Better Than New

by Nicole Curtis

  I also underestimated what working in St. Paul would mean. I was so used to commuting just a few minutes to a job site—on Dollar, I’d often ridden to the house on my Vespa—that I was shocked to see how much the forty-minute commute to Case ate into my daily schedule. Just when I’d get into the middle of tearing out some stinky, ruined mess, I’d have to knock off to be home for Ethan. By the time I made it back to the house, it would be pitch black and freezing cold.

  The actual work was, fortunately, straightforward. The floors in almost every room had buckled so badly that individual oak strips were “tented” and had to be cut out and replaced. We began painting the outside of the house, but then it started snowing, so we switched gears and worked room by room, repairing plaster walls, and—my favorite—stripping woodwork. (In this episode, I referenced one of my best tricks: stripper in a can. Which led me to discover the sophomoric attitude of my viewers. There is now no end to stripper-in-a-can references.) Then there was the kitchen.

  The Case Avenue house dining room, before (left) and after (right).

  Kitchens are always challenges in the homes I rehab. Although I prefer to stick with original features as much as possible, renovating an old kitchen means installing updated technology and improved materials where necessary. I have to balance historical authenticity with the need for a modern, functional room. And I have to weigh both of those considerations against the budget. The Case kitchen had one set of old cabinets that I wanted to reuse, but I needed to integrate them with other cabinets—without paying for custom cabinetry that would break the bank. I split the difference by installing shelves in areas that would normally feature cabinets. Keeping that kitchen’s look while modernizing its function took every bit of energy and creativity I had.

  Much as I can be surprised by what a house hides once I start renovating it, there’s usually little I haven’t dealt with before. The real wild cards are always the neighbors. What I do is as much about the neighborhood as it is about the house, so the neighbors always figure into any of my projects. (They also affect how the house will sell after I’m done.) Where the neighbors were concerned, Case was an example of extremes. On one side lived a Hmong immigrant family who had a flock of chickens in their backyard. I didn’t think much of it until one afternoon Leif came rushing into the house, eyes wide open in shock.

  “You’re not going to believe what’s going on next door.”

  “What?”

  “You just have to see it for yourself.”

  The Case Avenue house staircase, before (left) and after (right), and those incredible stained glass windows.

  Leif led me out the back door and we stood there watching as an older Hmong woman caught and butchered chickens. Blood, guts, and feathers were flying everywhere. When she was through, there were dead chickens all over the backyard. It was quite the sight, and not really what you hope for when you’re anticipating putting a house on the market.

  On the other side, though, lived Jerry. Jerry was a wonderful, sweet man who took meticulous care of his home and yard. He didn’t blow his leaves off his lawn. Instead, he reversed the motor on his blower and vacuumed them up. He should have had his own turf commercial, that’s how green and perfect his lawn was. I’ve seen many million-dollar properties with yards not as nice as Jerry’s. Everything about his house and property was perfect. He was also an angel whenever we needed electricity or water, or to borrow a saw blade. Jerry had helped out the woman who had owned Case, and I was so happy when he said he would love to have a few pieces of the furniture left in the house. Danette across the street had a day care, and her kids would surprise us every day with little gifts. Nothing rid my crew of house renovation grumpiness more than four-year-olds asking them, “What do you get when you cross an elephant and a rhino?” and answering “Elephino!”

  As Case stretched on past the six weeks I had expected to spend on it, the fact that I wasn’t at Summit every day created tension between Chad and me. He wanted to know when Case was going to be finished, and really, so did I. He was a regular on the Case job site, so he could see that I wasn’t intentionally dragging my feet.

  By Christmas, we both needed a break. We decided to take a three-day getaway to Puerto Rico, while Ethan spent time with his dad. It would be a quick trip, but sometimes that’s all you need to recharge the batteries. The whirlwind vacation did the trick. After three days basking in the Puerto Rican sun and touring every historical site in sight because Chad was a history junkie just like me, I was more in love than ever and ready to get home and get that house done.

  The Case rehab picked up speed after I got back. I started ticking one room after another off my list. The period solid-wood pocket doors between rooms on the first floor all slid open and shut like they were brand new. The newly refinished wood floors shimmered in shades of honey and amber. The wainscoting in the kitchen gleamed with new coats of bright white paint, and the new ceiling made the room seem fresh, clean, and inviting.

  As we wrapped up the work and filming, I started planning for an open house. Staging one of my houses for the final photo shoots and an open house can be the biggest challenges on the project. If I’m doing it right, it means hunting down the appropriate furniture and accessories. I have to stage rooms so that the house looks lived-in and warm, but not so personal that visitors feel like they are intruding. The decorative elements have to show off the work that’s been done, rather than obscure it. Staging is part art and part science—and for me, an obsession that leads to delays in filming and drives Klang and Jose so crazy that if they still had hair, they would pull it out.

  Fortunately, we had a lot of great furniture already in the home from the previous owner. But on my show, my houses have always been unlike any other houses out there. It’s the details in the staging that wow people. I would never, for example, put a large plant on a coffee table. That’s not good enough. Instead I use a period-correct magazine, a planter, and old family photos. With Case, I was able to edit down to pieces that looked appropriate in the space, and I didn’t have to buy a lot from outside sources. But while I was working, I had an idea that would gain steam and become the most positive part of that project. I posted an invitation on my social media accounts to any artists who wanted to send art to be shown in the house. I had seen the excitement and pride on my friend Lisa’s face when we used her refinished antiques in the Dollar house. And the good news was that the new owner of the Dollar house had loved them so much that he bought most of them from her. I thought, What if we could share that feeling with more people? I had no idea what I had created.

  We got artwork from all over the country. Photos, paintings, small sculptures, tapestries, furniture, and things that made me say, “I don’t know what it is, just find a place for it.” I was buried in submissions, and it became impossible to put a face to any individual piece of art. But it was exciting to open the boxes and see what people had created. I made no guarantee that an artisan would see his or her piece on TV (as I received way more things than I could possibly use to stage the house), and we offered people the option of having the art returned or donating it. That simple plan would lead to one of the most profound moments I’ve had on Rehab Addict.

  Fast-forward to 2014. I was working on the Akron house with the professional basketball player LeBron James when I heard a commotion outside. I asked the field producer what was going on, and she said, “Oh, we have some fans here and I’m sending them home. I mean, this is ridiculous. You’re working.” I stopped her there. That was a big no-no in my world, but she was new to my crew and didn’t have a clue. Long before then, my wiser-than-his-years son had said at one of my appearances where an organizer was cutting off our fan line, “If they are taking the time to meet us, Mom, we’re going to meet them.” (One of his other rules is, quite simply, don’t be an asshole. After you get over the shock of that word coming out of your child’s mouth, you realize you must’ve done something ri
ght because it’s just a modern adaptation of the Golden Rule.) I never lose sight of the fact that people’s enthusiasm for my work and my passion has contributed a great deal to my success. I looked out the window and saw a woman in the passenger seat of a car. She was strapped to an oxygen tank. I headed outside and was met by another woman standing by the car.

  “Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry, Nicole. My daughter is a huge fan of yours, but it’s really difficult for her to get around because she’s on oxygen. She’s in the car. She just wanted to meet you—we didn’t mean to interrupt you.” My heart filled. I had been having a trying week there in Akron. We were under an extreme deadline. I had had no sleep, and this surprise visit was just what I never knew I needed.

  I opened the car door and started talking with the woman. I didn’t know what was ailing her, but she was extremely thin and very weak. Her name was Mina and she had a beautiful smile and eyes that lit up when she talked about watching the show. She noticed the bracelet I was wearing.

  “I love that bracelet. It’s so pretty.”

  “Yeah, I love wearing artists’ jewelry. My friend Elizabeth made this for me.”

  “You know what? I sent you photographs I shot for Case.”

  “You did?” Now I started feeling bad. With the flood of artwork that had come to Case, it was a mess trying to figure out who’d sent what. Then Mina began describing one of the photos. I touched her arm and stopped her. “Oh, Mina, you don’t know how much I love that photo. It’s actually in my house now. It’s one of my favorite pieces of art.”

  Mina’s art (left). Mina and her mom that day in Akron (right).

  She beamed at me. We talked and talked, and this young woman brought me back to what matters, and really put life in perspective. She had never gotten the chance to enjoy her teen years or her twenties. She was always in and out of hospitals. But here she was, full of smiles and making art, and she was so positive, so upbeat.

  At a point, as Case had dragged on, I had become worn out by the project. But it was wonderful to find that some real good had come out of that house. Mina was an extraordinary woman whom I wouldn’t have met if not for Case. We would stay in touch, and I think of her often. Her photo sits in my living room. The necklace I wear with a heart (shaped like the organ, not the symbol) is one of her pieces. It seems like Mina knows when I need a smile, and on those days I’ll open my e-mail and there will be a note from her. Or I’ll arrive at home after being on the road and find a card—yes, an actual card—in the mail, from her or her mom.

  When it came time to sell Case, I was ready to pass it on. I only sell my houses to buyers who will value the house and the neighborhood as much as I have. I also add deed restrictions to every house, making sure it can never be torn down, turned into a rental, or chopped up into a multifamily dwelling, and ensuring that the work we did lives on and no neighbor will watch it fall victim to neglect again. Because of the price range, my homes usually attract first-time buyers, and the financing often falls through. I could go on and on about the issues one incurs dealing with buyers, agents, inspectors, and bankers, oh my. In the end, it’s just one of the things you have to expect in real estate. When a transaction goes smoothly, it’s a real surprise, sort of like discovering that an experience with the IRS was actually fun. Case was one of the more challenging transactions for many reasons, and the closing stretched out for months. I was already working in Detroit at that time, so Chad stepped in and handled the closing. When I finally met the buyer almost a year later, I was so happy to learn she was a history teacher, of all things. I immediately had the original abstract of title for the house that I had found after closing delivered to her.

  The small bathroom at Case, before (left); with Klang in the tub (center); and after (right).

  Nowadays records of title are boring digital printouts; however, before the existence of computers, titles were beautiful handwritten legal deeds. They would and could list personal details that would never be allowed in a title today. Just as old phone directories listed a person’s occupation and even such things as “a single woman,” house deed details are quite juicy. I knew the new owner would cherish every second of diving into the history of that home.

  Wrapping up Case on such a positive note made me feel in control again. I had delivered a house and a season to the network, and I felt like I’d turned Case into something special. Just the same, the lesson I took away from that house was that I never wanted to give control over my process, my path, to anyone else. It’s a lesson I come back to on a regular basis.

  Chapter 5

  Sometimes You Have to Skip the Lemonade and Deal with the Lemons

  summit mansion

  When you have a TV show, people reach out to you all the time. Some send handwritten letters asking for advice on how to fix a water-damaged foundation. Some are fans who shoot me social media posts or e-mails asking to meet me when I’m in their town. Some, though, are downright stalkers. That last group is why I tend not to reply to unsolicited e-mails or text messages that come in out of the blue.

  While I was still in the thick of it with Mark, I kept getting e-mails from the assistants of a local businessman. The businessman, Chad, had just bought a large turn-of-the-century house in an old-money part of St. Paul. The neighborhood was stately, an area crowded with impressive stone homes and hundred-year-old trees. Chad’s team continued to send me e-mails for months, but I just ignored them. Right or wrong, I had a gut feeling that Mark would see them as something more than a business proposition. When I started on the Dollar house, I got yet another e-mail from Chad’s people. This one pitched me on what a great opportunity this house was for me. An opportunity, for me? Seriously? Catch me at the wrong moment and I can be a little flip. I said, “I’ll meet this guy for a thousand bucks.” Mark had recently changed the locks on Minnehaha, shutting me out of my dream house. I was hustling to get work done on the Dollar house. All in all, I had pretty much lost patience with the world. But Chad’s team replied, “No problem,” and scheduled a time. I just shook my head. I had no idea they would say okay; that’s why I’d thrown out a ridiculous number. Remember, I started my working days making $2.25 an hour, so a thousand bucks to meet me? Silly. And honestly, I didn’t have five free minutes, let alone a couple of hours. I canceled. I got a very curt message back. The guy sounded pissed, but oddly, kind of handsome, too, with an accent. Listen, I didn’t call the guy back because of the last part; I called him back because I felt bad. And actually, I’m pretty sure I texted him. He said he was stepping into a movie and that he’d get back to me later.

  I honestly can’t remember how soon after that we spoke. But I remember I was standing in Macy’s picking out a tie for Ethan’s eighth-grade graduation when Chad called me.

  “Listen, I didn’t mean to piss you off,” I said. “I’m just really, really busy.”

  He was surprisingly mellow—I could hardly believe it was the same guy who had left the angry voice mail. “No worries.”

  I said, “So what do you want? I’m not a contractor, and I’m too busy to design any more houses. I don’t think I can be much help to you.” Without missing a beat, he replied, “I just wanted to take you to dinner.” Right there among the rows of tables of ties, in the basement of Macy’s in Southdale Center mall, I just stopped, shook my head, and cracked a smile (yes, a genuine one).

  “Well, why didn’t you just say that to begin with? Because if there’s a glass of wine in the cards, I’ll be there.”

  He laughed, and I suggested we meet at the Dollar house for lunch, as the project was still in its early stages and I had no extra time. On the day we were to meet, I had worked all morning, and while everyone else ordered their lunch, I passed because I had plans. Then I got a text from Chad, who was already late, saying he wasn’t going to make it. Hungry, hot, and just over it, I thought, Screw this. I grabbed someone’s leftover sandwich and went back to work. I had fin
ally called it a day and was at home lying on the couch, melting in my 1904 house with no air-conditioning. I didn’t dare go up the three flights of stairs to my fabulous attic master bedroom to take a cool shower. If it was ninety degrees on the main floor, it was surely ten degrees hotter up there. I was wondering how it could possibly be as hot in the house as it was outside when I got a text from Chad saying he was at the Dollar house and asking where I was.

  My Vespa at the job site holding my bag of trash.

  I thought, Seriously, buddy? You make plans, you cancel plans, and then you just show up? It was sounding a bit reminiscent of what I’d just gone through with Mark. I got up off my couch, not even giving a second thought to what I looked like, let alone what I probably smelled like, and rode my Vespa over to Dollar. I think I truly said “What the f@#$?” when I pulled up to the house and there was a Maserati parked in front. I didn’t do a good job of hiding my irritation; it seemed a bit ostentatious, considering that the car cost more than many people in the neighborhood could earn in ten years. I showed Chad around the house with a minimum of chatter and a cold shoulder. I said a quick good-bye and rode home on my Vespa. He may have asked me about dinner or lunch or to visit Santa Claus for all I know; I was tired, and most of all, I didn’t need or want another man whose only self-worth seemed to come in the form of a fancy car and a vanity plate. Yes, a vanity plate.

  Was I judging that book by its cover? Without a doubt, yes. I was still reeling from Mark, deep into therapy trying to find the confidence and resolve that I so needed. I knew I had to find myself before I found myself being found by someone else again. Men and women alike often go right back to relationships that mirror the ones they’ve tried and failed at before, and I was finally ready to stop the cycle. As a girl who was raised in a Catholic family where no one was anyone until they had a someone and all that went with it, I spent most of my life trying to fit into that ideal. A few weeks went by, and just as that Catholic upbringing was always leading me to try to find a husband, it also made me feel guilty. I had behaved rudely when I’d met Chad. I was punishing him for the sins of the other, as he would love to say later on and still says to this day.