by Fifi Flowers
Stepping through the foyer, the decor was warm and inviting; wood floors, large area rugs, shades of grey and brown with touches of red plaids. Think elegant Ralph Lauren minus equestrian elements and that would pretty much sum up the overall feel. It reminded me of a design I came up with in one of my online advanced interior design classes when the female students were asked to decorate for a single man, bachelor pad style. Unfortunately for me on that project, our grades were determined by our fellow male students and while they thought the concept was great, none of them would’ve wanted to live within my design. Too old world they said, too stuffy.
No, I wasn’t officially an interior designer—far from it. I had majored in marketing and advertising in college. A job in that field had been my lifelong dream or so I thought. Funny how things can change in an instant and what you thought was so important, no longer is. Life throws you curves—wonderful ones in my situation—and somehow new doors open. The door that opened up wide for me was home-staging.
I had always loved redecorating my bedroom since I was a kid. I believe I can truly blame that on my mother. Every two years (or sooner depending on what was on display at the department store she frequented) my bedroom got a complete overhaul; new bedding, curtains, a new coat of paint on the walls if needed, and new colorized designs on my existing furniture which would, of course, be reconfigured. I carried on this practice once I left home for college—I had caught the same disease. My bedroom in an apartment I shared with my best friend, Gracee, was different every year including a few extra changes for each holiday and season.
So when I found myself giving up my amazing-opportunity job in New York City, Gracee offered me an interesting job with her real estate business. She had recently purchased a house to renovate and sell quickly, a flip she called it. Her suggestion was that I do all the rehab work and decorating of the house to show at the open house. Then once the house was sold we would split the profits. At first, I wasn’t sure I could afford to put money into the house and still be able to pay my own living expenses. I had savings, but I worried about how long it would take before the house sold. And of course, I had to think about the future as I would need a job after that project too. Pushy Gracee had answers to all of my doubts—insisting that I move into her pool-house and telling me to stop worrying.
“Good things are coming your way,” were the words she said to me over and over.
Yes, she was right, once again and things did fall into place. I threw myself into sprucing up the fixer upper. Refinishing floors, painting walls, mending minor damage here and there with the help of a couple low-cost handymen, the interior of the house was coming together. For the exterior of the house which needed things I could not accomplish on my own, I went in search of volunteer services. First, I needed the yard cleared of dead shrubbery and overgrowth that surrounded the house, and found my answer in a local Boy Scout troop in need of collecting badges. Second, I needed the house painted and stumbled on to my next solution while shopping at a small hardware store nearby. While looking for unique fixtures, there happened to be a man from a local halfway-house handing out flyers in the parking lot:
Free house painting! You supply the paint, sandwiches and cold soda!
Who could turn that down? Not me. I signed up immediately!
Once the house was polished both inside and out, next came my masterpiece work, decorating! I spent every day scouring the city—combing for treasures which I acquired everywhere; flea markets, antique stores, thrift store, yard sales, and I have to admit, I did some dumpster diving too. Trash day in Gracee’s neighborhood got to be my favorite day of the week as soon as I purchased my very own secondhand pick-up truck. I collected so much stuff—more than I needed for that first project—I filled the flip house and its garage and two-thirds of Gracee’s three-car garage, floor to ceiling.
I was waiting for her to blow her gasket, but she was thrilled with my new venture and encouraged me to keep going.
“Finally you stopped wasting your talent on a corporate job. You were made to decorate. You drove me absolutely crazy with your paint fumes and hammering to transform your room back when we were roommates. Always something new living with you. I often walked in and thought I was at the wrong apartment.”
“Ha! You loved it otherwise you wouldn’t have had me redo the whole apartment, including your bedroom, after you saw my talent.”
“Yes! And you need to use that gift.”
I smiled as she continued to sing my praises. “Vic, look what you did to that piece of shit house. We are going to make a killing on it! I can’t wait to see what you do on our new one.”
“Shit! Our new one? You’re crazy!”
“No, I’m not. We need to do this again. Besides, you already have connections. You made it all come together within a matter of a few weeks. I’m still baffled by what you’ve accomplished.”
“But with everything going on in my life, I’m not sure I can afford it. Unless this house sells fast…”
“…Well, that brings me to what I think is your true calling. Hello! Decorating!”
I smiled as I saw the wheels turning in her pretty brunette head as she continued to convince me.
“I need my listings furnished… staged to look inviting. God knows you have more than enough inventory to do several houses. I know because my garages are infested.”
“Can I make enough to meet all upcoming obligations? I do need to get a place of my own… and…”
“…Stop! You can stay with me as long as you need. And I guarantee I can get you steady work staging houses. Once my fellow real estate agents see what you’ve done to our flip-house you are going to be in high demand. Just remember I have first priority.” She batted her eyelashes at me—one of our favorite things to do.
“I would love that! And of course, you’re my number one!”
“Then it’s settled the Divine Decor Goddess Miss Victoria is in business!”
And just as she said it would go, it did. Within a couple of months, St. Davine Interiors was on the map and being run out of a big once abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Beverly Hills. And since opening the doors, I work with several real estate agencies and employ about five new local college students each semester.
How I fell into the holiday decorating was not intended, but it turned out to be a fun and festive job. Of course you guessed who was behind my extra service. Gracee came to me late November at a time when I was really down in the dumps. Some parts of my new life were great and I wouldn’t have it any other way, but I was missing something… someone… him. To keep my mind off of the inevitable depression, she asked me to decorate one of her listings with a Christmas theme. Why not?!
So I set about my hunt for holiday treasure and once again, I went a little touch overboard in my collection effort. The house was fabulously decorated and smelling of gingerbread when the caravan of agents went through before the first open house to the public. The visitors were floored and begging for my holiday skills in their own homes as well as their clients. Hard for me to say “no,” a new division of my interior business was born. And truly I loved the various homes I wrapped in seasonal garb and even more so, I loved that each house was so different—each reflecting the owners. It was a challenge but worth it when I saw smiling faces, knowing that I had figured them out.
Scanning the decor of the current apartment I needed to transform with holiday magic, I found it interesting that while there was warmth, there were no personal touches. The woman in front of me was such a character, she didn’t seem to fit in at all and I had to carefully inquire if it was, in fact, her home or perhaps the boss she first mentioned.
“How long have you lived here?” A safe question.
“Oh. God. No! This is my slave-driver’s place.” She laughed. “Actually, he’s a pretty good person to work for, but for god-sakes don’t tell him I ever said that. I love my job and he may fire me if he hears that I like it.” Again she laughed.
; That totally made more sense to me. I could imagine a high-powered exec living in the space. But I still had no clue, after wandering into the master bedroom, as to who her boss was as a person more than a generalized feeling of knowing that he was male. The pristine space held absolutely no clues as to what he liked in the way of giving me something to work with, and I was quickly disappointed. There were no real personal touches, just some artwork that look more like staging, similar to what I often placed in empty houses for sale, and no photos of any kind. Thinking I might get an idea about the mysterious owner, I opened the door to a walk-in closet. Gorgeous dark mahogany cabinetry housed suits, jackets, slacks, shirts, ties, and shoes—everything was in its place. However, there was one item that stood out and added a tiny little disorganized element to the entire space, a t-shirt tossed on the floor. Lifting it, looking at the words Mammoth Mountain printed on the front, I forgot where I was and held it to my chest, close to my heart. It smelled so good… like him.
Reluctantly parting ways after spending a fantastic day skiing down the slopes with Nick, I swooned as he smiled and told me, “See you later, Sugar.”
No one had ever called me Sugar or any other pet-names before. It sounded like a cheesy term that an older woman would use, but hearing it come from him, I melted right there on the spot. He was not only charming, but he was the most handsome man I’d ever seen. I loved his dark, sandy-blond hair, his brilliant blue eyes, perfectly white teeth, and full lips that I imagined would feel incredible on mine.
Off to dinner with my girls, I couldn’t get him out of my head. I’m sure my friends would tell you that I was terrible company throughout the evening as my mind kept rewinding the day. How he touched me, listened to me, made me laugh—the list could go on and on. To me he was Mr. Wonderful and, of course, the girls did not want to hear all of my sappy feelings, so I was rather quiet.
Back at the Inn, I was thrilled when he appeared with his friends at the outdoor hot tub. He looked great in his ski apparel, but outfitted in nothing more than a pair of swim trunks, he took my breath away. Lean muscles rippled down his body very nicely, from his shoulders to calves—even his toes had their own sex appeal. But the best part about the hot tub experience was feeling his skin heat mine as he slipped into the water right next to me.
Unfortunately we were not alone, but I enjoyed every moment in his presence. And the group as a whole was comical, I’d never laughed so much at their many antics and stories about their days together at an all-boys boarding school where they first met. Of course we heard tales of typical male misbehavior; streaking nude through the campus, plugging toilets with paper towels causing flooding, and trying dangerous stunts that ended with broken arms. It was evident that Pierce was definitely the leader of the pack even though he was a year younger than his two main buddies, Nick and Gram. And boy did both of Nick’s friends like to razz him, calling him St Nick. But he appeared to be a good sport about it—he wasn’t fazed by anything they dished his way.
Getting tired, not to mention turning into a prune, I climbed out of the water in search of my wrap. Scanning the various lounge chairs, I realized that Emily had struck again, taking my robe.
“Ugh, I’m going to kill you, Emily,” I said under my breath.
“You really need to stop saying that. If she ever turns up missing, you or Gracee may be suspects; number one and two,” Nick whispered in my ear.
I hadn’t even noticed him following me, but I laughed at his comment. Turning to his voice, my eyes locked on his as he began drying me with his own towel. Frozen on the spot, continuing to stare up at him, I couldn’t move.
“Here, wear my shirt,” he said pulling the soft material over my head and down my semi-dried torso, directing my arms into the sleeves. He dressed me carefully as if I was a precious child.
“Thank you,” I uttered, silently pleading, kiss me, kiss me.
But instead, he wrapped his towel around himself and he escorted me inside, to my room, kissless. We reached my door much too quickly, I didn’t want to say goodnight.
“Wanna come in?” I asked with a slight batting of my eyelashes.
“Badly,” he said with the hint of a smile. “But I’m not going to.”
“You really are St Nick!”
“I’m anything but a saint. What I want to do to you is downright sinful.”
Then he crowded my space, cupped my face with his firm hands, and danced his lips gently over mine before leaving me behind, with my lips still tingling.
Remembering our first kiss, holding a shirt that couldn’t possibly belong to the handsome New York man who had captured my heart many years ago and changed my life forever, Louise’s voice could be heard drawing near. Folding the soft garment that was scented like heaven, I placed it on a shelf and stepped out.
“There you are. I thought you’d escaped.” She snickered.
“No. Just trying to get a feel for the client—a hint of character.”
“Let’s see. Hmmm… What can I tell you? Bachelor, if you didn’t already figure that out. Quite ugly. Poor. Spent every last dime buying this place to elevate his low morale… to contribute to his need to show his superiority.” She roared with laughter at her own description. I had a feeling he was nothing like she described.
“Businessman?”
“Entertainment Industry.”
“Interests? I saw a t-shirt from a ski resort in…”
“…Oh, God, no! Whatever you come up with, nothing… nothing to do with skiing… accident…” She was rambling walking me through rooms, labeling each one; guest room, gym, bathroom. “No. No. Not a good subject. Next…” I had obviously struck a nerve. She was still talking illogically as we stopped in front of a home office space. I hoped it would present me with a clue, so far I was baffled.
“May I take a peek inside of the office?” I asked entering without her permission.
Another nicely decorated room with no real element of individuality. There was a desk, a couple club chairs with an ottoman between them. Bookcases lining a wall filled with several serious books; history, biography, geography… and law books. Laughing to myself, I wondered, what ever happened to my legal eagle? Was he married? Did he have children?
“Need more time?” asked an animated face that popped around the doorjamb.
“No, I was hoping for personal photos. Hmmm…”
“I told you he was quite unattractive, avoids cameras.” Louise emitted a few more chuckles, again. “Perhaps you would be interested in helping the poor man out…” Big laugh. “No, never-mind. What else do you need, dear?”
“The kitchen—as a personal touch—I like to bake…”
“What are you, Betty Decor Crocker?”
I shook my head. She made it difficult to keep a straight face.
“I like the homes I decorate to smell like the holidays, too. Baked, homemade gingerbread cookies say Christmas, don’t you think?”
My innocent question earned me a pinch to my upper arm, causing “ouch” to escape from my bowed mouth.
“Sorry, I had to make sure you were real.”
Pushing past me, she motioned for me to follow, waving her hand above her curly-topped head. “This way to the kitchen.”
Rubbing my arm that was sure to develop a bruise, I quickly moved behind the little spitfire.
“Here it is. As you can see, it’s barely used except for the microwave and individual coffeemaker.”
“Don’t worry. There will be no mess. I will bring everything in and cart everything out, only leaving the aroma and sugary delights.”
The last two words, I voiced, caused my body to warm, as I listened to Louise state, “The man could use a little mess in his life.”
Refocusing, I ignored her comment. “Any food allergies?”
“None, I know about. Do you include a duckling, by any chance?”
“Aah… no, not usually. Is that a request?”
“I need to get this place decorated, find a fancy bird cook
er, a caterer that is… Hell, I need to find a fancy bird, too…” her voice trailed off in a giggled ramble.
I had no idea what she was talking about as I finished my notes.
Composed, she walked right up to me. “Anything else before I give you a key to the shack?”
“The job is mine?”
“Are you fucking kidding me!” she exclaimed handing me the key. “You are the Mary Poppins of decorating. Stay as long as you like…” she called as she strolled to the door, adding more words that I couldn’t make out for certain. However, I believe she included words that sounded like forever, naked, exactly what he needs, and then she was gone.
God, I loved her. Mr. Granger must never have a dull moment with her in his employment.
Chapter Three
Nick…
After taking a breakfast meeting with one of my clients, I wandered into my office just as I heard my assistant giggling away with a pink blush coloring her cheeks. In an instant I knew she had to be speaking to one of two people and if I had to put money on it, I would bet it was my longtime friend Pierce.
Longtime was the right word, we met in his first year of boarding school—he was twelve and I was thirteen. My childhood friend, Gram, was assigned to act as Pierce’s big brother for his first year—our bond was tight and quick. He was a little wild, but when it came to study time he couldn’t be distracted, his nose was so buried in the books, and he wasn’t satisfied with anything less than an A. Over the next few years, until Gram and I graduated and went off to NYU, we were inseparable, even rooming together. We even vacationed together on school breaks and after graduation. I love them both like the brothers I never had.
“Oh hey, your grouchy pal just strolled in… oh wow… with a pastry box for me. I guess I’ll stick around longer, at least I’m assuming it’s for me. Nice chatting with you. Come out and see us sometime. Happy Holidays to you to.”
Putting the phone on hold, she turned toward me and reached for the pink box I held out to her. She knew damn good and well that the box was for her. I wasn’t allowed to return from Bottega Louie without sweet treats for her and I valued my life.
