Francesca had told her she wanted to look for new artists when she had time. There was so much she wanted to do to keep the gallery moving forward, and she felt as though she had her father to answer to now, although he had assured her he wasn’t going to be too involved. He was busy, and currently preparing a show for the spring. She had his support, but he had no desire to interfere with her. She knew what she was doing, and they both understood that getting the gallery profitable was going to take time. He accepted that a lot better than Todd, who wanted to see results. Art galleries just didn’t work like that. Her father was right, Todd had been a visitor in her world. And now he was going home.
She looked at ads in the newspaper that night, and on the Internet, for people who were looking for roommates and places to live, and none of the descriptions fit. And then she decided to place her own ad. She had already figured out that she was going to divide the house on Charles Street floor by floor. On the top floor there was a sunny little living room with an even smaller bedroom and a tiny bath, but it was big enough for someone to live. Todd was sleeping up there now. On the floor below it was her own bedroom, which she had shared with Todd. They had a dressing room, and a marble bathroom they had installed, and she had a small home office off their bedroom, where she worked when she was at home.
Below them was the dining room, which she was going to turn into a living room, and conveniently it had a guest bath, and a library she could turn into a bedroom for whoever rented that floor. And on the main floor was the main living room that she planned to keep for herself. The kitchen was one floor below, on the garden level. It was large and sunny with a comfortable dining area that she and her tenants could all use. And next to it there was a spacious storeroom where Todd had kept his gym equipment. It looked out over the garden, had a decent bathroom, and could be used as a studio unit for a third tenant. It was going to be tight, but there was enough space for four of them, as long as they were all respectful, considerate, and polite. She had the top floor and the floor below her bedroom to rent out, and the studio unit next to the kitchen. She was determined to make it work.
She wrote out a description of each area on her computer that night, and she described the house. She thought of only renting to females, but she didn’t want to limit it, she needed all the eligible tenants she could find. So she made no mention of females only and decided to see what she would get in answer to her ad.
She was just editing it one last time when Todd knocked on the door of her office, and stood there with a serious expression.
“Are you okay?” He was worried about her. He still didn’t think she could manage on her own, and thought she should sell the house. But he knew she wouldn’t do that, and was stubbornly determined to make it work, even if it meant taking strangers into her home. It seemed foolhardy to him and concerned him for her.
“Yeah, I am,” she said, sounding tired. “What about you?”
“I don’t know. It feels weird, doesn’t it? Pulling our lives apart. I didn’t expect it to hurt so much.” He looked vulnerable and sad. It reminded her of everything she loved about him, which made it worse.
“Neither did I,” she said honestly. But neither of them could imagine putting it back together now either. It had gone too far, and all their differences were still there. Irreconcilable differences, as it said in a divorce. But it hurt anyway, no matter how bad it had been for the past year. “I’m going to hate your leaving. Maybe I’ll go to my father’s in Connecticut, so I don’t have to watch.” He nodded and said nothing. He was ready to move on, but sad to leave her behind. She was just as beautiful as she had been five years before, just as appealing and warm, but they seemed like different people now. They no longer belonged to each other and were already pieces of each other’s pasts.
“If I can do anything to help after I move out, you can always call me. Mr. Fix-It at your service. I’m going to be a plumber in my next life.” He smiled ruefully, and she smiled back. He was tired of doing their repairs, but he was willing to lend a hand. The best and worst of it was that they didn’t hate each other, which made it that much sadder now. It would have been easier if they were both mad, but neither of them was. “I’ll leave you my tools,” he promised. He was happy to leave them behind and never have to use them again.
“Thank you,” she said, and laughed. “I’d better learn to use them pretty quick.”
“What if one of your roommates turns out to be nuts, or a criminal or con artist, or ransacks the house?” he asked. But even as he worried, he knew Francesca was a strong woman, and she was aware of what she wanted. She had survived thirty years without him before he came along. He correctly assumed that she would manage without him once he left. But he would miss her anyway. As it turned out she wasn’t the woman for him, but he loved her as the very special person she had been in his life. He would always care about her, and hoped she’d be okay. And she wished the same for him.
“If they’re nuts, I’ll tell them to leave,” she said firmly.
He went upstairs then to the room where he slept. And she finished the ad. She was planning to submit it to the paper, and put it on the Internet the next day. And then God knew who would turn up. It was hard to imagine living in the house with three strangers. It was going to be a whole new world. She was planning to check their references diligently, and they couldn’t move in until Todd found an apartment, but it seemed like a good idea to start looking for roommates now. She had no idea how long it would take to find three people to live in the house with her.
It all felt very strange as she got into bed that night. She was anxious for Todd to go. It was too painful waiting for the other shoe to drop. And odder still to wonder about who would turn up to move into the house. 44 Charles Street was about to become a very different place, and so was her life without Todd.
Chapter 4
THE RESPONSES TO Francesca’s ad were abundant, and most of them were pretty outrageous. She was stunned by what most people were willing to say about themselves. Some of them were fresh out of rehab and said they didn’t feel ready to take on an apartment, and would be delighted to live with her. Everyone seemed to love the description of the house. Several couples answered the ad, and Francesca told them honestly that the spaces she was renting were too small for more than one person, and she didn’t feel ready to live with more than three roommates. One couple had two kids and wanted to rent two of the three spaces, which didn’t feel right to her either. They were three- and five-year-old boys and she was afraid they would destroy her house. Two people said they were recently out of prison, one said he was a sex offender, and the other said that he had been convicted of a white-collar crime he didn’t commit. She didn’t ask what it was. Four lesbian couples wanted to rent the house together and asked if she’d be willing to move out, which she wasn’t. It defeated the whole purpose of what she was trying to do to keep the house. And at least a third to half of the applicants had dogs, many of them large. German shepherds, Labradors, two Irish wolfhounds, a Great Dane, a Rhodesian ridgeback, a Rottweiler, and a pit bull. She wasn’t prepared to take that on either. And she was beginning to wonder if anyone normal and easy, without a partner, a child, a dog, a substance addiction, or a prison record would turn up. She was beginning to lose hope and wonder if Todd and her mother were right. Maybe they were all crazy, or she was for trying to find three sane, normal roommates. She was beginning to think that there was no such thing in New York.
It was two days before Thanksgiving when she got a call from a young woman who said her name was Eileen Flanders. She said she had just graduated from Loyola Marymount in L.A. in May, she was originally from San Diego, and had just gotten a job and arrived in New York. She was a special ed teacher for autistic children. She said nothing about having been to rehab, didn’t mention doing time in prison, said she was alone, and had neither kids nor dogs. It was a hopeful start. Francesca couldn’t help wondering if she was covered with tattoos, had countless body pierces, and wore a Mohaw
k, but the initial conversation over the phone went pretty well. She said she was hoping to move in quickly, but she was staying at the Y, and said she could stay there for a few more weeks, when Francesca explained that the place wouldn’t be available until January first.
Todd had just found an apartment on East 81st Street, near the river. He was planning to pack between Christmas and New Year, and said he would be out on January first. She didn’t want anyone moving in till then. It would be too painful for both of them to have strangers living in the house while they went through the emotional upheaval of his leaving. Eileen said she didn’t mind, and she said she was going home to San Diego for the holidays anyway. It sounded good so far and Francesca made an appointment with Eileen to come to the house the following afternoon.
The next day Francesca was immensely relieved when she opened the door and saw Eileen standing on the front stoop. Eileen was wearing Nikes and jeans, and she had on a red car coat with toggles and a hood, white mittens, and earmuffs. She looked like a kid on a Christmas card. She was a redhead with freckles and blue eyes, and she had perfect white teeth when she smiled. She was wearing no makeup and looked about fifteen years old, and she looked nervous as she waited to come inside.
Francesca invited her in, and the two women chatted easily in the front hall. Eileen looked around and commented on how pretty the house was. There was a stained-glass window over the front door, and a narrow but handsome circular staircase leading upstairs. And she could glimpse a marble fireplace through the open door of the living room, which Francesca explained she was keeping for her own use. Eileen said she was fine with that, as Francesca explained that some of the furniture throughout the house would be going, when her current roommate moved out, but she would replace it as soon as she could. The room on the top floor was furnished with things Todd didn’t want. And she was willing to furnish the other possible units if necessary.
She led Eileen upstairs to the top floor, where some of Todd’s clothes were strewn around, since he was sleeping there. Eileen admired the view of the neighbors’ gardens behind the house, and then peeked into the bathroom and the closets and seemed to like what she saw. And Francesca liked her. She appeared to be wholesome and clean, a small-town girl come to the big city. She said she was the oldest of six children, and asked if there was a Catholic church nearby. She was everything that Francesca could have wanted in a tenant. She was the epitome of a nice, friendly girl next door. There was nothing worrisome or unsavory about her. They both looked relieved.
Francesca showed her the floor below her own, and explained that the dining room would be turned into a living room and the den into a bedroom. It was bigger but darker than the top floor, and she and Todd had painted the walls a forest green, which worked as a dining room, but might be a little somber for a living room, or too masculine for her. And Eileen didn’t like the garden unit. She said she was afraid that someone might come in through the sliding doors. She said she felt safer on the top floor. And she loved the cozy country kitchen that Francesca and Todd had installed themselves. Or he had, while Francesca watched, handed him tools, and made coffee. It was their favorite room in the house, and Eileen’s.
“It looks like a lot of love went into this house,” Eileen said as Francesca nodded, not sure what to say, and not wanting her to see that there were tears in her eyes. A lot of love had gone into 44 Charles Street, and a lot of hope. And now all those hopes were dashed, and she was standing here with this pixie of a girl from San Diego instead of Todd. It wasn’t fair, but that was life. Francesca had made her peace with it over the past months, the transition was just hard. And talking to Eileen about moving in made it a reality that Francesca had to face. She was by far the most suitable candidate Francesca had seen so far. And if her credit and references checked out, Francesca was willing to rent her the top floor. She told her the price, and Eileen didn’t flinch. It wasn’t enormous, but it was enough to cover a quarter of the mortgage payment Francesca had to make.
“I think I can manage that. I thought I was going to be able to get my own apartment, maybe with a roommate. But everything I’ve seen so far has been way over my head. This is a lot for me, but it would work, and I like the idea of living with other people. It feels safer and less lonely that way.” Francesca thought so too. “Do you know who the other tenants will be yet?”
“You’re the first person I’ve seen so far who feels right to me,” Francesca told her honestly, and then told her that she was breaking up with someone who was moving out, and this was the first time she was going to be living with roommates in the house.
“I’m sorry,” Eileen said sympathetically, and looked like she meant it. “I broke up with someone in L.A. That’s why I left. We started going out right after I graduated, and he turned out to be insane. He practically stalked me when I said I wanted some space. He climbed in my window one night and tried to strangle me. I quit my job and came to New York the next day. That was a month ago, and I was really lucky to find a job here.” She looked relieved as she said it and Francesca looked sorry for her. She looked so scrubbed and sweet and innocent, it was hard to imagine anyone wanting to strangle her or scare her.
“It’s a good thing you got away,” Francesca said as they walked back up from the kitchen to the main hall. “There are a lot of crazy people out there.” She had interviewed many of them as potential tenants. “You have to be careful too in a city like New York. This neighborhood is very safe. I walk to and from work. I have an art gallery a few blocks away.”
“How exciting!” Eileen looked thrilled to hear it. “I love going to galleries on weekends.”
She gave Francesca her credit details then and the phone number of her landlord in L.A. She had lived there for her last year of school at LMU and for five months after she graduated. She had worked in a children’s shelter after school, and in a day care center for special needs kids after graduation. Everything about her was wholesome and nice. Francesca promised to call her as soon as she checked it all out. And with the Thanksgiving weekend ahead of them, she reminded her that she couldn’t do it until Monday, but she would get on it immediately then. Eileen said that was fine, and that she hoped Francesca would let her move in. She liked Francesca and loved the house. She said it felt like home to her, and the house where she grew up. It seemed perfect for them both. She was exactly the kind of tenant Francesca wanted, one she didn’t have to worry about. It was rare to find anyone as squeaky clean as that. She thought it a great stroke of good fortune that Eileen had responded to the ad.
Finding Eileen, the first of her tenants, put Francesca in better spirits for the Thanksgiving holiday. She knew it would be hard this year—it was the first holiday in five years that she hadn’t spent with Todd. He was going to his own family in Baltimore, and she was going to her father’s in Connecticut. Her mother had gone to Palm Beach to stay with friends.
Francesca ran into Todd that morning in the hall before they both left. There was a soundless look of sharp pain between them, and he gave her a hug.
“Have a nice turkey,” she said softly.
“You too,” he answered, gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, and hurried out. And she felt odd again as she sighed and went out to her car parked on Charles Street. Their breakup seemed to be taking forever, but it would be over soon. She wasn’t sure if that would be better or worse.
She thought of Eileen again as she drove to Connecticut, and was so glad she’d found her. She seemed absolutely perfect to Francesca. She just hoped her credit checked out, and the references from her landlord.
When Francesca got to her father’s house at noon, there were already a dozen people drinking champagne and standing around the fire, while Avery and a caterer organized things in the kitchen. The turkey looked fantastic and was golden brown. Francesca was planning to spend the night with them after dinner so she wouldn’t have to rush back to the city. Most of the other guests were either locals or artists. Their neighbors, who had a han
dsome farm, were there, and Henry’s art dealer from New York. It was an arty, intellectual, interesting, lively group. Francesca knew most of them, and always had fun with her father and Avery’s friends. He had never been much of a father to her until recently, but he was good company, and treated her more like a cherished friend than his daughter. It didn’t bother her anymore, but she had always felt cheated by it when she was young, and wanted a real dad, like everyone else, not an eccentric father with a revolving door of twenty-two-year-old girlfriends. Things had improved immeasurably when he married Avery, but Francesca was twenty-five by then. And at thirty-five, she accepted him for what he was, talented, kind-hearted, irresponsible, and fun to be with. And she was very grateful for his helping her out with the gallery recently.
He told everyone at lunch that he was now a partner in her gallery. And his dealer told her quietly after lunch that he had just sold another of her father’s paintings for her, at an amazing price, so she was going to be able to make yet another payment to Todd for the house. Thanks to the sale of the four paintings, she had almost paid him the full amount. One more would do it. And that left her one that she could keep. Everything had worked out just right, and in a remarkably short time. All she had to do now was find two more tenants to make the mortgage payments with her.
She spent the night at her father and Avery’s, and went back to the city on Friday afternoon. She had closed the gallery for two days for the holiday, but planned to reopen on Saturday. They got a lot of people just looking on Saturdays, but the occasional serious buyer as well. Much to her delight, they had a busy day and several young couples came in. They looked around nervously at first, afraid her prices would be too stiff for them, and were thrilled to discover that her prices were well within their range. It was the whole point of what she was doing. She wanted to bring young collectors together with artists starting out on their careers. She sold three very handsome paintings to two of the couples. The paintings were big, reasonably priced, and would make their décor. The prices were so low that it wasn’t a major financial victory for her, but the three sales made her heart sing and she knew all three artists would be as excited as the people who had just bought their work. The art they sold was beautiful, and she was proud of it and each one of their artists. The people who bought paintings from her that weekend were so elated about their purchases that it touched her heart. It always did. She couldn’t wait to tell the artists, all of whom desperately needed the sales. She felt like a mother hen with each one of them. And the day before, talking to her father’s friends, some of them very well-known important artists, had invigorated her. She loved everything about her life in the art world, and being part of the process. She was the link between the creators, some of whom were very talented, and collectors of their work. It was exactly what she wanted to do, and what she knew best. She lived and breathed it. She had a keen eye for new artists, gave them good advice, and had a good sense for what would sell. It was why she was so convinced that given enough time, the gallery would do well. She often spent hours in the studio with her artists, talking about their process or guiding them toward a new phase of their work. They had a deep respect for her.
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