Forever

Chapter 2-5

“You’ll find plenty of storage in this condominium. Now,” Francesca went on briskly, “the powder room is to the right, off the entry way. I like it.”

I raised an eyebrow at the pale pink tiles and the wallpaper covered with tiny flowers the same color. “Kind of girly, don’t you think?”

“I’m a girl, if you hadn’t noticed.” She did that lash-fluttering thing again. Jesus, she was going to start a windstorm.

“I do like the pedestal sink.” I didn’t say it was because it reminded me of that hotel in Paris where I’d first taken Pete de Becque, when I’d thought the Division cold op was a hustler.

“You can make any changes you desire. Consider it a canvas, if you will, and you color it with the palette of your own personality. Now,” she began showing us through the unit. “To our left through that archway is the formal dining room, which we’ll visit later. Here’s the kitchen, and beyond that, also to the left, is the master suite. As you can see, this particular condominium has a split floor plan. The master suite is separated from the guest wing by…” She waved her hand, indicating a very large, very pink living room. There was a fireplace against the inner wall. “This is a gas fireplace. It’s very nice, isn’t it? The mantel and surround are Carrara marble.”

French doors were folded back to let in the afternoon sunshine. Drapes with more pink flowers framed a deep bay window, and a cushion covered by the same material was on the window seat.

The room was cluttered with furniture, fussy chairs, a glass coffee table, the type of couch that used to be called a passion pit because an orgy could easily be hosted on it. Bric-a-brac was on every flat surface: nymphs and shepherdesses, flimsily-dressed women.

“And you say the owner is willing to part with these? I’m surprised. They’re Lladró,” Mrs. Mann said. Yeah, she’d be familiar with them.

I shrugged. Like I knew Lladró from those figurines of big-eyed kids praying.

Francesca gave Mrs. Mann a professional smile but didn’t respond to that. “And you can go onto the terrace through these French doors. The terrace has a lovely view of the golf course.”

I was watching Mrs. Mann. She gave a tiny shake of her head. “It’s not a very—” I paused as if searching for the word and then settled on, “—interesting view,” I murmured grudgingly.

“Do you golf, Mark? I assure you this is an excellent course, and the pro is quite exceptional. I’m sure just a session or two would be all that you’d need. “

I gave her a sour look. “I don’t much care to look out onto a water hazard.” Between the golf resort The Boss had sent me to out in Phoenix a few months ago and the local range, I had more than my fill of golf. Right now I was shooting about par, but I liked it only marginally less than getting up on a horse.

“Oh, that’s just a little…. Now this window has a very charming window seat.” She strolled over to it and bent, drawing the material of her slacks tight over her ass. She smiled at me over her shoulder, batting her lashes once more. “Voilà! It opens to provide storage.”

“That’s a nice feature, I’ll grant you,” Mrs. Mann agreed. I could see how grudging that agreement was, but it went right over the Dashwood woman’s head.

“I knew as a woman you’d appreciate that, Mrs. Mann. Now let me show you the guest suite.”

I could see that phrase jacking up the price.

“It’s just down this hallway. It contains the second bedroom, which has a sitting area and a full bathroom of its own, although not as luxurious as the master bath. This way, please.”

We trooped down the hallway. On the right side was a set of pocket doors. “What’s this room?”

“Oh, that’s the den.” She threw open the doors with a flourish, and I was greeted with more pink. The walls, the carpet, the furniture—a desk, a couple of chairs, a cabinet that opened to reveal a sewing machine and supplies.

Still, it was a good-sized room, and it would be nice to have a dedicated study.

Before I could betray my interest to the Realtor, Mrs. Mann gave me a look. Did she realize I was picturing my big desk in here?

She said, “I’d like to see the guest room. I believe you said it was a suite?”

“Oh, yes.” Francesca ushered us across the hall and into the room. “Isn’t this the most delicious bedroom?”

“It’s very…pink.” I felt like I was having a Pepto-Bismol overdose. Who would have thought there could be so many different shades of pink?

“As I said,” Francesca murmured, giving a condescending smile, “you can change whatever you like.”

Mrs. Mann walked into the room and stopped dead. “Oh, my. This carpeting is thick, isn’t it?”

I followed her, sinking into the plush depths, and realized what she meant.

Francesca’s voice lost some of its enthusiasm. “A little paint, new carpeting…I believe I heard something about there being hardwood floors under this.”

“That would be…. Mark, I think you’d like hardwood floors.” Mrs. Mann crossed to a pair of doors. “Ah. A nice-sized closet.”

I didn’t particularly care. It wasn’t likely I’d have guests, and when Quinn came over, he’d spend the night in my room.

Mrs. Mann went to the window. “Draped voile shades. I must say, I like that touch.” She drew them aside, letting in more of the late afternoon sun. “Although the view is only tolerable.” She turned away. “Is this the sitting area?”

“Yes.”

Even more pink. Why wasn’t I surprised? It contained an overstuffed easy chair and ottoman, an artificial fireplace, a floor lamp, and a small table with Elle, Glamour, and Cosmopolitan fanned out over the surface. The most current issue was at least ten months old.

“It’s a nice use of space,” Mrs. Mann was saying. “I assume the fireplace is included?”

“I think the…owners might be persuaded to include it. Now, the guest bathroom is right through here. Shall we?”

The door to the bathroom was beside the closet. It opened to reveal a single vanity with marble top and chrome fixtures, the john, and a tub and shower with a glassed-in enclosure.

“It’s a little small, don’t you think, Mark?”

I shrugged. I wouldn’t be using it. She frowned at me, and I realized she was setting up a bargaining chip.

“You’re right, hon. Mrs. Mann. What, no bidet?”

“That’s in the master bath.” Francesca was at my shoulder, and I turned and raised my eyebrow. She gave an arch smile and nodded to a door. “See. There’s a linen closet in here also.”

Be still my heart.

“Well, I imagine it can hold the sheets and towels for the bedroom and bath.” Mrs. Mann seemed dubious. “Although a comforter or duvet…”

“As I’ve said, there’s plenty of storage. You needn’t worry about that. Now, if you’ll just follow me—” She stepped back through the bedroom and into the hallway.

Jesus, this woman did like to use the word “now.”

“What’s this door?”

“Oh, it leads to the roof.”

“Do all the units on this floor have access?” Mrs. Mann was observing her carefully.

Francesca nodded. “Let’s just—”

I tried the doorknob, but it wouldn’t open. “Do you have the key for this? I’d like to see the roof.” The lock seemed sturdy, but if I’d been alone, I’d have had it unlocked in a matter of seconds.

“I’m sorry; I wasn’t given the key to that door. The condominium association is having some work done on the roof, and no one is permitted up there just now. You understand, I’m sure—the liability factor. They’ll turn the key over to you after you’ve bought the unit. Let me show you the rest of the condo.” All of a sudden she seemed antsy to get us away from there.

Well, if I decided to buy this place, I’d change all the locks anyway. And it was for damn sure I’d check out the roof before I agreed to anything. If I decided to buy.

“If you’ll follow me, please?”

We followed her back through the living room.

“Here’s the kitchen.”

“Large.” Mrs. Mann was willing to give it that, but grudgingly.

“There’s plenty of storage. As I said.” Francesca’s smile this time seemed a little strained.

I crouched to open a cabinet, making sure she didn’t see the expression on my face. I wished I’d had Portia Mann with me the other times I’d gone house-hunting. I’d never had so much fun.

“The cabinets are natural maple, crafted in Canada, and the hardware is brushed nickel. The stainless steel appliances are new; they’ve all been replaced within the last month or so.” In an effort to lure buyers? “The countertops are granite, and the flooring is Riverstone tile. As you can see, the island has a cook-top. And don’t you think the pass-through is a convenience no upscale home should be without?”

“It is a nice touch, as is the breakfast nook. And there’s a window? Odd. I would have thought this wall didn’t have the exposure.” Mrs. Mann pulled back a set of sheer curtains.

“It’s a mural.” Francesca’s words were short.

“Cows? A cow pasture? No, I know.” I raised a hand to cut off her words. “I can change it. What’s this?”

“Oh, that’s the walk-in pantry. It contains a mini fridge and a dishwasher. And here we have the laundry, with the washer, which is front-loading, and the dryer. This cabinet here is for delicates to hang dry.”

“Oh.” Delicates? I had to stifle a laugh at the image of Quinn in pretty pink unmentionables.

“There’s also a built-in ironing board.”

“Okay, that’s good. I guess.”

“Pay no attention to Mark. He’s used to having me send his laundry out.”

“You’re so good to me.”

“Remember that.” She gave Francesca a cool stare. “And I don’t share.”

“Uh.…Yes. Of course. Well, let’s move on, shall we?” She gestured to the broad, arched doorway. I bit down hard on my inner cheek to keep from laughing—wait until I told Quinn about this—and we followed her through it.

“Ah. The formal dining room.” Mrs. Mann’s expression was bland.

Francesca hurried on. “This table is set for an intimate dinner party, but it can open up to seat twelve comfortably.” She gestured toward the other chairs that were placed around the room. “And the area rug is quite unusual, don’t you think?”

“It’s not pink.” I exchanged glances with Mrs. Mann. I’d never seen such an ugly rug. She turned away, hiding a smile.

“The buffet and hutch, the china cabinet.”

Did I look like the kind of man who had a china cabinet?

“And here beneath the pass-through, we have the sideboard.”

“It’s convenient, Mark, for all it’s a trifle small.”

Small? But I played along with her. “Maybe we ought to—”

“You haven’t seen the master suite yet.” She was starting to sound desperate. “I’ve saved the best for last! It’s right this way!”

Back through the kitchen, and this time to the left, and in spite of myself, I let out a low whistle. The master bedroom alone had to be about seven hundred square feet. My apartment right now—the whole f*****g thing—was maybe a little under that.

Theo Bascopolis, the former rent boy who lived downstairs from my present apartment, had insisted on going furniture shopping with me. That had been after my apartment in Forest Heights had been blown up. It had taken a while, and he had no idea how close I’d come to shooting him, but we’d finally found furniture we could both agree on. I hadn’t been certain if the bedroom set I’d bought would fit in a new bedroom—it didn’t in my present apartment, and I’d had to put pieces in storage—but it would actually be lonely in this room.