Remember When ? - Chpt 1

"Yes, yes, I know. The wiring is bad, the building will burn down... the bad pipes that will spew poison everywhere... electricity will be outlawed... civilization as we know it will crumble

　Remember When.... ?

 

             Traffic was terrible today... the car over heated repeatedly... the boss was a bear... creditors are calling... the bank account is overdrawn... the kids are cranky and it feels as if the weight of the world rides on your shoulders 24 / 7.

But it wasn't always like that.

  Remember when play came before responsibility? Remember when the bed was always made... the sheets were always clean? Remember when dinner was ready at 7:00 and all you had to worry about was what flavor ice cream Mom had in the freezer. Hell, worry was a thing for someone else to do altogether...

             Remember when...

 

     Chapter 1

 

             "Are you sure?" I asked, more than a little afraid to show my true feelings.

             "It's perfect," Valerie gushed, throwing her arms around my neck, smothering me with kisses of gratitude. "It's exactly what I've been looking for... just look around, it's perfect."

              She pressed close, cupping her hands around a small triangular hole to stare into the dark interior of a boarded up building.

             It had been placed at the cross roads of wide undulating sidewalks, set just off campus of the local college. It was surrounded by a sea of perfectly trimmed grass and a smattering of large, ancient oak trees, made of red brick with weather beaten plywood covering its windows as well as the glass over the main door,  appeared shoddy in more ways than I could count.

              Built some time in the forties, I was sure it would fall down in a stiff wind, but if it made her happy, how could I say no? After raising two boys, thirty some years of marriage and a life time of sacrifice on my behalf, how could I deny her anything?

              "Can we see the inside?" she asked excitedly, smiling like a kid at Christmas.

              "The Realtor promised to be here with the keys at ten," I explained, looking at my watch for conformation.

              "We'll have to get started right away. I'll have the sign people," she said absentmindedly, searching her purse for a piece of paper to write on.

              "Hang on, hang on. We haven't even been inside yet. What if the roof leaks? Or the wiring is faulty... or the plumbing," I interrupted.

             "Oh, nonsense, this is the one. I can feel it. It will be just fine and you'll have nothing to worry about... you'll see," she argued, waving her hand dismissively.

             "Dearheart, faulty wiring is nothing to play around with... you could," I started, holding her by her shoulders so she would take me seriously.

            "Yes, yes, I know. The wiring is bad, the building will burn down... except for the bad pipes that will spew poison everywhere... The towns people will rise up, electricity will be outlawed... automobiles will be next, then television... and then Western civilization as we know it will crumble, never to exist again, all because I want a little restaurant of my own," she said sternly, her eyes beginning to well with tears.

            "Good... as long as we're on the same page," I returned lightly.

            "Mr. Tilford, sorry I'm late. My last client ran a little long," he said reaching for my hand before he was close enough to shake it.

            "Dearheart, this is Bob Landers... and this Sir is my wife... Valerie."

            "Well now, Mrs. Tilford, words don't do you justice... Your husband didn't tell me you were so attractive... I would have been on time had I known," Lander's said with a well practiced smile.

            She had always been lovely. Now, in our late fifties, a few extra pounds for both of us, a few more gray hairs than either of us would like to admit, she was still as beautiful as the first day we met.

            "Easy big fella, we only want to look the place over, not buy stock in the company," I admonished, pulling his hand free of my wife.

            "Do you have the keys? I really do want to see the inside," Valerie asked, almost as anxious as Mr. Landers.

             "Yes Ma'am I do and if I can say so... I can see you have a discerning eye for true craftsmanship. Why, this building was very nearly on the tour list for Frank Lloyd Wright himself," he said launching into his spiel before he could get the key in the door.

             "Really? Frank Lloyd Wright?" My wife asked with an equal enthusiasm.

            "Yes Ma'am. They say he designed this very building... one of his very first but sadly all records testifying to that fact were lost in a fire in the mid-fifties," he said as the door swung open, holding his hand over his heart as if speaking about a member of his family.

            "Beyond four buildings in L.A., Frank Lloyd Wright never made it this far west, definitely nothing in Riverside County," I corrected.

             "Hush dear, Mr. Landers is speaking," she said slapping me lightly on the chest with the back of her hand, passing to the inside.

              My concerns about the condition of the structure doubled once I entered, the light from the open door shown harshly, exposing the cobwebs and dust that covered everything. Gaping holes in the floor, dilapidated plaster walls, broken glass lay everywhere and huge water stains, proof of a leaking roof, colored the ceiling.

             "Dear God, I was right, the place is a lost cause," I whispered to myself.

            "Now, if you will turn your considerable attention to the trim work around these windows. You will be able to see Mr. Wright's genius for yourself," he said with pride, stepping over a hole in the floor. He gestured to the boarded up window like a game show host.

             Spanning more than nine feet across and nearly five feet high, it had been divided into sixteen individual panels, held in place by deteriorated muntins, each covered with thick, multi- colored layers of chipped paint, I was doubtful they would ever hold glass again.

Perched across the top of this massive window, in a eight inch swath, broken bits of colored glass.

             Without missing a beat, my wife followed his lead, placing an affectionate hand to its casing.

            "I agree. It's quite beautiful," she said lightly as she lifted her hand in inspection.

            "And here, the stain-glass treatment," Bob said excitedly, pointing to the dangling fragments of broken colored glass.

            "Yes, pity it's damaged," Valerie said with genuine disappointment.

            "The whole place is a wreck," I injected quickly, hoping to break the spell before things got out of hand.

            "And these floors," Bob continued unaffected by my comment, taking hold of my wife's hand, guiding her past the gaping hole at her feet. "Hand carried, one by one, across the Rockies..."

              "Dearheart, you're not drinking this kool-aid are you?" I asked with open disappointment.

              "Mr. Tilford, please, you are in the presents of history... of greatness," Bob said cheerfully, turning in a slow circle, his arms extended.

              "Greatness? If we're talking money pit then I agree," I said turning to the door.

              "Don't be mean dear," my wife chided lightly. "Please, go on Mr. Landers tell us more."

              "Did I tell you about the pipes? Pure lead... sixty years old as good as the day they were installed," he boasted.

              "Do tell," my wife said pointedly, sending a 'I told you so expression' in my direction.

              "Lead pipes? I can't believe... Bob tell her about the electrical system, quick before the place falls down on us," I grumbled, pointing in the direction of the back room.

             "Freshly updated, totally to code," he said smiling broadly, rocking heel to toe.

"Updated? When exactly?" I pressed, folding my arms.

"In the mid-sixties after the fire," he said with a straight face.

"Fire... an electrical fire?" I asked with disbelief.

"A small one, barely worth mentioning. The entire place was gone over with a fine tooth comb," he said tapping his fist against his open palm.

"You can't be serious. Just look around. If the termites stop holding hands at the same time we're all goners," I exclaimed waving my arms.

            "Please forgive my husband Mr. Landers. He can be such an alarmist," Valerie soothed, continuing her inspection of the building.

I was stunned.

"I understand," he began again, undaunted.

I had begun to think I was having a stroke and then the unthinkable.

"So, how much are we talking about Mr. Landers?" she asked.

"What? Valerie, you can't be serious. Look at this place. It's a death trap. It would cost a fortune to fix." I complained bitterly.

"How much Mr. Landers," she repeated firmly.

"Please, call me Bob," he said taking my wife's hand again, kissing it lightly.

"Then Bob it is," she said sweetly.

"Well, the owner of this property is no longer with us, rest his soul, and has been passed down to his children. While my client is eager to sell, her sister views it with personal nostalgia, but I'm sure I can convince them to let it go to the right buyer," he said solemnly, lowering his head.

"You have to be kidding me," I groused loudly.

"Shush, dear. You're interrupting Mr. Landers," Valerie scolded.

"A bargain at four hundred, thirty six thousand," he said, his voice suddenly buoyant.

"Four hundred... " I gasped, choking on the words.

"That's wonderful," she said.

Valerie had inherited a substantial amount of money from her mother's recent passing and I was suddenly drowning in images of all that money disappearing in exchange for this shipwreck of a building.

My heart pounded wildly, nearly jumping out of my chest, as she removed her check book.

"Now, who do I make the check out to?" She asked clicking her pen over and over impatiently.

The ability to speak escaped me. I couldn't form a word to save my life. Valerie had never written a check for anything more than a hundred dollars worth of groceries in her life. It was everything I could do to catch my breath.

"I have all the details in the car. If you would like to follow me, we can wrap this up," he said gleefully, rubbing his hands together.

"Just one more thing, Bob. How long will the repairs take?"

"I'm sorry?" He returned.

"The repairs... how long. I would like to get started right away," she said clicking her pen all the more.

My heart pounded in unison with the sound of the pen.

"The building is sold as is... the repairs will be up to you," Landers said, his voice a little uncertain.

"Oh, I see. Well, I was hoping to open before fall classes started. I was under the impression that for that price it came fully restored," she said firmly and the clicking of her pen stopped.

"I don't know what to say," Bob answered confused, looking to me for an explanation.

"I'll tell you what, Bob. We'll take it as is... eighty five thousand," she said with one final click of her pen.

I started to breathe again.

"I... I..." he stammered.

"I know what you mean, I love the place too. You talk it over with your client and let us know," she said with more authority than I had ever heard her use.

"I..." he began again.

"Oh, yes... and Bob we need to know by this Friday. We have other irons in the fire and need to make a commitment by Saturday so we can open the first week of September," she said firmly snapping her check book closed, slipping it back in her purse.

"Mr. Tilford, surely you..."

"Sorry, Bob she's the boss... nothing I can do," I said smiling broadly as my wife took my arm to leave.

Reviews

[Wendy Seames Garner]

Well, Tegon, another of your stories that I am going to want to read all the way through. I can't wait to hear how the house turns out. They will buy it, won't they?