by Dorien Grey
Steve arrived promptly at seven fifteen, large sketch pad under one arm and a bottle of champagne wrapped in gold aluminum foil with a large red ribbon in his free hand.
“I figured you needed to celebrate,” he said, handing over the wine.
“Thanks! Much appreciated. You want it before or with dinner?”
“Whichever you prefer.”
“Well, let’s have a drink first. I’ll put this in the fridge. Go on into the living room, and I’ll be right there.”
While Steve took a seat, Elliott put the champagne in the refrigerator, took out the small cookie sheet with the bacon-wrapped dates and set it beside the toaster oven, then took ice out of the freezer compartment.
“Bourbon-Seven okay?” he asked.
“Sure.”
Before he carried their drinks into the living room, he put the baking sheet into the toaster oven and turned it on high.
“Two minutes,” he said, handing Steve his drink.
Steve looked puzzled, and Elliot jerked his head toward the kitchen. “Hors d’oeuvres,” he explained.
They had time for a toast to the new project and a sip of their drinks before Elliott got up and went back into the kitchen.
“So,” he said, setting the plate on the coffee table in front of Steve and resuming his seat, “I have a proposal for you.”
Steve cocked his head quizzically. “I’m listening.”
“Your lease is coming up pretty soon, right?”
Still clearly puzzled, he nodded. “Yeah…three months. Why?”
“Would you consider a move?”
“A move? Where?”
“To the Armitage building. I figured since you want to open up your own gallery someday, what better place to live than right above it?”
Steve set his drink down on the table.
“I…I…wow! Talk about a surprise. I…I don’t know what to say. Sure, I want a gallery someday, but I could never afford it now.”
“Look,” Elliott said, fearful he might somehow have spooked him, “the last thing I want is for you to feel like I’m putting a piece of cheese on the mousetrap. But it is sort of a fortunate convergence of several things.
“First, I’d already decided I was going to keep the building shortly after we went through it, so that part didn’t have anything to do with you. Second, I do need to put some sort of business in there. Third, there are two apartments available. It’s a lot closer to your work, and with the Brown Line only a short distance up the street, it’s more convenient for getting around without a car than where you are now.
“Finally, I could really use your help in making the building everything I know it can be. I’ve already told you I’d like to use your color scheme for the outside, and I could definitely use your artist’s eye on the rest of the place, particularly the first floor. I’ve never done a building quite like this one before.”
Steve still looked mildly dazed. “I don’t know, Ell. I’m really flattered, of course. And it’s true that my lease is coming up. I could probably afford the rent on one of the apartments, but the retail space, too? I could never swing that, even if I were ready to have a gallery.”
“Don’t worry about that right now. We can always work something out.”
Steve was quiet for a full minute.
“You know I’ve always wanted my own gallery, but let’s face it, art galleries aren’t exactly cash cows. I’m sure even some of the high-end galleries in River North have a tough time making it. I realize that for me to want my own, especially at this point, would be more a vanity thing than practical.”
“But you still want it.”
Steve gave him a small smile. “Of course I do. And when you took me to see the building, I fell in love with it. It’s got fantastic potential for a gallery, even though it is way off the beaten path for one.
“I know I don’t have enough of my own work to fill a gallery, but if I ever did get one, I was thinking—well, more like fantasizing, but it doesn’t hurt to dream—about maybe contacting Mr. Devereux and a couple of the other art dealers in River North and River East and maybe featuring new artists like Ralph, who’s really talented.”
So much for where John got his ideas, Elliott thought. That he had access to Steve’s thoughts was more than a little disturbing.
“But for me to ever make any money at it…” Steve was saying.
“There’s more to life than money,” Elliott observed.
“Easy for you to say.”
“Look, there’s no rush, but this could work out well for both of us. I’ve been thinking for quite a while about getting an official office for my business, but I certainly don’t need more than a fraction of the space available at Armitage. You’ll need an office for the gallery, and we can just as easily put in two—one for the gallery and one for me. I won’t be losing money on letting most of the space sit empty until you’re ready to start your gallery. You’ll be doing me a favor by using it.”
Steve gave him a raised-eyebrow and a small grin.
“Riiiight.”
“Look, I know this is a lot to throw at you at one time, so let’s take it one step at a time. Would you like to help me with ideas for the building?”
“Of course!”
“Okay. We’ll leave it at that for the moment. The first thing I have to do is contact the sandblasters and the tuck-pointers. Then the painting contractor, and that’s where you come in. Also, as soon as we can, we should do another walk-through of the place and talk about what to do in the apartments.”
*
That went well.
Better than expected, actually.
And you both managed to tiptoe around the commitment issue very nicely.
Back off, Cessy. So, how come you knew exactly what Steve was going to say about Devereux? What’s going on between you two?
Nothing’s “going on” between us. Okay, so Steve is aware of me…peripherally. He can sense me a little—he’s a pretty strong empath, don’t forget—but he doesn’t know who I -am and I do not talk with him. I don’t know that he’s made any connection between me and you. But that’s not to say he won’t someday, with no help from me. You should think about that.
Believe me, I have. But you knew exactly what Steve has been thinking about the gallery, and Devereux. I thought you said you didn’t go rummaging around in other people’s heads.
Give me a break! I don’t. The mind isn’t like a sock drawer. Most people’s are more like bank vaults, and I have no interest in finding the combination. But empaths often leave the door open a little bit, and sometimes I can’t resist peeking inside. It’s sort of like going to an art gallery.
But I never intrude or go places I know I shouldn’t. Steve’s mind is more open than most. The only reason I sometimes know what you—and, to a degree, Steve—are thinking is that you tend to leave your thoughts just lying around like toys in a kid’s playroom. After all the time we’ve spent together, it’s almost natural I’d know what you’re thinking.
Yeah, I suppose.
So, are you going to tell Cessy about your…arrangement…with Steve?
Right. And have her start calling caterers for the wedding? I don’t think so. Besides, there’s no arrangement. Steve’s just going to help me with a few things on the building. The whole gallery/moving thing hasn’t been decided yet.
Of course, it hasn’t. Come on, Elliott, I may be dead but I’m not stupid.
Say goodnight, Gracie.
Goodnight, Gracie.
*
If the thirty days prior to the close of escrow had gone by fast, the days following it seemed to pass in a blur. Having Steve in the renovation equation was a totally new experience, since Elliott was used to making all the decisions himself.
To keep things running as smoothly as possible, he worked independently with Steve and with his crew. Steve was never around during the day when Elliott was at work, and he didn’t feel it necessary to mention Steve’s involvement to Arnie,
Sam, and Ted, though he suspected they were aware of each other.
They had decided to make as few changes to the apartments as possible. The only major structural change was to reinforce the roof of the garage to enable it to be used as a patio for the second-floor apartment, and to make the kitchen window looking out on the garage roof into a door to allow access to it.
The outside was the first priority, followed by the upstairs flats.
On closer inspection, the basement proved, as Elliott had suspected, to be a treasure trove. He was particularly happy to find, in an old built-in cabinet under the stairs, the building’s original blueprints. He and his crew also found what appeared to be the original storefront exterior trim, which had been removed during the conversion, and the store’s original front door.
When the previous owners renovated the bathrooms, they had not thrown out the original fixtures—pedestal sinks and wood-covered water tanks that hung suspended over the toilets, which were then flushed by pulling a chain hanging down from the tank. The original claw-foot bathtubs were also there, though in need of re-enameling.
The current bathrooms could be expanded by reducing the size of the large adjoining bedroom closets. The tubs would be replaced with the refinished originals with added shower capability.
Plans. Details. Meetings. Subcontractors. Painters. Tuck-pointers. Suppliers. Elliott was once again caught up in a blizzard of detail, and he loved every minute.
Away from work, things went on as usual, with a few minor ripples on the otherwise calm surface of his life. He talked sporadically with Bruno, who indicated his growing dissatisfaction with Walter Means’ dismissive attitude and evasiveness in the answering of some of Bruno’s questions on the dramatic losses in his investment portfolio, which Means blamed on the stock market plunge.
“I’m sorry, but frankly, I don’t believe him,” Bruno said at one point.
“You think he’s stealing from you? Then you should report him.”
“How? To whom? Based on what? I really don’t have any proof and wouldn’t know how to get it. Plus, I know nothing at all about finances, which is why I hired him in the first place. I certainly don’t want to cause trouble for him if I’m wrong. I think I’ll just keep a closer eye on things for now and demand he keep me better informed than he has been.”
Elliott’s own portfolio had suffered serious losses as a result of the plunge, but he’d gone through similar situations in the past and knew the market always bounced back and the losses recovered. Still, he could understand how Bruno, unaccustomed to both the financial markets and dealing with amounts of money he’d never dreamed of before, could be both confused and suspicious.
Bruno had also fallen quite hard for Ricky, to the point where Ricky had moved in permanently. Cage was dragging his feet on getting his own apartment, though he hadn’t repaid any of the money Bruno had given him for the purpose of getting one. Bruno almost never saw him, but he was quite unhappy that Cage borrowed his car and got into an accident that earned him a DUI citation and did three thousand dollars’ worth of damage to the car. Cage didn’t say a word about paying for it.
Calls to and from Cessy were so much a part of his life they went almost unnoticed, rather like breathing. Their parents came back to town briefly before heading off on another junket. He’d spoken to his mother once, shortly after their return, and was, as always, mildly amused that she never inquired into what was going on in his life. She thought his choice of career was beneath him, and he had no doubt she was well aware her only son was gay, but felt the best way to avoid confronting those facts was to ignore his personal life altogether.
*
The broken garage door had been replaced. Tuck-pointing, sandblasting, scraping, and repainting of the fire escape and the entire exterior of the building—utilizing Steve’s suggested colors—were complete, and the ground-floor exterior was restored, to Elliott’s delight and Steve’s barely concealed joy. Priority was then given to working on the apartments on the top two floors, leaving the interior of the first floor for last.
Butcher paper was taped to the inside of the new ground-floor windows to prevent passersby from staring in, though the work on the exterior was attracting a lot of attention, judging by the number of cars Elliott and his crew noticed slowing down as they passed, and the number of people who stopped to watch the progress being made. As he was coming to work one morning, a woman he assumed to be from the neighborhood asked him what was going into the downstairs space.
“I’m not sure yet,” he had replied. “Maybe an art gallery.”
Elliott and Steve spent an entire Saturday afternoon, most of it in the ground-floor flat, discussing possibilities and practicalities. In structural matters, Steve deferred completely to Elliott, but made several practical suggestions, which he carefully couched as observations, and which Elliott readily acceded to.
There were four central pillars spaced down the center of the ground space that couldn’t be removed since they bore the weight of the upper floors, but Steve made suggestions on how they could be made to appear to be decorative elements rather than obstructions.
They’d have to wait until all the interior dividing walls were taken down before they could assess any damage done to the pressed-tin ceilings, or to know the condition of what lay behind the paneling.
Both agreed on having the two offices—one for the gallery and one for Elliott’s business—located in the rear, adjacent to what had likely been the bathroom for the original store. Elliott was glad that during the conversion it had merely been expanded rather than moved into the apartment. It would be easy enough to reduce it to its original size.
Elliott envisioned an open space but knew it would probably need some sort of partitioning. Without his having mentioned it, Steve volunteered, “Movable wall units would provide maximum flexibility,” and Elliott suppressed a smile. Though they’d not specifically talked more about a gallery since Elliott had first broached the subject, he was quite sure it had never been far from Steve’s mind, and he increasingly wished Steve would say something about it.
It got to the point where, on one of John’s visits, he casually asked if John might know what Steve was thinking about his proposal.
You know that’s not a fair question.
Elliott felt a wave of embarrassment.
You’re right, of course. I’m sorry. I have no right to ask you to tell me what’s in someone else’s mind. It won’t happen again, I promise.
That’s okay. I know you want to know, and I understand. But we both know I’m not the person to ask.
*
He became so wrapped up in the project that he frequently had to stop to think what day it was. Weekends were fairly easy, since he spent them with Steve, but workdays all tended to blend together. So he wasn’t quite sure whether it was a Tuesday or Wednesday when he got a call from Bruno.
“Are you and Steve free this Saturday night?” he asked. “It’s Ricky’s birthday, and I’m throwing him a party.”
“Let me check with Steve, but I don’t think we’ve made any other plans, so, thanks. What can we get him?”
“No, no gifts are necessary. Just bring yourselves.”
“We wouldn’t feel right about that. Can you think of something he’d like?”
“You don’t have to, of course, but I think I mentioned that we share a love of stamps, and there’s a book I’ve been meaning to get for him from the American Philatelic Foundation called Stamp Collecting: A Definitive Book by Michael DuBesso. I was planning to order it tomorrow, as a matter of fact.”
“Well, why don’t you let us get it for him?”
“That would be wonderful. I know he’d love it.”
Jotting down the author’s name and title, Elliott said, “Got it!”
There was a slight pause, then: “Actually, Ricky’s birthday is only one of the reasons I’d like you here.”
“Oh?’
“Yes. Rudy’s really been getting pushy about
my making a definite commitment to the bar project. I told him I’d mentioned it to Walter Means a couple weeks ago, and that Walter thought it was a bad idea but said he’d be willing to take a look at a detailed proposal. Rudy’s been hedging on getting it to him, saying I could just use my discretionary fund, but I don’t want to do that.”
“I don’t blame you. Don’t let Rudy push you around. The fact that he won’t produce the figures Means wants is a pretty good indication something’s wrong.”
“I know, but I do feel a little guilty, since Rudy’s really depending on me.”
“Which is exactly how he wants you to feel.”
There was a pause before Bruno said, a little sheepishly, “I did give him a small loan last week out of my discretionary fund. He said he needed it to keep the deal open. But then yesterday he called asking for more. I’m planning to take him aside at the party and tell him I just can’t keep lending him money until he starts repaying what he’s already borrowed.
“Everything is smoke and mirrors and more money for this and more money for that up to now. I’m really beginning to think I never should have gotten involved with him in the first place. I’m sorry, but I’m not responsible for his financial problems.
“I so dread confrontations, and I figured that talking with him when there are other people around will forestall the possibility of a scene. I know he’s not going to be happy. And I’ll feel better if I know you’re nearby for moral support.”
“Well, let me call Steve right now to make sure he hasn’t planned anything for Saturday, and get back to you.”
Which he did.
“I really appreciate that, Elliott,” Bruno said when Elliott called him back to confirm they’d be there. “About eight thirty Saturday, then?”
“Sounds good. See you there.”
*
You’ve really got to talk to Steve.
I know. I know. And I will.
When? You’re really not being fair to him.
What do you mean? There’s nothing to stop him from bringing it up.
Bullshit! You know he won’t. It’s your building after all You’ve got to let him know you want him to have his gallery. It’s part of the reason you bought the building in the first place, and you know it.
