Benny looked genuinely shocked. “I don’t know what to say, Ms. Henderson, I feel funny about this—”
“Please call me Lexi.”
He gave a chuckle. “Okay, Lexi.” He took a card out of his pocket and a pen, and scribbled on the back. “Here’s my address. What would you say to coming by Saturday morning so you can let me know what you think it will cost?”
She glanced at the card. Benjamin Hutchinson. Had she ever known his last name? It didn’t ring a bell at all. The address was 134 Alloway Drive. He did live near the Chapmans. Hopefully that wouldn’t come back to bite her in the butt. “I’ll be there. Does nine A.M. work for you?” Nine A.M. sounded really early to her, which she hoped meant it was a really good time for the normal working people.
“It’s a little late,” he said, frowning. “Could you make it at seven thirty?”
“In the morning?”
He paused. “Yes.” The silence afterwards added obviously.
“You’ve got it. I’ll see you then.”
He smiled and gave a shake of his head. “Are you absolutely sure about this? I can’t quite see you painting.”
“You will soon!”
“Excellent. See you Saturday.”
“At seven thirty,” she said, then added, “A.M.”
It was with great optimism that Lexi went to the art supply store and stocked up on everything she’d need in order to paint Benny’s house. Canvases, oil medium, every color paint including double alabaster, since that always went first. She also picked up a sketchbook and a nice selection of charcoal and pencils, so she could sketch it out first.
And a fabulous leather case for the pencils. It was as soft as butter but also very practical, as it would hold a large assortment of pencils but could be folded over to quite a compact size.
She also picked up a portfolio—also leather, because when she pictured herself taking it out in fifty years to show her work to her grandchildren, she knew it would look amazing, as opposed to the paper ones that would be in tatters if they still existed at all.
Her mood, which had been so lightened by shopping, was ruined when she got home. Or to the house, she supposed she should begin thinking of it. No longer was the big brick edifice her home; it was a building in which her enemy lived. A building in which she was so unwelcome, it felt as if there were a gravitational push coming from it. No longer was this wide sweep of green lawn a place of happy memories, birthday sack races, improvised obstacle courses for her ponies, and so on. Instead it was a sad, ghostly shadow of a place she had once known and once loved.
And a place where she had been loved.
A long time ago.
Now it was a place where she looked over her shoulder, hoping no one was watching her and tapping a stilettoed foot on the gleaming marble floor in impatience for her to leave.
Lexi put the Go-Go’s Beauty and the Beat album on her ancient turntable as a musical score to her packing. She chose that because she remembered the Christmas that “Santa” had given it to her.
It was funny, but after two decades, she still knew all the words.
And she could hear her mother’s voice singing along. Or maybe she just imagined her mother was singing along. Maybe it was just Belinda Carlisle.
The automatic arm on her record player lifted and replayed side two about ten times over before “This Town” accompanied her taping up the last box of clothes. She’d packed a couple of suitcases of things for the summer but figured she’d have a new place before she needed to see the fall and winter stuff again.
She booted up her laptop and went to Craigslist to look for a place to live. Though she knew it was unlikely she could reasonably afford to rent a house in the area, she still checked that out first, only to find they were far, far more expensive than she could have anticipated.
She switched over to apartments and condos and was surprised how much even those were. Once upon a time, she would have thought condo living was for people a lot poorer than she was.
One ad caught her eye, and she jotted it down:
Available for Rent: Potomac—Beautiful new brownstone with rooftop terrace, 2 BR/1.5 BA, gourmet kitchen. Must see. $3800. 2 month deposit.
The location was right. She could make do with two bedrooms. One could be a home studio that she could convert into a spare bedroom if anyone came to visit. One and a half baths was modest, but it was enough. The rooftop terrace sounded fantastic, and the gourmet kitchen just made sense, since she was going to have to do a lot of her own cooking now instead of going out.
She called the Realtor, but no one answered, so she left a message asking how soon the place would be ready and if she could see it.
She hated waiting. At least, the old Lexi did. New Lexi was going to have to be more mature. She may have been spoiled, but she wasn’t so dumb that she didn’t realize it.
With the “business” out of the way, she decided to call her friend Maribeth and go out for the night to try to shake off the stresses of real life. Tomorrow she would take a look at her bank account, and hopefully at that condo.
Then she would continue packing.
The next day she’d go to Benny’s and hopefully begin her life as an artist.
It really wasn’t so bad, striking out on her own. Truthfully, she probably should have done it a long time ago. It felt good to contemplate a future in which she would have her own place. Not that she didn’t have all the freedom and independence she wanted here, but she had a feeling it was going to be all the sweeter, even in a smaller place, knowing that she was taking care of herself.
Maybe Michelle had done her a favor after all.
7
Forty-seven thousand, one hundred twenty dollars and thirteen cents.
That was everything Lexi had.
It kind of sounded like a lot. She didn’t usually buy things that cost a thousand bucks, and here she had forty-seven thousand of them.
But, though Lexi was inexperienced with handling her own finances, she was not a fool. With the help of a calculator, she realized that her monthly purchases probably added up to about fifteen thousand dollars. And that was without paying for rent or food.
So obviously she was going to have to change her habits and be a lot more careful.
Good thing she was already on the trail of a job.
But first she had to find a place to live. And it had to be a place that cost a lot less than the one she’d already made an appointment to see: the Potomac condo with the rooftop terrace and what she had originally regarded as a modest one and a half baths.
It was Friday afternoon, so there were a lot more listings in the classifieds than there had been a few days ago. Unfortunately, nothing was “free” or “in exchange for a pleasant face,” of course, so she had to rework her budget.
Somewhere she’d heard it was wise to have six months’ worth of bill payments ready in the bank, so with that in mind, she figured she could rent for as much as two thousand a month, just with what she had in the bank now, and that would give her twenty months’ worth of payments. And, of course, the money she made from her art would pay for incidentals.
With that in mind, she noted ten apartments and condos to see over the weekend and packed up her supplies for her first job “interview” on Saturday morning.
When she arrived at Benny Hutchinson’s house at 7:25 on Saturday morning—itself a miracle for which no one would likely give her kudos—she was armed with just the sketchbook and the new pencils she’d purchased. After all, she wanted to look professional. She was here to give him an estimate for the commission, and she didn’t want to look like some fool who thought she could just sketch it out on notebook paper with a Bic pen.
She also brought her new portfolio stocked with her old art, mostly projects from school, but a few paintings and drawings she’d done back before school. No one would know they were fifteen years old.
And there was no reason to worry that she wouldn’t be able to tap back into that vein
.
She’d done some research, including calling one of her favorite professors from school, and learned that five thousand dollars would be a reasonable amount to ask. Given the new, lower rents she’d been looking at, that would cover more than two months’ worth right there, so it seemed perfect.
Really, she wondered why it had never occurred to her to pursue her art before. She loved painting and drawing in school; it was the mandatory English, math, and language requirements that had made it miserable for her. But for some reason, she let it all fall by the wayside when she’d left school.
She even threw out all her supplies, which then she hadn’t given a second thought to, but which now seemed like a terrible waste.
That was all water under the bridge now.
She put her car in Park and pulled up the parking brake. Breathe, she told herself, remembering the calming yoga breathing from a class she’d taken once. You can do this.
And with a final deep breath, she got out of the car and made her way to the front door, ringing the bell one minute early.
“Alexis!” Benny looked exactly the same as he had when she’d seen him at the office. He even smelled of the same cologne. It was as if the weekend was no different from weekdays for him.
“I’m here,” she said stupidly, splaying her arms, as if it were as surprising to him that she’d made it there at that hour as it would have been to anyone who actually knew her.
“Okay, then. Come on in.” He stepped back and made a sweeping motion with his left arm to usher her in. “I’ll show you what we need to have done.”
That what we need to have done gave Lexi her first clue that there had been a misunderstanding.
Wasn’t she supposed to paint the house? As in a picture of the house? Why would she need to come in to see what needed doing? No one wanted a painting of their dining room, unless they wanted their dining room walls painted—
“We were thinking of a colonial blue,” Benny said, stopping in the foyer. “And then that could lead into a pale, pale butter yellow for the dining room.” He led her, actually, to the dining room, then looked at her expectantly for her response.
Her first reaction, always, was to fake it. To pretend she had known all along what this meeting was about. To contend that she’d brought her sketchbook because she always liked to sketch out a room for her own reference before painting the walls. But to do that now would be to commit herself to painting walls. For a sum of money she couldn’t even begin to determine.
Plus, it would be stupid.
Before she could say anything, comprehension registered on Benny’s face. “Oh, no. Alexis, we’ve had a misunderstanding about what I’m hiring for, haven’t we?” He looked at her sketchbook, and it was as if a light went on. “Did you think I wanted to commission a painting of the house?”
God, she wanted to lie. To say that of course she understood what she was here for. The impulse to grab on to whatever small shred of dignity she could was almost overwhelming, but there was no point. If she were to try to act that part now, she’d fool no one.
She nodded, mute.
“I am so sorry.” He shook his head. “I should have realized—honestly, Alexis, this is all my fault. I thought it was odd that you were in the housepainting business, but I just didn’t connect the dots.”
“It’s fine.” She tried to smile. It was then that she saw, on the wall behind him, a series of four gorgeous paintings of the house in all seasons. She gestured at them. “So it was a good idea, but just one you already had.” She gave an unconvincing laugh.
He looked halfway back, then returned an uneasy gaze to Lexi. “Yes . . . we had those done some time back. . . .”
Lexi nodded. The air was thick with discomfort. “They’re nice. Well. I guess I’d better be going now.” She started for the front door. “If you know anyone, or should hear of anyone, who needs their house painted—” She stopped. “I mean, a painting done of their house—” Then, unexpectedly, she started crying.
Benny asked, “Alexis, are you all right?”
“No,” she squeaked. The truth came spilling out of her without filter. “My father’s wife was given control of the entire estate, with the understanding that she would divide it with me appropriately, and she’s decided to keep the whole thing.”
Benny actually took a step back. “Oh.”
“And now I’m suddenly out in the real world without any tools to make it. I have no job, no skills, no degree. Nothing to fall back on at all. I’ve got some savings, but not enough to carry me for very long. Certainly not enough to survive while I try to get a degree or something. I’m just so lost.” She looked at him. “How am I going to survive?”
“Hm.” He looked thoughtful. “I would have to know more details of your financial situation.”
She didn’t know if he was actually asking for them, but she gave them to him anyway: “I have forty-seven thousand dollars, and soon I will have no place to live.”
“That’s got to be hard, getting pushed out of your home like that. With so little notice.”
His response was gratifying. At least one other person seemed to think it was unreasonable.
She nodded.
“Clearly you need a job.”
She scoffed and looked at her sketchbook. “Clearly.”
She cursed her father. Not for the fact that she needed to work—she was well aware that most people did—but that she needed to find out this way. Under these circumstances.
Circumstances that seemed to get worse by the moment.
“A regular job. With a salary and benefits. Do you know where you stand as far as health insurance goes?”
She shook her head. “All I have is the money in my bank account.”
“And that’s it? Larry Larson confirmed that for you?”
Yes, Larry Larson had done her that one tiny favor. He’d clarified the extent of her destitution. “That’s it.”
“Perhaps a temporary agency would be a place for you to start.”
“A temporary agency?”
“A company that places office personnel on a temporary basis. You might work for a week or two for each assignment.”
“Wouldn’t I need a bunch of computer skills for that?”
“You know how to do some things, right? I assume you have e-mail and have used some social networking sites like Facebook.”
“Yes.”
“Then you could possibly work as a receptionist.” He hesitated and added, almost to himself, “Though these days, often receptionists need to do more than answer the phones and greet clients.”
“I don’t know what ninety percent of the programs on my computer do.” She thought for a moment. “Actually, I’m not even sure my computer is mine.”
Benny looked like he didn’t know what to say.
And what could he say? He was way out of her league now. He wasn’t used to dealing with little people who had no money.
She honestly didn’t blame him.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I really should be going. I’ve wasted more than enough of your time today.”
Benny looked at her for a long moment before saying, “If you’d like me to, I can at least help you start to make a plan.”
“But you already have plans for today, don’t you?”
“I’ll cancel.”
“Oh, I don’t want to put you out—”
He raised a hand to stop her. “Your father did me a good turn once. If I could help you, even a little bit, I’d like to. I don’t know why he constructed his will the way he did, but I cannot believe he intended for you to be out on the street.”
Two hours later, after a phone call from Benny to Larry Larson at home, Benny and Lexi had a full picture of what her assets were. There was the money she knew about in her bank account, plus everything that had belonged to her maternal grandmother, which amounted to a moldering mink coat that Lexi wouldn’t wear under the best of circumstances and several paintings that were so badly
in need of cleaning that they looked like photos taken at night without a flash.
“It’s not much,” Lexi concluded.
“Actually, Alexis, it’s a lot more than many people have—”
Not people he normally worked with, she was sure.
“—but, then again, most people don’t find themselves homeless and completely cut off financially at your age, so I can see where this feels dire to you.”
At your age. Depressing, but there was no arguing it. “How long do you think it will last?”
Benny leaned back in his chair. “Best-case scenario, say you were able to find an eight-hundred-dollar rent, and we’ll assume half the utilities on a two-bedroom apartment—”
“Why half?”
“Because you’d be sharing with a roommate, who would pay the other half.”
“Whoa! Where did this roommate come from? I don’t want a roommate!”
“I don’t see what choice you have.” Benny looked sympathetic. The lines softened around his eyes. “I know it’s not your ideal, but we have to be realistic, and that means that someone your age—”
There it was again.
“—starting out in the workplace with no marketable skills is unlikely to make enough to afford a one-bedroom condo in this town.”
“But I’ve got all this money.” She pointed to the column on his paper that included her bank balance. “Can’t I supplement the rent with that?”
“Until what? Until it’s gone? Then what? Then you have no savings whatsoever. Then where would you be?”
“I guess you’re right,” she agreed halfheartedly. She knew he was right. She just didn’t want him to be right.
“Alexis.” His voice was surprisingly forceful. “Think about this: What if you were in this same position you’re in right now, with no home and no job, but you had no money?”
“I don’t know—”
“Think about it. Be realistic. You would have no place to go. At least not for the long term.” He sighed and shook his head. “Alexis, you seem to have no idea how lucky it is that your bank account escaped the settlement of this will. If you didn’t have that money, you could literally be living on the street.”
Thin, Rich, Pretty Page 9