God’s Gift of Space
Marian was puffing heavily by the time she and Dula reached the fifth floor. The elevator was old – a classic, the repairmen tinkering with its inner workings had said while they lovingly stroked the cables. It would glide up and down like a dream this time tomorrow, they said, but for today, the two ladies would have to hoof it.
Paula was waiting for them at the top, keeping an eye on the stairwell, and her hands busy wiping ancient finger prints off the door knobs. Dula offered salutations for them both, and Marian recovered in time to see Paula carefully rise and shift her attention to the light switch panel. She must have handed Dula a key, because the other woman was fitting one into the double doors and working them open. Everything inside carried a layer of dust, and Marian recoiled from it for the sake of her prenatal passenger. Paula had a solution for that, bending painfully at her waist to a large tote bag and removing a collection of dust masks. Thus equipped, the three women entered. It took some careful stepping around old furniture, but they were able to reach the large window that must have been the office’s biggest draw when it was a viable business. Paula had said it was an antiques appraisal firm in the sixties, and had something to do with insurance in the seventies. After that, nothing, although a consignment shop owner had paid her twenty dollars a month to store his unwanted furniture there back in the mid eighties. Then the owner abandoned his family and ran off to Mexico with his best friend’s wife, and the furniture became Paula’s by virtue of it not moving ever since. If she had been able to sell the furniture or the space, she would have, but no one had wanted either. A few small business startups had tendered offers, but since every last one of them wanted to pay her in stock, she let it remain vacant. The rent income from the apartments below, offered by tenants like Dula, and now Marian, was apparently sufficient.
The glass in the window was old and filthy, but thick. There were three doors leading out to elevator-sized porches, but all of them were blocked by some variety of sofa. When Marian turned around to take in the breadth of the room, she could see an inscription running the length of the frieze above the double doors they’d used to enter. “A cynic is someone who knows the price of everything and the value of nothing” it read in a flourish of gothic characters. This was followed by the attribution to Oscar Wilde, whose name appeared lower and in small caps, as if pounded into the wood by the lead hammers of an overlarge typewriter. Before she could contemplate how Nestor and his people might react to that, Marian felt her sleeve tug in the direction of the septuagenarian landlady by her side. “I must go see to my husband’s dinner. If you don’t get there early it throws everything off and I’ll be feeding him Ensure late into the evening.” Marian nodded, not knowing what to say. Paula cocked her head and peered at Marian curiously, as if she were a piece of art that lacked provenance. “Would you mind letting in your friend so he can have a look at the place? I trust you and Dula to lock up after.”
Seeing as Paula only met Marian a week ago, Marian thought this was very generous, but Dula told her that Paula tended toward snap judgments of people. Any other day this week she might have had to say no to even a small favor like this, something she hated doing but found increasingly necessary since she had begun caring for Crow by herself. It wasn’t possible to stay another hour, she told her bosses, because her three-year old’s daycare wouldn’t allow her to be any later than she already was. It wasn’t possible to attend the gallery opening, she’d told Garrett in her less rounded days, when he and her other male friends in the city were still paying some attention to her. No, not even if he gave her cab fare and the place had free food. Without a well-vetted sitter, she would have to stay home with Crow. She was aware that this isolated her, and that the bosses and almost-boyfriends that would nod sympathetically each time would secretly hold it against her. She was a single mom, now, a title that carried even less cache here than it had out west.
But Crow was downstairs with Dula’s sister in Marian and Crow’s new and largely unfurnished apartment, so there was no reason why she could not accede to the landlady’s wishes. She accepted the ring of keys. Dula tapped at an out-of-tune piano, plinking out a show tune melody with one hand. Marian and Dula were still trying to remember some of the stubborn chords when Nestor rapped on the door frame to get their attention. Hubert and Sallie filled out the rest of the doorway, their eyes darting about first in awe of the size of the space then in dismay at the condition. Marian suddenly became very aware of the dust mask on her face, and guided Dula and the others just outside on the landing. She removed the mask and introduced her friend to the Spirit Warriors.
Dula atypically restrained herself, forgoing her more impulsive greetings for sober handshakes. She did give Marian a brief look that the young woman knew well, signaling her immediate approval of one or both of the serious young men, but Marian had grown accustomed to her friend’s indiscriminate taste.
It was no accident that Paula had left the bag of dust masks by the door with the other cleaning supplies, so Marian distributed them to the three newcomers and led them back into the space. They toured between the heaps of furniture in relative silence for several minutes, unconsciously retracing the routes Marian and Dula took before. The windows particularly interested the Spirit Warriors, and Hubert spent several minutes more pressing as close to the glass as possible without actually touching it.
Nestor’s eyes lit up when he came to the piano, and the set of his cheeks behind the mask suggested a broad smile. “Is this piano available?”
Marian turned the tag on the leg. “It’s marked for removal. A truck is coming to take most of this away to the dump.”
Major chord, minor chord. Then Nestor ran two fingers the length of the piano, playing eight out-of-tune octaves. “It needs tuning, but with the owner’s permission, I’d like it to stay here. I think we can use it.”
“Okay, if you’re sure.” Marian removed the tag. “So, what do you think of this place? Be honest.”
Nestor gently lowered the cover, folding it back over the keys. “I like it already. Sure, it needs a lot of work – most of it with a vacuum – but it’s large enough to meet our planning and gathering needs. Pending the inspection, I’d say we’ll go for it.”
Marian hadn’t counted on Nestor and his people going to the trouble of getting an inspection for a rental property, but she supposed that this was a far cry from a residential apartment. Still, she hoped it wouldn’t take them too long to get settled, since she was fairly certain she was on borrowed time with the Bollards and the authorities as it was.
“Oh, by the way. I’d like to be as close as possible while we’re getting set up. Do you know of any free apartments in this building? I’d like to sublet my current place and move into a nearby room as soon as possible.” Nestor said it matter-of-factly, but Marian couldn’t help but recall another place where the ministers and the faithful worshipped together and ate together and slept together, the entire community contained in one large house. Of course, why should that bother her here? If Nestor was more available, it would makes things that much easier if the Bollards came.
“There is another apartment on the third floor that Paula showed me, between Dula’s and the one I eventually chose.” Marian became very aware of Sallie watching her impassively, her mask and eyes concealing her feelings. “It was a nice two bedroom, but I couldn’t trust a three year old with the balcony.”
…