Death Revokes The Offer

by Catharine Bramkamp

  Just then Ben drove in, a set of new doors rattling around the back of his truck. I noticed he took the trouble to match the look of the house façade. These new doors were embellished with glass inserts and brass trim – not bad actually.

  “Oh aren’t you the sweetest thing?” Mom recovered and clasped her hands like a child and smiled winningly at Ben.

  “It was the least I could do.” Ben gestured to me to help him unload the doors.

  I helped him heft the doors over the tailgate and carefully unwrapped them.

  By now I knew what to do to install a set of doors. It was like having an applicable skill. Maybe I could get a real job.

  Ben worked quickly and deftly, all the while giving my mother no more than generous grunts to her barrage of questions.

  As soon as Ben washed and accepted a glass of water, he turned towards the now closed off exit.

  “Well, you’ve been just wonderful,” mom was reluctant to let him go. Honestly, I have never seen her drool over a man like this before. And he was a worker to boot. “Let me at least pay for the doors,” She offered.

  Ben waved away her offer. “No, I wouldn’t dream of taking your money. I consider it my fault you lost your lovely doors in the first place.”

  “Oh nonsense, you were just doing your citizen’s duty. Wasn’t he Allison?”

  “Uh, sure.”

  “Well then, join us for dinner tonight, I insist. We’ll meet you at the Country Club at seven. Allison knows where it is.”

  I glanced at Ben wondering how he was going to slip out of this one. But he inclined his head and nodded. “Seven, thank you. I’d be delighted to join you.”

  I hid my surprise. But he passed me and headed out the door before I could gather my wits. I followed him to the driveway.

  “So what’s next on your agenda?” I was now stuck down here for the rest of the day, mostly because I didn’t particularly want to drive north, and then come back down again. I’d probably just return to the Belvedere house.

  The sun was warm on my shoulders, another perfect summer day. The thought of just hanging around the pool for the afternoon was more than tempting. But I’d have to hang around with my mother as well – not so tempting.

  “I have time, want me to fix the bathroom at the Ocean View property?” He placed a hand on the door handle and turned to me.

  “Yes, that would be very nice of you.” I responded politely.

  He nodded and jumped in. I slid into my car –a Lexus, and we convoyed out of the driveway and headed south. I didn’t see her, but I could feel my mother looking out the kitchen window. Allison with a man. Mom was probably executing a neat victory dance in the kitchen. Then she’d call all her friends, so much has happened since we saw each other an hour and a half ago!

  She’ll be tremendously disappointed when this fictitious romance doesn’t work out. Mom doesn’t understand that I have working relationships with men. She doesn’t understand that men and women can just be friends. Doesn’t get that all.

  I was getting a little tired of the house, of Belvedere, of bathrooms, of everything. The tile floor was chilly, the bathroom was trashed and no one had shown the house in the last 24 hours. Not even my alleged attack drew people in. So what did a woman have to do to get attention in this county? At least in Sonoma I’d be able to draw on some prurient interest. The violent murder alone would at least bring in other agents. But in Marin, no.

  I wandered around a bit more while Ben grunted and swore and generally acted like a contractor should.

  What he needed was an assistant. A young assistant. A young assistant who is about 23 years old with a washboard stomach and a $150.00/ month text message bill. A young man perpetually hooked into his iPod, one who is easily led by promises of the simple life and easy love. A young man easily manipulated by an “older” woman, like me.

  Has it been a while? Yes it has.

  “Do you want to paint this as well?”

  “Oh sure.” I looked around the kitchen again. I still couldn’t get the image of Hillary moving determinedly around opening cupboards slamming them closed. The million was gone; the art wasn’t worth as much as everyone thought it should be worth – old story.

  Then what was she looking for?

  I called Carrie on my way back to the Club. Ben had to stop off and change, which I thought was sweet, but he didn’t offer to show me his place, wherever it is.

  “Probably because you are so difficult.” Carrie said wisely.

  “Probably, but shouldn’t he pursue me a little? You know gallantly try to break down my barriers?”

  “Your barriers are like the great wall of China.” Carrie chided me.

  “And what do you know about the great wall?”

  She paused; I turned into the parking lot of the club and turned off the engine.

  “We attended a lecture on the trade issues of China last night.”

  “That was your date?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you perhaps re-thinking your goals?”

  “He took me to John Ash afterwards.”

  “And?”

  “He kissed me good night.”

  “Good kisser?”

  “Great kisser.”

  “Well you’re ahead of me.”’

  “I didn’t know this was a race.”

  “It’s not a race.” I said, suddenly impatient. The closed car was too warm. I opened up the door, the car beeped because I left the keys in the ignition. I pulled them out and struggled to get out of the car. “It’s not a God-damn race.”

  “Have a nice dinner.” She retorted.

  Oh, fuck everyone.

  As I stomped into the club entrance, I toyed with the idea that I should order a salad like mom so I could look lady-like in Ben’s eyes. Then I saw the menu – home made ravioli stuffed with chicken, asparagus and feta smothered in pesto sauce. Forget the damn salad. I had a hard day resisting Ben, then making sales calls from the empty house. At least I could sit by the pool and enjoy the view, but it didn’t help with the calls. I even had to chat with Inez because I accidentally picked up instead of letting her go to voice mail.

  “I heard a story about smuggling coke in ready-made cupboards.” Ben said at dinner. “But no doors, this is a pretty unique approach.”

  “Did the smell of the wood deflect the dogs or what ever they use for drugs?” I asked.

  “Probably,” Ben agreed.

  Dad beamed in Ben’s direction. When he heard that Ben attended Stanford, Dad’s alma mater, Dad lit up like a Christmas tree. Some of us attended state, and some of our brothers attended UC since in all three cases, that was all we could get into. This lack on our parts was pointed out every blessed thanksgiving dinner. For the most part, my holidays are not pretty.

  Mom was beside herself because Ben was male and sitting next to me. I think my mother is worried that I, like many of her friend’s daughters, am really a lesbian. She shouldn’t, I own 130 pairs of shoes. No lesbian owns more than three pairs of shoes. Everyone knows that. That’s how you can tell.

  “Now,” my mother jumped into the conversation. “The one thing that was disappointing about Allison’s college experience was she started smoking pot there. Do you know what that does to your reproductive system? And it makes you fat, well we can see that.”

  I should have stayed in the hot car.

  Slugged back the rest of my cabernet and glared at my mother, who, as you probably figured out by now, was oblivious to my feelings.

  “Mom.” I tried to sound severe and warn her away. This is not good for my professional life, neither is it particularly good for my soul.

  “Well, you know if you hadn’t smoked so much pot you wouldn’t have gained so much weight.” Mom beamed at Ben as if she made a salient point about drugs.

  The waiter served the food – I don’t even have to tell you what mom ordered. Dad always orders the steak because mom won’t barbeque it at home. But Ben ordered the ravioli as well and
I was grateful. I took a bite of the pasta – delicious - to deflect my own arguments; there is nothing I can say that will move my mother off the discovery that I smoked pot when I was 16. I gave it up in college, made me too mellow and I had things to do. But no, it’s the only thing mom can remember about my childhood. Brings it up every chance she has. For my mother, if you make one mistake, it’s over. So whenever I call her with some good news, like a prestigious award, a fantastic sale, the day I closed escrow on my very own house, she brings up the pot. I think she does it because she was always the perfect child in her own family and she has a hair trigger about pot.

  I took a deep breath and practiced my smile, a sunny - I-don’t-care-anymore-what-you-think, smile.

  “Thank you mother for that back ground, but I’m sure Ben is more interested in other issues besides my sordid past.”

  “Well, I think he should know about you.”

  “Didn’t everyone try pot at least once?” Ben asked mildly.

  I shot him a grateful look and changed the subject.

  “Don’t people get killed for possessing drugs?” I asked innocently.

  Ben gave me a strange look. We hadn’t come across anyone during the day, but we did not know about the night. Nothing had been released about finding the coke in the doors; the thieves would not know that the doors had been confiscated. They had gathered up the new doors, they would want the rest of them. And my guess was they would want the doors tonight.

  “Do you have a place to stay?” Ben must have considered the same possibilities as me.

  Mom and dad looked at each other.

  “Oh, I don’t think it’s serious,. You mean those doors? They’re gone now, what could happen?” Mom said.

  “They’d shoot you in your sleep.” I offered helpfully.

  “Don’t upset your mother.” Dad chided me.

  “Sorry, just pointing out the obvious.” I said. “It’s not that safe.” I amended as if I were the concerned daughter. Well, for the most part I am.

  And mom wondered why I didn’t live in Novato; she actually said that when I bought my house in River’s Bend. “You could buy a house in the Country Club and we could have dinner with you every night.”

  There were two reasons why I will not buy in Novato; one, it was too expensive in Novato and two; I’d shoot myself before I’d have dinner with my mother every night. Maybe three reasons, I was far better off up in Sonoma County. I would also like to point out that both my brothers live in northern Santa Rosa, close enough to commute for their jobs, far enough so they can discourage mom from spontaneous visits, even when she offered to baby-sit her six grandchildren. I found that interesting.

  “You shouldn’t stay in the house, because we don’t know.” I said.

  “You can take me to the City.” Mom suggested to Dad, always generous. Dad considered it. He had no idea about the doors in the first place, but was equal to the challenge. Mom did not mention how much she paid for the doors that were no longer attached to the house. I thought I politic that I did not bring it up either. It was her marriage and her problem.

  Dad considered the challenge, then nodded. “We’ll be at the St. Francis, the house is locked. You still have the key honey?”

  I nodded.

  “Good. Well, we should get going. ” Dad gestured for the check. Ben and I split the last of the wine. The idea of leaving for San Francisco propelled my parents into action and we all ended up leaving before dessert and coffee. Just as well.

  We said formal goodbyes in the parking lot. It was already dark.

  “It was very nice to meet you again Mr. Stone.” My mother offered her hand and Ben obediently took it.

  “You too, and again, I’m very sorry for the trouble.” Ben said politely.

  “Well, it wasn’t your fault.” Mother reassured him.

  Which made it my fault. I waved silently and my parents headed off to the house to pack overnight bags. To their credit, they were treating the situation as if it was just another adventure.

  To Ben’s credit, he played it cool. If we could get them out of the house, even if the thieves accidentally stole the wrong doors, not much harm would be done.

  Except I think I need a frequent purchase card at Home Depot for the doors. After ten door purchases, I get a free window.

  If I was a drug runner and I wanted my drugs, and I knew the drugs were in the doors but I wasn’t sure whose doors, wouldn’t it be easy enough to drive around and just look for the doors? It would be very easy indeed. And since our new doors looked like the Home Depot special that they were, there shouldn’t be too much trouble tonight.

  “Do you think they’ll come by?” I asked Ben as soon as my parent’s car was out of sight.

  He shrugged, “I don’t know, they were stupid enough to come by in broad daylight and attack you.”

  “Not that stupid, they got away with it.”

  “True,” he conceded. “And your parents are away. So it should be okay.”

  “Yes, it should be okay.”

  “I better use the restroom before I drive home,” I said. “Good night.”

  He looked at me a little strangely, what? He never uses the rest room? Maybe he just repairs them.

  “Good night.”

  I walked back towards the club, taking my time, waiting for his truck to start up. As soon as he turned out of the parking lot, I turned back and dashed for my car and sped back to my parent’s house.

  I passed my parent’s car as they were driving out, but they didn’t notice me. Mom was talking a mile a minute and Dad was nodding. Perhaps that was the secret of their marriage.

  I let myself into the back door because even though I owned a key to the old, old door, I did not have a key to either the Gilberto doors or the new doors. So many doors, so few keys. But in case of an emergency, I could get into the house by opening the side gate, sliding along the patio and jimmying the lock to the bathroom that doubled as the pool changing room. No, I’m not going to tell you how, you could be after mom’s collection of Provencal linens.

  The house was quiet and dark, illuminated solely by the under cabinet lights in the kitchen.

  I grew up during the re-model phase and was here for the pool renovation phase (they did it during the summer, how stupid was that? And it had been a very hot summer.) I had time to become accustom to the changes, but it still felt strange, a little out of whack. Mom gave away most of the items that triggered the more nostalgic and sentimental of my memories. She kept items, like the red glass vase and the couch, that I had no attachment to at all. It’s her house.

  I tiptoed across the living room to the master bedroom. My parent’s king size four-poster bed dominated the medium size room. It was perfectly arranged with eighteen tiny embroidered pillows arranged neatly in three rows.

  The master bath, another remodel, was as enormous as most apartments in this area. Streetlight filtered through the skylight and illuminated the over sized Jacuzzi tub. I don’t think Mom nor Dad ever used the tub, but it was the right item for an over wrought bathroom and would look great in re-sell. People don’t use their tubs, they just want them around. All was quiet.

  So far I was in control and the house was secure. I walked back across the living room; light from the patio – a few up lights to illuminate the olive trees – cast the heavy antique furniture from my great grandmother into shadow. I hesitated in the living room. I could read a magazine; I could watch TV (hidden in an antique armoire, the TV is pretty small). But if the point of this exercise is to pretend that no one is home, then no one would be inside with the lights on and watching television yes? That meant I had to sit in the dark and keep very quiet.

  Well, that wasn’t fun at all.

  I considered meditation and becoming one with the universe. Katherine insists that sitting, meditating and becoming one with the universe is like a fast track ticket to better sales. She says things like that all the time, often during the Monday meetings. I don’t believe that sitt
ing will enhance my sales, cold calling is more effective, but since meditation is something I could practice in the dark, I gave it a try.

  I sat still on the oriental carpet and took in deep breaths. One, two. I hate my mother. Three, four, I hate Ben Stone. Fortunately before I got much further, my phone vibrated. Vibrating phones aren’t necessarily silent; they make this vibrating sound and sometimes jiggle across the table, which is kind of interesting during a formal dinner. And the sound was very loud in the silent meditative space.

  “Yes?”

  “He’s coming to the Forgotten Feline fundraiser.”

  Better him that me.

  “He’s coming to one of your events?”

  “I think he thinks he owes me for the China lecture.” Carrie admitted.

  “And that’s good.” I said.

  “Yesss.” She drew the word out with caution.

  “What’s the matter? You are dating the most eligible bachelor in the county, you made this your quest, you are on track to complete the quest, you are getting everything you want, this is not the time for hesitation.”

  I struggled up from my meditative position and began wandering around the house again. I like to pace when I talk. Which, I know, wasn’t a silent activity, but I couldn’t help myself.

  “I don’t know, Allison. Am I up for this? He’s so handsome and smart and his family is so, so. . .”

  “Good old boy?” It’s one of the big down sides of working in River’s Bend, the good old boys. We live in a ranching, farming community. We grow our own wine and cheese. That’s good. The attitude of third and fourth generation farmers is not so good. They’ve all been here since the Bear Flag rebellion; know everyone and everything and the general mantra is “we’ve never done it that way before”. Just try getting these guys to sign the piles of disclosers it takes to sell property. I get lectures with every form I make them sign. As if it’s my fault.

  “Yes, good old boys, and everyone asks me where I’m from.”

  I wandered into my old bedroom as I spoke. I could meditate in here, on my old bed, but that was too weird. I wondered why mom hadn’t re-decorated this room? My brothers’ rooms, the two past the pool bathroom, had long been altered to accommodate whatever hobby mom was currently pursuing. It made no sense, but I stopped trying to follow my mother’s train of thought years ago.