A Basic Renovation

by Sandra Antonelli

  Lesley pointed out a wall made of large, filthy windows, saying something about the big Harp inside being stung by bees that used to nest there.

  He snorted. Well, guess who else got stung in this little venture.

  Then he thought about the stinger under his skin. Witteveen was a shyster, a conman, a phony. They’d been best pals. They’d played poker together for five years and Martino had no idea the man knew how to bluff.

  Or maybe the shrivelled Dutchman had gotten tired of losing.

  Who did that liquorice-eating clog think he was?

  The pleasure of coffee and doughnuts had slipped annoyance down around his ankles like a couple of saggy socks, but the condition of the building, of the scraggly backyard, of the filthy windows and dead trees jerked everything back into place. Irritation hit his bloodstream just like a shot of espresso and suddenly the saggy sock feeling turned into tight-fitting circulation knee-highs, the kind he wore when he flew east to visit Three and Seven.

  He cut Lesley off, forgetting all his Italian finesse and slipped into the jargon of his youth, ‘That lollygagging, drugstore cowboy’s giving me the high hat, but he’s got another thing coming, especially if he thinks my granddaughter’s the fall guy for this little caper.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Minchia, that double-crossing SOB gypped you, but you’re no sap and neither am I!’

  ‘I’m not following you, GP.’

  Martino held up his fist and glared over dry earth humped with mole mounds. ‘My friend? Ha! This yard is useless. The house is a firetrap, that driveway is a death trap, and I’m moving to Aspen Ridge Lodge because if that Olandese lays one hand on my Eilish, that irritable-bowel cazzo is going to be eating my knuckle sandwich without his gorgeous bridgework!’

  Chapter 7

  The kitchen units had been easy to remove. Yesterday, Lesley had tossed the old cabinets in the dumpster and sorted through any hardware that could be reused on some other project. The tall cupboard in the laundry room was a different story. Solid oak, it was too cumbersome to move alone and it was far heavier than Lesley had expected it to be.

  With a height and weight advantage over her, Dominic made moving the wood carcass look effortless. He didn’t break a sweat, whereas she grunted, a vein pulsed in her temple, and her face contorted. The plan was to take the oak shell outside and throw it in the dumpster. They made it as far as the threshold. Her knees started to wobble under the bulky object. ‘Dominic! Dominic!’ she said in a high-pitched tone that made her sound like Alvin the Chipmunk, ‘I have to put it down!

  ‘It’s just a little further.’

  ‘I have to put it down before I drop it!’

  ‘We’re thought the door. Only a couple of steps, then we can lift it a little higher and swing it into the dumpster.’

  Lesley’s arms protested, her voice squeaked, she glared at him over the corner of the wood. ‘Lift it higher? We should have cut this apart inside, like I suggested, instead of trying to get the whole piece inside the dumpster!’

  ‘It’s just a few more feet.’

  ‘A few more feet and I’ll have an aneurysm.’ She lurched and stumbled, nearly losing her grip.

  ‘OK, put it down and rest for a minute. Then we’ll try again.’

  They lowered the cabinet to the pavement, her side thunking on driveway. While she caught her breath, a white police patrol unit pulled up the driveway. John Tilbrook smiled out the patrol car’s window, the mountain outline of the Los Alamos county logo on the door, just below his elbow. He shut off the engine and climbed out, one hand on the butt of his service weapon. He nodded amiably, ‘Howdy, ma’am.’

  ‘Ma’am? Oh please.’ Lesley laughed, peeled off her gloves and stuffed them into a pocket. ‘Dominic, do you know Officer Tilbrook?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Nodding, Dominic sat on the edge of the cupboard, balanced on the narrow, rocking frame. As a local merchant with a strong interest in community, it was smart to know a few members of the Los Alamos police force. Vandals might have spray-painted or egged his storefront a few times, but Trujillo’s had never been broken into. Dominic thought Tilbrook was easy-going, the kind of guy old movies used to call a regular Joe. Every now and then they’d stand outside the store and shoot the shit. ‘Hey, John.’

  ‘Mr. Brennan. You two look like you’ve been working hard,’ the cop said after a glance around.

  Lesley pushed a few strands of hair from her face. ‘We gutted the laundry room.’

  ‘Sounds like fun.’

  ‘Oh, it is,’ Dominic yawned, ‘Want to help?’

  ‘Can’t,’ Tilbrook grinned, ‘I’m on duty.’

  ‘Duty?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘You know you’re killing me with the ma’am crap, don’t you?’

  ‘Just following procedure, ma’am.’

  ‘You sound like Joe Friday in Dragnet.’

  ‘Only he said, “Just the facts, ma’am.”’

  ‘Did you know, Dominic, before John opted for a life of fighting crime, we worked together at The Film Festival?’

  ‘Yeah, about a million years ago I manned the video desk with you as my trusty sidekick, but today I’m here to follow up about your stolen motorcycle…ma’am.’

  Lesley laughed again, her eyebrows arched optimistically. ‘Any news?’

  ‘Like I said before, things like this are seldom resolved, but I wanted to let you know everything’s in the pipeline.’

  Dominic watched the cop’s eyes do a slow travel up Lesley’s body, from cowboy boots all the way up to her face. Oh, you poor misguided sod.

  ‘You look good, Lesley. Better than when you were covered in puke.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘You smell better too.’

  Officer Smooth had no idea what he was dealing with and Dominic barely swallowed a whoop of laughter. It was too much. He was about to get up and go inside and leave the love-struck cop on his own, but Tilbrook took a couple of steps towards Lesley and pulled her into a kiss that was more than old friendly. Something twinged in Dominic’s gut and he very nearly lost his balance. The sensation only lasted a second, but rather than label it as something as ridiculous as…envy, he shrugged off the hot, fizzy spasm as indigestion, or gas, or acid reflux, and went on watching the show.

  Lesley put a hand on John’s chest and pushed him away, sidestepping him, tucking a clump of hair behind one ear. Tilbrook simply chuckled, the sound sniffing out his nose.

  ‘I have to say, I didn’t expect much,’ she cleared her throat, her face suddenly pink. ‘Should I go ahead and file a claim with my insurance company?’

  ‘Good idea. I’ll give you a copy of the police report and you can take it from there. Any more trouble with the sidewalk graffiti, Dr. Brennan?’

  Dominic pretended to pick his teeth to hide his ongoing amusement. ‘No, and it’s Dominic, John.’

  ‘Not during office hours.’ Tilbrook’s arm slipped around Lesley’s waist. ‘You want to catch a movie tomorrow night?’

  Again, she slipped out of the cop’s grasp, patting his shoulder. ‘Sorry.’ she said, ‘I’ve got something on with my family.’

  Undaunted, Tilbrook went back for more. He took her hand, his fingers brushing over her skin. ‘How’s your grandpa? I saw him yesterday. My aunt says she sees him in church.’

  Dominic shook his head. Reel yourself in, buddy, and quit wasting your time. The guy missed all of Lesley’s cues of disinterest. It was almost cruel and for a second, Dominic considered taking the other man aside to have a word, but it didn’t seem necessary. Lesley fended off Tilbrook’s boy cooties just fine. She’d moved away from him to shift around some debris in the dumpster.

  ‘I know you’re on duty an’ all,’ she said, ‘but can you give us a hand with that wooden thing?’ she looked over at the heavy cabinet.

  Oblivious Officer Tilbrook gazed at her with steady hazel eyes. ‘You know what, Lesley? For you? Anything.’

  ‘Oh, brother,’ Dominic mutt
ered under his breath and stood, although that barefaced, clueless lust was as crazy as the crap that had gone through his mind the other morning with the doughnuts. As he watched Lesley’s face turn a brighter shade of pink, he wondered if it were possible the right man could get her to switch from decaf to regular. When he realised how asinine that was, he mumbled another ‘oh, brother’ and lifted one end of the wooden cupboard.

  The monsoonal downpour did a nice job settling the reddish dust that coated the streets around Santa Fe and the heavy rain made a slapping noise against the restaurant’s windows. The deluge worried Lesley. Her mouth full of black beans, she craned her neck around Dominic’s wide shoulders to look out through Tortilla Flat’s open patio doors, but the umbrellas vaulting above the outdoor tables blocked the view of the truck.

  ‘Relax.’ Dominic spooned green chile on his last bite of breakfast burrito. ‘The flooring’s completely safe under the tarpaulin. Nothing’s going to get wet.’

  She swallowed her beans and washed it down with a gulp of coffee. ‘Better not. That floor is going to be a major draw-card for the house.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘I know so.’

  ‘I didn’t fail to miss that note of ridicule in your voice. Listen. I’m not some kind of self-taught handyman. I’ve done a fair bit of carpentry work.’

  ‘Yes. I’ve noticed.’

  ‘Yeah, but did you know owning the hardware store’s not the only thing I do these days. I have a sideline business and like you, I have…’ well, maybe not exactly like you, he thought, and wiped a blob of egg yolk from his mouth as he continued, ‘…a partner. You don’t remember my friend Fabian Arganda, do you?’

  Lesley squinted as she tried to put a face to the name. She drank more coffee then set the mug down beside a tall glass of ice water. ‘Is he the guy who took you to the hospital the Christmas where you, Marcus and Christian had the fight that broke your nose?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s the guy.’

  ‘I remember the fight better.’

  ‘Obviously.’

  ‘What about Fabian?’

  ‘We’re going to his place after this. Anyhow, we own a small contracting business together.’

  ‘What do you build?’

  ‘Garages, home additions, garden sheds, that sort of thing, plus a little landscaping. My dad came from a family of builders, remember? He taught me how to be a carpenter.’ He signalled a waitress. ‘Do you want anything else?’

  ‘No, I’m good. By the way, I was sorry to hear about your dad. He was very nice.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Dominic nodded, ‘he was very nice. I miss him.’

  ‘So he taught you calculus and carpentry skills, but you’ve never done a total renovation like I have?’

  ‘No, but I understand what it’s all about.’

  ‘Know how to get rid of cat pee stink?’

  ‘Try Citro-go. It’s a commercial grade disinfectant and multipurpose cleaner that’s natural and biodegradable.’

  ‘Why do I think that’s on the label of something on a shelf at your store?’

  ‘Hey, I’ll give you a good price.’ Dominic glanced over her shoulder.

  A skinny brunette had sidled up to the table with a pot of coffee in her hand. She refilled both cups, put one hand on her bony hip, and smiled. ‘Can I get you something else?’

  Lesley watched him arch an eyebrow as he asked, ‘Please tell me it’s not too early for sopapillas.’

  ‘No. They’re always on the menu.’

  ‘Hot damn, bring ‘em on.’

  With a giggle, the waitress shuffled away.

  Dominic picked up where they’d left off, ‘With the floor, you don’t think you’re going to overcapitalise? I mean, wouldn’t some inexpensive carpet do the same thing?’

  ‘It’s not overcapitalising. It’s good business sense. There are some things you keep simple, like the paint colour, but wood floors, plain bathrooms, and streamlined kitchens are great aspects that increase a profit margin. Nothing has to be fancy or high end. You don’t have to spend a lot, but cheap sisal looks—’

  ‘Pretty good.’ He put his fork down, crumpled his napkin, tossing it on his empty plate. ‘If you want to get in and out, cheap sisal is just fine.’

  She shook her head and laughed. It made her eyes a more vivid green.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I can see why you never renovated anything.’

  His brows went up. ‘Really? How about you tell me why, smarty britches?’

  ‘You thought I could just paint the kitchen cabinets.’

  ‘That would have been easier than ripping them out and lugging them outside, wouldn’t it?

  ‘You said the black and gold upstairs bathroom was gorgeous.’

  ‘No, I said it was opulent.’

  Lesley thought this was getting weird. They’d been spending a fair amount of time together. Despite their rocky reunion, it was easy to sit across from him without being sarcastic or malicious. Dominic was easy to talk to, surprisingly likable and fun to tease. If they didn’t share such a strange history he’d be date material. ‘I bet your bedroom is done in masculine earth tones.’

  His mouth twisted as he tried not to grin. ‘So?’

  ‘I’d also bet you’d do up a house in gold, black, and red and think your Asian influenced opulence would bring in big money.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Because buyers like to walk into a house and see it as a blank canvas they can decorate themselves.’

  ‘I know a few women who look at men like that.’

  ‘Is that why you never married?’

  ‘You’d think that, wouldn’t you?’

  She leaned forward, elbows on the table, hands folded under chin. ‘Why did you give up your position at the lab? You were so dedicated to science. Your life was organised chaos, particles and gluons holding the mess together.’

  ‘I had a son who suddenly became the centre of all that organised chaos.’

  ‘Do you miss it?’

  He gave a nonchalant shrug. ‘I still keep my hand in. From time to time I consult on projects, but I like being my own boss, just like I suspect you do.’

  Lesley let her eyes wander over his face, over that slightly crooked nose and angled jaw line. Damn, why did he have to be so good looking? Sure, there was silver in that tawny brown and gold, he had creases around his eyes, a couple of furrows in his forehead, but why couldn’t he be balding, or have a beer gut? ‘You’re nothing like I remember,’ she said. You’re still this big, very handsome man, but that whole puffed-up, big-headed, self-important I’m an MIT graduate call-me-doctor thing is gone.’

  ‘Yeah, and you’re not exactly Miss Western Ohio anymore either. People change.’

  ‘Miss Western Ohio? What’s that?’

  Dominic sat back, smirking, ‘Ever been there, that stretch from Springfield to the Indiana border?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What’s it like?’

  ‘Flat.’

  ‘So were you and I don’t mean anatomically. Glory days, you were the most bland, coma-inducing, unremarkable girl ever. I mean nothing about you stood out as remotely interesting or memorable.’

  ‘Except how incredibly dull I was.’ She shrugged, laughing softly. ‘Like you said, people change.’

  ‘Yep.’

  She lifted her coffee cup to her lips, inhaling the aroma, trying to ignore the scent of his understated aftershave. ‘I bet you wondered what your brother saw in me, right?’ she said before drinking.

  ‘Yeah. Yeah I did. What happened?’

  Eventually, she figured they’d get around to the topic of Terry and his lesbian lifestyle lies. Now she had an opportunity to clear up a few things, but at that moment, she wondered if Dominic suggested they stop for lunch so he’d be on neutral ground to ask a few personal questions. Well, that was fair, she supposed, since she’d wondered a few things about him too. She exhaled. ‘You’re nosy aren’t you?’

  ‘Can
you blame me?’

  ‘Not with the things your brother told you.’

  ‘Yeah, Terry said all kinds of stuff.’

  ‘Oh, I know he did.’

  Dominic looked a little sheepish when he scratched his neck. He sighed hard. ‘OK, Lesley. All things considered, I like you. You’re a decent person. You’re even kind of fun to be around.’

  A squeaky sound of amusement travelled out her nose. ‘Yeah, you’re all right too. Can I ask you something?’

  ‘Since you think I’m handsome, sure.’

  She laughed. ‘You might not like it.’

  ‘How will we know unless you ask?’

  Lesley chose her next words purposely. ‘Terry’s told you some queer things about me, but before we get into setting my record straight, I’ve been wondering about your story, Dominic. Tell me what happened to Stefanie.’

  Dominic shifted and crossed his arms, pursing his lips. ‘You ought to know.’

  ‘I ought to know? All I know is she left you when Kyle was a baby.’

  He frowned, shaking his head. ‘He was nine weeks old. Nine weeks old. What kind of woman walks out on a nine week old infant? She said you knew why. She said you’d be able to tell me.’

  Lesley was stunned. ‘I’d be able to tell you why she left her nine week old son? That means she left you just—’

  ‘A month after you left Terry.’ The skin around his eyes tightened, crow’s feet and creases suddenly prominent. His ever-present tan faded as his face paled. For a second she thought he was going to be sick, but he sat perfectly still and looked at her levelly. ‘Man, all these years later,’ he said, ‘you resurface and here I am, still thinking about last time I saw you, just before you and Terry packed it in, just before she left. Yeah, we had our problems, like most couples. The pregnancy was hard on her. Stef cried all the time. Sometimes she’d go nuts and scream at me. It got even worse after Kyle was born. I thought it was hormones, post-natal depression, but it wasn’t. It never had been pregnancy-related. I found that out a few weeks after she talked to you and told you she was leaving.’

  Lesley picked up the coffee mug and held it between her palms. It wasn’t as nearly as hot as she suddenly felt. ‘Stefanie never told me anything about anything. I told her I was leaving your brother. How the hell can you blame me for her leaving you?’