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Authors: Jill Marie Landis
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and made some notes on a long listing sheet tucked inside.
Jake caught a glimpse of a smiling Ken and Barbie head-shot of Glenn Potter and his wife imprinted on the upper left corner of the page. He turned away to study the house.
No movie star had crossed the threshold in decades. The place was beyond quaint. He couldn’t even call it rustic. No doubt it had passed the “fixer-upper” stage ten years ago.
It was a dump. A tear down.
Jake loved it.
He stepped out of the car and headed for the porch. Craftsman in detail, two boxy stone and wood columns framed the sagging top step of the wide porch. Carefully negotiating holes and dry rot in the steps, he turned around. The view down the hillside to the coast almost took his breath away.
A vision of two rocking chairs positioned to take in the view came to mind. When he found it all too easy to imagine Carly Nolan sitting on one of them, he tried to concentrate on what the porch would look like painted a high-gloss shine.
Glenn was out of the car now, climbing the stairs, shaking his head as he sidestepped a loose board.
“I’m really sorry, Jake. I should have checked this out before I brought you here. I had no idea the place was such a mess.”
It was a mess. He was wasting his and Potter’s time.
Jake continued to stare at the house. “Can we go inside?”
Glenn’s expression went from embarrassment to calculation. A smile slowly replaced his mortification. His hand hit the doorknob. There wasn’t a key or the need of one.
“Jeezus.” Glenn cleared his throat when the door swung open to reveal the squalor inside.
Jake figured Potter wasn’t very often speechless. Taking advantage of the moment, he shoved his hands in the pockets of his Levi’s, crossed the threshold and took in the living room. A cheap, hideous rust-and-green shag rug from the seventies. He could date it exactly because he’d had one just like it in his room as a kid. The carpet hid what he suspected were original hardwood floors.
Built-in bookcases flanked a river-rock fireplace. The woodwork around every door and window had been painted but was intact. The room felt spacious, the living area connected to the formal dining room with another large built-in sideboard along one wall. Glass was missing from a few of the panes in the doors, but otherwise the trim was in good condition.
The walls were another matter. The plaster was cracked and in some spots, the lath beneath showed through like skeletal ribs. Shredded wallpaper hung like tattered rags around the room.
The ceilings weren’t in much better shape, but the wide heavy beams that divided the rooms were exposed to add detail to the overall feel of the place.
He didn’t need to walk into the kitchen to know it was a disaster. The glimpse of worn speckled linoleum said enough. An army of field mice as well as an occasional illegal on the way up the coast had probably used the cupboards.
“How many bedrooms?” Jake started toward a long, narrow hallway.
Glenn flipped open the folder. “Three. Two down and one up.” He held his breath before opening the door to the first of two back bedrooms. Rotted draperies hung at the windows. The light streamed through the tatters, illuminating dust motes thick in the air. The same hideous carpet ran wall to wall throughout the house. There was a small, old-fashioned walk-in closet complete with an octagonal window—obviously built when movie stars had smaller wardrobes.
Jake walked to a corner, took hold of the shag, and ripped it away from the carpet tacks. Sure enough, there was hardwood floor beneath.
They walked through all three bedrooms. The largest was upstairs with its own bath. Glenn tried to flush the toilet and groaned when the handle fell off.
An open sundeck, a much later addition by the looks of it, was tacked onto the back of the house. It offered a panoramic view of the hillside and low chaparral growing in the streambed running behind the house.
Jake walked
Jake caught a glimpse of a smiling Ken and Barbie head-shot of Glenn Potter and his wife imprinted on the upper left corner of the page. He turned away to study the house.
No movie star had crossed the threshold in decades. The place was beyond quaint. He couldn’t even call it rustic. No doubt it had passed the “fixer-upper” stage ten years ago.
It was a dump. A tear down.
Jake loved it.
He stepped out of the car and headed for the porch. Craftsman in detail, two boxy stone and wood columns framed the sagging top step of the wide porch. Carefully negotiating holes and dry rot in the steps, he turned around. The view down the hillside to the coast almost took his breath away.
A vision of two rocking chairs positioned to take in the view came to mind. When he found it all too easy to imagine Carly Nolan sitting on one of them, he tried to concentrate on what the porch would look like painted a high-gloss shine.
Glenn was out of the car now, climbing the stairs, shaking his head as he sidestepped a loose board.
“I’m really sorry, Jake. I should have checked this out before I brought you here. I had no idea the place was such a mess.”
It was a mess. He was wasting his and Potter’s time.
Jake continued to stare at the house. “Can we go inside?”
Glenn’s expression went from embarrassment to calculation. A smile slowly replaced his mortification. His hand hit the doorknob. There wasn’t a key or the need of one.
“Jeezus.” Glenn cleared his throat when the door swung open to reveal the squalor inside.
Jake figured Potter wasn’t very often speechless. Taking advantage of the moment, he shoved his hands in the pockets of his Levi’s, crossed the threshold and took in the living room. A cheap, hideous rust-and-green shag rug from the seventies. He could date it exactly because he’d had one just like it in his room as a kid. The carpet hid what he suspected were original hardwood floors.
Built-in bookcases flanked a river-rock fireplace. The woodwork around every door and window had been painted but was intact. The room felt spacious, the living area connected to the formal dining room with another large built-in sideboard along one wall. Glass was missing from a few of the panes in the doors, but otherwise the trim was in good condition.
The walls were another matter. The plaster was cracked and in some spots, the lath beneath showed through like skeletal ribs. Shredded wallpaper hung like tattered rags around the room.
The ceilings weren’t in much better shape, but the wide heavy beams that divided the rooms were exposed to add detail to the overall feel of the place.
He didn’t need to walk into the kitchen to know it was a disaster. The glimpse of worn speckled linoleum said enough. An army of field mice as well as an occasional illegal on the way up the coast had probably used the cupboards.
“How many bedrooms?” Jake started toward a long, narrow hallway.
Glenn flipped open the folder. “Three. Two down and one up.” He held his breath before opening the door to the first of two back bedrooms. Rotted draperies hung at the windows. The light streamed through the tatters, illuminating dust motes thick in the air. The same hideous carpet ran wall to wall throughout the house. There was a small, old-fashioned walk-in closet complete with an octagonal window—obviously built when movie stars had smaller wardrobes.
Jake walked to a corner, took hold of the shag, and ripped it away from the carpet tacks. Sure enough, there was hardwood floor beneath.
They walked through all three bedrooms. The largest was upstairs with its own bath. Glenn tried to flush the toilet and groaned when the handle fell off.
An open sundeck, a much later addition by the looks of it, was tacked onto the back of the house. It offered a panoramic view of the hillside and low chaparral growing in the streambed running behind the house.
Jake walked
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