44 Charles Street

by Danielle Steel

  She spent Sunday cleaning out closets, and getting the upstairs ready for her tenant. And on Monday morning she called Eileen’s landlord in L.A., and started the credit check on her. The landlord said she was a lovely young woman, had given him no problems, and paid her rent on time. And three days later, her credit check came back clean. She had no history of lawsuits, bankruptcy, bad credit, or unpaid bills. Francesca called her and told her she could move in on January 2, the day after Todd left, and Eileen was ecstatic. Now all Francesca had to do was find two more tenants. And from what she had seen in the past month, that wasn’t going to be easy. Eileen was a rare gem as tenants went. But there had to be two more like her, or close enough, somewhere in New York. She was still running the ads, but for the next several weeks all she continued to get were freaks. Sometimes they were so bad that all she could do was laugh when she hung up the phone.

  The weekend after Thanksgiving she had dinner with her mother at a small French bistro they both loved, and reported to her victoriously on having found Eileen. Her mother still thought she was crazy, but it was an opinion Francesca had harbored about her for years. She wouldn’t have wanted her mother as a tenant either.

  Thalia reported to her daughter about all the social events she had gone to in Palm Beach. She had always had an extremely active social life, and had a particular fondness for fancy watering holes, Palm Beach, Newport, St. Tropez, Sardinia, and St. Moritz, Gstaad, or St. Bart’s in winter. She had never had a job, and thanks to her ex-husbands, she could afford to do what she wanted. She was a totally self-indulgent person, and Francesca thought she was extremely spoiled. She thought of no one but herself. She had gone to a fabulous deb ball the previous weekend in Palm Beach, and was describing to Francesca what she had worn in minute detail. It sounded very pretty, but Francesca didn’t care. She was used to making the right noises and wearing the right expression to feign interest. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how her parents had ever gotten together, although her father had been sexy and young then, and her mother had gotten spoiled and snobbish later on.

  She was a striking, still beautiful woman, tall, stately, blond like her daughter, with big green eyes, and smooth creamy skin. She stayed in good shape with the help of a trainer, and she was rigorous about what she ate. She had worn a fur coat to lunch, and had sapphires on her ears, which matched a stylish navy wool dress by Dior. And she was wearing sexy high heels. Men had always flocked to her like bees to honey, and still did, but no one had taken her seriously in a long time. She was a little too fey, just a touch too eccentric, and she looked expensive and spoiled. And referring to her mother as “colorful” had been Francesca’s way of saying that she was a little nuts. She was going to a fat farm after the holidays to stay in shape, and wanted to have a tummy tuck by summer. She still looked great in a bikini. So did Francesca, but she rarely had time to wear one. And she couldn’t help smiling at their feet under the table, when she retrieved her napkin when it slipped off her lap. Her mother was wearing the sexiest high-heeled black patent leather pumps she had ever seen. Francesca had delivered two paintings to clients before lunch and was wearing jeans and sneakers. The two women were nothing alike.

  “And what are you doing for Christmas?” Thalia asked Francesca with a bright smile, as though she were someone else’s daughter, or a niece she saw once a year. The question made it clear that Thalia wasn’t planning to spend it with her. She never did. She usually went skiing in Switzerland, or to St. Bart’s in the Caribbean, particularly if someone invited her on a yacht, which happened often. Thalia’s life was one long vacation all year round.

  “Maybe I’ll go to Dad’s for Christmas,” Francesca said vaguely in answer to her mother’s question.

  “I thought he was going skiing in Aspen,” her mother said, frowning. “I think that’s what Avery said. It’s been a while since we talked.”

  “Then I’ll stay home. I’m keeping the gallery open that week anyway, so I’ll be busy, and Todd is moving out.”

  “That’s too bad. You two should have gotten married. It might have kept you together.”

  “That never kept you with anyone when it stopped working,” Francesca said matter-of-factly.

  “That’s true.” Her mother smiled sweetly at her. “I always seem to fall in love with someone else.” Francesca didn’t remind her that that hadn’t happened in a long time. “Maybe I’ll meet someone in St. Bart’s,” she said dreamily, with a hopeful expression. She was always hoping to fall in love again and get married. For Thalia, life without a husband was a wasteland. She was always on the hunt.

  Francesca changed the subject and told her about her tenant then, and her mother frowned in disapproval. “I don’t care if she’s a Girl Scout and looks like Little Bo Peep. I still think you’re crazy to live with strangers. You have no idea who these people are, or who they’ll drag in.”

  “I have no other choice, Mom, if I want to keep the house.”

  “You’d be much better off in an apartment, by yourself.”

  “I don’t want an apartment. I love my house.”

  “You can’t live in a house without a man. It’s just not safe.”

  “Maybe one of my tenants will be a man,” Francesca said blandly, thinking of the people she had talked to, and how unsuitable most of them had been, which she did not share with her mother.

  “You need a husband, Francesca,” Thalia said, and then laughed, “and so do I.” Francesca disagreed on both counts but didn’t say so. Her mother always said things like that and she no longer took the bait. There was no point.

  “When are you leaving for St. Bart’s, Mom?” she asked her, to steer her onto neutral subjects.

  “Two days before Christmas. I can hardly wait. I’m so tired of winter. I’m going skiing in Switzerland right after that. You should try to get away.” Her mother lived on a different planet, of parties and vacations, and never realized how hard Francesca worked. Whatever Francesca had, she had made on her own, and built from scratch. Her father had paid for her education, and she had supported herself ever since. And the money her mother had gotten in settlements from her ex-husbands she kept to herself. She felt she had earned it.

  Francesca left their lunch feeling as she always did after seeing her mother, emotionally hungry. There was nothing satisfying about their exchanges, and never anything meaningful or deep. At least her encounters with her father were fun.

  He stopped in at the gallery that week and bought a small painting for Avery that he thought she would like. Francesca gave him the partner’s rate, which made it ridiculously cheap, but he loved the work she sold. He was impressed that she frequently went to art fairs in other cities to discover new artists and spent hours in her artists’ studios, studying their new work with them. And he thought that most of what she had in the gallery was very good. He had a strong feeling that one or two of the artists she represented would have important careers one day. She told him that the artist he was buying had been selling well, and had sold several bigger pieces since Thanksgiving, although her father thought her prices were too low, and very fair. She commented that people seemed more willing to spend money right before the holidays. Her father was particularly pleased that he had just sold a very important piece himself. He was planning to buy Avery a new car, a Range Rover, with some of what he’d made. She had always wanted one, and despite her success, she still drove an ancient Toyota that Henry insisted wasn’t safe, and she had refused to let him replace it until then. He said he was going to surprise her with the car for Christmas before they left for Aspen.

  It struck Francesca as she closed the gallery on Christmas Eve that neither of her parents was worried about what she was going to do for Christmas. They always made their own plans. It had made holidays more meaningful with Todd, but not this year. He had plans of his own, and she had none. There were friends and artists she could have called, but she didn’t feel like it. She had turned down two invitations. She felt melancholy this y
ear and wanted to be alone. Todd was moving out in a few days, and his boxes were stacked in the hall when she got home. It was happening. She was ready for it now, but sad. It would have been hard not to be.

  She watched movies and ate Chinese takeout on Christmas Eve. She hadn’t set up a Christmas tree and didn’t miss it. She wanted the holidays to pass as quickly as possible. And after the New Year, she could start a whole new life, alone again.

  Both her parents called her on Christmas Day, and she saw Todd on his way out. He waved, smiled, and was talking to someone on his cell phone as he left. She noticed that he was wearing a suit, and wondered where he was going and with whom. It was hard to believe now that they had ever lived together, or had anything in common.

  She took a long walk around the West Village that afternoon, and smiled at couples she saw, strolling with children. Some were carrying stacks of presents to someone’s house, and she saw a Santa Claus in a red velvet suit get out of his car, put on his hat and beard, and hurry in to a party. It was a strange day to be alone, but in a funny way she didn’t mind it. It was easier than pretending she was happy. She thought of her mother on the yacht in the Caribbean, hoping to meet a man, and her father and Avery in Aspen, and this year she was glad to be on her own. She went to bed early that night and was glad the day was over.

  And then the day she had anticipated and dreaded for months came at last. She went to bed at nine o’clock on New Year’s Eve, and was sound asleep by midnight, and in the morning she could hear Todd thundering up and down the stairs, moving his boxes. He had rented a truck, and had two friends helping him. Francesca wandered into the living room, in time to watch them pick up the couch. They had already agreed to what each of them was keeping and he had paid for the couch. It was a good-looking brown leather piece that went well with their décor, and she knew she’d have to buy a new one. He had agreed to let her keep the bed and most of the things in their bedroom, although he had paid for them too. But he wanted the couch and the two big chairs that went with it, for his new apartment. Francesca tried not to feel her stomach turning over as she saw them go. She felt as though her body parts had been sawn off and were packed in each box, and somewhere amid the bubble wrap and styrofoam popcorn, along with their wineglasses that he had paid for too, was her heart.

  It was over by midafternoon on New Year’s Day. The truck was packed to the gills, and Todd came to find her, standing in the kitchen, with a devastated look, looking out at the wintry garden.

  “I’m leaving,” he said softly, as she turned to face him, and he saw tears roll down her cheeks. He took her in his arms, and he was crying too. “I know this sounds stupid now, but I love you. I’m sorry it worked out like this.”

  “So am I. I love you too.” But no matter how much it hurt and they cared about each other, they both knew it was for the best. It hadn’t worked.

  “Call me if you need me. I’ll come and help, anytime.” She nodded, unable to say another word. And with that he kissed her on the forehead, turned, and walked up the stairs, as she stood in the kitchen and cried. She heard the front door close a few minutes later. He was gone. It felt as though someone had ripped out her heart, and she knew he felt no better. It was hard to believe, but it had finally happened. The house was hers, and his days at 44 Charles Street were over. All she could do now was move on. She could tell he already had.

  Chapter 5

  THE DAY AFTER Todd moved out, Francesca bought flowers for almost every room. She cleaned the kitchen, vacuumed the halls, and looked around the top floor to make sure that everything was in order, and by the time Eileen arrived at noon, the whole house looked terrific. She beamed as she walked in, and Francesca was ready for her. Eileen had four suitcases and several boxes, and three shopping bags of shoes. She pointed at them in embarrassment as Francesca helped her carry them up the stairs.

  “Sorry. I went crazy over Christmas. I got so depressed that I went on a shoe binge. They didn’t fit in my suitcase.”

  “No worries.” Francesca smiled at her. “I’m used to it. My mom has a shoe fetish too. I’m addicted to Nikes. My mother wears high heels that would give me a nosebleed.”

  “I like them too,” Eileen admitted as they set her things down in the bedroom on the top floor, and Eileen went back downstairs for another load.

  There was a whole different feeling in the house that afternoon. The day before she’d been in mourning, and today she had woken up with a sense of freedom. The other shoe had finally dropped. Todd was gone. She was sad about it, but not as devastated as she had felt watching him load his belongings into a truck and leave. The worst was over. His not being there wasn’t going to make a lot of difference, since their lives had been so separate for months, except that now she wouldn’t see him come and go anymore. But their lives had barely intersected for a year. And it was fun seeing a girl in the house when she saw Eileen in the kitchen later that afternoon. It was Sunday so the gallery was closed, and Francesca was hanging out at home.

  Eileen smiled broadly when she saw her. She acted like a kid.

  “I love my rooms. They’re so pretty. And thank you for the flowers.” Francesca had put a vase of pink carnations and roses in her bedroom. Eileen looked ecstatic. “I feel like I’ve finally come home. I’ve been living out of suitcases since I got here. It’s going to be great having my own place.” And she didn’t even mind the long hike up the stairs to the top floor. She noticed a computer on the kitchen table and looked hopeful. “Mind if I check my e-mail? I don’t have a laptop yet.”

  “That’s fine.” Francesca didn’t mind. It was a laptop she always left sitting in the kitchen that she and Todd rarely used but it was convenient having one there. She had her own in her office.

  “I’ll just be a minute.” Eileen logged on, and smiled as she read her e-mails. She laughed out loud at one, and Francesca smiled as she left the kitchen and went back upstairs to her own room. It was kind of nice having someone around. The house already felt livelier and happier than it had for months. She was almost sorry that she had to find two more roommates. It might have been fun just sharing the house with Eileen, but she couldn’t afford it. She had to find two more, and no one decent had turned up since Eileen. The freaks and crazies had come out in force again in answer to her ads before Christmas. There had been one decent-sounding woman who had just moved to New York from Atlanta, but she found another arrangement before she ever came to see the house on Charles Street. And Francesca had to find someone soon. She couldn’t make the mortgage payments with just Eileen paying rent.

  Francesca took a nap that afternoon, which she rarely did, but she was still tired after the emotional drain of saying goodbye to Todd the day before. He had promised to call, but she didn’t know if he really would, or even if she wanted him to. She didn’t want to lose touch with him, but she didn’t want to be in constant contact with him either. They both had to go forward and make their own way now.

  Francesca went back downstairs to the kitchen at dinnertime, and Eileen was there. She was eating a bowl of soup, and back on the computer. She apologized as soon as Francesca came into the room, poured herself a glass of milk, and grabbed an apple. The soup Eileen had made was her own—she had been careful not to help herself to Francesca’s food. Francesca thought it was a good sign that she would be a respectful roommate.

  She sat down at the table, and saw that Eileen had logged on to one of the online dating services, and was looking over the photographs on the screen.

  “Do you ever try it?” she asked Francesca with a look of happy mischief and then giggled. “I love it. It’s kind of like ordering takeout guys instead of takeout food. I started doing it in college. I met some great guys in L.A. and San Diego. I went out with one of them for almost a year, until he got drunk and joined the Marines.”

  “I didn’t think people still did that, got drunk and enlisted I mean. And no, I’ve never met anyone online. It sounds too dangerous. I’d be afraid of who I’d meet. Th
ere’s no screening process.” The idea of meeting men online really put her off. It seemed so desperate to her. She felt much safer meeting men through friends, although she knew many people who had met men, and even their husbands, online.

  “You develop a pretty good sixth sense for who these guys are. I’ve only met one or two who were creepy.”

  “Do you do it a lot?” Francesca asked with interest. It surprised her that a pretty, wholesome cheerleader type like Eileen would need or want to meet men online. She could have any man she wanted. But Francesca also knew that it wasn’t easy to meet single eligible man, which was why online dating services existed.