Catharine Bramkamp - Real Estate Diva 02 - Time Is of the Essence

by Catharine Bramkamp

  I squinted a bit to get a better look at her, the bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling cast a harsh light that created deep shadows under her eyes and emphasized lines around her mouth.

  At the river all the girls looked young, their thin frames contributed to the youthful illusion, plus spending the afternoon getting high at the river was a young person’s gig, not for the aged and cynical. Like me. But dressed, bathed and standing under less-than-flattering light, all three young women looked much older, more thirtyish than twentyish. In fact, Tiffany was edging into my age category. Well, thinner does look younger, but I have fewer lines on my face.

  I owe it all to clean living.

  Still, they all were still a good ten years younger than Danny, so good for him.

  Once I was duly greeted, Pamela and Cindy wandered away; their hostess duties finished.

  So I addressed Tiffany, the only one left. “You are from around here, yes?”

  She took another chip and finally moved away from the men on the couch. “Oh yes, I’ve lived here all my life. I was even home schooled here.”

  “I always admired home schooling.” I said, a complete lie, but since I could already tell I wasn’t going to find much in common with this woman, it was up to me to make a good show of it.

  “You know, I think I know your uncles.” Tiffany said as if discovering a hidden treasure of conversation. She sauntered over to join me behind the couch – there wasn’t much else to the room; you stood behind the couch or in front of the couch.

  “They don’t come to Claim Jump that often, well, more often than my mother.” I said hollowly. I never know what a comment like “I knew your uncles” would bring. I didn’t know that much about my uncles except for few choice bits of information my mother would let drop during one of her rants, but even then, she was rarely forthcoming with excessive details.

  “They came up to the Ridge about once a year I think maybe more when I was little.” She gazed off, then shook herself. “Nice guy, your uncle.”

  “Yes, yes he is.” I didn’t know which uncle she referred to, and I didn’t need to go into specifics. She seemed to think I already knew which uncle was where and with whom. That was fine with me.

  More people filed into the small living room bringing the smell of cigarette and marijuana smoke with them.

  “Ah, chips!” a young man stole the entire bowl and disappeared into another door.

  “He and mom and dad liked to talk about the old days,” Tiffany continued. “You know, when they were teenagers and all staying at your grandmother’s.”

  “Everyone loved those times,” I agreed. They did. Mom had nothing to say about the good old days, she had already gone, moved out and married.

  “I’m sorry I missed it,” she sighed.

  “Me too,” I agreed. “Were you born up at the Ridge?”

  She nodded and took a gulp of her wine. I flinched on her behalf.

  “Well, that’s interesting,” I offered. Her hair needed a good cut and color, the grey was beginning to streak through it. But she did sport killer blue glitter nail polish. And, since she looked to be more in the thirtyish category, blue glitter nail polish was all that more daring.

  Conversation spilled around me. I overheard a self-satisfied conversation detailing how one couple managed to simultaneously avoid taxes and apply for welfare because they never declared their cash income. I did not turn around to look at them. I didn’t want to know.

  I turned from Tiffany who was suddenly distracted by the details of welfare fraud and inadvertently caught the eye of a round woman who was standing by the pellet stove. She walked over toward me, her thighs swishing in her tight jeans. It was about 85 degrees inside the tiny house. I itched just watching her.

  “Hi, you must be new around here,” she did not offer her hand. “See this top?”

  She pointed to her chest. I adverted my eyes. “I found it at the thrift store for two bucks can you believe it?”

  “No,” I answered lamely. “It’s hard to believe you paid two dollars for that.”

  “I know! It was a great find. You know my husband and me do good because we work for Builders and Consumers? It’s a hardware store.”

  “Really?” I needed something to drink, anything would do, except for the wine. Where were Jimmy and Danny?

  “It’s great,” the woman continued. “Because they can only afford to pay us minimum wage which is good right? Because it shows we’re working, but we never have to pay taxes, because we don’t make enough. And we don’t pay taxes on our land because we put the house on that extra green strip of land that Lucky Masters had to promise the city, but we’re so far back that no one can see us or really get to us because you miss the driveway every time.”

  “Because it’s dirt right?” If I remembered correctly, Rosemary once told me that when you are visiting a third-world country, only drink liquids sealed at the factory. I wonder if there was some still sealed wine around. The kitchen beckoned.

  My new friend was waiting for some kind of rejoinder. “What about when it snows or rains?” I finally asked.

  She shrugged. The two-dollar top shimmered in the light. That fabric hadn’t seen the light of day since 1976. The colors were painful. “We just hunker down, the store is slow in the winter, so Sam stays in and works on the house. We just sit, I call in sick because the boss knows I can’t come in during the winter, he doesn’t mind, there’s not much going on in the winter around here anyway.

  “Of course not,” I said faintly.

  “So we do fine, the food bank usually has some good things for free then there’s the dollar store, that’s for the girl’s stuff, they have make-up and everything at the place, but mostly it’s good for Christmas and birthday gifts you know?”

  “I can imagine.” I edged towards the kitchen, but she kept up with me, pushing aside two younger men staring intently at the video game. They each held an orange Doritos chip but apparently had forgotten they were suppose to eat.

  “But I’m so proud of Sam,” the woman moved past the boys as I moved towards the kitchen. “He’s been working so hard, we planned a trip to Mexico this winter.”

  “Flying?”

  “Oh no, we have a motor home and we drive. Just park on the beach. We don’t have to spend much cash at all. Mexico is so cheap, it’s a great place to go you should go there, you look like you could use a vacation.”

  The kitchen door was too narrow for both of us to squeeze through together. I managed to be first. It wasn’t much more luxurious than the living room. Three pre-made sets of unmatched cabinets were indifferently attached to the walls. An uneven strip of Formica with two large black rings next to the electric stove rested precariously on another set of cabinets, these with different faces than the upper cabinet doors.

  “Hi,” Danny greeted me. He looked better tonight, what was left of his hair was brushed back,

  he was clean and the slacks and sport shirt were more flattering to his rounded frame.

  “Hi, thanks for inviting me.”

  “Sure. What can I get for you?”

  Behind us, two people were arguing about the local politics. Will I ever escape that subject? I do remember there was a period of time during which the City Council fired their city manage at a rate of one a year which apparently is above the state average. One of the more notorious house cleanings was when the City Council fired everyone: City Manager and Assistant Manager and the City Attorney for good measure. That’s when the mayor, a friend of Prue’s asked her to take in the business licenses fees from the down town merchants, keep the money safe and generally keep an eye on things.

  Keep the money safe? Why would I remember something like that?

  I should ask her what went on during that time.

  “Here,” Danny pulled out a bottle of wine that had soaked in the sink for so long, the label had peeled off. But it was sealed. Considering what else was available, this didn’t look like a bad choice. Danny pulled the co
rk with a flourish of manly strength.

  I thanked him profusely and vowed to be nicer to him and everyone else in the room – now that I had more wine. I considered plunging the social whirl, whirling aimlessly around the perimeter of the living room. But I postponed the pleasure.

  I lingered in the kitchen, not saying anything, but sipping my wine and listening to Danny as he launched into how he managed to get all his cabinets for free. Finishing up with, “At least I put in real insulation in the house.”

  Before I could ask about the difference (was there such thing as fake insulation?)

  He veered off track, as if struck by a sudden thought. “You know who’s here?”

  I turned and looked around the empty kitchen.

  “No, in the living room,” he leaned around me to look out the door. “There she is, go say hello.”

  I just hoped it wasn’t the RV woman.

  “Over there,” Danny pointed to a thin woman standing close to the chips, but not eating them. How does she do that? “You remember Rochelle?” He prompted me.

  The woman had the distinction of being the thinnest person in the room, and many of the guests, like Tiffany, were pretty damn thin. Rochelle’s chest was sharp and bony, I could see her rib cage jutting past her caved breasts. Her low cut cotton top was splashed with an orange and green design and her hair stood out from her scalp in brittle curls.

  Rochelle, Rochelle. I knew the name but I wasn’t putting it into any kind of narrative, relative to me of course.

  “Hi,” I approached her. “I’m Allison, Prue’s granddaughter.” It was the best introduction in Claim Jump. Everyone knew my grandparents.

  “Oh, hi,” her eyes lit up with recognition, and I was grateful. “Wow, Prue Singleton’s kid?”

  “No, no, I’m her granddaughter. Frances was my mother.”

  She digested that information. “I don’t remember your mother, was she nice?”

  “Perhaps,” I hedged.

  “I loved your grandmother’s place, the creative vibe was so good. And that apartment was killer. Maybe I should move back.”

  “Move back where?” Tiffany walked up behind Rochelle, making the woman start in an ungraceful way. It was painful to see her reduced to a shadow. At least I thought she was a shadow, I still wasn’t placing her.

  “Back to that apartment. You know, at the Singleton place.” Rochelle explained to Tiffany.

  Tiffany shook her head and gently moved Rochelle to one side. “No, that’s not such a great idea. Have you seen Jimmy? I think he has more stuff.”

  “Really?” Rochelle scanned the room haphazardly, delivered a somewhat glazed look and wandered off.

  “Don’t mind her.” Tiffany waved dismissively at Rochelle’s retreating back. “She’s always bragging about how she used to be dancer, a real artist. But she’s just another one of those has-beens who used to hang out with my parents talking about the old days.” Tiffany followed the other woman with her eyes until Rochelle bumped into Jimmy. “Why are the old days always better that what we have?”

  “In a few years, these will be the good old days, and you’ll say, remember how great it was before?”

  “Before what?” She demanded.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know.” I was low on philosophy with not enough to drink. I was at a loss. This wasn’t exactly a chamber mixer.

  “Ah, there you are.” Mathew from the river appeared as if conjured up by my chamber of commerce induced imagination. A few hours ago, he had looked marvelous in a pair of ragged shorts. He looked even more scrumptious in a pressed work shirt and new jeans. And he didn’t even look warm. I was sweating in the hot smoky room. Was there no ventilation in here? I broke off admiring Matthew and allowed myself a minute to glance around, as if I were filling out an agent disclosure.

  There wasn’t a single ninety-degree angle in the living room. The house looked a little haphazard, as if we were all back in the Gold Rush and these homeowners were merely claim jumpers.

  It seemed that few of the guests officially lived in their house so niceties like permits, codes and plumb lines were by necessity, not observed. Jimmy’s house may not be situated on Jimmy’s property. The thought made me itchy.

  “But the roads are narrow enough,” Jimmy said to a young man who just lost his place on the video game couch. “So the sheriff doesn’t bother. The county is big and funds are low, we have two sheriffs, so they don’t bother with much more than the really big issues.”

  “The Claim Jump cops sure do.” Someone from the couch said.

  “Oh lord,” Jimmy rolled his eyes. “The Claim Jump police are fanatics. Do you remember Tom Martini? He’s the chief now, real go getter, sending out his men on “raids” to try to pick up pot, or meth or whatever.”

  The rest of the group laughed.

  I hadn’t thought about Tommy Marten in years. Like Danny, Tommy and I go way back. That was the trigger my brain needed. I knew who Rochelle was; she was the dance teacher who exchanged rent for dance lessons in the barn. I got the lessons for free and cavorted with other children with mothers bent on supporting poor Rochelle as best they could. And that meant for one excruciating summer, Tommy Marten took dance lessons. Years later I was sworn to secrecy. We were dance partners the only year the two of us performed. He played a rock. I was a tree.

  So, he was the captain of the police force here. That’s interesting.

  “They can’t even find us on a map,” someone yelled out. “So they can’t arrest us!”

  I craned my neck to find Rochelle again, but she had disappeared. I felt badly that I didn’t immediately recognize her, but she hadn’t recognized me either, so I guess we were even. I didn’t really want to spend fifteen minutes of my life waxing nostalgically about my role as a tree.

  “And there are no addresses we don’t even exist. Pretty neat huh?” Yelled someone else.

  I sipped gingerly at the wine. I longed for some other conversation than the tired stick it to the man litany that was swirled around my head.

  “I have a foundation,” Mathew whispered in my ear. “At my house.”

  “I bet you do.” I murmured back.

  “No really, I saw your face, this must be killing you especially since you’re so into real estate and doing things by the book.”

  “I don’t know about by the book.” I demurred.

  “You have great shoes,” he smiled. It was a calculated, capped, bleached smile. But hell, you don’t see those very often in these parts.

  I smiled back. Oh yes, you can get me with the shoe admiration line every time.

  “What kind are they?” Tiffany bounced to Matthew’s side and clutched his arm possessively. Mathew glanced down as if a small furry pet had rubbed up against him. He was neither interested nor repelled, just checking to see if she was shedding on his shirt.

  I immediately felt sorry for her and hoped for her sake, he was nice to her. At the very least polite in private if he couldn’t manage it in public.

  “Taryn Rose,” I said. They were wedged, comfortable, with a big bow on the vamp. Fun and flirty for the Gold Country. The shoes cost about $400. Worth every penny. But I didn’t share that part with Tiffany, dressed in cut off jeans and flip flops that looked like two for one specials at Payless Shoes. On the other hand, Tiffany had skinny legs. Even dressed in her cheap, casual outfit, she looked marvelous.

  “They’re pretty.” She kept hold of Mathew as if preventing him from escape.

  I looked at her complexion more closely. She was terribly pale, and her skin was bumpy and discolored from too much sun. Was there a problem with her water? In a way it would serve everyone here right if their free wells were leaching arsenic though the rocks and earth. But I’m sure there wasn’t an active mining operation nearby; they were probably safe. Pretty safe. Did mercury and cyanide (more popular elements used to separate goal from rock) travel through well water? I couldn’t remember.

  I smiled. This was a group that would never, ever, or
der any kind of analysis or pest inspection. Why would they when the homes would never be for sale? They would never need to know what dangers lurk under, over or inside their chosen abodes. They didn’t know, and the County did not care. It was Claim Jump’s version of welfare reform; look the other way.

  I did not inquire about cash crops; I already knew the answer. While our friend Lucky Masters was happily cutting down the protected forest, local entrepreneurs were back filling the empty spaces with marijuana plants.

  There is historical president to the attitude that swirled around the room like a trapped eddy in the river. Claim Jump was founded on the every man for himself premise. Gold mining started as an individual affair, it did not become co-operative until more and more mountains needed to disappear faster and faster to get more and more gold.

  “And what about you?” I turned to the young lady of the Celtic knot who had quietly snuck up behind Mathew and Tiffany.

  “I’m a secretary for an optometrist,” she said proudly, clearly well above the others, socio-economically speaking. She probably even paid her taxes.

  “You are so lucky,” Tiffany countered bitterly. “I can’t find a job at all. There are no jobs

  here.”

  “Well,” Cindy hesitated. I could see it written on her face – did you go to school? Did you apply yourself? Did you apply for a job in the first place? But I willed her to not say those things outloud, this was not the place for a lecture.

  Fortunately the girl had enough sense not voice what was running through her head.

  “I’m sure there’s something for you around here. There’s always Sacramento.”

  “She could work in the Folsom prison,” Mathew suggested.

  “That was cold, even from you.” Danny walked by with a red plastic cup filled with beer.

  “I’m going to get a drink.” Mathew shrugged off Tiffany and headed to the kitchen.

  Danny pushed his way onto the couch.