got paid. First on the list would be toothpaste.

  She put her ditty bag on top of the chest of drawers, leaving the bag open for the moment, so that her toothbrush could air out. She’d deal with the bathroom after dinner.

  Gina finally stepped back and surveyed the room. Well, as much as she could be, she was here. In California, at long last. It wasn’t her life’s dream, San Francisco, but it was California. With a job and a place to stay. Her heart raced for a moment and she stopped and took several deep breaths. Calm down, she told herself.

  As soon as she felt in control again, she grabbed her fanny pack from the rocking chair by the bed—it was nice that Valerie Stephans had put in the rocker and a floor lamp for reading. Gina quickly counted her money. She had placed some single bills at the center of her roll of cash before coming to this house. That way, when she peeled off the twenties to pay her rent, it would seem that she had plenty of money. Actually, after paying first month, last, and deposit, she only had a couple of twenties and a few singles. She wasn’t broke, but this cash would have to do until she got paid on her new job. So dinner this evening would have to be filling but cheap. Thinking of that, she’d better get going before she became even more famished and exhausted.

  She picked up her blue fleece jacket as she exited the room and locked the door. Gina went quietly down the stairs, paying attention for the first time to the blue-green shag carpeting. It was brighter than most carpeting she had seen—which was usually tan, or beige, or even white. This shag was reminiscent of what, the late 1960s or early 70s? Definitely not current. But, so what? She decided that she liked it.

  Valerie was in the kitchen talking on the phone. Not wanting to disturb her, Gina quietly let herself out the front door. She went across the street to the Beetle and retrieved an apple from the passenger seat. It wasn’t a lot and it was getting late, but this would have to be her lunch.

  The pale winter sun had moved over to the west, and a crisp breeze had come up. Gina could smell the bay, even if she couldn’t see it from here. As someone who had always lived inland she had a real sensitivity to the unique smell of ocean air. She zipped up her jacket against the wind, pulled on a knit cap she kept in the pocket, and breathed deeply. Although it was radically different from Tucson’s dry air and perpetual sunshine, she felt she was going to like Eureka.

  Which way and how to go? She was low on gas, so she left the Beetle. She wanted to see Old Town and explore the waterfront, so she headed on foot along the sidewalk, a gradual descent toward the 101 and the center of Eureka. Aside from her money issues, she needed to stretch her legs and get some fresh air. And, she thought, there would surely be shops along the waterfront where she could find a sandwich or pizza or something. She clipped off the blocks of pavement, her legs moving in a long, artless stride. As was her habit after extended periods alone, she talked silently to herself. “I’ve never lived on the coast, but I’ve always thought of myself as a coastal person. And here I am, finally, on the coast,” she said. Then she laughed. Gosh, she thought, if anyone heard her they’d think she was nuts. She smiled to herself at the thought.

  As Gina had expected, she found Old Town intriguing as she gazed at the nineteenth-century architecture. She wished she had remembered her camera. Oh, well, another day. Then, several blocks down one street, she found a small eatery called Harborside Pizza. Inside she purchased one small thin-crust pizza, fully loaded with toppings. She needed to get as much nutritional value as possible, so olives, artichoke hearts, mushrooms, and hamburger. Her stomach would complain later but, as she pulled apart the slices covered with gooey melted cheese, she chomped down on the first wedge and loved it. She bought a Diet Coke and a bottle of water for later and took the pizza box down by the waterfront. There she found a bench and finished her meal, while watching small waves lapping at the Boardwalk pier. She knew nothing about ocean tides and currents, but the varying intervals between the waves fascinated her. She realized she could watch for hours. She’d have to ask someone or read a book so she could understand better how it all worked. She did know that Eureka was on Humboldt Bay and that the wave action here would be subtle compared to the ocean itself, but still the tide was evident as she observed the water move against the shore.

  Having satisfied her hunger and beginning to feel chilled as the winter sun gradually dropped toward the horizon, she allowed her mind to shift to the next morning. She would have to get something for breakfast. She had in her duffle bag a mug, a spoon, and a small electric rod with cord that could be used to heat water for tea. Since her student days she had always turned to it in a pinch. So she needed to find a little market somewhere. Looking up and down the street, she spied one. Perfect. At Sunset Market, she got a package of muffins, a bunch of bananas, a box of tea bags, and a jar of honey. That would do her for a few days. She was set.

  As the shadows lengthened, Gina worked her way back up uphill toward Valerie’s house, which was now her house as well. Or sort of. A room, anyway.

  When Valerie had first moved to Eureka, she had enough funds to put down a large chunk toward the purchase of her home, but she had little extra cash available for living expenses. Eureka, once a busy logging town, had fallen on less fortunate times and was re-inventing itself as a travel destination. Hence the galleries and shops in Old Town and the numerous Victorian mansions scattered throughout the city were central to the area’s financial health. But jobs weren’t terribly easy to come by, and Val had felt very fortunate to find part-time work in a local photography studio. She needed some predictable income to keep her afloat while she waited hopefully for the sales of her paintings. And, in the beginning, income from renters had also been only a potential.

  She had felt especially lucky to find a job that fit into her life so well. Marlynda Cramer, who owned the studio, Portraits by Lyn, was good to her, allowing her flexible hours and tasks that weren’t too odious. Although their lifestyles were radically different—Lyn, as she told Val to call her, was married with three children—Valerie respected her creativity, liked her as a person, and felt that, in working for Lyn, she was helping another entrepreneur do her “life’s work.” In return Lyn had been sensitive to Val’s situation and her deep feelings of loss over the death of her life partner, Doreen Hawkins.

  Val had spent this particular morning in the photo lab and was just now coming home for lunch, with the hope of having quality time in her studio during the afternoon. The Beetle wasn’t parked anywhere along the street, so she assumed that her new roomer had gone to work.

  Once inside the house, she greeted Sam and then found several phone messages. She sat down at the dining room table to tackle her calls
. The first one was, almost predictably, from Lanie. Valerie quickly autodialed Lanie’s number. “Hey, what’s up?”

  “Nothing much on this end. I’m still sorry about Saturday,” Lanie said. The planned evening out had been cancelled at the last moment, when Lanie was asked by her boss to help prepare the contract on a house—tons of paperwork and a deadline.

  “I didn’t get home until almost 9 p.m.,” Lanie explained, very apologetically.

  “That’s okay,” Valerie said. “I’ve told you before that I understand about your work. You’re just getting started, and that has to be the most important thing for you right now. And by the way, the movie was very funny. I stopped for a pizza and, really, it’s fine. We’ll do it another time.” It was true that Valerie had been disappointed on Saturday when she found the message from Lanie, but after all they were friends, not lovers, and such things had to be understood.

  Shifting focus for a moment, Lanie commented, “I called to see how you’ve come along with finding a roomer.” No matter the time of day, her voice sounded husky, as if she had just climbed out of bed.

  “Oh,” Valerie replied, with sudden excitement. “Since we didn’t get together on Saturday, I couldn’t tell you that I rented one of the rooms. Would you believe some woman just showed up on my doorstep?”

  Lanie quickly interrupted. “Is she, like, okay? I mean, how did she get the address? You were pretty careful about your listing.” Lanie clearly felt protective of Val.

  Valerie grinned to herself. “I think it’s going to be fine,” she assured her friend. “She seems alright. Maybe a bit nervous and shy, but she has a car and a job lined up. She paid me first, last, and security, all in cash, so I don’t have to worry about having a check bounce.” She laughed out loud. “Just in time for the mortgage payment. Whew!”