What a Girl Wants

by Angie Coleman

  “I understand, Mother, I really do. But I can’t sit here and wait for something with all possible guarantees to come along.”

  “That’s not what I’m asking you to do, Gil. I just don’t want you to set your expectations too high, too soon. Disappointment is tough, you saw that with your father.” She’s right. When he came home one Friday evening six months ago with that broken and furious look on his face, I could barely recognize him. He spent a week locked in the house before he was able to process being fired. And to think he’d been working for Robinson’s Industries for twenty years. They were so quick to fire him that I still don’t know how they can look themselves in the mirror. All those ideals of loyalty, identity, dedication, merit… all gone with the wind in a moment, and for what? For a stupid mistake made by the CEO’s grandson who had recently joined the company. Mr Henry Edward Robinson and his son Lance Robinson did their best to avoid a scandal, but they couldn’t hide everything from their employees. An order obtained and lost over two months caused the firing of four warehouse workers, among them Father, and three assembly line workers. How the upper management could trust such a bungler with such an important job I really don’t know.

  “Don’t worry, Mother, I have no expectations, you can rest assured,” I feel I have to reassure her with the biggest lie I’ve ever told. Then I quickly return to the living room and grab the package I had carefully placed in my travel bag and return to her.

  “Anyhow, now it’s time for important things. Happy Birthday!” I wish her with enthusiasm. She turns and a spontaneous smile magically appears on her lips. This day is dedicated to celebration.

  2

  “You were right, Gil, this place isn’t bad at all,” Father says, casting a glance over the room. He looks enthusiastic, and this makes me even more determined. We barely managed to pack everything we’d need to begin refurbishing into the pick-up truck, including a ladder and the drum vacuum cleaner, on which I wouldn’t have been able to get my hands otherwise. No scaffolding, but that’s ok, because Father is going to take care of the ceiling in any case. There’s no way I’m climbing beyond a certain height. We unloaded the truck in a hurry so Father could take the time to assess the work to be done. I was a bit tense until he declared his unconditional support of my choice; now my breathing’s back to normal.

  “Well? What do you think? Can I fix it all up in a month or so?”

  “We’ll manage, we’ll manage,” he nods, continuing to study every corner of the room. “Tomorrow you can start sanding the walls, always begin from the top and the longer walls, you can do this one with the door and that one with the windows and the entrance over there last. Careful of the sockets and remember to give it a coat of sealer before you paint – you need to treat the wall before you whitewash it. Oh, and here are a few spots you’ll have to plaster over: use the plaster I gave you and wait for it to be completely dry before you go over it with sand paper,” he reminds me, as if I hadn’t done it with him the last time we painted the house. Luckily, he seems truly optimistic.

  He carries on in this fashion for a while, with his thousand and one recommendations, until I notice that the owner is approaching us. “Here is Jane,” I catch my father’s attention.

  He turns, caught by surprise, but as soon as his eyes meet the landlady’s he relaxes. “Good afternoon, Mrs Marlowe, I’m Wendell, Gillian’s father,” he hurriedly introduces himself, extending his hand.

  “The pleasure is mine, Wendell, and please, call me Jane. You have an enterprising daughter, it’s a rare quality these days,” Jane’s smile brings out the myriad creases around her eyes and above her lips.

  “I know, Jane, and she’s also very determined. Thank you for giving her this opportunity.”

  “Don’t mention it; this place needed fixing up, and I can’t wait to see it return to its ancient splendor. You’ll see, I’ll also find a way to make the work easier for her,” she reassures him, turning her gaze on me. She still seems to have little faith in my ability to cope with heavy labor.

  “I’ll come on Sundays to help her, don’t worry. Mostly I would be grateful if you kept an eye on this young lady to make sure she doesn’t try anything too dangerous on her own.” A sneaky sideways glance tells me that he’s talking to me more than Jane.

  “I’ll gladly keep an eye on her,” she says with a laugh. And with this we’re done, I’m afraid. Goodbye credibility, it was a pleasure knowing you. Better change the subject.

  “Are there any building rules I have to know about?” I ask, while my brain goes into practical mode.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know, mandatory silent times, cleaning regulations, stuff like that.” I’ve always lived in a house, I have no idea what rules you have to respect in an apartment building.

  “Oh, no dear, you can do whatever you want, as long as you don’t tear down the walls at two o’clock in the morning,” she makes fun of me, increasingly amused. “There aren’t many of us here and there are no building rules. The whole place used to belong to my family, then I was left alone and I couldn’t live here by myself, so I rented most of the apartments out and now there are five of us. All respectable people… sure, I don’t know much about the second floor tenant, he moved in about four months ago, but he shouldn’t cause any trouble, he’s barely ever around.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that since I rented the apartment out to him, I’ve never seen him set foot on the landing again, except for two or three times late at night. Aside from that, he seemed like a nice young man to me, he pays his rent regularly, and Ernest guaranteed he’s a good person – he’s seen more of him these last few months,” she explains, drumming a finger on her lips. She looks thoughtful, the fact must be odd here in the city, too.

  “Maybe you should go and check that he’s still alive,” I joke, unable to stop myself, making Father glare at me. Ok, remember to think before you speak, Gil, think!

  Jane laughs heartily, so much that tears glisten in the corners of her exceedingly pale eyes. She can’t stop. For a moment I ask myself if a fit of laughter could kill a woman her age, but before the thought catches hold, she regains her composure and passes two chubby fingers under her eyes.

  “You’re really funny, Gillian, really funny!” she exclaims catching her breath. Obviously she didn’t consider the possibility that mine was not a joke. I begin to fear that there is a body not far above my head and that the killer is the man with the penetrating gaze and impeccable manners. At least it looks like Jane has a good sense of humor, tenant notwithstanding, which pleases me all the more because it seems to have surprised Father, too.

  “Oh, dear, I would like to see some of your hats,” Jane confesses, returning all her attention to me.

  “Of course, I’ll have my father bring a few next weekend. What do you think, Father?” I ask for his confirmation, since he’s the one who’ll have to do me this favor.

  “Absolutely. You know, Jane, my girl even won a County Prize with one of her creations. She’s very talented,” he announces proudly.

  “I had no doubt about it.” Jane’s smile is an unexpected bolster to my self-esteem. Now saying that I adore her is no longer sufficient.

  Jane gave me the keys to the main door and the shop, so this morning I avoided ringing her. It’s 7 a.m. and I didn’t want to wake her. Luckily it occurred to her, I hadn’t thought to ask.

  Once I’ve let myself in, I take a deep breath and immediately sneeze – darn dust! There’s no denying it, no cleaning has been done in ages. The walls are flaking in several spots, I’ll have to use a fair amount of plaster, that’s for sure. At least it looks like the floor is intact under its layer of dust. I wonder how I’ll bring it back out after I’ve finished burying it in a layer of my own making. Before I begin sanding, I’d better win a first round against my enemy, and I have the perfect ally for the task. For the walls I’ll have to do almost everything by hand if I don’t want to fuse the sander,
but luckily two of the four sides of this room are occupied by elegant windows that look out onto the street, though now, dirty as they are, you can’t see the urban traffic at all. I take the vacuum cleaner and connect the cord to the extension so I can reach the whole room, or nearly. I have no intention of remaining buried in dust, so the more I can remove every day, the better it will be in the end.

  I quickly cover my hair with a kerchief and pull a mask over my mouth to protect myself from the dust. There’s no point overthinking this, it’s time to begin!

  I push the ON button. The racket resounding in my ears is crazy, but I don’t even notice it once I begin working – my mind becomes completely disengaged. While the room is gradually cleared of its unwanted occupant, I consider how devastated my father was by the loss of his job and I feel my anger mounting. In his place I would have hurried over to the headquarters of the company and I would have kicked the man silly. I really don’t see how you can be so careless as to make a mistake that will ruin the lives of several families. What really drives me up the wall is that the truth never actually came out: Henry Edward Robinson, the company’s owner, managed to hush the whole thing up using a confidentiality agreement that every employee had signed when they were hired. All to avoid a scandal. The news didn’t even come out in the papers, although Robinson’s Industries is one of the biggest textile companies in the country. And to think that my father had always praised the Robinson family, both the owner and his son, and was happy when the grandson, the last generation, became a member of the team. If he had known what the consequences would be, he wouldn’t have been so happy. Luckily Wendell Bennett isn’t the type who gives up: after the first week of dejection, he decided to pull himself back together and managed to find a job at the mechanic’s in Rochester, not his greatest ambition, but he enjoys it there, he feels useful and he’s good at fixing things – whether they’re cars, houses, or watches. Father’s always been a strong man, but if I run into the man responsible for this unwanted change, young Mr Robinson, I don’t think I’ll let him get away with it. As I turn it over in my mind, Mother’s words come back to me. Sometimes I have the feeling I’m doing the wrong thing… opening a store by myself, when all I know how to do is make hats, maybe it really is rash. But I truly can’t help giving it a try – it’s my dream but it’s not necessarily not going to come true. I think I belong to the faction that believes not trying hurts more than failure.

  Suddenly the sound of the vacuum cleaner that had carried my thoughts far away disappears. Disconcerted, I turn my gaze to the silent instrument by my side: the motor is still and the tube isn’t sucking up dust. Is it broken? Please don’t let it be broken!

  I hurriedly turn towards the socket into which I had plugged the extension cord and here is the first surprise of the day: a tall, dark, irritated man wearing a pair of jeans ripped open at the knees and a tattered t-shirt that doesn’t conceal his well defined chest and arm muscles. He is holding my extension cord between two fingers and glaring at me angrily. Then he throws the plug on the floor raising a small cloud of dust, turns on his heel and returns to where he came from.

  Now, either in this building there’s a closet that leads to a parallel dimension inhabited by ill-tempered silent men, or Jane needs to change the lock on the main door, since anyone can let themselves in… or maybe I should consider a third possibility: I just met the ghost second floor tenant.

  I had to endure another three similar interruptions before I touched rock bottom. I’m a patient person and would probably have tolerated even more if the last hadn’t cost me the drum vacuum cleaner. The second floor tenant had the nerve to give my poor ally a judo kick during one of his fleeting appearances. How could Jane not have seen him stick his nose out for four months and I’ve seen him three times in a little over two hours? Good thing he was supposedly a nice person – this isn’t how nice people react!

  I circle the silent vacuum cleaner attempting to find a solution. If I were an electrician or a technician of some kind I might be able to fix it, but I don’t know the first thing about these machines and I have neither the money nor the time to go and buy another. At the thought that after the vacuum cleaner it might well be the turn of the drill, I can’t hold back my rage. I drop everything and storm out of the room. I mount the stairs two at a time until I reach the second floor apartment. The issue has to be settled once and for all, before it becomes even more unpleasant than it already is. I determinedly ring the bell and hear it screech mechanically inside, but aside from this nothing gives the impression anyone is at home. I wait a few seconds and ring again: I’m absolutely sure the man went back to his apartment – where else could he go dressed like that? – so it’s completely useless to try to trick me into thinking otherwise. Still nothing. Too bad I’m a very stubborn person, so I insist and insist until on what may be the tenth try, the door opens.

  “What the hell do you want?” the good mannered tenant attacks me, looking me up and down sternly. Wow, we’re off to a good start!

  “I don’t know what your problem is, but you owe me a drum vacuum cleaner,” I inform him, not at all intimidated by his tone. His eyes – a slightly darker shade of green than my own – open wide in amazement, and a moment later it seems he can barely refrain from laughing. What did I say that was so funny?

  “What is it I owe you?”

  “A vacuum cleaner. You just kicked mine, remember?”

  “Sure I remember, and I remember the racket that drove me crazy first thing in the morning. No way you’re getting another of those contraptions,” he mocks me.

  “I asked Jane if there were mandatory silent times and she assured me I wouldn’t bother anyone, so I really don’t see why you’re complaining. Besides, it’s nearly ten o’clock, it’s not like it’s first thing in the morning. People work on Monday morning, they don’t lounge around ‘till late in their pajamas,” assuming that this torn and tattered outfit could be considered pajamas.

  “Jane is very obliging, and it may be true that there aren’t mandatory quiet hours, but you did bother me and I’m not nobody. I don’t care what people do on Monday mornings, I was trying to sleep,” he retorts aggressively.

  Ok, evidently we won’t get anywhere like this, I need to be more diplomatic, try a different approach.

  “Well, then let’s come to an agreement: I need to finish refurbishing as fast as possible, and aside from the vacuum cleaner, there will be other noisy tools that I won’t be able to avoid using, so why don’t you tell me what time you don’t want me to make noise?” I offer with an encouraging smile. He seems to think it over for a moment and this makes me hope for the best.

  “I’d say… always is the word that best expresses the concept I have in mind right now,” he dismisses me in anger before slamming the door in my face. I stare at the door dumbfounded for a couple of minutes. Can he really be so annoying? And even so, what do I do now? I certainly can’t stop work because he is bothered by the noise! Well, if diplomacy got me nowhere, I’ll have to change strategy. I have a month, not a day longer; I have to get to work.

  “Good morning, dear, how is the work going?” Jane’s prim voice reaches my ears mixed in with the sound of the sandpaper with which I am energetically scrubbing the wall. I turn towards the entrance and see her standing there with her habitual relaxed air, wearing a dark dress with a white collar that makes her look like she’s just popped out of a fifties movie, and a baby pink shawl.

  “Jane!” I exclaim, happy to see her, as I remove the protective mask from my face. “How are you?”

  “Very well, my dear, but I don’t understand why you insist on working in this eternal cloud of dust. I think your health would benefit if you removed some every now and then, am I wrong?” Her scowl and her attentive pale eyes make me smile. I come down from the ladder I climbed up at least two hours ago – setting foot on the ground again gives me a strange relief, stability is underestimated from my point of view – I brush my clothes off a bit in the
hope of partially removing the film of dust covering them.

  “I’ve nearly finished the second wall. Don’t worry Jane, my health won’t be affected,” I smile reassuringly, though I can’t feel my arms and I can barely breathe.

  “I have my doubts, dear. You’re so petite, I don’t think it’s good for you to make such an effort with the air so unbreathable,” she insists, putting a handkerchief in front of her mouth.

  “I’m serious, I’m almost finished for the morning. In fact, I should get changed and run to Ernest’s shop: it’s nearly one o’clock,” I say, glancing at the watch I wear on my wrist, trying to draw her attention to something else. I really don’t want to make trouble in the building, it seems they all got along together fine before my arrival, and I don’t want to be remembered as the girl who ruined everything with her renovation work. Though spending the entire morning sanding made me lose all sensitivity in my finger tips and a lot less tolerant of all this dust. I should have got rid of what was there before I produced more of it.

  “That’s not what I meant, dear, I know you can get it done in this…” she hesitates a moment in search of the right word, then she rolls her eyes and gives up, “primitive fashion too, but it doesn’t seem right. After years of technical progress, a frail young girl still has to undertake such an exhausting job amidst so much dust? It’s not conceivable. You really need someone to give you a hand,” a flash of pure determination glints in her eyes as she seems to consider who could come to my aid.

  “Oh, no, Jane. Don’t worry, really, I’m perfectly capable of finishing on my own. Trust me, look,” and I point at the piece of wall I’ve missed, “I only have that piece to do this morning and then I’ll be done.”