Angel Food and Devil Dogs (23 page)

"What else?" I said out loud.

A few days before, I'd been working on some watercolor sketches. The paints, paper, and unfinished work were still on the long dining table. They were pretty good. I decided to leave them there. Instead, I cleared some books off the smaller kitchen table near the windows and flipped a tablecloth of light purple cotton over it.

Good china or Fiesta? Is that a gay question or what? I opted for Fiestaware, better color choices. Dark green dinner plate and salmon colored salad plate with a bright yellow napkin for her. For me, light green dinner plate with a dark blue salad plate and a bright orange napkin.
Hey, I went to art school, it's what I do.
I set out silverware and water glasses, and put wine glasses on the counter. I picked two different kinds of white wine and put the bottles in the refrigerator, I left some red wine on the counter. I made a few lighting decisions, but decided against candles. Too obvious.

I looked around again and tried to take a calming breath, which ended up stuttering down my throat. I figured I was ready if I could just breathe like a normal person.

I looked out the window into the parking lot below. A blue and white BMW Mini Cooper had pulled into one of the spaces. I had the vague feeling I'd seen that Mini before. Kathryn was opening the hatch back, getting out her laundry basket. She had really arrived. I let out a sigh of relief.

The doorbell rang. I pressed the intercom button, "Kathryn?"

"Yes," she called.

"I'll buzz you in. Just wait a minute in the foyer, I'll be right there."

I pressed the buzzer, then sped down the stairs. I tried to compose myself when I got to the landing. There she was, looking up at me, with that half smile and eyes I felt touching my soul.

"Hello," she said smiling radiantly. She'd set her laundry basket and a duffel bag on the floor. Her small leather knapsack was over her shoulder. She reached to pick up the laundry basket.

"Here, let me open the elevator door," I said walking down the rest of the flight. "It's slower, but easier than climbing the stairs. There are a lot of them."

"It would be nice not to have to climb any more stairs today. Not only is the laundry out of order at the Hampshire, but now it seems the elevator has also broken down. I'm beginning to hate that place."

Through the window next to the foyer door I caught a glimpse of someone carrying a white paper bag. "Oh good, Kenny's here with the food," I said as I went to let him in. "Kenny, you're right on time." I took the bag from him and pulled out the bill.

Kenny Sakda is the youngest son of the family who owns Thai Kitchen. He just started high school. He works in the restaurant most evenings, and when he's not working, he's there doing his homework. I help him sometimes. There's a good chance he's gay. I think he's working up the nerve to talk to me about it. He'd just gone through a growth spurt and is about my height now. Like a lot of teenage boys, he has the metabolism of a mosquito. Eats all the time, but thin as a rail. His short brown mop of hair was carefully uncombed and he was wearing his Fenchester High School letter jacket.

"The
me krob
is bangin," he grinned, "Mom just made it."

Kenny caught sight of Kathryn, then saw the basket of laundry. He glanced back at Kathryn and covertly eyed her up and down. He grinned at me again even harder this time. I felt myself blush.

"This is Dr. Anthony, she's new to the neighborhood," I said formally.

I turned to Kathryn, "This is Kenny Sakda, his family owns Thai Kitchen."

With the duffel bag now in her arms Kathryn couldn't shake hands, but she said in a charming voice, "It's very nice to meet you. Please tell your family I enjoy their restaurant very much."

"Awesome, I'll tell 'em. Have a good dinner." He walked to the door, but as he passed me he whispered, "Hottie," just loud enough for me to hear.

I pushed opened the elevator doors, then stepped in, and put the bag of Thai food on the shelf. I got Kathryn's basket and put that on the shelf too. I'd built it in the elevator for this very reason. All elevators should have shelves. Especially the ones whose doors require two hands to close.

Stretching to push the gate all the way up I explained, "The elevator is very slow, we could walk to the third floor faster than the elevator can make it to the second, and for some reason it's even slower going down." Kathryn stepped beside me. I pulled down the safety gate, then reached up and pulled the strap on the metal door. Half came down from the ceiling. The other half came up from the floor clanking together in the middle. I swung the locking mechanism in place. "If I don't do this all correctly the elevator won't go. It took me a month to learn. It looks old, but it's safe." I twisted the control lever.

"I've worked in many old buildings and ridden in all sorts of contraptions. This is palatial... and in contrast to the Hampshire, it works!" she said leaning against the shelf. Her eyes showed weariness, but they also had an amused gleam.

"So you have a Mini Cooper? I love those cars, what's it like to drive?"

"I sort of fell into it, it was my brother's. He owns a restaurant in Portland. I was visiting him and he was complaining that the Cooper was too small. I was saying that my car didn't get good mileage. So we traded," she said conversationally. "It's fun to drive, but it's the smallest car in the world. At times I think it should only be driven with clowns stuffed in the back seat. Fortunately, I rarely need a bigger car. The food smells wonderful. The kid seems nice..."

"Oh yeah, Kenny and I are pals. I'm sure he's running home to tell his mom all about you."

"Really? So is Thai Kitchen the gossip nerve center of Washington Mews?"

"It's a major relay."

"And is who you're having dinner with a news flash?" she asked. Gentle laugh lines appeared at the corners of her eyes.

"Kenny thinks you're hot," I said watching the floor numbers.

"Hah," she snorted. She paused, then said, "How long have you lived here?"

"About six months. It was pretty raw when I moved in but I've put a lot of work into it. I still have more to do, but I like the space."

"Do you have a long term lease?"

"Well I guess you could say that. I own the building."

"Really?" She was impressed.

"Yeah, it's still hard for me to believe. I got it in exchange for solving a case."

"You must be some crackerjack private eye."

It was my turn to snort, "Yeah, I'm a pistol."

We'd come to the third floor. I was easing off the control lever, trying to stop the elevator in the right place. I didn't want to do that up and down finagling thing, central to movie comedy bits in 1930s hotel scenes. I managed to come within an inch of being even with the floor.
Whew.

I pulled down on the strap and the horizontal metal doors blinked into the entrance area like giant eyelids. I'd left the double doors into the loft wide open so the whole space was in view.

The big room in front of the elevator door is about 2000 square feet. The far wall is floor to ceiling windows overlooking Washington Mews. I'd left the space dark, so the bright moonlight streaming through the windows would seem more dramatic. Christmas lights decorating Mews homes twinkled along with the stars above the dark silhouettes of rooftops and tree branches. It was the best view in the city.

I brought up the lights. Part of the wall to the left also consists of floor to ceiling windows. The rest of the north wall has a long kitchen counter with cabinets below and above it, with a built-in double oven and dishwasher and refrigerator at the end. In front of that is another counter island with a stovetop range, double sink, and more under counter cabinets. All the appliances are stainless steel. They'd come with the place when I took possession, but were still in the crates when I'd moved in. It was a great kitchen, beyond my wildest dreams. In fact, I'd rarely dreamed about kitchens before, but if I had, they wouldn't have been as sweet as this.

To the right, in the middle of the south wall is an antique marble and brass fireplace with glass doors. I purchased it at an outdoor antique show and installed it with Farrel's help. In front of the fireplace I'd built a one-foot high platform and covered it with soft carpet. There are a variety of pillows on the platform to make a place to lie in front of the fire. Around the platform are a couch and two easy chairs. When friends are sitting on those, we use the platform as a big low coffee table. To the right of the fireplace is the door to my bedroom.

The hardwood flooring is maple. There's one big Asian carpet in the middle in muted tones of red and blue and a few other smaller Asian rugs scattered around in appropriate places. The ceilings are 11 feet high. I'd turned up the heat. It was comfortably warm.

When I'd opened the elevator doors Kathryn had whispered, "Oh!" Any hesitation I'd ever harbored about taking on this building or rehabbing this loft was forever erased at that moment.

"This is..." She stood still, looking. She put the laundry bag down on the floor, took several steps, then turned slowly around. She paused to look at the bookcases on the wall beside the kitchen. She ran her hand over the pine dining table and glanced over my sketches. She took in the fireplace and the large slightly abstract Mexican landscape painting over it. She walked around the arrangement of small couch and chair that sit directly in front of the windows overlooking the Mews. She looked out the windows then back around the room for several moments. I didn't say anything. I just let her look. It was fun to watch her.

Finally she turned back to me with an unreadable expression. She said, "You did all of this?"

"Well, the view was already here." She laughed at that. I was really scoring on getting her to laugh. "Friends helped," I added.

Across the room, past the bedroom door a large spiral staircase circled up into the ceiling. She pointed, "What's up there?"

"Still working on that."

"I want to see it." There was a demand in her voice that was kind of provocative.

"Too dark, too cold, not finished. I'll let you see it sometime in the daylight."

"Promise?"

I nodded.

"You've made me several promises tonight that I sincerely expect you to keep." She was using that deep deliberate tone that made me ache again.

"I keep promises," I assured her.

She paused considering me for a moment, then took a deep breath and said in another half whisper, "Seeing this loft has been the best part of my week."

"What a nice thing to say." I privately hoped she'd revise that statement after the rest of the evening's promises had been kept. "Let me help you get the laundry started and then I can get the dinner on the table, OK?" I picked up her laundry basket, she grabbed the duffel bag.

I led her through the bedroom toward the laundry room. She stopped for a moment to take in the bedroom space. The fireplace is also open on the bedroom side of the wall. She took a step closer to look at the large photographs of August Rodin's bronze lesbian sculptures.

"Goodness, where did you get these?" she asked eyeing the swirling erotic forms of women making love, that were done by the sculptor who created "The Thinker."

"I took the pictures myself at a special show of his sculpture a few years ago."

She tilted her head to the side staring for a minute at the organic flowing hair and bodies. She said absently, "I know a lot of women who'd love to have copies of these in their bedrooms."

"Do you?" I teased leading her into the laundry room.

My laundry room is brilliant, if I do say so myself. I wanted a washer and dryer right next to my clothes closet. Only people who don't have to do laundry decide to put the washer and dryer in the basement, two floors from the place where the dirty clothes start and the clean clothes are supposed to end up. Besides the machines, I have an area with a tile floor and a drain with rods over it to hang wet clothes.

"This is one of those high capacity machines," I said, "you're supposed to be able to put sixteen bath towels in one load."

She was opening the duffel bag, "Well then, I guess I just have one white load and one dark. I didn't want to be a complete leech, I brought my own soap."

I showed her how to use the machines, then went back to the kitchen to get the food ready. I couldn't help grinning at the effect the loft had had on her. It was completely worth the six months of backbreaking labor.

I put the
pad Thai
in a bowl and heated it up in the microwave. I dished the salad onto plates. The crunchy sweet
me krob
went into a serving bowl with a big spoon, with the plate of spring rolls next to it.

I went back toward the laundry room to ask her what she'd like to drink, and found her standing in front of my bedroom bookcases. She had her hand on the spine of some volume, but it was too dark in the room to see which one.

She turned toward me, a little guiltily. "I'm sorry, I can't pass a bookcase without looking to see what's in it. It's an occupational hazard."

"When you're in my occupation, you can barely walk by a wallet without looking to see what's in it." I could see her eyebrows rise, even in the dim light.

"Well, I do try to control myself. Come and have something to eat. What would you like to drink?" I told her what I had available.

"I'm torn. I'd love a glass of wine, but I think I need coffee," she sighed, "or maybe tea would be better with dinner."

"How about tea now with dinner and glass of wine later?" I suggested leading her back to the kitchen area.

"Good idea. Shall I sit here?" She sat down at the end of the table, idly picking up a fork and looking at the pattern of the handle. "Sterling? Etruscan?"

"Yes it is, good for you. I have antique dealer friends who insist I buy sterling for tableware. They say it's cheaper than new stainless steel at Macy's and it tastes better," I explained as I got out the teapot.

I put boiling hot water in the pot to warm it, then threw that out and put more boiling water in.

"Oolong or Darjeeling?"