Seven Minutes to Noon (23 page)

“There’s a two-bedroom rental unit on the ground floor,” she said. “They have their own entrance. We can go down there later if you’re interested. The rental income’s pretty good.”

The kids raced ahead of them, right through the living room and into the kitchen. Alice heard their chatter studded with
wow
and
what’s this
and
that’s my spot.
At the table, Alice presumed. She wondered if they had already seated themselves, if they had served themselves a snack from a fruit bowl or even the refrigerator.

They followed Judy into the living room, a parlor floor with separation walls removed, except where an archway offered distinction from the kitchen. Wide planks gave the floors a farmhouse feeling that was contradicted by an ornate marble fireplace. A simple but beautiful chandelier hung from a round molding in the center of the ceiling. Two windows stretched from floor to ceiling and let in a gentle light that seemed to dance across the room. The current owner had draped the windows with fabric the color and texture of parchment, twisted loosely around leaf-patterned curtain rods.

In the kitchen, the children had indeed placed themselves at the table, but the snack they were eating was imaginary. They looked natural in this modest but efficient kitchen. It was a good kitchen, not fancy, renovated once, though not recently. It had every appliance, modern enough, with plenty of blond wood cabinetry, and pink counters in a style of Formica whose interlocking triangle pattern had recently rebounded into fashion. Everything looked like it was in good shape; either someone had reconstructed an older-style kitchen or never much used the original. It was cozy enough to work in without getting lost and spacious enough to easily accommodate two or three cooks.

“Not renovated,” Mike said in a tone more sober than any of his usual voices. It was a new voice: the cautious buyer.

“This house has been very well maintained over the years,” Judy said. “Plumbing and electric are in excellent shape. You have a dry basement, new windows. The kitchen isn’t new, but it looks like it’s in good condition.”

Alice wanted to shout,
Yes!
but held herself back. She was glad the kitchen wasn’t renovated and hoped the bathrooms weren’t either. The potential she saw, no
felt,
in this house was not about fixtures but her family’s daily life, their happiness. New fixtures were an added pizzazz that looked great and probably were a dream to use but also tended to inflate the price beyond reasonability. They didn’t really matter.

A glass door to the right of the table looked out on a grassy backyard bordered by gardens. An iron scrollwork table with four matching iron chairs sat in a slate circle at the foot of the stairs that led up to the kitchen deck, where another table and chairs sat under an umbrella.

“A good family house,” Judy said, though she needn’t have.

“Can we see the upstairs?” Alice asked.

Nell and Peter abandoned their pretend tea party and followed the grown-ups to the staircase.

Judy went up first, followed by the children, then Alice and Mike. When no one was looking, Alice nudged Mike’s shoulder. He looked at her and she raised her eyebrows and nodded. He winked, and she knew they had found themselves a house.

Upstairs there were three bedrooms, two average in size, the third very small but with its own window. Everything looked neat and clean and newly painted. Nooks cradled built-in shelving that had a civilizing effect on the space, with things and stuff tucked into their places.

“Closet.” Judy opened a door in the hallway, revealing
a narrow linen closet next to the bathroom. “Another closet.” She opened a door in one of the larger bedrooms. “And there’s one more big closet upstairs.”

“There’s another upstairs?” Mike asked.

Judy smiled. “Follow me.”

They trailed her up another flight of stairs to the top floor. There was no hallway, just two large rooms joined together by a doorway without a door. One of the rooms was being used as an office, the other as a sewing area. Alice looked around and saw, in her mind, another bedroom and a play area.

“I can show you the basement if you’d like,” Judy offered.

“Sure,” Mike said, nodding. “Definitely.”

Judy started down the stairs and they all followed her. Mike went all the way into the basement but Alice stopped halfway as a buffer to keep the kids from following into whatever hazards might be harbored down there. It looked like an average, stony, cave of a basement. Utility shelves were stocked with kitchen overflow, bikes were lined up against one wall, a large hot-water heater occupied the opposite corner.

“The technicals are all good,” Judy said. “But of course you’d get an engineer to inspect. I can give you some names if you’d like.”

She was doling out the crumbs and Alice was devouring them. Yes, they would like the name of an engineer. And a real estate lawyer to close the deal. And a mover to make it final. She couldn’t wait to move out of Julius Pollack’s house. Maybe they wouldn’t even tell him they were leaving. They could let him begin eviction proceedings, agitate himself, under the watchful eye of the police. They could steal the final word; after all, he didn’t own
them.
But before allowing herself the satisfaction of victory, there was one more thing Alice needed to know.

“Judy,” Alice asked from her perch on the basement stairs. The kids pressed up against her, but she held fast. “Pam never told me the price.”

Judy nodded and didn’t smile and that worried Alice. She could hear it coming, some astronomical asking price for this sweet jewel of a house. If they could pay one point two, as Pam had showed her they could, then of course this house would turn out to be one point seven or eight or nine, bringing it well past their reach. She could feel the disappointment wash over her before Judy spoke.

Judy reached into her purse for the property listing and consulted the top of the page. “The asking price seems to be nine ninety-five.” She looked at Alice. “But there may be room for negotiation.”

“Mike.” Alice summoned him up the stairs. “Can we talk just a minute?”

He nodded, and together they ushered Nell and Peter back into the kitchen. Judy stayed behind in the basement, waiting for her cue.

“What do you think?” Alice whispered. “Believe it or not, that’s a really good price.”

Mike glanced around the kitchen. “I like it a lot.”

“This house is perfect.”

“Okay,” he said, “let’s do it.”

Alice called Judy from the top of the basement stairs. She came up, making an effort not to smile, Alice thought. She was good at this in a different way than Pam was. Judy was controlled, seasoned, whereas Pam would have been howling in delight. Pam wouldn’t wait to be told what Alice thought; she would know, and would insist they grab the house while it was still on the market.
Honey, don’t be an idiot. Take it.

“We want to offer the asking price,” Alice said.

“Well! I’ll be happy to pass that on to the seller.”

They left the house, Judy locked up, and they said good-bye standing in the front gardens.

“I’ll let you know as soon as I hear,” Judy said, then went to the corner, where she waited alone for a car to pass.

Alice just then had a thought and turned around to walk back toward Judy. “Maybe
you
know who Julius
Pollack’s partner is?” Until now it hadn’t occurred to her to ask Judy directly.

Judy’s expression was blank, a sky without clouds or horizon lines, surreal.

“Julius Pollack,” Alice explained, “who owns Metro Properties. You must handle some of their apartments.”

“Yes,” Judy said. “Of course we do. As far as I’m aware, he works alone.”

“Are you sure? I’ve seen a few mentions of a partner but no one seems to know who it is. I thought you might.”

“No, dear. Sorry.” The light on the opposite corner switched to the white
WALK
signal, but Judy didn’t seem to notice; her eyes stayed on Alice. “Why the interest in a partner? If there even is one?”

It seemed the strangest question, Alice thought, considering recent events. Why
wouldn’t
they want to know the identity of the silent partner behind Lauren’s and Alice’s evictions? The identity of the person Pam had been trying to unearth when she was attacked?

“The house where you live is owned by Julius Pollack alone,” Judy said, suddenly well informed. “Not Metro. It seems to me, dear, that your eviction is a very personal matter, not connected to Metro Properties, not really.” Judy finally released her full smile, broad and steady, surprising Alice with neat rows of tiny, white teeth.

“Alice!” Mike called. He was already half a block along, keeping up with the restless children.

“I was just wondering,” Alice said.

Judy’s attention moved to the flashing orange
DON’T WALK
sign; the traffic signal was about to change. She stepped into the street, preparing herself to cross. “I’ll let you know about the offer. It’s a wonderful house, isn’t it?” She walked away, not waiting for an answer.

Alice eventually caught up with her family as they were entering Carroll Park. Nell and Peter ran down two
separate paths to the park’s center. Almost immediately, Peter ran back toward his parents, weeping.

“Where’s my fire truck?” He pressed his face into the side of Alice’s belly.

Alice stroked his hair. “Did you put it down just now? Is it in the park?”

“No!” His crying escalated.

Nell walked casually over, with the special authoritative expression that meant she knew something they didn’t.

“He left it in that house,” she said, “in the way upstairs.”

“Did you know he left it there?” Mike asked, trying to control the annoyance in his voice.

“I
saw
him put it
down
but I
didn’t
think he’d
leave
it there.” Nell planted her hands on her skinny hips and waited for a rebuttal. There was none.

“Okay, sweetie,” Alice said. “I’ll call Judy and ask her if she can help us get your truck back, okay? It isn’t really lost — we know where it is. You’ll get it back, I promise.”

Reassured, Peter ran back through the park and into the big kids’ side of the playground, chasing Nell up a ladder and down a slide. Alice pulled out the business card Judy had given her, figuring she’d find a cell phone number and could catch Judy before she got too far, but there was just an office contact. A little bit relieved not to have to speak with that strange woman again, so soon after their awkward conversation at the corner, Alice left a voice mail about arranging to go back to the house to get Peter’s lost toy.

The call wasn’t returned until the next night, Sunday. Judy’s voice sounded muted, almost slurred, Alice thought, as she delivered two messages:

“Congratulations, they accepted your offer! Also, I’ve got your son’s fire truck. It’s in my purse. I’ll be home all day tomorrow waiting for the dishwasher repairman as if I have nothing better to do with my time than wait
for the dishwasher repairman between the hours of eight and five. Eight and five! As if I have nothing better to do!”

Alice wasn’t sure, but before Judy ended the call with her home address, her voice seemed to spiral out of control. Was she actually weeping?

Judy Gersten lived on Douglass Street just off Court, in one of the blue clapboard houses scattered around the neighborhood that stood out from the typical brown-stones or brick townhouses. Alice climbed the front stoop, rang the front bell and waited. It was only a quarter to nine but Judy had specifically said she was expecting the dishwasher repairman some time after eight, so it couldn’t have been too early. Even so, no one came to the door. It occurred to her that she knew nothing about Judy, whether she lived alone or with a large family, a husband or a lover, male or female. And she had been so upset last night; maybe something had changed her plans. Alice rang again.

Finally the front door cracked open and one of Judy’s watery blue eyes squinted at her visitor, registering what appeared to be a total lack of recognition. Alice was tempted to apologize and leave, but she had promised Peter the fire truck when he got home from school today.

“Is it too early?” Alice asked. “I came by for my son’s toy.”

Judy swung open the door. She was wearing a champagne-colored satin robe that fell open over a pair of old drawstring pants and a man’s undershirt with no bra underneath. Without the second skin of her composure, Judy seemed raw and comfortable. Oddly, she looked both older and younger. Alice found herself more
drawn to this Judy than to the professional Judy who had shown her the house. Until, that is, she spoke.

“It’s right over here,” Judy said. “I’ll get it.”

Alice was hit by the oaky twang of whiskey. So that was it; Judy was drunk. But Alice wanted Peter’s fire truck and so followed Judy inside. The living room was a comfortable mess, French provincial, and well used.

“I’ll just take the truck and get out of your hair,” Alice said.

“Oh, my
hair
!” Judy sounded like she would weep. “What do I care about my
hair
?”

It was even worse than Alice had thought. “Maybe I’ll come back later.”

“Just wait, will you?” Judy’s voice sounded weak, pathetic.

The morning paper was spread open on a divan in front of a tall window with a rose-scattered ivory sconce. Next to the divan, on the floor, was a mug with Judy’s
coffee,
an oily, amber liquid anyone would recognize as booze.

Judy rifled through her purse while Alice’s eye caught something in the newspaper that gave her a jolt. She inched closer to the divan. It looked like a photograph of Julius, a strange picture because he was smiling and she had never seen him smile before. He had his arm around another man. There was a headline above the article, but Alice couldn’t read it upside down before Judy came up beside her.

“Thanks.” Alice turned away from the newspaper and took the little red truck. Up close, Judy looked more than drunk, she looked distraught. Alice wondered if it was not the whiskey that had upset her, but something else. “Are you okay?” Alice asked.