Vintage

by Susan Gloss

  “Betsy, good to see you.” Violet hugged her. “I hope you haven’t been waiting a long time. Come on in.” She put her key in the door.

  Betsy followed Violet inside. “I’ve only been waiting a few minutes,” she said. “But what are you doing closing your shop in the middle of the day?”

  Betsy never hesitated to say what was on her mind. It was one of the things Violet loved about her.

  “I had a meeting,” Violet said. She saw no reason to mention what the meeting had been about. The fewer people who knew about the trouble she was having with her landlord, the better. Plus, Betsy would probably want to help, and Violet felt like she owed her too much already. When she’d first opened her shop, Betsy had sat on the board of a women’s business organization that gave Violet a start-up grant. If it weren’t for that grant, Violet would have had just enough money for rent and fixtures, and nothing left over to pay herself even the very small salary that she needed to survive in those first few months.

  “Don’t you think it’s about time you got some help around here?” Betsy asked. She sat down in one of two orange Eames lounge chairs outside the dressing room—gems Violet had found at a yard sale and had gotten reupholstered.

  “I’m doing okay,” Violet said.

  “Well, in the five minutes I was waiting, three different customers came to the door and turned away when they saw you were closed,” Betsy said. “You can have all the lovely merchandise you want, but if you’re not open when people want to buy it, it’s not gonna do you much good.”

  Violet sat down in the other chair. She slid off her shoes and buried her toes in the white shag rug. If only Betsy knew how much help she needed. She tried to change the subject. “I see you’ve brought out your silks, even though it’s been chilly lately.”

  Betsy looked down at her cream shantung jacket and skirt. “I say screw it. At my age, I figure I’ve only got a few seasons left to wear my favorite warm-weather stuff.”

  Violet didn’t like to think about it, but there was probably some truth to Betsy’s statement. Betsy never told anyone her exact age, saying instead that she was “somewhere on that highway north of seventy and south of eighty.” That didn’t stop her from aiding not only small businesses like Violet’s, but also a large chunk of the Madison creative community. From her hilltop mansion on Lake Mendota, Betsy steered and funded the ballet, the youth symphony, and countless other arts organizations. Her energy level rivaled that of someone decades younger. She reminded Betsy of her grandma Lou in that way—or at least the way she had been up until her stroke.

  “Did you bring stuff to sell?” Violet asked. “You know I love it when you clean out one of your closets.”

  “No,” Betsy said. “I need a favor.”

  When Betsy asked for a favor, it usually meant donating an item from the store to a charity raffle or auction, and Violet was happy to do it. It was good publicity, and she felt like she owed Betsy a hell of lot more than a couple of retro dresses or poster prints. If it hadn’t been for Betsy, and Betsy’s wealthy friends who liked to buy rare antiques and vintage accessories, the shop might not have made it through its first couple of years.

  “Anything,” Violet said. “What do you need?”

  “I need you to consider hiring someone.”

  Well, almost anything, thought Violet. “Oh, I don’t know . . .”

  Betsy continued. “Before you put me off, let me just tell you that it wouldn’t have to be for a whole lot of hours a week, and probably just for the summer. I’ve got a girl—she’s our scholarship recipient this year—and, well, she’s struggling. She has a lot going on, personally. She’s smart as can be, pretty much a savant in math, but I think she just needs a little structure. I thought of you because, well, I know you haven’t always had it easy, either.”

  Violet doubted that a troubled eighteen-year-old would be of much help around the shop, math whiz or not. She had hired college students before but had stopped doing so because she couldn’t count on them to do things the way she wanted. Their attention spans ebbed and flowed with the academic calendar, and Violet found it nearly impossible to get anyone to staff the store on a football Saturday or during exam week. In the end, having employees always seemed to create more work, not less.

  “Betsy, I’m flattered you thought of me,” she said. “But I don’t think I can afford to hire somebody right now. I’m saving every penny for a down payment on my building.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about it,” Betsy said. “You were the first person on my list, but I’ve got some others to ask. I’ll figure something out.” She got up from her chair with visible effort. “Oh, and I’ll come back soon with some things for the store. I’m trying to do some spring cleaning. You can’t imagine how much stuff I’ve got after living in the same house for forty years.”

  After Betsy had left, Violet pulled the legal papers out of her purse. It had already been a week since she was served, and she’d been counting on her meeting with Ted to clear things up. Apparently it wasn’t going to be that simple. She needed a lawyer, but she couldn’t afford to pay what she imagined would be steep fees.

  She picked up the receiver of her blue rotary phone and dialed the number of the only lawyer she knew who would work for clothes in lieu of legal fees—her friend Karen Young.

  “Violet, hi,” Karen said when she picked up. “I’m so sorry I’ve been out of touch.”

  “That’s okay. You’ve got a good reason. How is that sweet baby girl of yours?” Violet asked, trying to keep envy out of her voice.

  “Edith is great,” Karen said. “I don’t want to talk about babies, though. I need some adult conversation. Maybe we can go out some night soon like we used to?”

  “Sure,” Violet said, though she doubted either of them had the energy to run around to bars and burlesque shows like they did before Karen got married.

  “Have you been on any dates lately?” Karen asked. “If you have, don’t leave any details out. I need to live vicariously.”

  “I had coffee with an IT guy I met through a local online dating site,” Violet said.

  “Wait, what’s his profile? I’ll look him up.”

  “He doesn’t have a profile,” Violet said. “He’s one of the tech support guys for the site. I couldn’t figure out where to go to upload my picture, and there was this box that said ‘Click here for twenty-four-hour tech support.’ So I clicked on it. While he was helping me, we got to chatting about other stuff, and he asked me out for coffee. He was funny, so I said yes.”

  “That is so you, Violet.” Karen laughed. “I’m pretty sure that breaks about a dozen of the site’s terms of use, though. Not to mention probably his employment contract.”

  “Oh, why do you have to be so lawyerly about it? Anyway, he turned out to be a lot less conversational in person than he was online. He would barely make eye contact. Needless to say, we haven’t gone out again.”

  “That’s it?” Karen asked. “You don’t have anything else for this poor, cooped-up mama?”

  “Sadly, no,” Violet said.

  The truth was that, although she’d been on the occasional date, Violet spent most of her nights lately either going over shop inventory and bills or snuggling with Miles on the couch, watching old Rodgers and Hammerstein films. She knew she’d never meet anyone that way, but she would also never get hurt, never again have to make the difficult decision to leave anyone or be left. Or to give up the independence to which she’d grown accustomed. Besides, Violet was pretty sure no straight man would tolerate watching State Fair and Carousel as frequently as she did. And God, did she ever love the tight-waisted dresses and Technicolor makeup all those musical starlets wore.

  “Anyway,” Violet said, “I’ve been pretty distracted with some stuff that’s been going on with my store. That’s actually why I was calling. I wanted to see if I could come over to talk to you about some legal issues. I hate to bother you when you’re on maternity leave and everything, but I really need yo
ur advice. I can’t pay you, but you can do a raid on my inventory if you want.”

  “Hell yes,” Karen said. “I am in desperate need of new clothes. None of my PE clothes fit me.”

  “PE? You mean like gym?”

  “Pre-Edith.”

  Violet laughed. “Okay, so when can I come over?”

  “Any time you want. I’m kind of a shut-in these days. How about Friday night? I’ll get us some wine.”

  “Friday works. Once you see what I’m dealing with, though, you might want to make it whiskey.”

  On Friday evening, Violet drove to Karen’s house under a still-bright sky, even though it was past eight o’clock. Soon it would be the summer solstice, marked in Madison every year by a bonfire celebration near Olbrich Botanical Gardens. Old hippies and families with cloth-diapered kids would gather, pounding drums and waving silk scarves to celebrate the longest day of the year.

  The sun floated in a bath of pink above the sturdy rows of corn and soybeans bordering the two-lane highway outside the Madison city limits. Despite the apparent order of things, Violet thought, life was far from predictable. She had grown up in a small town, had married young and anticipated having a lot of babies. Now Violet lived alone on a busy downtown street, while Karen, who swore she’d never settle down, lived out in the suburbs.

  When Violet rang the doorbell of Karen and Tom’s sprawling home, there was no dog’s bark or sound of pattering paws to greet her. If she ever lived in the country again, Violet thought, she would adopt another dog—a buddy for Miles to play with. He was getting old, and a younger dog might be good company for him.

  Karen opened the door cradling a pink-cheeked baby. The child’s tiny fist clutched a handful of her mother’s red hair.

  “Ow,” said Karen, freeing her curls from the baby’s hand. “Come on in.”

  “Thank you so much for meeting with me. It’s good to see you.” Violet stepped inside the house and hugged her friend, being careful not to squish the baby. “Oh, my God, Edith has gotten so big.”

  Karen’s face lit up with a proud smile. “Do you want to hold her? You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I know I used to get annoyed when people always assumed I wanted to hold babies, just because I was a woman of a certain age.”

  Violet held out her arms. “I would love to hold her.” She took the warm bundle from Karen. Edith’s creased white arms and legs stuck to Violet’s own heat-damp skin in a way that should have been unpleasant but actually felt quite heavenly. She smelled the little girl’s fuzzy hair and kissed the top of her head. “Hi, little one,” she said with a spark of longing.

  Though Violet knew that splitting up with Jed was an essential chapter in her story, the possibility of never having an Edith was the price she’d paid for her independence and new start. It sucked, really, the way that possibilities narrowed as she got older. Sure, Karen had had a baby at almost forty, but Karen had also already been married at that point, after two years of dating Tom. Barring a calculated one-night stand or a visit to a sperm bank, Violet figured she was a long way from ever being pregnant, even if she met the man of her dreams tomorrow.

  “Do you want anything? A glass of white wine? Water? Frozen breast milk?” Karen asked.

  Violet recoiled. “Wine sounds good, thanks. Where’s Tom?”

  “Work trip, as usual. I’m like a single parent these days. Come on, let’s go sit in the kitchen.”

  Still carrying the baby, Violet followed her friend into the massive kitchen with its Restoration Hardware fixtures and faux-weathered, farmhouse-style cabinets. It perplexed Violet, the way people tried to make the insides of new homes look old. She sat down at the table. Karen grabbed a half-full wine bottle out of the fridge. She poured a glass and set it down in front of Violet.

  “I opened it a couple of days ago,” she said. “Sorry if it tastes a little off. Wine doesn’t disappear as quickly as it used to around here.”

  “It’s fine,” Violet said after taking a sip. She noticed a picture of a seahorse etched on the base of the glass. “Hey, we have some Waterford goblets just like this in the store. My friend Betsy brought them in. Since when are you so fancy?”

  “We got them for a wedding gift. I figure we might as well use them.”

  “Aren’t you gonna have any?” Violet asked.

  “Maybe in a little while. I need to nurse Edith soon.” Karen sat down in a chair opposite Violet and put her elbows on the table. “So, what are we dealing with here?”

  Violet dug in her purse to retrieve the papers she’d brought. She pushed them toward Karen. “This is what the process server gave me. And there’s a copy of my lease in there, too.”

  Karen bent her head and paged through the document while Violet rocked Edith in her arms.

  When she was finished reading, Karen asked, “So it looks like you either need to move out or act on your right of first refusal. Are you in a position to buy the building?”

  “They’re listing it for almost a million.”

  “So I’m gonna guess the answer is no, unless you’ve been hoarding a big pile of money somewhere that I don’t know about,” Karen said. “Have you had a chance to talk to your landlord?”

  “Yeah, but . . .”

  “Spit it out,” Karen said. “It’s never a good idea to keep secrets from your lawyer.”

  “Okay, yes. They made some sort of offer.”

  Karen leaned forward. “What do you mean ‘offer’? What were the terms, exactly?”

  Violet repeated what Ted had told her, and was surprised to see Karen nodding.

  “Wait, do you think I should take the deal?” Violet asked when she’d finished explaining.

  Karen shrugged. “Look, I know it seems counterintuitive, but the deal they’re offering might actually be a decent option.”

  “I don’t see how. The money they’re offering me as an ‘incentive’ is a joke.”

  “We could negotiate and try to get them to offer more.”

  Violet shook her head. “Even if they double the amount they’re offering me, it won’t be enough to cover my costs of moving, plus the increase in rent I’ll surely have to pay if I can even find another location in the neighborhood. I’ve done some searching already in the classifieds, and the couple of places that are available are much more than I can afford to pay and still keep the lights on. I don’t see how what they’re offering could possibly be a good option.”

  “Taking the deal is less of a risk,” Karen said. “See, if you aren’t able to buy the building and you don’t move out on their terms, you can pretty much bet Mortensen & Son will take you to court over it. And if they win, they can go after you for their attorneys’ fees and court costs. I can see from the name of their lawyer on the last page of the lease that it was drafted by a very expensive firm in town. It could end up costing you thousands if you fight them and lose. And, unfortunately, from what I see here, the terms are in your landlord’s favor.”

  “That doesn’t seem fair,” Violet said. “It seems sneaky.”

  “Sneaky, yes, but that doesn’t mean it’s not legal.”

  Violet shook her head. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “You asked me for legal advice, Violet, not for me to be your cheerleader.”

  As if to break the tension, Edith reached a tiny hand toward Violet’s face and touched her lips. Then the baby started to fuss and writhe around, so Karen took the warm little body out of Violet’s arms in order to feed her. Although it was a hot evening, Violet felt a chill, a sense of loss.

  “I’m not taking the offer,” she said. “I refuse to just hand over the keys to my place, and meanwhile get priced out of the neighborhood and having access to my customer base.”

  Karen pushed her shirt up and put the baby to her breast. Edith cooed and began to make smacking noises. Karen looked at Violet. “You don’t mind, do you?”

  “Of course not,” Violet said. “Come on, we’ve been to strip clubs together. You think I’m gonna b
e offended by a little bit of breastfeeding?”

  “Well, if you’re not interested in their offer, then I think our best bet is stalling,” Karen said.

  “Seriously? That’s the best option I’ve got?”

  “It’s the only option you’ve got, if you’re not willing to take the deal and if you’re not willing to move. We need to buy you as much time as possible so that you can try to figure out a way to raise some funds and get yourself in a better position for a mortgage, or to be able to afford a higher rent elsewhere in the neighborhood.”

  “So how do I do that?” Violet asked.

  “What, raise funds? Hell if I know. If I knew how to come up with money out of nowhere, you can bet I wouldn’t be working for a bunch of white-haired men at the law firm.”

  “No, how do we stall?”

  “Oh,” said Karen. “That. Now that I know how to do. No one graduates law school without knowing how to drag out a legal conflict.”

  That night, Violet sat on the couch with a notebook while Miles snoozed with his wrinkly face in her lap. She listened to his raspy breathing while she brainstormed as to how she might make more money, and quickly. She could raise prices, but she feared that might have the undesired effect of driving her already-loyal customers away. She could auction some of her more expensive items online, but she hated the idea of taking people’s treasured items and shipping them off to strangers.

  When the phone rang at ten thirty, Miles leaped off the couch and growled.

  Violet patted the bulldog’s head. “It’s okay, buddy,” she said, even though she almost never got calls this late. She picked up the phone. “Hello?”

  “Violet, I’m sorry to bother you,” said a familiar voice.

  “Betsy? Is everything okay?” Violet sat up straight. She had once told Betsy that she could call anytime if she needed help. She worried about her friend alone in her big house. Betsy was healthy and boisterous, but still . . . at her age, a slip on the travertine floor or the varnished staircase could be disastrous.

  “Yes, yes, I’m fine,” Betsy said. “You can put the ambulance on hold.”