Read Online Close Your Eyes by Amanda Eyre Ward - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Amanda Eyre Ward
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studio, and I had no idea whether or not it was modern. I strode purposefully along Congress, the Hendrixes lagging behind and hissing at each other. The listing had a note: Call before showing . I punched in the phone number, and a man who sounded sleepy answered.
“Hello,” I said, “this is Lauren Mahdian from Sunshine City Realty. I’m hoping to—”
“Lauren?” said the man.
“Yes,” I said. “I was wondering—”
“That’s a great name,” said the man. “Underrated.”
“Uh,” I said, “I was wondering if I could show your condo now?”
“Oh, okay,” said the man. “Give me a sec to get dressed.”
“Great,” I said, cutting the call. I whirled around to face the Hendrixes. “Isn’t this a vibrant street?” I said, feeling like Vanna White. I waved my arm, almost hitting a bearded wino with my purse. “Watch it,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Glorious!” said Betty with some desperation.
“Is it much farther?” asked Ben, eyeing what appeared to be an antiwar rally heading our way.
“Here we are,” I said, pushing open a glass door. A chilly blast of air that smelled like Band-Aids greeted us. Behind an onyx-colored desk, a black man with platinum hair smiled. “Welcome to Le Dome,” he said. “What can I do to please you?”
I quickly checked the address: we were not in some sort of brothel but a new high-rise. “Hi there,” I said. “We’re visiting Unit 302, taking a look.”
“Bien sur,” said the concierge. “The elevator is on your left, past the lovebird cage.”
Betty looked charmed and Ben, nervous, as we boarded the elevator. “This unit does have a fireplace,” I said, and Betty said, “Do tell.” Ben studied his shoes.
When we reached the third floor, an attractive, balding man about my age was leaving Unit 302, a computer tucked under his arm. “Enjoy,” he said, brushing past us. Before he stepped into the elevator, he turned back and caught my eye. “I’m Arthur,” he said. Flustered, I did not answer.
We went inside the condo, and Betty said, “Whoa!” It was blindingly bright: a wall of windows showcased Congress all the way to the capitol. A kitchen filled with stainless steel ran against one wall, and a spiral wrought-iron staircase led to the second floor.
“Everyone can see me,” said Ben.
“Many of the more modern condominiums feature large windows or walls of glass,” I agreed. I felt myself morphing into enthused-Realtor mode. It was strange how this happened to me—I went from my normal low-key self to a sales dynamo. In a way, I liked this showy, confident side; it was heady to be a loudmouth instead of my usual shy self. And then I could finish with the Hendrixes and go home and put my feet up.
“Good thing we don’t have toddlers anymore,” said Betty, testing the staircase with her navy heel.
“Who cleans the windows?” asked Ben.
“Cleaning services are included in the monthly fees,” I said, reading from the listing. “As well as use of the pool, the entertainment pavilion, and the Armadillo Spa.”
“Armadillo Spa?” said Betty.
“The armadillo is the state animal of Texas,” I said dopily.
“Oh,” said Betty with an expression of distaste.
“The state mammal is the Mexican free-tailed bat,” I noted. “And the state reptile is the Texas horned lizard.”
“Aren’t you a fount of information,” said Betty, curling her lip in annoyance. I told myself to dial it back as she climbed the staircase gingerly. At the top, she exclaimed, “This is gorgeous! Benny, get up here this very minute!”
Ben dug his hands deeper into his pockets. His bluff, it seemed, had been called. He cleared his throat, then marched toward the staircase and tromped up slowly.
“I’ll be down here,” I said. “Take your time!”
The living room was furnished elegantly, with a soft gray couch and reclaimed-wood table. On the kitchen counter was an antique typewriter. I peered at the page, which
“Hello,” I said, “this is Lauren Mahdian from Sunshine City Realty. I’m hoping to—”
“Lauren?” said the man.
“Yes,” I said. “I was wondering—”
“That’s a great name,” said the man. “Underrated.”
“Uh,” I said, “I was wondering if I could show your condo now?”
“Oh, okay,” said the man. “Give me a sec to get dressed.”
“Great,” I said, cutting the call. I whirled around to face the Hendrixes. “Isn’t this a vibrant street?” I said, feeling like Vanna White. I waved my arm, almost hitting a bearded wino with my purse. “Watch it,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Glorious!” said Betty with some desperation.
“Is it much farther?” asked Ben, eyeing what appeared to be an antiwar rally heading our way.
“Here we are,” I said, pushing open a glass door. A chilly blast of air that smelled like Band-Aids greeted us. Behind an onyx-colored desk, a black man with platinum hair smiled. “Welcome to Le Dome,” he said. “What can I do to please you?”
I quickly checked the address: we were not in some sort of brothel but a new high-rise. “Hi there,” I said. “We’re visiting Unit 302, taking a look.”
“Bien sur,” said the concierge. “The elevator is on your left, past the lovebird cage.”
Betty looked charmed and Ben, nervous, as we boarded the elevator. “This unit does have a fireplace,” I said, and Betty said, “Do tell.” Ben studied his shoes.
When we reached the third floor, an attractive, balding man about my age was leaving Unit 302, a computer tucked under his arm. “Enjoy,” he said, brushing past us. Before he stepped into the elevator, he turned back and caught my eye. “I’m Arthur,” he said. Flustered, I did not answer.
We went inside the condo, and Betty said, “Whoa!” It was blindingly bright: a wall of windows showcased Congress all the way to the capitol. A kitchen filled with stainless steel ran against one wall, and a spiral wrought-iron staircase led to the second floor.
“Everyone can see me,” said Ben.
“Many of the more modern condominiums feature large windows or walls of glass,” I agreed. I felt myself morphing into enthused-Realtor mode. It was strange how this happened to me—I went from my normal low-key self to a sales dynamo. In a way, I liked this showy, confident side; it was heady to be a loudmouth instead of my usual shy self. And then I could finish with the Hendrixes and go home and put my feet up.
“Good thing we don’t have toddlers anymore,” said Betty, testing the staircase with her navy heel.
“Who cleans the windows?” asked Ben.
“Cleaning services are included in the monthly fees,” I said, reading from the listing. “As well as use of the pool, the entertainment pavilion, and the Armadillo Spa.”
“Armadillo Spa?” said Betty.
“The armadillo is the state animal of Texas,” I said dopily.
“Oh,” said Betty with an expression of distaste.
“The state mammal is the Mexican free-tailed bat,” I noted. “And the state reptile is the Texas horned lizard.”
“Aren’t you a fount of information,” said Betty, curling her lip in annoyance. I told myself to dial it back as she climbed the staircase gingerly. At the top, she exclaimed, “This is gorgeous! Benny, get up here this very minute!”
Ben dug his hands deeper into his pockets. His bluff, it seemed, had been called. He cleared his throat, then marched toward the staircase and tromped up slowly.
“I’ll be down here,” I said. “Take your time!”
The living room was furnished elegantly, with a soft gray couch and reclaimed-wood table. On the kitchen counter was an antique typewriter. I peered at the page, which
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