by Dorien Grey
Elliott paid no attention to the ground floor’s false front, since it would be the first thing to go if he decided to take the place. He did look carefully around it, though, noting evidence of all-but-hidden detail where the false front met the original building.
The main entrance was located in a triangular alcove under the turret at the alley-side corner of the building, and the corner itself was held up by a heavily painted-over metal Corinthian column. Crossing the alley to get a closer view of the turret, he was impressed by the extent of the obscured detailing. Garlands under the windows, arch-pieces above, and an elaborate cornice at the top of the turret were barely visible under the paint, but Steve took several more photos of what could be discerned.
Most of the width of the building at the ground-floor level had been enclosed during the conversion, but there was, on the far side from the original entrance, a small section of the original brickwork, into which was set a door Elliott had hardly noticed, since it was painted purple to match the rest. Obviously the entrance to the flats above, it, too, had an ornate lintel and outer frame.
Steve pointed out several other details Elliott either hadn’t immediately noticed or hadn’t fully appreciated.
“Ya gotta hand it to those Victorians,” he said, smiling. “They never met a design element they didn’t like.”
As they walked down the alley, Elliott confirmed that, while the brick exterior walls were in need of tuck-pointing, there were no missing bricks and no large cracks that might indicate serious structural problems. The bay windows on the alley side of the second and third floors traditionally served the purpose of providing extra light for buildings separated by narrow spaces, but here they were more for appearance than utility.
A door near the rear of the building served as the back entrance for the converted apartment.
When they reached the garage, Elliott passed the side alley to get a better look at the back of the building. Directly over the center of the flat garage roof, on the second floor, was another, larger, bay window. The third floor had four evenly spaced regular windows. There were fewer design elements on the back, though the bay window added character.
Although the garage was a relatively new addition, some care had been taken to match the bricks to those of the main building. The doors facing the rear alley were painted the same rust-brown as the turret. One of the three, Elliott noted, would definitely need replacing.
“Time,” Steve said, and they returned to the front of the building.
*
Marvin Lamb proved to be, in Elliott’s—and, he later learned, in Steve’s—opinion, amazingly nondescript. Average height, weight, build, looks, age anywhere from forty to fifty-five. If he had a discernible personality, Elliott was unable to find it.
For someone supposedly eager to sell, he showed the building in a detached manner reminiscent of the guards who stood in each room of the Art Institute, looking mildly bored and answering questions without any particular enthusiasm or intonation. Still, Elliott sensed an underlying tension, and assumed the man was going overboard to avoid showing it.
The second- and third-floor flats were identical in layout and were, while in need of new fixtures and appliances, paint, and minor repairs, in overall good shape. Since Lamb’s ground-floor flat would be totally gutted and reconverted to retail space if he decided to buy the building, Elliott’s only interest was in looking for any obvious structural flaws in the outer walls, floor, and ceiling. He did take note of the pressed-tin ceilings and wondered about the condition of the pressed tin Bruno had mentioned lay under the current paneling, and where interior walls had been connected to the ceiling.
Each of the upstairs apartments had crown molding in the living room and twelve-foot ceilings throughout. There were several other small architectural elements that indicated the hand of a builder who knew and cared about his craft.
The kitchen appliances and electric and bathroom fixtures dated from the 1950s, but the rooms themselves appeared not to have been structurally altered. The bay windows and those in the turret allowed more light than was usual in similar buildings Elliott had seen.
At the end of a hallway running parallel to the stairway to the upper floors were two doors. The one on the left opened onto the basement stairs, the one on the right to the ground-floor apartment. The basement was basically an open space with three makeshift storage areas, apparently for the building’s occupants. A washer and dryer sat under the stairway, and a variety of crates, boxes, and stacks of unidentified material cluttered the rest of the space. Elliott inspected as much of the inner foundation as the obstructions would allow, checking for cracks or signs of leakage, and found none.
The furnace was relatively new, although he questioned whether the hot water heater was sufficient for three apartments. The presence of circuit breaker boxes indicated the wiring had been updated fairly recently.
As he followed Elliott and Steve out of the basement, Lamb said, “So, what do you think? It’s a great building, right?”
“It’s got possibilities,” Elliott conceded, as always reluctant to appear too eager. Actually, he liked it a lot. “Have you come up with an asking price?”
“As a matter of fact, I’ve got a realtor friend who’ll be handling things for me. He did an assessment just the other day…” probably immediately after Elliott called about the property. “…but he hasn’t given me a figure yet.”
They reached the front door and went out onto the sidewalk. Elliott took a business card from his shirt pocket and handed it to Lamb. “Why don’t you have him call me when he gets it?”
“I’ll do that. I hope to hear from him today.”
They shook hands, and Lamb went back to his flat as Elliott and Steve headed for the car.
“So, what did you think?” Steve asked as they got in.
“Nice. It’s got a lot of potential, and obviously whoever designed and built it knew what they were doing. My only concern is that I’ve never done a commercial property before and I’m not sure of its practicality in this area. It’s a little off the beaten track.”
He glanced at Steve and could tell he was thinking.
“So, what did you think of it?” he prompted.
“I loved it. It’s got class, charm, everything. You can turn it into a real gem.”
“And?”
Steve looked at him.
“And what?”
“And what aren’t you saying?”
“Nothing.”
Elliott stared at him with a raised eyebrow.
“I mean, it’s none of my business, and the last thing I want is to butt into yours. I was just doing a little fantasizing, I guess.”
Elliott was sure he knew exactly what Steve was fantasizing about; he had thought about the same thing since the first time he’d seen the building.
“A gallery,” he said.
Looking mildly uncomfortable, Steve said, “Well, yeah. Whatever the person you sell it to does with it would be up to them. But a gallery could be a logical option.”
Elliott smiled to himself, started the car and moved out into traffic.
*
BJ’s swim team won the meet, and it always pleased Elliott to see how proud Brad, Sr., was of his son. Since the parents of BJ’s teammate who was supposed to ride with Brad and Cessy had been able to go to the meet after all, Elliott suggested he take the family out to an early dinner before heading home.
He was relieved that Cessy was the model of restraint when it came to probing the status of his relationship with Steve, and pleased that the rest of the family and Steve seemed completely at ease with one another. They returned to Elliott’s condo shortly after seven to find a message from Bruno on the answering machine.
“Elliott…Bruno here. It’s three o’clock Saturday afternoon, and I’ve decided to invite a few people in for drinks tonight to celebrate Cage’s new job. Not a big do, but I hope you and Steve might be able to drop by for a bit, any time after eight. Later
, I hope.”
Clearing the message, Elliott looked at Steve. “Cage’s new job? I wonder what that might be.”
“One sure way to find out.”
“Yeah, but I don’t know if I’m up for a party tonight.”
“Hey, we can have one drink and leave. I’m curious about Cage, too.”
“I guess one drink won’t hurt.”
Elliott’s cell phone rang, and he thought for a moment it was Bruno calling to see if he’d gotten the message, then remembered Bruno didn’t have his cell number. He retrieved the phone from his pocket as quickly as he could.
“Mr. Smith?”
He didn’t recognize the voice. “Yes?”
“This is Alex Freiburg. I’m a realtor, and Marvin Lamb asked me to call you. I hope this isn’t an inconvenient time.”
“No problem. Have you come up with an asking price?”
“Yes, I have.” He then proceeded to quote a price far higher than Elliott had anticipated.
While it was axiomatic that real estate agents and realtors initially asked a higher price than they expect to get in order to allow themselves some wiggle room, the price Freiburg quoted was unrealistic, and Elliott did not hesitate to say so.
“I recently researched prices in that area for another project I was considering,” he lied. He had, in fact, done only a cursory online check of roughly comparable properties in the area when Bruno had first mentioned the building. “And given the state of today’s market…”
“Well, I’m sure he can be a little flexible. What figure did you have in mind?”
“It’s a little premature to come up with an offer until I have my work crew do an inspection. Why don’t you have a talk with Mr. Lamb and see if he can come up with a more realistic figure first? Then we can move on from there if it sounds reasonable.”
“This is an exceptional building, as you know.”
“I agree, it’s a very nice building with a lot of potential. But realizing that potential will not be cheap.”
“Well, I’ll talk with Mr. Lamb, and get back to you.”
“Good. I’ll look forward to hearing from you.”
Putting the phone back in his pocket, he looked at Steve. “Lamb’s real estate buddy.”
“I gathered. Think he’ll drop the asking price?”
Elliott grinned. “It’s all part of the game. The question is whether he’ll come down far enough.”
*
They went up to Bruno’s around nine. A lanky young cover-model type in a tank top and Levi’s answered the door.
“Come on in,” he said. “I’m Chaz.”
Elliott and Steve introduced themselves and followed Chaz into the living room, where Rudy and Cage were seated with a strikingly handsome mid-twenties hunk with an athlete’s build and skin so flawless Elliott wondered at first if he were wearing makeup. Definitely of Asian lineage, he decided. They exchanged waves with Bruno, who was at the kitchen breakfast bar, now lined with liquor bottles, mixes, and a large bucket of ice.
“What can I get you?” Bruno asked as he finished pouring straight bourbon into an ice-filled tumbler.
“Bourbon-Seven,” Elliott said.
“Same,” Steve echoed.
“Have a seat. I’ll be right with you.”
Greetings were exchanged, and the hunk was introduced as Ralph. Rudy moved over on the couch, saying “Elliott, come sit by me.” Steve took one of the dining room chairs, which someone had moved into the living room.
Bruno brought the tumbler to Rudy then returned to the bar for Steve and Elliott’s drinks and, delivering them, took a seat.
“So, I hear you got a job,” Elliott said, turning to Cage. “Here in town?”
“Yeah,” Cage said. “I’ll be driving for Rudy’s limo service.”
In other words, Elliott thought, Cage has joined Rudy’s stud farm. He had little doubt that Rudy hired far more “drivers” than his limousine business could use, and he couldn’t resist asking, “Full time?”
“No, the time is flexible, which is great, since I’ll be able to keep on acting. Chicago’s got a lot of good theater, and I’m sure I’ll find something. As soon as I get my Equity card, I’ll be doing an audition for the next production at the Goodman—I hear they may be casting soon.”
“Well, I wish you luck.” He wondered if that meant Bruno would be having a new roommate.
The conversation wandered from topic to topic, with several discussions going on at once. Rudy seemed particularly interested in Elliott’s background and family, and Elliott fielded his questions in his usual low-key and noncommittal manner. Rudy hinted of big plans for his limousine service and “other projects” he was contemplating, and Elliott recognized a fisherman dangling bait when he saw one.
Whenever he had the chance, he enjoyed observing the dynamics of the group and its splinter groupings. Ralph, he noted, alternated, lavishing the bulk of his attention on Bruno and Steve, but most particularly on Steve. Elliott gathered, from what he could hear of their conversation, that Ralph was an aspiring artist and sculptor taking classes at the Evanston Art Center. Chaz divided his attention mainly between Bruno and Cage.
Elliott assumed Bruno knew Cage’s going to work for Rudy implied more than driving a limousine, but would never bring it up unless Bruno did.
As they were getting ready to leave, Bruno called Elliott aside.
“I was telling you about my stamps,” he said in a lowered voice, “and thought you might like to see my prize possession. I almost never show it, but I thought you would appreciate seeing it.”
“Sure, I’d like that.” Giving Steve a nod, he followed Bruno down the hall to the master bedroom.
It was furnished, he noted, in an odd mixture of styles. The sleigh bed and dresser were obviously quite old, but the rest of the furniture was modern and appeared new. The walls were covered with small paintings and photographs. Bruno pointed to a five-by-eight-inch frame in the center of an arrangement directly across from the bed. At first, Elliott assumed it was a painting, then noticed it was a block of four postage stamps. They looked oddly familiar, and he stepped closer, his eyes widening in recognition.
The stamps were of a World War Iera biplane flying upside down.
Turning to Bruno and still mildly incredulous, he said, “Are these real?”
Bruno nodded proudly. “Yes. Turn it over.”
Taking the frame carefully off the wall, he turned it over to find what he assumed to be a certificate of authenticity.
“It’s a PFC—a Philatelic Foundation Certificate, from the major stamp authentication organization in the U.S.”
Without studying the certification, but impressed nonetheless, Elliott replaced the frame on the wall and turned to Bruno. “You have a block of four Inverted Jennys framed and hanging on your wall?”
Bruno nodded again. “I put them there so they’re the first thing I see when I wake up in the morning.”
Elliott’s mental trivia file sprang open. The Jenny was one of the first airmail stamps, with a face value of twenty-four cents, at a time when regular stamps were three cents. It was printed in sheets of a hundred, but each sheet had to be fed through the printing press twice. One of the sheets was accidentally flipped on its second pass, and the plane came out upside down.
It was sold before the misprint was noticed, but the buyer soon realized the sheet was worth more broken up than in one unit. It became one of the most prized stamps in existence, and Elliott remembered reading that in 2005 a block of four Inverted Jennys was sold for $2.75 million.
“It’s none of my business, Bruno, but shouldn’t this be in a bank vault? Aren’t you afraid someone will just walk off with it?”
Stepping beside Elliott to look more closely at the stamps, Bruno smiled. “Why would I spend all that money only to put them in a bank vault? I want to be able to see them whenever I want. That’s why I bought them. As for their being stolen, remember Edgar Alan Poe’s ‘The Purloined Letter’? No one eve
r thinks something so valuable would be left out in plain sight. Fewer than a handful of people even know I have them. Besides, I really don’t have that many people coming through my bedroom.”
“What about during your parties?”
“I keep the bedroom door closed, and the chance of anyone who might come in to use the bathroom seeing and recognizing what they are is infinitely remote.”
Elliott definitely did not share Bruno’s confidence.
“Well, it’s none of my business, Bruno, but if I were you I definitely would not keep the stamps and the certificate together. If anyone ever did steal the stamps, they couldn’t sell them without the certificate.”
Bruno pursed his lips in thought. “Good point.” he said.
They returned to the living room, where Rudy immediately latched on to Bruno as Elliott returned to Steve. They finished their drinks, then excused themselves, pleading a busy day ahead.
As Elliott started to get up, Rudy suddenly appeared and said, “I’d like to talk with you about a business proposition. Can I have Bruno give me your number? I don’t have a pen with me.”
Though he wasn’t overly eager at the prospect, Elliott found it hard to say no diplomatically, so reluctantly said, “Sure.”
*
“That was actually kind of nice,” Steve said as the elevator doors closed and Elliott pressed the button.” I had a nice talk with Ralph.”
“Nice-looking kid.”
“That he is,” Steve agreed. “His mother is Taiwanese, and he’s a painter and a sculptor. He’s working for Rudy to earn enough money to get through school. He said he’d like to see my work.”
Elliott grinned. “I’m sure he would!”
Returning the grin, Steve said, “Lechery does not become you. Oh, wait a minute. Yes, it does.”
The elevator doors opened, and they headed down the hall.
“Where did you and Bruno wander off to?” Steve asked as Elliott opened the door to the kitchen.
Elliott told him about the Jennys, including their approximate value, and watched Steve’s eyes open wide, as his own had.