Romance Through the Ages

by Amy Harmon

  “Some people are very attached to their meat,” Meg said. “I wish I had the willpower to be a vegetarian but every time I’ve tried, I’ve ended up caving in.” She squeezed Matt’s arm. “You’re one of the strong ones, Mattie.”

  A woman in a catering uniform had a question for Meg. Meg kept her hand on Matt’s arm but took a step away to talk to the caterer and then turned back toward us. “I’ll catch up with you a little later. I’ve got to take care of something.” After a few steps, she turned back toward us. “Don’t forget to try that tofu tart.”

  “I won’t,” Matt said.

  We filled plates of food and I followed Matt out onto the deck. The night was mild and radiant heaters sat in several places on the deck. The traffic noise was far away and muted. A sliver of moon reflected in the windows.

  The food was superb and I had to give Meg some culinary credit. Every bite was better than the last and I wondered if I’d ever taste food this good again.

  “I didn’t realize you two knew each other before the bookstore,” I said.

  “I’ve known Meg since we were children. Our families go way back.”

  “What brought her to Portland?”

  “That was my fault and I don’t know if her mom will ever forgive me. Meg graduated two years ago from Yale. After she graduated she moved back home. She and her mom had a difficult time living together again and Meg couldn’t find a job. I guess romance languages is like interior design when it comes to finding work.” I hardly thought it fair to compare the practicality of romance languages with interior design. In a better economy my degree would get me a job. What would someone with a romance language degree do other than teach romance languages? “Anyway, I was there for Thanksgiving two years ago and Meg came over. She was upset and crying because she’d just had another row with her mother and she didn’t think she could stand another day. I suggested she should come to Portland and work for me.”

  “And she took you up on the offer.”

  “She was here a week later.”

  “You must pay really well,” I said looking around.

  Matt laughed. “Meg’s family is very wealthy. Last year, her grandfather died leaving her a large sum of money. That’s when she bought this.”

  “I’m surprised she wants to work at all,” I said.

  “I think she likes having something to keep her busy.”

  When we were through with our food, Matt leaned back on his chaise and motioned for me to sit beside him. He put his arm around me and I rested my head against his shoulder. The hum of the heaters was all I could hear until a car horn honked somewhere far below us. “What do you hope the new year holds for you?” he asked.

  I wanted to say falling in love with you and becoming Mrs. Dawson, but I didn’t. “I hope this is my year to leave the bank behind and start using my degree.”

  “Well, your friend has given you a little boost,” he said and I ignored the way he emphasized the word friend.

  “I hope that’s just the start,” I said. “Where do you think this year will take you?”

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about that and I have some ideas.”

  “Are you going to share any of those ideas?” I asked. I hoped he’d say something about us.

  “A friend of mine lives in Seattle and he’s approached me about becoming a partner in another Pink Salamander up there. I’d put in some of the money and the name and then he’d run it.”

  “Would it be pink, too?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. I talked about making it a different color. Maybe purple or yellow.”

  “What if you expand all over the country and run out of colors?”

  “I suppose that would be a good problem to have. But right now we’re just talking Seattle. What color would you choose?”

  “Hmm. Maybe orange. Something as bright and eye-catching as pink. Would you put it in an old Victorian?”

  “Yes. Alan has already found a place he likes. He wants me to come up and see it. I was thinking of taking a day trip up there sometime in January.”

  “Where are you planning to go in January?” Matt and I both jumped. Apparently Meg had beamed herself out to the deck. “Sorry. I guess you didn’t hear me.” She sat down in a chair across from us and crossed her long legs.

  “I was just telling Elizabeth about Alan and a possible Pink Salamander in Seattle.”

  “You mean the Purple Salamander, right?” Meg asked. She clearly knew about these developments already.

  “Meg wants purple.”

  “I just think it’s the logical choice. Pink. Purple. They just belong together.”

  “That decision hasn’t been made yet,” Matt said. “In fact, none of it has. I need to see the place before I decide if I want to move forward. I was just about to ask Elizabeth if she wanted to take a road trip to Seattle.”

  A look of disdain passed over Meg’s face. It only lasted a moment before she smiled at me. “That would be fun to have you come along. It’ll be nice to get to know you better,” she said.

  “Sounds fun,” I said even though my interest in the trip had plummeted when I found out Meg was going.

  “Listen,” Meg said, standing. “I came out to find you because Toren put together a video of the best and worst and funniest of last year. If we start it right away, it’ll end just before the clock strikes midnight. You should come in and watch it.”

  I moved to get up but Matt tightened his arm around my shoulder. “We’ll be right in. Go ahead and start it,” he said.

  Meg looked reluctant to leave. “All righty. But don’t be too long.”

  When she’d gone inside, Matt sighed. “I’m sorry. That invitation didn’t go exactly the way I wanted.”

  “It’s fine,” I said even though traveling with Meg sounded dreadful.

  “I’d really like you to come.” he said.

  The chance to spend time with Matt was worth having to deal with Meg. “It sounds fun,” I said.

  “Good.” Matt tilted my face toward his and kissed me, softly at first and then more intensely.

  A knock on the window interrupted our kiss. We turned to see Meg motioning for us to come inside.

  “To be continued when the clock strikes twelve,” Matt said before he took my hand and we walked inside.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “You must be Lizzie. Please come in.”

  Mrs. Keller reminded me of a bird—full-figured and round on top with long, thin legs. My first thought was that her fashionable brown pantsuit must have been a mix-and-match affair since the top was probably a size 14 and the legs looked like size 6. She smiled and I knew immediately where Chad’s smile came from. Her smooth, shoulder-length bob was a combination of Chad’s coppery blond and gray. “Let me show you the rooms and we can sit in there and talk.”

  Mrs. Keller led me through the entry and into a large living room that looked like two cabbage roses had married and given birth to a million baby cabbage roses. Everything around me was flowery, whitewashed, and artfully distressed.

  “I didn’t realize that fifteen years later I’d be embarrassed to show this masterpiece to a designer,” Mrs. Keller said.

  “Nothing to be embarrassed about. This is a great room. I love the fireplace and the windows.”

  “In my defense, shabby chic was very popular when we had this room redone. Dave told me it was too feminine but I ignored him. I don’t think he’s done more than walk through this room since we had it decorated. He hates it. And then there’s the dining room.”

  She pointed at a room through a large archway. An ornate whitewashed table and chairs sat under a dripping white chandelier. The cabbage roses had continued their assault in here with three walls being covered with rose-laden wallpaper. A matching whitewashed hutch overflowing with silk greenery stood against the wall. Open French doors led into the kitchen and closed French doors led onto a deck in the back yard. Cabbage rose bark cloth panels hung on both sides of the exterior French doors.
r />   “Do you mind if we sit at the table and talk for a few minutes? I’d like to get some ideas of what you’re hoping for.” We sat down and I pulled out a notebook.

  “I want something simple, not so busy. I thought this was so cozy at first but after fifteen years of it, I can’t sit in these rooms without getting claustrophobic. It needs to be calmer and less cluttered. And Dave says no more whitewashed wood and definitely no more pink.”

  “There’s no television in here. Is that how you want it?”

  “Yes, this room will be for visiting with company and relaxing. Maybe listening to music and reading. We have a family room with a large television. I want this to be an escape from all that.”

  “Do you have anything you want to keep in these rooms?”

  “Nothing. I want to get rid of this pale carpeting, too. Everything needs to go. Oh, except the plates on the top shelf of the hutch. I want to keep those.”

  “Could I see the plates?” I asked.

  “Of course.” Mrs. Keller gently lifted a stack of plates from the hutch and brought them to the table.

  “My mom couldn’t afford a set of new china when she got married, so she collected different patterns one plate at a time until she had enough plates to serve eight. She only bought plates she loved so it took her a few years. Dave doesn’t like to use them when we have guests—he likes everything to match—but I love them.”

  “What a sweet story,” I said. Mrs. Keller carefully laid out the vintage china.

  “These are beautiful,” I said, “and so much more interesting than a matching set.”

  “Mom got this one on her only trip out of the United States.” She lifted an ivory plate with a teal border and gold edging. In the center of the plate was a hand-painted bird on a branch of cherry blossoms. “She found it in a little antique store in England. This one is my favorite.” She held up a white plate bordered with rich, royal blue flowers and latticework. The flowers had a dreamy, watercolor quality. “It’s called Flow Blue. I always picked this plate for Christmas dinner when I was a child,” she said.

  “These are lovely,” I said, an idea beginning to form. “I’ve got to take some measurements. Do you mind if I snap some pictures?”

  “Of course not. I’ll leave you to this. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. Keller. And thank you for this opportunity. I really appreciate it.”

  “Chad said he thought you’d have some good ideas, so I figured we might as well ask a friend of Chad’s before we called in a stranger.” She patted my arm and walked away.

  Something about what she’d said or her motherly pat on my arm made my eyes sting. I wanted to do something she’d love. I wanted to impress her. But most of all, I wanted Chad to be glad he’d arranged this. I wanted him to be proud of me. I took a deep breath and got to work.

  Forty-five minutes later, I stepped into the Keller’s gorgeous kitchen where Mrs. Keller was peeling potatoes. “I’m going to go. I’ll call you in a week or so and we can go over my proposal,” I said.

  “Did you get everything you needed?” Mrs. Keller asked.

  “I think so.”

  “Just call if you need any more information or if you want to come back and look at the rooms again,” she said. She wiped her hands on a kitchen towel and walked me to the door. “It was wonderful to meet you.”

  “You too. And thank you again. I’ll be in touch.”

  Mrs. Keller waited at the door and waved as I left.

  * * *

  “Did you bring homework?” Matt asked at lunch.

  “Sort of. I met with Mrs. Keller last night. I’m working on my proposal.”

  “Mrs. Keller is your friend’s mom?” Matt asked.

  “Yes. For the redecorating job.”

  Matt took a bite of his soup before he spoke. “You know I have a whole section on interior decorating. If you want to look through any of those books, you can.

  “Thanks, Matt. That would be great. I have some ideas but it would be nice to look through some books.”

  “Is it a big job?”

  “Two rooms and she wants them completely redone. It would be an exciting job. I hope they like what I come up with. It would be so much fun to know someone is actually living in a room I designed.”

  After I ate, I searched through a few design books while Matt worked on invoices in his office.

  The next week was exhausting and exhilarating. Each night after work and all day on Saturday, I worked on my proposal. I drew, colored, and collected paint chips and fabric swatches. I went to furniture stores with my measuring tape and measured and photographed couches, chairs and tables. I chose hardwood, light fixtures, fireplace tile and rugs. I added prices and labor quotes. When I was finished I had a proposal I loved and a bid I hoped would seem reasonable.

  “Please let this go well. Please, please let this go well.” I dabbed on some lip gloss, wiped my perspiring hands on my skirt and opened the car door. I gathered my college-worn portfolio case and my sample boards from the back seat. A light dusting of snow covered the driveway and I was glad I’d worn my rubber-soled boots.

  “Come in, Lizzie,” Mrs. Keller said to me before she called to her husband. “Dave, Lizzie’s here.” The house felt warm after the cold air outside. “Let’s go into the dining room and you can show us what you’ve come up with. Do you need any help with that?” She pointed at my full hands.

  “I’ve got it. Thank you.”

  “I can’t wait to see what you’ve come up with. I was so excited when you called yesterday. Dave? Did you hear me?”

  “I’m right here, Lola.” Mr. Keller walked into the dining room smiling. He was a tall man, big in the way an athlete is big after many years away from his sport. His dark hair was graying at the temples. “You’d think after fifteen years of these horrible roses, she could wait five more minutes without it killing her,” he said. “I’m Dave.” Mr. Keller reached out and shook my hand. I hoped mine wasn’t too damp.

  “You’d think you’d be just as excited as I am to get rid of all these pink flowers,” Mrs. Keller said.

  “Oh believe me. I am. Please, Lizzie. Tell me you’ve come up with a plan to rescue me from the roses.”

  I loved the easy way they talked to each other. It settled my nerves. “I hope I’ve come up with something you’ll both love. Shall I jump right in?”

  Mr. and Mrs. Keller sat across the dining room table from me. I tried to keep my hands steady as I pulled a foldout easel from my portfolio bag and put it on the table, ready for the sample board. Just do it like you did it for Mr. Castinello on your final project. You can do this. I took a deep breath.

  “It was easy to find lots of ideas that would be very different than what you have,” I said and they both chuckled. “But I wanted to find just the right balance of masculine and feminine. And even though you want it much less busy, I didn’t want to go so far to the other end that it felt sterile and impersonal. Please stop me at any time and ask questions or let me know if there are any things you’d like changed,” I said. They nodded.

  “It’s nice to have some sort of inspiration to go by and when you showed me your antique plates and I saw how much they mean to you, I knew I wanted to work them into the design.”

  “Ah yes,” Mrs. Keller said and leaned in closer. Mr. Keller wasn’t as easily impressed. He probably pictured the explosion of pink flowers being replaced with an eruption of blue flowers.

  “Don’t worry, Mr. Keller,” I said. “I’m not sacrificing you to the floral gods.”

  Mr. Keller laughed.

  I placed the sample board on the easel. “These rooms have wonderful natural light. All the windows make it the perfect candidate for dark wood, so I went with these wide plank, hand-hewn boards. We’d carry it all the way from the entryway to the dining room. It’s rich and warm and very masculine.”

  “I like that,” Mr. Keller said.

  “For a color palette, I went with somethi
ng earthy and relaxing. I’ve got this gorgeous tan chenille for two sofas. There are lots of options, but I really like these for the space. I sat in them and they’re super comfortable and with this upholstery, they’ll be subtle. To have some contrast with the browns and tans, I chose this dusty teal.” I held out a picture of one of the plates. “I took the colors—teal and a little pop of orange—from this plate.” Mrs. Keller nodded. “I thought we could make the window treatments from this dupioni silk. It’s just the right shade of teal but when it catches the light, it’s shot with orange.” I held out a sample of the silk. “See how you can’t even see the orange unless you’re at the right angle.”

  “I’ve never seen fabric like that,” Mrs. Keller said, holding the fabric at different angles in the light. “This is gorgeous. Who’d have ever thought of teal and orange?” My hands had stopped shaking and I was beginning to feel more relaxed.

  “I want to pull out the orange in some of our other fabrics, too,” I said.

  Mrs. Keller handed the fabric swatch to Mr. Keller who took a turn holding it up to the light.

  “I love these chairs,” I said. “Comfortable but simple. And this fabric is perfect, I think. It’s a Scalamandre stripe. The tan works well with the chenille couch and it has this tiny orange pinstripe.”

  I pulled a few large photographs out of my portfolio. One by one, I showed them to the Kellers and then laid them on the table in front of them. “Here are the rugs I had in mind. And I think these tables and lamps would fit nicely into the room.”

  They nodded after each photograph. “For the fireplace, I’d like to resurface the surround with this fantastic glass tile.” I handed them a section of the long, narrow tile. “The color is great with the window treatments and I like the liquid, almost glowing quality. I think it’s the perfect way to finish off the room. Any questions or should we move on to the dining room?”

  “Looks good so far,” Mr. Keller said with a smile.

  “The paint in the living room will be biscotti—this nice, natural color here. I wanted a little contrast for the dining room, without going too dark, so I went with this soft blue. It’s called ocean and I love how it works with the other colors.”