Judge Me Not

1 Nora Dockson

1 Nora DocksonNora mashed her thumb against the UP button mounted on the cream-colored wall.

The elevator doors in front of her didn’t open. Their spotless matte-black finish swallowed her reflection.

To her right, the end-wall took off at a ninety-degree angle. A waist-high black-and-white credenza was centered in front.

Covered by a mosaic of tiny rectangular stone-colored tiles, the wall was an earth-toned backdrop for two lustrous black vases artfully placed on top of the credenza.

The porcelain was so delicate, Nora held her breath. She didn’t want her exhale to shatter a vase.

Potted plants as tall as she was sat at each end of the credenza. Their fleshy dark-green leaves shone as if they’d been dusted and waxed this morning.

Beneath her feet, pale gray and tan hardwoods zigzagged across the floor.

The acute geometric angles on the wall and the floor should have made her eyes cross.

Instead they drew her on like a witch was casting a spell over her.

She’d only gotten as far as the ground floor elevator lobby and she was a raggedy child lost in a big, scary forest.

She wanted to turn tail and run back to her messy, unintimidating office.

But her grandmother had struggled to pay those life insurance premiums.

Grandma had been dead set on leaving Nora enough money for a down p*****t on a place of her own.

Because every woman needed one.

Grandma had known she was dying. In their last-ever conversation, she’d made Nora promise to start house-hunting in the next three months.

Nora had a tough week ahead. She should spend this Sunday getting ready.

But today was her three-month deadline. She would not break her promise.

She’d ended up at this swanky three-story building in downtown Spokane because the only open house within easy reach of her office was taking place upstairs.

A muted ding announced the elevator’s arrival. The doors whispered open and she stepped inside, letting out her pent-up breath in a huge sigh.

Surrounded by polished mirrors, she made scolding faces at herself.

She was used to barging in where she didn’t belong. She’d survive a few minutes inside a trophy building.

The elevator opened into a lavishly decorated corridor on the top floor. Facing her, a door stood ajar, inviting her to peek inside.

Nora moved gingerly across the hushed corridor. Pushing the door wider open, she stepped across the threshold into the condo’s yard-wide entry hall.

On each side of her, eggshell-colored walls rose seventeen feet from the thick pale carpeting to the roof.

Her eyes tracked upward to the white-painted beams and electrical conduits jutting out from the roof’s underside.

She chortled.

Modern prisons had the same lofty ceilings with exposed cross-beams and big fat tubes running everywhere.

She’d feel right at home in this place.

A yard beyond the threshold, she spied a red fabric crate. The container was ten inches on each side and ten inches deep. Bold white letters two inches tall filled one side:

PLEASE,

Cover or Remove

Shoes

THANK YOU!

Similar boldface posters adorned jailhouse walls. Though usually they omitted the please and thank you.

This loft condo was looking homier and homier.

The smell of the pristine paint blended with the textile scent of carpeting. The bracing odor of newness filled Nora’s nose.

Invigorated, she wanted to explore this the weird blend of prison architecture and trendy decor. But she’d tramped six blocks on city sidewalks. She didn’t want to track up the creamy carpet.

She’d leave no clue that she’d stolen time from her legal work to check out the hottest condo development in town.

Because it was May Day, she’d paired her weekend work outfit of faded Wranglers with a daffodil yellow T-shirt.

She snickered. Given her orangish hair, the effect was more like a raging bonfire than a flower-bedecked maypole. Might as well put a sticker on her forehead that read, TROUBLEMAKER.

One glance, and the realtor would dismiss her as an annoying lookie-loo.

She’d keep her promise to Grandma and be in and out in a heartbeat.

The brief visit wasn’t a complete waste of time. Starting at the high end of the real estate market was an okay strategy.

She’d work her way down to a property more appropriate for a modestly-paid appeals lawyer with a passion for the underdog.

Nora plucked a blue bootie from the crate. Hunching down, she balanced on her right foot and slipped the shoe cover over the canvas sneaker on her left.

She grabbed another bootie and bent over to maneuver her right sneaker into it.

From behind her, a feminine voice with a husky undertone proclaimed, “I’m Mindy.”

Startled, Nora jerked upright.

Mindy was a head taller than she was and wore a black sheath topped by a white linen jacket and accented with a string of pearls. Platinum hair swirled to her shoulders and tiny lines made a fretwork at the side of each hazel eye.

Smiling with glossy burgundy lips, Mindy added, “I’ll be happy to show you the features.”

Nora guessed Mindy was in her mid-fifties and that she smiled a lot. Only a fun-loving woman would wear black velvet slippers with white cat eyes and whiskers on the toe box and triangular black-and-white cat ears poking into her instep.

Especially while flogging a thousand-square-foot property with a six-figure price tag.

Grinning, Nora tore her eyes away from the kitty slippers.

“Don’t waste your time on me,” she said. “This place is near my office and I couldn’t resist a look. But I’m not a serious buyer.”

The realtor’s smile didn’t waver. Her eyes brightened like she was deaf to Nora’s disclaimer.

“Look all you want,” Mindy said. “But give me a chance to show you around before you leave. I want to point out a couple of things that’ll be of special interest to a woman like you.”

Like you? Nora frowned. What did the realtor mean by that?

Mindy headed down the hallway. The cushy carpet made her step bouncy and her silvery mane swayed across her slender back.

Nora veered through the doorway on her right. It opened into a five-sided room partitioned from the larger interior.

Ten-foot tall walls were topped by a ceiling of narrow bleached oak panels. Recessed spotlights were scattered across the oak. The softened LED glow highlighted the hardwood grain.

Staring up, Nora drank in the random knots swirling through the wood.

She’d love waking to the sight of that natural beauty.

Her lover would, too.

Kent had spent the weekend with his kids. She hadn’t seen him since Thursday. She felt like she was missing a body part.

It was tough being in her thirties. Mother Nature wanted her to breed. Her hormones kept screaming that her womanly needs had to be satisfied.

Firmly shutting down the bedroom fantasy, she stepped to a pair of louvered doors and pulled them open.

The walk-in closet was furnished with built-in shelves and cupboards plus two six-foot-long bars for hangers.

Big enough to hold all the clothes she owned and a law library.

Another solid wood door led to a bathroom with a marble tub-and-shower combo and matching sink.

Continuing down the hallway, she catalogued a small powder room with a stacked washer-dryer. A coat closet. A smaller enclosed room that would work as a home office.

The practical, functional stuff.

She emerged from the hall into a big empty space that had to account for two-thirds of the condo’s square footage.

The ceiling soared more than ten feet above her head. The windows lining the exterior wall made it feel like nothing but glass separated her from blue sky.

The open area felt vast.

She glanced up.

Long black poles dangled from the loft’s electrical conduits. They ended in translucent half-globe shades that hung above her like miniature moons.

On Nora’s left, an L-shaped kitchen was separated from the central area by a white half-wall. On top was a granite counter that extended far enough into the main room to serve as a bar.

Mindy had posted herself at one end. She’d pushed up the sleeves on her white jacket and rested one elbow on the granite counter.

Her casual posture was fake.

Mindy’s eyes were locked on Nora with the intensity of a predator.

Meanwhile, another hormonal impulse zapped Nora’s brain. She blanked out the realtor with an image of two bar stools, each fronted by a cool summery cocktail.

One for her.

One for Kent.

She saw them starting a romantic evening at the bar.

Her showing him the condo.

Both shedding clothes room by room.

Ending below that beautiful bedroom ceiling.

Imagining his citrus-y cologne, she breathed in.

Her fantasy was abruptly derailed by the smell of condo newness, plus a hint of garlicky tomato sauce.

Nora glanced down and spotted a red blotch on the hem of her shirt. Probably from the meatball sub she’d eaten at noon.

The flavorful blend of beef, tomato, and garlic lingered on her tongue.

Without realizing it, she was scent-marking this turf as if she planned a takeover.

The realtor wouldn’t miss Nora’s buying signals.

Mindy must be plotting how to wring the highest possible price out of her.

She couldn’t allow the realtor to discover the truth.

She’d fallen in love with the place.