Chapter Twenty-Three: Penthouse
Alex
There's a week and a half before Christmas and I have more to do than I could possibly have time for. Presents are mostly bought, although I debated a bit before buying something for mother, and I've got my suitcase mostly packed. You've been beside yourself at the idea of my being in the city for Christmas, and I was tempted to take you up on your offer to fly out and accompany on the trip but decided you should save the money for apartment hunting when I get back. My things and your things will not fit in that tiny box we've called home until now. With my loft long gone, we're going to have to find a bigger place we can share, preferably a little closer to work.
I have to free myself from a pile of linens, clothes, and sheets to reach the phone on its third ring, barely missing the answering machine's auto-pickup,
"Hey you."
"I'm going to kill Casey." Ooo, it's never good when you begin a conversation with death threats.
"Problems at work?"
"Don't ask. When are you coming back again?"
"February 1st, back in the office and working just for you!"
"Thank god. What's the word on Christmas?"
"I am coming to town on… hold on have to find my ticket…" I dig through the piles around me and haul myself back off of the floor. Finding the tickets in my desk I check the dates, "I get in December. 20th, and I leave on January 3rd."
"That's all? I was hoping you'd be here longer."
"Well so was I, but if I don't get right back I won't get everything moved and settled in by the first of February. Don't forget to pick up some apartment listings before I get back, we have to find someplace that will fit all of our combined crap. Maybe a loft like I had before, or at least someplace with a working elevator?" I can't keep the excitement from my voice. I realize I sound like a teenager but I can't wait to be back.
"Hey, Lex… how about I pick up the papers and we worry about it when you get here? I'm not going to look without you and for some reason I have a feeling you'll actually be making the apartment decisions."
I figured you'd try to back out of this, "Oh no. No way am I picking out an apartment all by myself. I'd end up picking something you hate and then we'll end up with two apartments again. We're going to pick a place together, after Christmas and before I get back to Oregon. I need a place to send my stuff Liv, and I'd rather not have to rent a storage space."
"So have the van drop stuff at my apartment."
Your apartment? "Olivia, where exactly do you think all my stuff will go in your apartment? Look I know you like the place," although God only knows why, "but we need a bigger place. And besides, you've been hiking up to that fifth floor walk up rat hole for six years! Time for a change."
I hear you groaning but I know I've won, and I can't resist a grin. "Good. Settled. Now, I have packing and sorting to do, unless you want to talk about today's case?"
"No. No way. I just want to forget about it. I'll sum it up in one word- mistrial."
"Sorry Livvy, that's horrible. Is it eligible for retrial?"
"Not criminal. The vic could press charges in civil court but she's not interested. I can't wait until you're back."
Olivia
Ugh. I hate apartment shopping. I hate it so much that I've spent six years in a tiny disgusting walk up even when I could finally afford to move up. I can't afford to move as up as you are, but I could have found a place that's a little nicer than mine. However, I can't resist that tone in your voice and I know exactly what look your giving me. Even a continent away I can't resist that blinking blue-eyed thing. Well, that and I have my own plans and for now I need you to think I'm giving in against my better judgment.
. "Good. Settled. Now, I have packing and sorting to do, unless you want to talk about today's case?"
"No. No way. I just want to forget about it. I'll sum it up in one word- mistrial."
"Sorry Livvy, that's horrible. Is it eligible for retrial?"
"Not criminal. The vic could press charges in civil court but she's not interested. I can't wait until you're back." I'm fed up with the latest case, and more than fed up with Casey. She's been a decent friend recently but we've had to swear not to talk about work outside the office. The last time we tried to talk about a case we ended up having a shouting match at Maloney's, that ended when Elliot and Munch pulled us away from each other. I'm ready for her to be gone and you to be back. This latest failure is just the last in a string that's got the whole department feeling down. For some reason, even when Casey wins it's not enough. The victories are hollow, and usually involve lower-sentencing deals, and trades for information that doesn't go as far as it should.
"Well, just a little bit longer and I'll be back driving everyone crazy again."
"I can't wait Alex. And not just because of the job. I miss you." It sounds silly to say, I've only been back three weeks, and you'll be back in town in five days. But the truth is I hate being away from you.
"I know Liv, I miss you too."
Before we hang up you remind me again to pick up the housing pages and I try not to groan again. When we finally say goodbye I pick up the apartment listings I've been looking at all week. It's so much fun to surprise you. I make notes next to the three places I've circled and make a note to make some calls at lunch tomorrow, then set up visits with realtors on Friday when I'm not working. You'll be here on Tuesday and I'd like to have someplace to show you when you get back.
Alex
When we hang up I don't bother trying to put the phone back in the cradle. I fold my legs Indian style in the middle of my piles and survey my progress- or lack thereof. This would be so much easier if you were here. Ok, that's a lie. But it's fun to believe. I know what we'd be doing if you were here and it wouldn't involve clothes or sheets. Actually it would, but not in a productive way. I sigh and grab at the sheet that's peeking out of the pile-- I just folded its match before you called and I'm glad to see something that's part of a set finally. Hooray for progress. I dig through the pile to find the rest of the matching bedding and set aside the neatly folded pile in my give-away stack. I work my way through the rest of the mess in front of me until my bedroom is covered with neatly folded piles that I then split into keep and give-away. I feel good, you'd laugh at how much better I feel with a little order restored to the bedroom. The feeling doesn't last long though, as I head to the bathroom to sort through the towel sets. I'd like to get as much taken care of as I can before I leave Tuesday. That way when I get back the majority of my work is finding a mover and actually making the trips to goodwill and the Salvation Army to donate furniture and clothes and all the other stuff I won't be bringing with me. Mostly I can't wait to get rid of those god-awful couches in the living room. I'd much rather we take the sofa I picked out for your apartment with us when we move. I love the things I bought for your place. And if I get rid of most of my furniture it'll be cheaper and faster to move.
I pitch the contents of the bathroom linen closet onto the floor of the bedroom and flip on the little TV, looking for something mindless to watch while I finish my sorting. As soon as I'm done I'm calling it a night. I've been sorting through clothes and towels and sheet sets and odds and ends all evening. Even I'm feeling over-organized. I finish the towels and change into my sweats, crawling deep under the covers to dream about you.
Olivia
Thursday's paper reveals two more possible apartments, and my realtor calls go well. Today I have four meet and see's and if all goes well I may even be able to get some Christmas shopping done too.
By noon I've seen three of the four apartments, and done a walk through on two small houses besides. Clearly I'm dreaming on those two, but it was still nice to see. I get a perversely girlish pleasure looking at houses and thinking of the things we could have someday. The truth is that if I let you use as much of your trust fund as you'd like we could afford both of those places, and an apartment besides. I don't want this to be just your thing though, which is one of the reasons I wanted to look for apartments without you. This way I can pick out places I can actually contribute to, instead of getting dragged to upper-West side lofts and fancy flats. I like to think I know enough about your style to find someplace that suits us both, without having to settle for something I can't afford to help with equally.
I buzz the door at the last apartment complex and take a minute to survey the neighborhood. It's fairly low-crime stretch, well for New York anyway. It's closer to the station house than my place, although a little further than your loft was. The realtor who shows me the apartment is a little perky for my taste, and extremely pushy but the apartment is nice enough. It's bigger than mine, but not as large as I'd hoped.
"Well what do you think Miss Benson?"
"Actually, it's Detective Benson. I thought the description said spacious. This looks a little less than spacious to me."
"Well, the penthouse is also up for lease but I don't know if you'd be interested. It's a bit of a fixer-upper."
"How much of a fixer-upper?"
The dyed-blonde woman scrunched up her face, reluctant to come clean.
"I want to see it."
"I don't know detective, it's in pretty bad shape."
"What's the rent?"
"Low because of all the improvements that need to be made. Look, it's an old building. The owner decided to use the penthouse for a storage space and focus on volume. She put out a decent amount to fix up the lower level apartments, and the top floor was pretty well trashed when they went through the heating and cooling system and plumbing."
"I want to see it."
She leads me out of the small third floor apartment and reluctantly punches the button for the top-floor apartment. When she opens the door and stands aside to follow me in I find myself falling in love. She's right; it needs a ton of work. The walls are mostly concrete, except for one exposed cream-colored brick wall on the south side of the master bedroom. There's a huge plate glass window that spans almost the entire width of the living room, and except for a tiny hallway where the elevator and stairs end outside the door, the apartment hits every edge of the complex's outer wall. It's a rare find in the city. The balcony off the east seems to be in good repair, and the fire escapes look up to code.
I turn back to the interior and walk the length of the living room. The floors need to be refinished, and the walls painted. I'll have to replace the light fixtures, and we might need to create some sort of divider between the kitchen space and the living room, but that's a simple enough enterprise. I could probably get Elliot to pitch in some weekend. The master bedroom is massive, bigger than the one that was in your loft and in my apartment combined, and there are two other smaller bedrooms. That makes three bedrooms. We could turn one into an office and keep the other for a guest room, or … whatever.
The realtor is looking nervous; she's clearly an uptown girl and not a big fan of this level of de-construction. She doesn't see the potential in the space, but I do. I know I didn't intend to make an actual offer without you, but I know I can talk the owner down from the asking price, whatever it is. And if I can get a little work done after shifts this week I might be able to show you something a little less rough when you get here.
"I'll take it."
The realtor's face register's vague surprise, then she looks around the space, shaking her head in disbelief. "To each their own Detective. I'll call the owner and give her your offer. I don't think she'll fight. She's anxious to have someone fix up the place."
"Great. I want to start work tomorrow."
Her look of surprise turns to genuine shock, and she picks up her cell-phone, already picturing her commission.
I turn back from where she leans in the doorway and survey our new apartment. Hopefully I can sell it to you before you kill me. Crossing to the large plate glass window that overlooks the city, I don't really think it'll be that hard a pitch.